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