Alhambra, few rival this World Heritage Site

   I was out of the blocks at 9:30, intent on maximizing my stay in Granada.  The city is a tourist Mecca and I was one of them today. For starts, meanderings through the narrow cobblestone roads and alleys was interesting in itself.  Next I came the cathedral where I sprung for the self guided tour.  Put aside the religious hype of the place, the architecture and countless paintings and carvings are outstanding.  The numerous chapels and alters, huge supporting stone columns and towering arched ceilings are meant to inspire awe.  Given Jesus’ humble nature, I can imagine  how he would have reacted  if he knew all these cathedrals were done in his honor.  What happened to ‘keep it simple stupid’?  Ok, enough of the philosophical conjecturing..  The place was definitely worth the look-see.   Just out the door,  I came upon  a 12th century Moorish market place.  A two story tile and stucco building housing a large inner court yard with a surrounding balcony and rooms for the merchants.  The accompanying museum was small but gave a good history of the daily life and mercantile goings-on during the years of Moorish era.  The person at the front desk give me the inside tip as to where to have lunch.  No tourists, no sticker shock prices, just s good lunch standing at a counter talking it up with the locals.  It was a fun time despite the language barrier.  A couple next to me helped me with the menu and later treated me to a beer and side dish. The owner kept me in his favor as well.
    With the rain in full swing, it was time to find my way up to Alhambra for the three hour tour I had signed for in the morning, online.  My Airbnb host told me I might have trouble getting a ticket. Sure enough, I snagged a ticket just in time. This UNESCO world heritage site is without a doubt one of the most outstanding places I have ever toured.  I highly recommend the place, it is a crown jewel.  Despite the relentless rain, our guide hook us up with earpieces and receivers and kept us thoroughly mesmerized for three hours. Washington Irving was one of the catalysts behind the state takeover and restoration of the palace.  Queen Isabella and Columbus pow-wowed in one of the majesty rooms as to how to fund his voyage.  The history through the ages, changing hands in 1492 when the Spanish Christians ompleted their conquest of the Moors, is facinating.  The architecture with all its religious significance, tied in with the numbers 3,5,7 was really captivating.  Anyways, put this place on your must see list.
     Pretty much drenched except for my upper core, I made a fast retreat to my Airbnb.  Stripping off my  clothes and  had myself a divinely hot shower.  I am now sequestered for the night and plan on sleeping like the dead.

Granada after a few mountains and intense cross winds

      🎼On the road again!  A light continent breakfast at a local cafe and I was rolling out of Motril at 9:30 with Granada on my mind.  With the snow capped mountains ahead of me, I thought I would be a slave of my granny gear all day.  Mile after mile of flat terrain cut through huge rock shears.  The views along the way were impressive. I snapped at least a dozen shots. Only after twelve miles did the incline ramp up to mountain stage. Racing bikes were everywhere with the riders tricked out in their Lycra skin tight riding gear.  There I was cruising along at a very modest clip with these bikers  hauling by me in both directions.  Most acknowledge my existence but some were above lowering themselves to a touring bike. They are going around in twenty mile circles, whereas us touring bikers are laying down hundreds of miles and carrying three times the weight.  There are real men and then there those who think they are real men. However, one these cyclists truly impressed me. He was ahead of a pack of bikes, pedaling with one leg up a mountain.  First my eye saw that the right side pedal was missing and then I saw that the guy had no leg.  I stared in amazement as this guy cranked up the mountain.  Amazing!
      Moving along, so to speak, with the climb, mile after mile, came the wind.  One bridge spanning a deep canyon had a wind shear that almost blew me over. I walked that one.  Other gusts slammed me on solid ground but at least I knew I would not be blow over a guard rail to plummet hundreds of feet to a sudden stop.  For a short stretch, I ran out of secondary road and had to thumb my way for six miles along the autovia.  The two guys in a van who picked me up joked about how they saw  this “old man” along the side of the road and took mercy. I promptly informed them that I was strong and just as capable as the younger guys. They loved my take on myself.  Finally with thirty miles behind me, I pulled over and tucked my self behind a small steel structure for lunch and a rest.  With the rising altitude came a drop in temperature.  Cold coupled by exertion is a real calorie burner and so with over four hours of riding hehind me, I needed a break. Cheese, French bread, salami, chocolate and water hit the proverbial spot.  Rejuvenated, I set off to knock off the last twelve miles. Fearful of getting a chill, I changed to full gloves and put on my fleece pullover. The legs stayed bare but I managed. As I approach Granada, I meet a German guy loaded up, making his way through all of Europe.  We Facebooked, exchanged selfies and head off in opposite directions.  Finally, I entered Granada where it took me well over an hour to find my Airbnb.  With endless narrow cobble stone roads going every which way, my gps was sending me to hell and back.  Pissed and tired, I pulled under a tented cafe area just as a powerful squall whipped in, turning tables over and drowning the area with a torrent of rain. Two waiters who could speak English call my Airbnb host and got matters straightened out. It is amazing that Marissa, the Airbnb host, had not posted directions on her site given her obscure location. The waiters wrote out the route which actually worked.
     Does this lady have a view?!!  She overlooks the city from a high vantage point.  Probably her taxes are out of sight like mine, necessitating Airbnb to raise the necessary funds to lighten the tax load. Not speaking a word of English, she navigated me through her house, giving me the run down on how thing work around the house.  Once settled in followed a hot shower, I used Marissa’s map and found a low key restaurant with a ten euro buffet. I made sure I memorized landmarks so I could find my way back without getting lost, as is often the case.  Being very near Alhambra, the tours are everywhere. I saw the towering walls from below when getting directions and later saw it lit up with lights, quite the site.  Tomorrow rain is expected but I will be on the move, checking out the city and Alhambra.

Nerja to Motril, beautiful coastline

      The sun wimped out again, leaving me to contend with another cloudy, moderately rainy day.  As is so familiar during this trip, I put on my rain gear head to toe and left Nerja in my rearview mirror at 10:00. The rain was nothing significant but the temperature added rawness to the air.  Climbing long hills added to the mix, yet the beautiful coastline helped compensate a bit.   There were three tunnels I braved hoping for minimal traffic. Even with one vehicle approaching, the noise was amplified to ,sound like an oncoming train.  After three plus hours on the road, I rode into Motril and found my hostel, situated back in a labyrinth of streets.   The city was nothing impressive and the hostel even less so. The hostel did the job but the language barrier made for confusion in paying for the night given that I had pushed the stay back a day. The smaller the city, the less English is spoken. My Spanish is improving but not fast enough.
      After cleaning up and delving into my food stores, I started to plan my trip for the days ahead.  Just following the coastline was losing its allure.  So..., my plan for tomorrow and the days
ahead took a decisive turn.  Both Granada and Mallorca are the two places I want to see. Granada is due north seventy-two kilometers and Malloric several days of riding and a ferry ride away.  Checking the routes and the various options, I will ride north tomorrow and spend three nights in Granada at an Airbnb.  From there I will hop a bus to Benidorm, take a ferry to Mallorca and stay at least three days.  I have been told the bicycling routes and scenery are superb.  So let’s hope the ride to Granada includes a minimal amount of climbing and that the sun prevails.

The best ride of the trip spoiled by a lost bag

   Left Malaga at 9:48 and for a change, found my way out of Malaga without cycling around in circles.  Fifty kilometers of blissful riding along the beaches with no major roads to brave.  The wind was at my back and the hills were inconsequential.  I arrived in Nerja three later and located my hostel presto!  After a few texts and some down time before my shower, I shockingly discover that my truck bag mounted on top of the rear rack was missing,  I hadn’t stopped in the way so the bag hadn’t been stolen, it had fallen off.  Now what?!! I stripped the bike of its panniers and hit the road west, frantic to find the bag.  Five miles back in a small seaside city, I approached a local police officer and explained my dilemma. Neither of us having a good grasp of each other’s language, I managed to communicate the loss, what it looked like and gave my name and number. Not to shortly after, I turned around and headed back.  Knowing that the odds were stacked against me, I started determining what replacement gear I needed. An electronics store in town had my charging cords for my iPhone, bluetooth headset and new reserve battery pack.  I went to a bike store to find a new rear trunk bad but came up empty. Over a few glasses of vino tintos,  I gave Arkiel, the maker of the bag,  a friendly call.   Speaking with Kevin in customer service, I explained how all four Velcro straps had come loose, which he had never heard of happening before.  Calling from Spain and giving the details, he is sending me a free replacement bag to my shop.  Also we discussed a fail-safe attachment strap which would prevent this mishap from happening again.
     Moving right along, I replaced my food stores and lamented over the strap-on forehead light I had lost along with a novel, sunscreen, bug spray, etc.. . The story doesn’t end here. At 5:58am , the next morning, my phone rings, a Malaga phone number!  I waited for a message. The police said they had my bag.  Now up and running, I have decided to find someone who can speak fluent Spanish and English, given that the message was in broken English.  Now to figure out how far away the police station is.  Pray to god it is near by and not all the way back in Malaga.  Today could be interesting tale to tell.

A beautiful day in the neighborhood

      One more day to explore this beautiful city of Malaga, so I decided on the two and half hour walking tour.  There is simply too much to see but at least I was able to get a taste. Afterwards two Germans and I basked in the sun over lunch.  A nap was followed by some prep for tomorrow’s ride to Nerja, fifty-one kilometers east. Dinner at nine is still difficult.  Afterwards, the masses of Spaniards socializing on the pedestrian only streets is another oddity.  Many woman wear the tradition head pieces of black lace propped above the back of their heads flowing down past their wastes.
    With each stop I am making progress towards establishing riding contacts for future trips.  This search is like prospecting for gold.  A doctor from Park City, Utah has a friends that gives bike tours through Cuba. She texted him with my details.  We will see what happens.  Onward.

So much to see, so little time

     Sleeping on the upper bunk that squeaked with every turn didn’t do much towards giving me a decent night’s sleep. Nevertheless, I rallied at daybreak.  Max, my German buddy, and I hoofed up a steep winding cobble stone road to a moorish castle above the city. The views of the city and Mediterranean were impressive.  Are second stop was the Picasso Museum.  With a little Fellini thrown in, the display of his work was extensive.  His work is scattered all over the world but the museum has a collection of a couple hundred paints and sculptures of his work.  Almost too much to absorb in a two hour visit.  The guy was without a doubt a genius but some of his work just struck me as weird just for the sake of being weird. Perhaps, but he was a total rebel who rejected the status quo around him.
       With the rain coming down again, Max and I ferreted out a nice outdoor cafe with a canopy. The lunch we had was leisurely and worthy of the Gods.  Max being twenty-three and me sixty-eight, our outlooks on the world were remarkably parallel.  His drive to achieve and yet, stay independent rang a familiar chime.  We will stay in touch.  Once back at the hostel we sighed off; he had a bus to catch to another town eastward.  Me? I changed rooms, also to a lower bunk and crashed out for an hour.  Sangria and dinner on the roof top of the hostel, during which I talked with six more kids, pretty much finished me off for the day.   Tomorrow it will be another museum, castle and general siteseeing.

Short ride along the coast to Malaga

  Once again with rain predicted, I paid attention to when exactly what percentage chance.  Ducking out of fuengirola at 8:50, I had sunshine and a humane road to ride on.  At one point I dodged the highway by weaving around on a bike path for several kilometers.  The stop and ask approach proved much better than my gps.  Just keep the Mediterranean on my right and stay clear of the inland mountains. I pedaled thirty-two K, twenty miles, to Malaga.  The challenge began when I realized my reserved hostel was way out of town and I wanted to be central to everything.  My first two hostel choices were booked, my third try found me the last bed.  At first, I thought I would just find the place without reserving it but my better judgement grabbed by my throat and made me book the reservation then and there.  Good move as it turned out. Had I waited ten minutes, I would been out on the street again. The Lights Out hostel was jumping with youth and a few older youth like me.  It took no time to make friends with a several ‘Yoot’ comprising Germans, Northern Irish and Argentinian, two guys, six woman. One of which lived in Vietnam and gave me the inside scoop on the place,; perhaps my next adventure.  At 8:00 we all rendezvous-ed and headed out for beer and tapas.  A fun time was had by all.  Two nights alone in a hotel left me craving for some social interaction.  I folded my deck at 12:00 while the others rallied into the wee hours.  Beggars cannot be choosy, so I had a top bunk on a creaky bed.  My room was alive with five girls from Wisconsin, all of whom were well into a night of debauchery. Right off one wanted a hug so in my fatherly role, I obliged the girl. Tomorrow, the cathedral will get a look-see as well as the Picasso Museum. Picasso grew up in Malaga.  Perhaps I will stay a third night if I need to see more of the town.

Beautiful day on the road from hell

  Alas, sunshine!  After a classic breakfast, at a pleasant outdoor cafe, consisting of eggs, sausage, toast, coffee and freshly squeezed OJ, I hopped aboard and started pedaling east north east out of Estepona. With only thirty miles to Fuengirola and the sun shining, I assumed an easy ride.  Not!
A7 was the only Road with a smattering of short service roads .  Being Friday, the traffic was heavier than yesterday and the speed higher. The Spanish drivers are considerate but the ride was still a ride I would have preferred to avoid. In desperation, I found a modest sidewalk cluttered up with light poles behind the guard rails. My speed plummeted.  With twenty-three kilometers to go, a fellow biker happened along.  A Venezuelan-Spanish guy, Roberto Hernandez, twenty-three, was riding the coast as I was.  Biking with two or more riders, the drivers afford you more respect and a wider berth. We got back on the highway and blasted off down the road.  With both our flashing rear lights lit, along with my orange helmet and horizontal flag,
we had the traffics attention.  We covered the remaining stretch in a flash.  We stopped for lunch in Fuengirola and both agreed that Southeast Asia would be a good trip to take together. We exchanged information. Roberto split for Malaga and I for my hotel just down the road.  Now friends on Facebook, we can discuss the trip in more detail, Vietnam and Laos are my primary focus.
       I arrived at my hotel ‘El Cid’ and once again was pleased with the set up. With a balcony, no less, I was able to air out my riding gloves, shoes and riding gear.  Sweat is an unavoidable byproduct of cycling and the consequence being my gear acquires a fragrant afluvium (sp).  A washing machine and drier are a luxury and washing the clothes in the sink or shower is only a stop gap.   After a nap and shower, I wondered around town and stopped an eatery for some vino tintos and tapas.  The good news is that Roberto got back to me via Messenger and informed me that the ride to Malaga is a cake walk.  But then again there is a 80% chance of rain. 😳  I will spend two nights in Malaga; everyone raves about the place.

Riding along the Spanish Mediterranean

    So it rained again but only mildly, ‘a heavy dew’ as they say in Maine.  Out of Gibraltar around 9:20, the ride took just under four hours.  Although Gibraltar was a neat place, my hostel was in need of some renovations and some competition.  Once on the road, I was hoping for secondary roads. What were supposed to be a secondary roads were closer to autovia highways.  Finding alternative side roads was somewhat fruitful but several times I ended up in seaside resorts, of which there were many.  A lot of money along the coast, mostly in the form of upscale condominium complexes.  Summing up the ride, about a third of the way to Estepona I got lucky and found some
side roads with slow moving traffic.  With  my flashing rear light, horizontal flag extended off my left rear side, orange helmet and yellow panniers, the traffic gave me plenty of room.  I cruised in to Estepona and found my hotel directly across from the water.  My room was small but a real nice set up. For only thirty euros, I was in paradise. The town is attractive, nice streets, everything kept up, hanging plants, nice restaurants but basically just another seaside town. In New London I look out at islands, ferries, submarines, birds  and ships of all sizes.  Here, there is just water which  other than the beach is fairly boring. Hey! At least, I am not in New England getting hammered by successive winter nor’easters.
      Tomorrow, rather than ride ninety-two kilometer to Malaga in one day, given the mild rain, I am riding a little over half way to Fuengirola.  The traffic should be light and, god willing, the rain spares me. If nothing else, I have plenty of time to design a rain jacket which allows for adequate ventilation and still keeps the rain out.  My other thoughts include running for the presidency! Many people do it and why not given the pathetic array of candidates already out there.  My platform is in the works......moderation, tolerance and unity.  Obviously, my odds of winning are worse than winning Power Ball, so what the heck.

Busy day in Gibraltar

   So when am I going to be here next?  More than likely, never.  So I had a lot to see today.  The taxi tour as they call it was the best; twenty five British pounds, sharing it with three Danes got me  one heck of a thorough look see of the rock, monkies included.  Chris, from three generations of taxi drivers on the Rock, wounds us up the narrow road to the top, stopping along the way. He told us not to use our seatbelts because we would be getting in and out if the van so much. Sitting in the passenger seat I figured if he drove off the edge, a seat belt would be useless by the time we hit the bottom.  First stop were the tunnels, both man made and natural.  The nature ones would rival Carlsbad caverns, with a light show to enhance the experience. Next stop, the top where the monkies were everywhere and views absolutely dazzling.  The Straits of Gibraltar, Africa, the surrounding cities, shear drop offs looking down at beaches and resorts, the huge tankers anchored everywhere...it was sensational.  Coming down our final stop was a moorish castle fortification built in the eighth century.  It was still very high up above the city and had majestic presence.  My iPhone was clicking pictures the whole time.  Once at sea level, I headed over to the Gibraltar museum, located on top of Moorish and Spanish subterranean ruins.  Not much this museum didn’t cover, humans having been here for thousands of years.  Neolithic period, Moors, Spanish and now the British.  There are seventy-five hundred British families on the peninsula and the rest are a mixture of Italians, Spanish and whoever. Many of the non British are full blooded Gibraltans.  After four hours of absorbing the history and scenery of this rock, I threaded myself over to the watèrfront for a first class lunch, red wine included.  Back to the Hostel after a grocery stop for road food, I took a nap, read and headed out around seven for another culinary delight.  Coming out of the restaurant, the skies had opened again. Tomorrow is more of the same.  Nevertheless, I am off to Estepona in the morning rain or shine. All I want is the wind to my back, light traffic and nothing more than light rain... god willing!

A delight to be bicycling down the road again

     I rallied early, having organized my gear and route the night before. Left Tarifa at 9:00 and climbed for over an hour. The rain spared me for all but for all but an hour and the wind was pushing me the whole way. Navigating through Algeciras was a bit tricky but I finessed it. As I  passed out of the city limits on a quite country road, I came across three huge storks nests with the parents in residence.  Each nest had been built on concrete power line poles. They posed for me as a took several pictures.  Denmark was the last time I had seen these guy.  They are endangered.
      Finally, as I created a hill, there off in the distance was Gibraltar, what a site. Thinking I was closing in on it, my gps caught me off guarded and sent me on a circuitous hilly loop around a small city. You can not trust the damn devices.  These hair brain routes are a constant problem when on the road.  If you don’t have an intuitive sense of where you are going, these navigational apps will, screw you up “bad”.  Siri said I was not being very nice when I told her what I thought of the Google pukie  geeks who designed the system.  Finally, after an really aggravating flier over hill and dale, I got back on track.  The rock being so big, it took several miles longer to get to the border crossing.  The traffic intensified and the roads narrowed but the cars gave me plenty of space.  Four and half hours after departing Tarifa, I arrived at the Emile Hostel. Hard to believe but is the only hostel in town, the hotel prices are wildly expensive. The place is not any great shakes but it is clean, the shower hot and the bed comfortable. After cleaning up, I hoofed into the old town, across the street no less.  Fun place and very British.  I found a place to lay back and have a tall English draft, a small snack, ending up with a glass of Port.  Tomorrow I will assault the rock via a taxi tour. It is the most efficient way to see the tunnels and anything else up there worth seeing.  Down in town, I will try to take in the British War Museum among a few other sites, time permitting.  It is funny how Spain wants to take possession of the Rock. The Bristish have been there since around 1705.  Can you see the British trying to lay claim to the United States!  Spain, get a life!

On the road again, rain or not

      Up early, loaded up, and weaved my way through the labyrinth of cobble stone roads of Cadez to the bus station.  10.5 euros got me on board to Tarifa.  The road to Tarifa, particular the narrows out of Cadez, was no place for a bicycle; a four foot breakdown lane with fast moving traffic.  For the day the sun decided to show itself giving me a chance to up warm and mentally dry out. I arrived in Tarifa, meet some travelers my age who had experienced Tanger and warned me of the constant hustlers, lousy food and no alcohol.  Several blocks down, I arrived at my booked Hostel, The Melting Pot.  Everyone from everywhere, mostly young travels in their late twenties and early thirties with a few close to my age.
Down toward the water, I found a takeout with great and inexpensive food.  Some good food combined with the sunshine gave me hope that this horrendous wind and rain is nearing an end.  I have mapped out a route to Gibraltar by passing Algeciras.  I have been warned to stay clear of this city, the drugs and crime makes it no place for a bicyclist.  Well, with the evening,  the skies opened up again, all night into the morning.  Time to get tough, rain or not,  the wind should be at my back for my ride tomorrow. I will ride to Gibralta where I have booked a hostel. Now, to see Tarifa in the rain.

Hanging out in Cadiz

   With the increment weather, the three nights in Cadiz allowed me the time to experience this facinating city.  The vino tintos, delicious tapas in numerous restaurants, array of beautiful plazas, the Cadiz cathedral, old market place, a very informative walking tour, subterranean Phenecian(sp)-Roman ruins and the tumultuous  seas all made for a interesting stay.  Yesterday, the rain was constant but that didn’t stop me from exploring the city. Accept for the waterfront avenues,  all the roads are cobble stone barely wide enough to accommodate cars.  Motor bikes and scooters are everywhere. With little if any sidewalk space, I was always on guard, listening for on coming traffic. The narrow roads are border by four story buildings all with decorative balconies.  With no sun light and all the roads looking the same, getting disoriented and lost was always the case. My gps
both saved me and frustrated me. Now that I am leaving, I am getting somewhat familiar with the maze of  roads and alleys.  Most of the stores are oriented towards woman, as fashion is everything among the women of Cadiz. However, I did find a tiny hardware store shoehorned into a near invisible storefront when searching for a small brush to clean my mud caked bike.  Eating out is a pastime where one can find any number of cozy places to dine. Yet between 4:00 and 7:30/8:00 the restaurants shut down, a tough sell for most northern tourists including yours truly.  Napping has taken a good hour out of every late afternoon.  Everyone is out at night, the laughing and general party atmosphere is pervasive.  The stormy weather put a crimp on the outdoor dining but this only packed the inside dining spaces. And if you like seafood, this town is the place to enjoy it.  The old city market square displays a vast array of freshly caught seafood.  Tapas stalls and various other food offerings are adjoining the fresh seafood and fruit stalls. It is a scene to behold.
   Scoping out my options as to my next destination, given the lousy weather, I am taking a bus to Tarifa. It is south east on the coast. The battle of Trafalgar took place off shore in 1805 when Lord Nelson vanquished the French and Spanish fleets. The bus allows me to avoid the treacherous road out of Cadiz which I have heard nothing good about. Constantly checking the weather, it appears I may enjoy slightly better weather as I progress southeast. My thought of visiting Tanger was dashed because the ferries are not running due to rough seas.  Although the biking has been less than enjoyable, both Seville and Cadiz have more than made up for this disappointment.

Not your typical day

    Today was no ordinary day.  Woke up to wind and rain; should I hold over for another day in Jerez?  On the edge,  my guts prevailed, go for it. If I have to I could always turn back.  Had a hearty breakfast realizing this could be a struggle given the ferocity of the wind, gusting to thirty mph.  Buttoned down and braced for the worst.  Trying to avoid A4, the free way which I am prohibited from using, the gps sent me down a dirt mud hole paralleling the highway.  Half washed out followed by a flooded stretch I turned back and braved A4.  The wind was simply to intense, especially with cars flying by. About a kilometer down the road I exited and contempted my next move. Hitchhike? Sure, but where?  I rested my bike on a guard rail on an entrance ramp and walked ahead to give the passing freeway vehicles enough time to see me but enough room to safely pull over.  Twenty minutes and a van miraculously pulled over.  A Spanish couple helped me load my bike aboard. Off we drove to the next town where they dropped me off at the train station. Grateful was an understatement.  The bike covered with mud, I bought a ticket and hustled over to track two. A thirty minute ride brought me to Cadiz. The sea was raging and the wind blowing stink. Along the way, a couple on board, the French husband who spoke English, struck up a conversation.  A good time was had by all. What a relief to make it to Cadiz.  Having made reservations at a nice hostel for three nights, I navigated my bike through the narrow cobblestone streets to my destination. Checked in, Sophie at the front desked marked out the city map where everything was located. Clean up took

a while and the hot shower was like heaven.  Finished my food provisions and sacked out for a hour.

What a neat town Cadiz is, very narrow street, beautiful plazas and a monster of a cathedral which I did the tour of for a hour.  A month here in the winter works for me, rent is cheap.  I ended the day with a delicious dinner off a nearby plaza, brandy to top it off.  Now the question is, should I take the ferry over to Moracco for a few days when I reach Gibraltar?