...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