My last full day in Spain was spent with the lovely and always entertaining José Vaquero, whom I met at camp.
August 4 and 5, 2008.
I left the hotel and got into a much friendlier cab than my first in Cordoba and made it to the train station just in time. The high speed train from Cordoba to Madrid was like silk. It travels at 270km/hr (they have a little spedometer you can watch) and has very roomy seats in tourist class (2nd class). It got us to Madrid in an hour and a half. That is unbelievable! To drive would be like 4 or 5 hours. I napped a little bit, and couldn't believe it when we got there ahead of schedule.
I had planned on taking a cab to the bus staion, but I thought, heck, I am making such good time, why not save some money and take the metro. I actually managed to take the correct train in the correct direction to get from Atocha to the bus station. This is a feat for me in the Madrid metro, especially when I have all my luggage with me.
I got to the bus station at 11. My bus was at 11:30, all I had to do was buy my ticket. The line ups in the main madrid bus station are something that should be legend. I got into the ALSA, I was probably the 30th person. Unlike at the train station, they don't have a "next bus" line so if you need to get a ticket ASAP, you can. I got to the front of the line at about 11:22, keep in mind I was wearing my pack the whole time, the woman told me "We don't have a bus that goes to Navalmoral". CRAP.
I looked over at the line for AUTORES (the other company) at least 20 people. There was no way I could get to the front of the line and down to the bus in 7 minutes. Sometimes, you can buy your ticket directly from the driver, so I ran (with my GIANT backpack) down to the terminal to see if I could do that. The driver was not friendly and was not about to help me out. A woman tried to console me and said "don't worry, there is another bus at 2!" I appreciated the sympathy, but having to wait an extra 2 and a half hours AND be late for José after I got up early in Cordoba and packed up all my stuff? I was not a happy camper.
I went upstairs and couldn't handle getting into line right away. I went and sat down in the cafeteria and put my stuff on the floor. A friendly Spanish man nearby suggested that I put my backpack and stuff up on a chair, as that would be easier and more comfortable for me than having it at my legs. I didn't do this at first, but when I wanted to buy a sandwhich, which was about 3 meters from my table, I decided it would be a good idea, so I could keep a constant eye on my stuff. I got my sandwhich and got back to eat it, when this odd lady sat down beside me. All of a sudden, she asked me if I was Spanish, (remember all these conversations are in Spanish) there was a big Canadian flag on my suitcase, so maybe this was a rhetorical question. I told her no I was not, and then she went into a huge diatribe about me putting my suitcase on the chair and how if she sat down in the chair her pants would get dirty and what was I thinking, and something about me not being Spanish (that part wasn't really clear to me). Just to get this wacky lady to shut up, I moved my suitcase to the floor, but I left my backpack, it is usually on my back, not the ground and it is friggin heavy. She seemed pleased, I was not. I am looking forward to coming home and being able to tell weird opinionated people to sod off, something I am not comfortable or that adept at doing in Spain.
The friendly man who told me to put the stuff up there in the first place gave me a very sympathetic look, that was nice.
After leaving the lady who needed to be in my business, I went to get into the line for AUTORES, which sadly, had doubled in number since I left. It now had about 40 people in it and I waited there for half an hour. Something with my backpack cuts off some of the circulation to my hands and so while standing there, my hands kept going numb. I got my ticket and when the bus came I got on without much ado.
I arrived in Navalmoral de la Mata, José's town and he was there at the bus station. He insisted on carrying my backpack to his apartment, which was only a 5 minute walk, but which he immidiately regretted. He later said for the trip back we would drive, I wouldn't allow it, and instead just insisted I carry the pack.
José is a wonderful host. He first let me have his bedroom and he slept in one of his guest rooms. Next, he had lunch all preprepared, pasta salad WITHOUT TUNA, because he remembered I don't like it, and GAZPACHO because he remembered from one of our outings that I did. What a guy!! The gazpacho was even home made from one of his friends, just for me! And it was delicious!
After lunch, we cleaned up and he asked me what I wanted to do. We decided to drive to a nearby town to go swimming. Where we went was a mountain stream coming off of the Sierra something or others in Extramadurra (the province we were in). It was gorgeous! It was also full of Spaniards, including, many of José's neighbors. José complained about how it was soo cold (it was warmer than lakes in Canada, but not bath-like, like the mediterranean) and I told him with the heat it was lovely. We swam around, well I did, he mostly stayed in the sun. Then he took me to a small mountain town to see the town and the church and the castle.
We went back to his apartment where we got ready for dinner, then hit the town! We went to a couple bars, I met his friends and we had dinner. José insisted that I try all of the local specialities. These included fried pigs' ears, which I informed José that only dogs eat in Canada. They were okay, a little too crunchy though, but mostly just tasted like bacon. Also on the menu was sheeps stomach cut up into sqaures and cooked in a thick tomato sauce. The flavour was okay, but soo fatty and just too mooshy. I am pretty adventurous, but the texture was just too much for me. I stuck to the bread and mushrooms mostly.
We went back to José's apartment and after about half an hour in his room, I couldn't take it and slept in the living room, the only room with air conditioning. His room was so hot my face was sweating just lying in bed. He told me the night before he was so hot he couldn't get to sleep until 4am. This meant that on this evening, he slept fine, despite the heat, in the guest room because he was exausted.
I woked up when José was going to work at 8:30 (I think) while he was doing something to the air conditioner and generally trying to make me more comfortable. I fell back asleep until 11:30, when I packed up my things, had some Cola cao (basically nesquick), got dressed and washed a pair of underpants for my last day. He got home about 2:15 and began to put the last of the lunch together. We had homemade pork and zucchini sausage (delicious!), french fries which we made from some very soft potatoes, and a special dish José made ahead just for me, red peppers stuffed with cod! After he was such a good host, there was no way I was going to say anything about the truth of me and peppers. I ate two or three of them until I was stuffed. Everything about the dish except the peppers was extraordinary, the cod was in a creamy sauce with potatoes and cheese. He is an excellent chef.
After that, we looked at each others photos on facebook and his computer and then had an argument about how we were going to the bus station. I won. I put on my backpack and started walking so there wasn't too much he could do. He carried my purse.
The bus ride was great and I slept soundly for most of the way. I made it to Madrid and had a classic Sumantra-Kate cell phone conversation while I tried to navigate the two story Lacoste in Madrid. At one point someone started asking me about sizes, like I worked there. What kind of shop employee wanders around on their cell phone, speaking obnoxiously in English while they are supposed to be working? Well, then again.... it is Europe.
Now I am off for dinner with my old friends, Julian and Lidia. We all worked together at the camp in Salamanca two years ago, and have kept in touch since then, thank you facebook!
Tomorrow morning I am spluring on a cab to the airport, I can't take anymore metro trips with my stuff. I fly to Frankfurt and then to Toronto. Here's hoping it is without incident or excitement. I saw a news report today that said "Atrapados En Barajas" which means "Trapped in Barajas (the Madrid Airport)" unfortunately I didn't understand what they were saying in the story, but I hope everything is alright.
See you soon,
Kate
Tuesday, August 5, 2008
Cordoba and José
Well, savour the flavour, because this will be one of the last blogs of the trip, as my 7 weeks in España has almost come to an end.
Cordoba! Aug 3 and 4, 2008.
After writing that last blog to you on Saturday night, I returned to my room and my tapas turned on me. Yikes! I was lying in bed watching Star Wars in Spanish, when suddenly I didn't feel so good. Then it was one of those intense, horrible nauseas where you think you might just yak all over the room. Mercifully, I did not. I found my gravol and then called Jay. He theorized about the cause of my probable food poisoning and when it was time to go, wished me well and that I not "puke in [my] hair, because that is just awful".
Once the gravol kicked in, I was in a gravol induced coma, common on this trip. Those of you who know of my taste for gravol, know that I am a seasoned user, and that I can usually predict it's effects rather accurately. Not the case on this trip. Any time I have taken the stuff I have been in a sleep so deep, waking up feels like rising from a grave. This was what happen at 3:30pm on Sunday when I awoke and it took me a second to remind myself that I was in Spain, in a hotel. After rising from the grave, I called my grandmother to wish her a happy 80th birthday (yowza!) and set out to see what I could.
Sunday turned into Kate's Day of Arab Hedonism, save the harem. First I went for breakfast, which was really a late lunch at Catre D'Or, dulce de leche ice cream and a crossaint. Sunday was the hottest day I have felt on my trip yet. It was at least 40C in Cordoba, meaning that even the shade afforded little comfort. So since most of the sites were closed, I went from tea room to tea room.
First, I ventured over to the Salon De Té, the tea room suggested in my Let's Go!, it was okay, A lot more open and a lot less opium-den like than the one I visited on Saturday, but also a lot less comfortable. I had the mint lemonade reccomended by the book and yelch! gross, except for those yogurt beverages in Granada, it was the worst drink of the trip. I left there and it was soo hot, that I couldn't make it back to my hostel before going to the other tea room I had discovered and having a pot of jasmine tea, an orange juice, and a bottle of water. I sat myself right by the fan and read about Spanish history while I sipped my tea for almost an hour.
After that I returned to my hotel, got cleaned up and headed out for dinner and to the Arab Baths. Yes, I visited a bath house, but not the kind we have in Toronto. After a delicious kebab and some hummus (I had to keep with the theme) and went over to the baths. Everyone was told to arrive ten minutes before their scheduled time, 10pm. I walked in and was handed a towel, and a bracelet with a number and told to wait while I read the directions. The men were taken in to change, though the change rooms were seperate, there wasn't exactly a ton of privacy between them so the two genders were brought in seperately.
I was then herded into the tiny women's changeroom with about 15 other women. It was a cramped sea of bathing suits and towels and flip flops. Eventually we all made it out wearing our bath suits and the bathing adventure could begin! There were three rooms, all quite dark, and all containing baths with a different temperature of water. The 'baths' ranged in size and shape. In the cold room, there were two long rectangular tiled tubs, about 3 feet by 6 feet. In the warm room, there was a large sqaure pool, probably at least 12 feet by 12 feet, maybe more. In the hot room, there were two squarish tubs, about 5 feet by 6 feet, and a door to the turkish bath (steam room). After several rotations through the cycle (warm, then hot, then cold) I was called for my massage.
There were 6 massage tables in the warm room where one by one everyone is called up for their 15 minute massage. They cover you in oil and proceed to very lightly rub your skin. It is a little strange because you are lying there in your bathsuit with the back undone in a huge room full of people, getting greased up. It is relaxing but not really as enjoyable as a real massage and mostly you are just really oily in the end. I couldn't help but laugh during my massage, because the masseuse at the table beside mine called out "Silencio por favor!" in an almost Gregorian like chant every two or three minutes to the bathers who were not keeping the level of decorum required. Much like the children at the camp to whom I made the same request, they didn't listen.
After the massage, I took another quick dip, changed and headed back to the hotel. Monday morning I woke up packed my things and made my train for Madrid. The story of my travels and visit with José will come later.
From José's living room in Navalmoral de la Mata,
Kate
Cordoba! Aug 3 and 4, 2008.
After writing that last blog to you on Saturday night, I returned to my room and my tapas turned on me. Yikes! I was lying in bed watching Star Wars in Spanish, when suddenly I didn't feel so good. Then it was one of those intense, horrible nauseas where you think you might just yak all over the room. Mercifully, I did not. I found my gravol and then called Jay. He theorized about the cause of my probable food poisoning and when it was time to go, wished me well and that I not "puke in [my] hair, because that is just awful".
Once the gravol kicked in, I was in a gravol induced coma, common on this trip. Those of you who know of my taste for gravol, know that I am a seasoned user, and that I can usually predict it's effects rather accurately. Not the case on this trip. Any time I have taken the stuff I have been in a sleep so deep, waking up feels like rising from a grave. This was what happen at 3:30pm on Sunday when I awoke and it took me a second to remind myself that I was in Spain, in a hotel. After rising from the grave, I called my grandmother to wish her a happy 80th birthday (yowza!) and set out to see what I could.
Sunday turned into Kate's Day of Arab Hedonism, save the harem. First I went for breakfast, which was really a late lunch at Catre D'Or, dulce de leche ice cream and a crossaint. Sunday was the hottest day I have felt on my trip yet. It was at least 40C in Cordoba, meaning that even the shade afforded little comfort. So since most of the sites were closed, I went from tea room to tea room.
First, I ventured over to the Salon De Té, the tea room suggested in my Let's Go!, it was okay, A lot more open and a lot less opium-den like than the one I visited on Saturday, but also a lot less comfortable. I had the mint lemonade reccomended by the book and yelch! gross, except for those yogurt beverages in Granada, it was the worst drink of the trip. I left there and it was soo hot, that I couldn't make it back to my hostel before going to the other tea room I had discovered and having a pot of jasmine tea, an orange juice, and a bottle of water. I sat myself right by the fan and read about Spanish history while I sipped my tea for almost an hour.
After that I returned to my hotel, got cleaned up and headed out for dinner and to the Arab Baths. Yes, I visited a bath house, but not the kind we have in Toronto. After a delicious kebab and some hummus (I had to keep with the theme) and went over to the baths. Everyone was told to arrive ten minutes before their scheduled time, 10pm. I walked in and was handed a towel, and a bracelet with a number and told to wait while I read the directions. The men were taken in to change, though the change rooms were seperate, there wasn't exactly a ton of privacy between them so the two genders were brought in seperately.
I was then herded into the tiny women's changeroom with about 15 other women. It was a cramped sea of bathing suits and towels and flip flops. Eventually we all made it out wearing our bath suits and the bathing adventure could begin! There were three rooms, all quite dark, and all containing baths with a different temperature of water. The 'baths' ranged in size and shape. In the cold room, there were two long rectangular tiled tubs, about 3 feet by 6 feet. In the warm room, there was a large sqaure pool, probably at least 12 feet by 12 feet, maybe more. In the hot room, there were two squarish tubs, about 5 feet by 6 feet, and a door to the turkish bath (steam room). After several rotations through the cycle (warm, then hot, then cold) I was called for my massage.
There were 6 massage tables in the warm room where one by one everyone is called up for their 15 minute massage. They cover you in oil and proceed to very lightly rub your skin. It is a little strange because you are lying there in your bathsuit with the back undone in a huge room full of people, getting greased up. It is relaxing but not really as enjoyable as a real massage and mostly you are just really oily in the end. I couldn't help but laugh during my massage, because the masseuse at the table beside mine called out "Silencio por favor!" in an almost Gregorian like chant every two or three minutes to the bathers who were not keeping the level of decorum required. Much like the children at the camp to whom I made the same request, they didn't listen.
After the massage, I took another quick dip, changed and headed back to the hotel. Monday morning I woke up packed my things and made my train for Madrid. The story of my travels and visit with José will come later.
From José's living room in Navalmoral de la Mata,
Kate
Saturday, August 2, 2008
Dog and Pony Shows
July 30 - August 2, 2008
Seville, or Sevilla as the Spanish say, is where I spent 3 interesting days. As I mentioned before, my hostel was the most beautiful one of the trip with interior courtyards awash with plants. My first day there I saw the art museum in the afternoon and then had dinner and wandered around a little bit.
The next day, Thursday, I was planning on getting up early to go to the flea market then go to the Cathedral and then shop. I slept in, and instead, skipped the flea market (who needs fleas anyhow?) had a coffee and went straight to the Cathedral. Oddly enough, after lunch I was so tired, that I went back to my hostel, and slept some more. I got up, walked around for a while before I had dinner, (I didn't think it was right to eat, sleep and then eat again right away) and then I returned to Fres.Co the basically giant salad bar buffet I had eaten at the night before. (€9.95 for all your courses and as much gazpacho as you want?!!? Can I buy a franchise?) After the salad feast I used the internet until the desk guy told me it was time to go to bed (I was writing the last blog entry) and then I talked to my folks.
Friday morning I slept in again and this time just went straight to lunch. After lunch, determined not to be a sloth, I went directly to the Alcazar (okay I shopped a little) and did the full audioguide tour. The Alcazar is Islamic converted to Catholic palace in Cordoba (they pretty much have one in all the major cities of Andalucia). After the Alcazar I had some water and went to visit an old hospital for for old, decreped, poor, ill priests. It wasn't so much a hospital as an old folks' home. It was very beautiful though, and contained an impressive interior courtyard and church with more reliquaries than you can shake someone's tibia at. After that I took myself on the walking tour described in my Let's Go! (my travel bible) which included a bar that had the best tinto de verano (Sangria's less boozy cousin, the wine sprtizer) I have had yet, as the book promised and found Calle Susona. The full story on Calle Susona is in the captions of the pictures of it, found on facebook, or by following the links in the Pictures entry from yesterday.
After the walking tour, I went searching for Lactose, as I have been told it is very cheap here and since Jason and Sumantra are both partial to it, it seemed like a worthy quest. Unfortunately, someone's directions were incorrect and I did not find it, and now, there is no Lactose in Cordoba.
I was supposed to go to the Arab bath in Seville this morning before catching my bus to Cordoba. I did not. I was up late talking to Jay and I had to pack up all my stuff and I just flaked out.
Instead of taking the 2 hour bus to Cordoba, I took th 45 minute train ride, which would have been about the same price, had I not accidentally purchased two tickets. I was too embarassed to correct the mistake, and instead, enjoyed the space my extra seat afforded me.
I got to Cordoba and had the rudest cab driver I think I have ever encountered. First he was convinced I scratched his car with my backpack ( I did not) then when I was digging through my wallet, looking for a tip, he yelled at me to get out of the cab quicker because I was holding up traffic. Maybe if he hadn't stopped the car in the middle of the street, and pulled off to the side like a real driver, the traffic would not have been a problem. Unfortunately my Spanish is not good enough for me to have told him where he could have put the tip.
Cordoba is wonderful, it is much smaller than Seville and has a mosque turned cathedral that can accomodate something like 20,000. I toured it today and couldn´t believe how intricate and beautiful it was. While wandering around the souvenir shops afterwards, I was harassed by gypsies for money. I was actually surprised that I have been in Spain for 61/2 weeks and this was the first gypsie harrassment I have encountered.
After excaping creepy old ladies, I made another appointment to go to Arab bath's here, which I had to pay for in advance, so it looks like I am going. Then I got cleaned up, had dinner and went to the Andalucian horse show!
The horsemanship and dressage was spectactular. The combination of flamenco and dressage was odd. The flamenco itself was bad. Just plain bad. I walked back up here and now here I am typing this to you.
It is time for bed, more Cordoba tomorrow, then José on Monday and Inés on Tuesday and home Wednesday.
Later Alligators,
Kate
Seville, or Sevilla as the Spanish say, is where I spent 3 interesting days. As I mentioned before, my hostel was the most beautiful one of the trip with interior courtyards awash with plants. My first day there I saw the art museum in the afternoon and then had dinner and wandered around a little bit.
The next day, Thursday, I was planning on getting up early to go to the flea market then go to the Cathedral and then shop. I slept in, and instead, skipped the flea market (who needs fleas anyhow?) had a coffee and went straight to the Cathedral. Oddly enough, after lunch I was so tired, that I went back to my hostel, and slept some more. I got up, walked around for a while before I had dinner, (I didn't think it was right to eat, sleep and then eat again right away) and then I returned to Fres.Co the basically giant salad bar buffet I had eaten at the night before. (€9.95 for all your courses and as much gazpacho as you want?!!? Can I buy a franchise?) After the salad feast I used the internet until the desk guy told me it was time to go to bed (I was writing the last blog entry) and then I talked to my folks.
Friday morning I slept in again and this time just went straight to lunch. After lunch, determined not to be a sloth, I went directly to the Alcazar (okay I shopped a little) and did the full audioguide tour. The Alcazar is Islamic converted to Catholic palace in Cordoba (they pretty much have one in all the major cities of Andalucia). After the Alcazar I had some water and went to visit an old hospital for for old, decreped, poor, ill priests. It wasn't so much a hospital as an old folks' home. It was very beautiful though, and contained an impressive interior courtyard and church with more reliquaries than you can shake someone's tibia at. After that I took myself on the walking tour described in my Let's Go! (my travel bible) which included a bar that had the best tinto de verano (Sangria's less boozy cousin, the wine sprtizer) I have had yet, as the book promised and found Calle Susona. The full story on Calle Susona is in the captions of the pictures of it, found on facebook, or by following the links in the Pictures entry from yesterday.
After the walking tour, I went searching for Lactose, as I have been told it is very cheap here and since Jason and Sumantra are both partial to it, it seemed like a worthy quest. Unfortunately, someone's directions were incorrect and I did not find it, and now, there is no Lactose in Cordoba.
I was supposed to go to the Arab bath in Seville this morning before catching my bus to Cordoba. I did not. I was up late talking to Jay and I had to pack up all my stuff and I just flaked out.
Instead of taking the 2 hour bus to Cordoba, I took th 45 minute train ride, which would have been about the same price, had I not accidentally purchased two tickets. I was too embarassed to correct the mistake, and instead, enjoyed the space my extra seat afforded me.
I got to Cordoba and had the rudest cab driver I think I have ever encountered. First he was convinced I scratched his car with my backpack ( I did not) then when I was digging through my wallet, looking for a tip, he yelled at me to get out of the cab quicker because I was holding up traffic. Maybe if he hadn't stopped the car in the middle of the street, and pulled off to the side like a real driver, the traffic would not have been a problem. Unfortunately my Spanish is not good enough for me to have told him where he could have put the tip.
Cordoba is wonderful, it is much smaller than Seville and has a mosque turned cathedral that can accomodate something like 20,000. I toured it today and couldn´t believe how intricate and beautiful it was. While wandering around the souvenir shops afterwards, I was harassed by gypsies for money. I was actually surprised that I have been in Spain for 61/2 weeks and this was the first gypsie harrassment I have encountered.
After excaping creepy old ladies, I made another appointment to go to Arab bath's here, which I had to pay for in advance, so it looks like I am going. Then I got cleaned up, had dinner and went to the Andalucian horse show!
The horsemanship and dressage was spectactular. The combination of flamenco and dressage was odd. The flamenco itself was bad. Just plain bad. I walked back up here and now here I am typing this to you.
It is time for bed, more Cordoba tomorrow, then José on Monday and Inés on Tuesday and home Wednesday.
Later Alligators,
Kate
Friday, August 1, 2008
Pictures!
I am too lazy to write about Seville yet, but on facebook I have posted oodles of photos.
They are from Madrid, Cuenca, Ronda, Arcos De la Fronterra, and Seville. Sadly, the photos of Valencia and the camp were lost. Each album holds 60 photos, so there are 3 albums, and thus three different links below, all of which will link you to a different album.
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=123547&l=5c871&id=827495345
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=124833&l=6dfda&id=827495345
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=137499&l=bd020&id=827495345
hasta luego
kate
They are from Madrid, Cuenca, Ronda, Arcos De la Fronterra, and Seville. Sadly, the photos of Valencia and the camp were lost. Each album holds 60 photos, so there are 3 albums, and thus three different links below, all of which will link you to a different album.
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=123547&l=5c871&id=827495345
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=124833&l=6dfda&id=827495345
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=137499&l=bd020&id=827495345
hasta luego
kate
Thursday, July 31, 2008
Help me Ronda
It is quite hot here, so the beach boys seemed appropriate.
The afternoon of July 28, 2008.
I got to my bus with all my things intact and headed out for Ronda, mercifully, my bus mates relieved themselves prior to the trip or held it until I fell asleep.
I got to Ronda about 7pm and got to my hotel without problem. It was a lovely little spot with my own bathroom (except for staying with friends, I now will only have my own washroom for the rest of the trip, how decadent!) and a honking AC in the room. I spent a little while on the hotel computer which was painfully slow and then wandered out to shop and eat. Ronda has a main pedestrian shopping street that is about 2 km long. I did a lap of it, noting in my head the camera store, to replace my beloved and the prices for the 'menú del día' s along the way. (Fixed price 3 course meals with a drink, the best deals.) I had dinner at a nice place and even though they didn't have natilla (vanilla-custard pudding with a digestive cookie on top) on the menu, when I ordered flan for dessert, they sadly informed me they had natilla instead, I was thrilled.
After dinner I wandered around looking for an internet café with a quicker connection than in my hotel and found one in a teeny little bar close to the gorge. I had an excellent msn conversation with sumantra and researched my stolen camera and replacements.
July 29, 2008.
The next day I got up, stored my stuff at the bus station (the shop stored it for me because apparently their lockers are not the best) and went shopping. Well not at first, first I called the insurance company to make damn sure they were going to reimburse me for the stolen camera before I bought a new one. Then I bought my new best friend, at least while I am here alone that is. I got a new canon IXUS camera in a fun shade of reddy-brown. Jay asked if there was shoes to go with it, I told him to shut up. It is the same model as the one I had, just the newer version, and much smaller, which actually makes it easier to keep track of. I later found out I got a bit ripped off pricewize, compared to Canada that is, but seeing as how now is the time I need a camera, I will get over it.
I had lunch at a restaurant built into the side of Ronda's famous gorge and took a stroll. I made it for my bus and was off on a nauseating, but beautiful trip to Arcos de la Fronterra, a pueblo blanco built perilously on the top of a mass of earth jutting straight up from the ground. It is not a mountain, nor a peninsula, just this huge piece of earth carved out by a river, that somehow has a town built on top of it.
After realizing that the reservation I asked my Spanish friend Lidia to make for me was non-existent, I booked myself a room at the Hotel La Fonda. Again, the room was great, AC and my own bathroom, and as I related to Jay, the highest ceilings I have ever seen in a bedroom anywhere. Want to know what he said? "Makes it tougher for the guests to hang themselves" Sick. I decided to ignore this comment and instead focussed on the beauty of the place.
I made my way up the steep winding streets to the various places of interest Arcos has, all of them closed for visitors. Most interesting are the two huge churches perched up there, which for years battled for supremacy, St. Mary of the Assumption and The Church of Saint Peter. The feud between the two grew so great that at St. Peter's they stopped saying the word 'Mary' in their prayers, and replaced it with 'God' or something else to try to make it fit. Those wacky catholics.
I had dinner and retired to my room to watch several hours of American crime shows dubbed over in Spanish. It was sadly pretty easy to follow even when I couldn't understand the dialogue, I think the 'subtleties' are even less subtle when you miss what is being said, because in every show within 5 minutes in I was sure of who committed the murder.
June 30, 2008.
Today is entitled 'looking for the bus station'. After asking the hotel desk to call me a cab to the bus station, they said, nonsense, you can just walk there, it is just down the street and then make a right and then...... 5 minutes, maybe 10. They even offered to store my luggage for the 4 hours until my bus. I thought, 'Super! I will walk their now, check the schedule, buy my ticket and have loads of time for a nice lunch and to find the internet café!' Not so much. After wandering for 2 hours and asking as many people as I thought necessary without looking like an idiot I found the station.
When I got there it was just after two and so the ticket terminal was closed and all there was posted was a sign of when the buses headed to Seville. This is how the times were written:
Arcos-Seville
Salida Salida Salida
07,00 07,00 07,00
15,00 15,30 16,00
Clear no? Do they have buses at each of these times? Are the departing (Salida) buses the ones on top, on the bottom or both, what do the columns mean? I called the numbers listed below and spoke to a woman who first told me the bus was at 5pm. I said, the sign says 4pm, she checked and said oh, 3pm. I tried to ask if there was another bus at 3:30 or 4, as it was now after 2 and I still needed to eat. She repeated 3pm. I took a cab from the bus station to the hotel, had him wait while I got my stuff and then drive me back down to the bus station, where I had lunch in the cafeteria. It was one of the better gazpachos of the trip.
Two hours later and I was in Seville! I am at the most beautiful hostel yet of the trip and I am having a wonderful time, save the fact that it is time to come home. I am trying to keep busy and keep enjoying this time I worked hard for at the camp, but I am ready to be back with friends, family and Jay, especially since I will be moving so far away in September.
It is dinner time once again, so I will bid you adios, and regale you with stories of Sevilla tomorrow,
Kate
The afternoon of July 28, 2008.
I got to my bus with all my things intact and headed out for Ronda, mercifully, my bus mates relieved themselves prior to the trip or held it until I fell asleep.
I got to Ronda about 7pm and got to my hotel without problem. It was a lovely little spot with my own bathroom (except for staying with friends, I now will only have my own washroom for the rest of the trip, how decadent!) and a honking AC in the room. I spent a little while on the hotel computer which was painfully slow and then wandered out to shop and eat. Ronda has a main pedestrian shopping street that is about 2 km long. I did a lap of it, noting in my head the camera store, to replace my beloved and the prices for the 'menú del día' s along the way. (Fixed price 3 course meals with a drink, the best deals.) I had dinner at a nice place and even though they didn't have natilla (vanilla-custard pudding with a digestive cookie on top) on the menu, when I ordered flan for dessert, they sadly informed me they had natilla instead, I was thrilled.
After dinner I wandered around looking for an internet café with a quicker connection than in my hotel and found one in a teeny little bar close to the gorge. I had an excellent msn conversation with sumantra and researched my stolen camera and replacements.
July 29, 2008.
The next day I got up, stored my stuff at the bus station (the shop stored it for me because apparently their lockers are not the best) and went shopping. Well not at first, first I called the insurance company to make damn sure they were going to reimburse me for the stolen camera before I bought a new one. Then I bought my new best friend, at least while I am here alone that is. I got a new canon IXUS camera in a fun shade of reddy-brown. Jay asked if there was shoes to go with it, I told him to shut up. It is the same model as the one I had, just the newer version, and much smaller, which actually makes it easier to keep track of. I later found out I got a bit ripped off pricewize, compared to Canada that is, but seeing as how now is the time I need a camera, I will get over it.
I had lunch at a restaurant built into the side of Ronda's famous gorge and took a stroll. I made it for my bus and was off on a nauseating, but beautiful trip to Arcos de la Fronterra, a pueblo blanco built perilously on the top of a mass of earth jutting straight up from the ground. It is not a mountain, nor a peninsula, just this huge piece of earth carved out by a river, that somehow has a town built on top of it.
After realizing that the reservation I asked my Spanish friend Lidia to make for me was non-existent, I booked myself a room at the Hotel La Fonda. Again, the room was great, AC and my own bathroom, and as I related to Jay, the highest ceilings I have ever seen in a bedroom anywhere. Want to know what he said? "Makes it tougher for the guests to hang themselves" Sick. I decided to ignore this comment and instead focussed on the beauty of the place.
I made my way up the steep winding streets to the various places of interest Arcos has, all of them closed for visitors. Most interesting are the two huge churches perched up there, which for years battled for supremacy, St. Mary of the Assumption and The Church of Saint Peter. The feud between the two grew so great that at St. Peter's they stopped saying the word 'Mary' in their prayers, and replaced it with 'God' or something else to try to make it fit. Those wacky catholics.
I had dinner and retired to my room to watch several hours of American crime shows dubbed over in Spanish. It was sadly pretty easy to follow even when I couldn't understand the dialogue, I think the 'subtleties' are even less subtle when you miss what is being said, because in every show within 5 minutes in I was sure of who committed the murder.
June 30, 2008.
Today is entitled 'looking for the bus station'. After asking the hotel desk to call me a cab to the bus station, they said, nonsense, you can just walk there, it is just down the street and then make a right and then...... 5 minutes, maybe 10. They even offered to store my luggage for the 4 hours until my bus. I thought, 'Super! I will walk their now, check the schedule, buy my ticket and have loads of time for a nice lunch and to find the internet café!' Not so much. After wandering for 2 hours and asking as many people as I thought necessary without looking like an idiot I found the station.
When I got there it was just after two and so the ticket terminal was closed and all there was posted was a sign of when the buses headed to Seville. This is how the times were written:
Arcos-Seville
Salida Salida Salida
07,00 07,00 07,00
15,00 15,30 16,00
Clear no? Do they have buses at each of these times? Are the departing (Salida) buses the ones on top, on the bottom or both, what do the columns mean? I called the numbers listed below and spoke to a woman who first told me the bus was at 5pm. I said, the sign says 4pm, she checked and said oh, 3pm. I tried to ask if there was another bus at 3:30 or 4, as it was now after 2 and I still needed to eat. She repeated 3pm. I took a cab from the bus station to the hotel, had him wait while I got my stuff and then drive me back down to the bus station, where I had lunch in the cafeteria. It was one of the better gazpachos of the trip.
Two hours later and I was in Seville! I am at the most beautiful hostel yet of the trip and I am having a wonderful time, save the fact that it is time to come home. I am trying to keep busy and keep enjoying this time I worked hard for at the camp, but I am ready to be back with friends, family and Jay, especially since I will be moving so far away in September.
It is dinner time once again, so I will bid you adios, and regale you with stories of Sevilla tomorrow,
Kate
...Authors, Olives Continued
Let us continue our story...
... After hanging up the phone with Katrina, I set out to see the Albaicín, the Arab quarter of Granada. Sadly, after the grandeur of the Alhambra, the Albaicín was little more than an tangled web of streets to get lost it. Attractive, but not really containing anything overly thrilling. After wandering around confused for over an hour, I decided it was time to get out of this strange place and have a drink.
I managed to work my way down to the base of the penninsula below the Alhambra to a gorgeous string of cafés, all with patios shaded by canvas and vines overhead. I ordered myself a sangria and set out to begin the 'Tales of the Alhambra' by the American writer Washington Irving. This was about the time things started to spiral downward. I have elected to blame Irving for getting me into this mess, and laud the Canadian author Stuart McLean for getting me out of it.
A little bit of backstory. At the turn of the last century, Washington Irving was one the few people inhabiting the Alhambra, living in the Nasrid Palaces. The place had fallen into disrepair and was available to live in for various locals and wandering 'diplomats', like Irving. He wrote a series of fictional tales which took place in the Alhambra, fleecing in a little bit of accurate history as he went. While I was swept up in the glamour and intrigue of the place on my visit, my trusty audioguide whispered in my ear his words describing the place and his experiences living there. At the end of my tour, having finished all my other books and yearning for some further literary excitement, I purchased a copy of his book on sale there.
So, now a few hours later, I was there at the café, enjoying my sangria and deciding it was time to be swept away once again. This was the last time I saw my camera. Remember the numerous photos I described taking? Gone. I don't know if I left it at that café, or if while reading Irving it was snatched from my bag, or if, after reading, while I gleefully wandered back to my hostel and shopped, it was snatched then. Remember the bulky, heavy present I bought for my father? Add to that Irving's book, a guide of the Alhambra (which thank goodness I purchased or I would have no photos) and other items I picked up while shopping and I was carrying a heck of a lot of heavy stuff. For this reason, I didn't even notice the camera missing until I was back at my hostel, searching through my bag.
When I realized it was gone, I freaked out. I went into that state of panic one is in where they aren't really sure if something important is gone, and they are hoping it has all just been a silly mistake. After taking a full account of everything in that 7x8 room, I hopped in a cab and went back up to the café where the mess began. Damn you Irving! The waiter claimed to have bussed the table and seen no sight of it. I went to every store I had purchased something from, same story. While in the last store, the woman told me there were many thefts in the plaza (square), hearing that and having checked every reasonable place, I was pretty damned upset.
I walked back in the same steps I took an hour previously, when I was so overcome with joy, now overcome with my own idiocy. I got back to my hostel and I cried. It wasn't really necessary, it was just a camera. My passport and wallet were still fully intact, along with my health and well being. It was just one of those moments when you are alone in a place far from home and something goes wrong. You can't really do the normal things to deal with it, and you don't know anyone near you who can help. I checked my insurance policy and discovered, thank goodness, it was covered and then I called my brother. He was supportive.
This is where Stuart McLean comes in. On this trip, I brought with me his most recent book of short stories, the copy I purchased for my grandfather last summer. His stories are funny, touching and most importantly so Canadian, and so Toronto. Any time on this trip I have been having a shitty day, or been feeling lonely or homesick, I have pulled out the Vinyl Café, and suddenly I am at home with friends and laughing. So after reading a few stories, I was back on my feet and headed off to an internet café where I spoke to my mom on Skype. Another supportive, helpful voice.
It was 1am by the time I finished and I still had not yet had dinner. Unfortunately, everything was closed so I went to a convenice store and bought a loaf of bread, a package of chorizo (salami) and some yogurt drinks (both of which tasted like medicines I remember from my childhood). I ate my dinner in my tiny room, and tried to wrap up the remaining chorizo as well as I could, to prevent all of my things from smelling like sausage in the morning.
The next morning I was off, my things we packed and I was in cab destined for the bus station, to store my luggage, while I took care of official business. At first things were proceeding all right, I bought my ticket for Ronda, and found the lockers. I did what everyone does, found some empty lockers and put my stuff in. When it came time to put in the money however, I discovered that there was a machine I had to buy a token from to put into the locker, and of course I had no change. I ran to the pharmacy 5 feet away and tried to buy a pack of gum with a twenty, no dice. The woman told me to try to station cafeteria. Unfortunately, it was 50 feet away from the pharmacy, and thus 55 feet away from the unlocked lockers that currently held all my belongings save the items that never leave my person (passport, wallet, travelguide). I ran to the cafeteria to try to order a coke para llevar and did a dance similar to the one people do when they have to pee but are trapped somewhere. It took FOREVER, and all the while all I could think was, maybe someone is now stealing the rest of my stuff, did I get a close enough look at the various people loitering around the lockers, were they really waiting for a bus? After assuming everything I owned had been stolen, I finally got my coke and ran like a crazy person back to my lockers. Here is the stupid part, instead of checking to make sure my things were inside, I just slipped in the token and locked it... At this point I began to wonder if they were, but I decided the peace of mind was not worth another 3 euros and headed off to the police station.
I walked to the station practicing the sentence in Spanish over and over to that I needed to say to the police officers. ¨Yesterday I lost my camera, I am not sure if I lost it, or if I was stolen, but I need a document for my insurance.¨ Luckily after repeating this phrase to 3 different people I was ushered into an office, ready to make my first police statement ever, in any language. The officers wer really nice. They told me there were a lot of Canadians in Granada, and it was one of my less confusing Spanish conversations actually. After getting what I needed I hopped in a cab to buy some travel necessities (new pants so I would no longer only have spandex to wear) and made it back in time to catch the bus for Ronda. And yes, when I opened the locker, my things were all inside, intact and unharmed.
Later I will recount the tales of Ronda and Arcos De La Fronterra, neither of which had as much excitement as Granada (thank goodness). Today I am in Seville for my 2nd of 4 days and it is time to see the cathedral.
Hasta luego (until later)
Kate
... After hanging up the phone with Katrina, I set out to see the Albaicín, the Arab quarter of Granada. Sadly, after the grandeur of the Alhambra, the Albaicín was little more than an tangled web of streets to get lost it. Attractive, but not really containing anything overly thrilling. After wandering around confused for over an hour, I decided it was time to get out of this strange place and have a drink.
I managed to work my way down to the base of the penninsula below the Alhambra to a gorgeous string of cafés, all with patios shaded by canvas and vines overhead. I ordered myself a sangria and set out to begin the 'Tales of the Alhambra' by the American writer Washington Irving. This was about the time things started to spiral downward. I have elected to blame Irving for getting me into this mess, and laud the Canadian author Stuart McLean for getting me out of it.
A little bit of backstory. At the turn of the last century, Washington Irving was one the few people inhabiting the Alhambra, living in the Nasrid Palaces. The place had fallen into disrepair and was available to live in for various locals and wandering 'diplomats', like Irving. He wrote a series of fictional tales which took place in the Alhambra, fleecing in a little bit of accurate history as he went. While I was swept up in the glamour and intrigue of the place on my visit, my trusty audioguide whispered in my ear his words describing the place and his experiences living there. At the end of my tour, having finished all my other books and yearning for some further literary excitement, I purchased a copy of his book on sale there.
So, now a few hours later, I was there at the café, enjoying my sangria and deciding it was time to be swept away once again. This was the last time I saw my camera. Remember the numerous photos I described taking? Gone. I don't know if I left it at that café, or if while reading Irving it was snatched from my bag, or if, after reading, while I gleefully wandered back to my hostel and shopped, it was snatched then. Remember the bulky, heavy present I bought for my father? Add to that Irving's book, a guide of the Alhambra (which thank goodness I purchased or I would have no photos) and other items I picked up while shopping and I was carrying a heck of a lot of heavy stuff. For this reason, I didn't even notice the camera missing until I was back at my hostel, searching through my bag.
When I realized it was gone, I freaked out. I went into that state of panic one is in where they aren't really sure if something important is gone, and they are hoping it has all just been a silly mistake. After taking a full account of everything in that 7x8 room, I hopped in a cab and went back up to the café where the mess began. Damn you Irving! The waiter claimed to have bussed the table and seen no sight of it. I went to every store I had purchased something from, same story. While in the last store, the woman told me there were many thefts in the plaza (square), hearing that and having checked every reasonable place, I was pretty damned upset.
I walked back in the same steps I took an hour previously, when I was so overcome with joy, now overcome with my own idiocy. I got back to my hostel and I cried. It wasn't really necessary, it was just a camera. My passport and wallet were still fully intact, along with my health and well being. It was just one of those moments when you are alone in a place far from home and something goes wrong. You can't really do the normal things to deal with it, and you don't know anyone near you who can help. I checked my insurance policy and discovered, thank goodness, it was covered and then I called my brother. He was supportive.
This is where Stuart McLean comes in. On this trip, I brought with me his most recent book of short stories, the copy I purchased for my grandfather last summer. His stories are funny, touching and most importantly so Canadian, and so Toronto. Any time on this trip I have been having a shitty day, or been feeling lonely or homesick, I have pulled out the Vinyl Café, and suddenly I am at home with friends and laughing. So after reading a few stories, I was back on my feet and headed off to an internet café where I spoke to my mom on Skype. Another supportive, helpful voice.
It was 1am by the time I finished and I still had not yet had dinner. Unfortunately, everything was closed so I went to a convenice store and bought a loaf of bread, a package of chorizo (salami) and some yogurt drinks (both of which tasted like medicines I remember from my childhood). I ate my dinner in my tiny room, and tried to wrap up the remaining chorizo as well as I could, to prevent all of my things from smelling like sausage in the morning.
The next morning I was off, my things we packed and I was in cab destined for the bus station, to store my luggage, while I took care of official business. At first things were proceeding all right, I bought my ticket for Ronda, and found the lockers. I did what everyone does, found some empty lockers and put my stuff in. When it came time to put in the money however, I discovered that there was a machine I had to buy a token from to put into the locker, and of course I had no change. I ran to the pharmacy 5 feet away and tried to buy a pack of gum with a twenty, no dice. The woman told me to try to station cafeteria. Unfortunately, it was 50 feet away from the pharmacy, and thus 55 feet away from the unlocked lockers that currently held all my belongings save the items that never leave my person (passport, wallet, travelguide). I ran to the cafeteria to try to order a coke para llevar and did a dance similar to the one people do when they have to pee but are trapped somewhere. It took FOREVER, and all the while all I could think was, maybe someone is now stealing the rest of my stuff, did I get a close enough look at the various people loitering around the lockers, were they really waiting for a bus? After assuming everything I owned had been stolen, I finally got my coke and ran like a crazy person back to my lockers. Here is the stupid part, instead of checking to make sure my things were inside, I just slipped in the token and locked it... At this point I began to wonder if they were, but I decided the peace of mind was not worth another 3 euros and headed off to the police station.
I walked to the station practicing the sentence in Spanish over and over to that I needed to say to the police officers. ¨Yesterday I lost my camera, I am not sure if I lost it, or if I was stolen, but I need a document for my insurance.¨ Luckily after repeating this phrase to 3 different people I was ushered into an office, ready to make my first police statement ever, in any language. The officers wer really nice. They told me there were a lot of Canadians in Granada, and it was one of my less confusing Spanish conversations actually. After getting what I needed I hopped in a cab to buy some travel necessities (new pants so I would no longer only have spandex to wear) and made it back in time to catch the bus for Ronda. And yes, when I opened the locker, my things were all inside, intact and unharmed.
Later I will recount the tales of Ronda and Arcos De La Fronterra, neither of which had as much excitement as Granada (thank goodness). Today I am in Seville for my 2nd of 4 days and it is time to see the cathedral.
Hasta luego (until later)
Kate
Monday, July 28, 2008
Authors, Olives, Love and Loss in Granada
The blog isn't called Adventures in España for nothing. Buckle your seatbelt for the long and bumpy ride that was Granada...
...It all began Saturday, July 26, 2008. The date of the last post.
After writing that last quick note, I scampered down to the bus, destined for childless days in the warm sun of Granada. Everything was going fine, until 5 minutes into the bus ride, someone elected to take themselves to the washroom to have the biggest poop of their life. Who gets on a bus and immidiately goes to poop? Now, please don't think I am some kind of fecophiliac, the reason I know this was such doozie was because I was dying in my seat from the smell. Was my seat near the toilet? No! It was so bad I had to hide my face in my shirt for the better part of twenty minutes until the stench evaporated. Spanish people are very fond of public transport, but they are also a people fond of cured pork products, and I really think the two do not mix well.
After surviving the stink, I made it to my hostal with ease and entered into my first private room in a month! HOORAY! The room I had at camp was shared with all the female monitors, and as you may have guessed from previous entries, it was not always a happy, or hygenic place. When I arrived at the hostal, David, the desk guy, gave me a full tour of the city via a small map he provided me and sent me on my way. The room was small, (7 feet x 8 feet) but ALL MINE and it had a nice big fan in it. Before my afternoon nap, I headed out for lunch.
First gazpacho in Andalucia! Andalucia is the southernmost province of Spain, and the reason for my return here. It holds so many famous cities which are rife with history of the Moorish empire and the reconquisiton of the Catholics, agriculture (where most of the olives and much of the citrus comes from) and culture in general (the home of flamenco, and unfortunately bullfighting). These cities include, Granada, Seville, Cordoba, Malaga and Marbella. And, since it is so hot down here (check out a map to see how close it is to north Africa), it is the loins from whence arose the cold tomato soup that holds a special place in my heart - GAZPACHO!
To go along with my gazpacho, the waiter brought me the largest olives I have ever seen in my life. They were like the size of a ping pong ball but olive shaped, and the pits were the size of a regular olive. They were easily the best olives I have ever had in my life. I think there was 8 in the bowl, and by the time he brought me the gazpacho (the first course) at least 5 of them were gone. I was too embarassed to accept the request for more when he made it, as to him, these were likely just run of the mill olives, and not something to get excited about. This man just thought I really liked olives. And I do, but in this case, there was more to it.
After lunch, I returned to the hostal and fell asleep for the better part of five hours. I woke up with a throbbing headache, for which I could not figure out the pathology. It felt like one of those headaches you get when you sleep too much, but with only 3 hours sleep the night before and maybe 2 hours on the bus, which was scattered, I hadn't slept nearly enough for that. The room was not too hot, so it wasn't a hot room headache, and it wasn't a not enough sleep headache either.... my mother thinks it was from dehydration, she was probably right.
I got up and wandered the city for a while, figuring out my routes for Sunday to the Alhambra and buying my ticket. I returned to the hostel and went back to bed. A nice sleep and a good start for my big day.
Sunday, July 27, 2009.
I know what you are thinking "A poopy smelling bus and olives? What kind of adventure is this?!!" Just relax. I packed enough in between Sunday morning and Monday afternoon to last me the trip as far as excitement goes. Keep reading.
The Alhambra is the jewel of Granada, for the most part it is why people go to Granada and it is well worth it. If you are reading this right now, I urge you to stop what you are doing and think about how you can plan a trip for yourself to Granada because it is that stunning. It is a military fortress with palaces, summer homes for sultan's, gardens, the remains of the town which surrounded it, all atop a penninsula in the Sierra Nevada. It was orginally built by the Moors, making its Islamic decor spectactular, and was then taken over by the Catholics in 1492 when they reconquered Spain. When you by a ticket it is good for half the day and you are assigned a specific time to visit the Nasrid Palaces, the most ornate and incredible part of the entire facility.
I bought a morning ticket. It was a gamble, I am not particulairly good at getting up in the morning, but I thought if I had a ticket I would have to get up and would then get a full day of sightseeing in.
For the most part the plan worked, I got up more or less on time. I took a little bit longer than expected getting ready and headed out in the correct direction. Unfortunately, once I got to the square where one catches the bus up to the Alhambra, I assumed that since all the buses said "Alhambra Bus" on the side, they all went there. This may not have been the case. I got on a bus and off we went, unfortunately not in the direction of the Alhambra, but instead up to the Arabic quarter of the city, when we returned to the square, I got off that bus and got on another, however now I believe that bus was actually now going to the Alhambra and I paid two fares for nothing. I got to the Alhambra at 11 or so, and didn't have to be in line to see the Nasrid palaces until 1. The ticket people were so impressed with my timing and told me I could relax and stroll while they chastized those who were arriving only ten minutes before they had to be in the palace, those fools! I thought I needed to arrive at the Alhambra at 10, so when I showed up an hour later than my planned time and was lauded, I was indeed happy.
In my strolling I entered a gift shop where they were hand making wooden and bone items that were quite spectactular. I wanted to buy one of these items for my father, however, it was kind of large and I still had a lot of sightseeing to go. Unfortunately, it being a Sunday, the shop was closing at 1 (my palace time) and not reopening in the afternoon, I decided to go for in, and bought the item. (My father reads the blog and I don't want to give away the surprise, however the bulkyness of the item is essential to the story).
I saw the Charles V Palace, and the art museum inside, I saw the military parts of the Alhambra and made it in time for the Nasrid Palaces. They were stunning, I took so many photographs and simply couldn't believe it all. So much hand carving and tiling and water fountains. By the end of my tour I was elated just from the beauty of it all and I had lunch in the most beautiful ivy covered patio. Gazpacho again and a salad with smoked salmon, tomatoes, avocado, pineapple, mango, lettuce and olives. It sounds sort of gross but it was unbelievably good. I called Katrina from a pay phone and couldn't believe my luck to wind up in such a place as this...
I will finish the story tomorrow....
...It all began Saturday, July 26, 2008. The date of the last post.
After writing that last quick note, I scampered down to the bus, destined for childless days in the warm sun of Granada. Everything was going fine, until 5 minutes into the bus ride, someone elected to take themselves to the washroom to have the biggest poop of their life. Who gets on a bus and immidiately goes to poop? Now, please don't think I am some kind of fecophiliac, the reason I know this was such doozie was because I was dying in my seat from the smell. Was my seat near the toilet? No! It was so bad I had to hide my face in my shirt for the better part of twenty minutes until the stench evaporated. Spanish people are very fond of public transport, but they are also a people fond of cured pork products, and I really think the two do not mix well.
After surviving the stink, I made it to my hostal with ease and entered into my first private room in a month! HOORAY! The room I had at camp was shared with all the female monitors, and as you may have guessed from previous entries, it was not always a happy, or hygenic place. When I arrived at the hostal, David, the desk guy, gave me a full tour of the city via a small map he provided me and sent me on my way. The room was small, (7 feet x 8 feet) but ALL MINE and it had a nice big fan in it. Before my afternoon nap, I headed out for lunch.
First gazpacho in Andalucia! Andalucia is the southernmost province of Spain, and the reason for my return here. It holds so many famous cities which are rife with history of the Moorish empire and the reconquisiton of the Catholics, agriculture (where most of the olives and much of the citrus comes from) and culture in general (the home of flamenco, and unfortunately bullfighting). These cities include, Granada, Seville, Cordoba, Malaga and Marbella. And, since it is so hot down here (check out a map to see how close it is to north Africa), it is the loins from whence arose the cold tomato soup that holds a special place in my heart - GAZPACHO!
To go along with my gazpacho, the waiter brought me the largest olives I have ever seen in my life. They were like the size of a ping pong ball but olive shaped, and the pits were the size of a regular olive. They were easily the best olives I have ever had in my life. I think there was 8 in the bowl, and by the time he brought me the gazpacho (the first course) at least 5 of them were gone. I was too embarassed to accept the request for more when he made it, as to him, these were likely just run of the mill olives, and not something to get excited about. This man just thought I really liked olives. And I do, but in this case, there was more to it.
After lunch, I returned to the hostal and fell asleep for the better part of five hours. I woke up with a throbbing headache, for which I could not figure out the pathology. It felt like one of those headaches you get when you sleep too much, but with only 3 hours sleep the night before and maybe 2 hours on the bus, which was scattered, I hadn't slept nearly enough for that. The room was not too hot, so it wasn't a hot room headache, and it wasn't a not enough sleep headache either.... my mother thinks it was from dehydration, she was probably right.
I got up and wandered the city for a while, figuring out my routes for Sunday to the Alhambra and buying my ticket. I returned to the hostel and went back to bed. A nice sleep and a good start for my big day.
Sunday, July 27, 2009.
I know what you are thinking "A poopy smelling bus and olives? What kind of adventure is this?!!" Just relax. I packed enough in between Sunday morning and Monday afternoon to last me the trip as far as excitement goes. Keep reading.
The Alhambra is the jewel of Granada, for the most part it is why people go to Granada and it is well worth it. If you are reading this right now, I urge you to stop what you are doing and think about how you can plan a trip for yourself to Granada because it is that stunning. It is a military fortress with palaces, summer homes for sultan's, gardens, the remains of the town which surrounded it, all atop a penninsula in the Sierra Nevada. It was orginally built by the Moors, making its Islamic decor spectactular, and was then taken over by the Catholics in 1492 when they reconquered Spain. When you by a ticket it is good for half the day and you are assigned a specific time to visit the Nasrid Palaces, the most ornate and incredible part of the entire facility.
I bought a morning ticket. It was a gamble, I am not particulairly good at getting up in the morning, but I thought if I had a ticket I would have to get up and would then get a full day of sightseeing in.
For the most part the plan worked, I got up more or less on time. I took a little bit longer than expected getting ready and headed out in the correct direction. Unfortunately, once I got to the square where one catches the bus up to the Alhambra, I assumed that since all the buses said "Alhambra Bus" on the side, they all went there. This may not have been the case. I got on a bus and off we went, unfortunately not in the direction of the Alhambra, but instead up to the Arabic quarter of the city, when we returned to the square, I got off that bus and got on another, however now I believe that bus was actually now going to the Alhambra and I paid two fares for nothing. I got to the Alhambra at 11 or so, and didn't have to be in line to see the Nasrid palaces until 1. The ticket people were so impressed with my timing and told me I could relax and stroll while they chastized those who were arriving only ten minutes before they had to be in the palace, those fools! I thought I needed to arrive at the Alhambra at 10, so when I showed up an hour later than my planned time and was lauded, I was indeed happy.
In my strolling I entered a gift shop where they were hand making wooden and bone items that were quite spectactular. I wanted to buy one of these items for my father, however, it was kind of large and I still had a lot of sightseeing to go. Unfortunately, it being a Sunday, the shop was closing at 1 (my palace time) and not reopening in the afternoon, I decided to go for in, and bought the item. (My father reads the blog and I don't want to give away the surprise, however the bulkyness of the item is essential to the story).
I saw the Charles V Palace, and the art museum inside, I saw the military parts of the Alhambra and made it in time for the Nasrid Palaces. They were stunning, I took so many photographs and simply couldn't believe it all. So much hand carving and tiling and water fountains. By the end of my tour I was elated just from the beauty of it all and I had lunch in the most beautiful ivy covered patio. Gazpacho again and a salad with smoked salmon, tomatoes, avocado, pineapple, mango, lettuce and olives. It sounds sort of gross but it was unbelievably good. I called Katrina from a pay phone and couldn't believe my luck to wind up in such a place as this...
I will finish the story tomorrow....
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