Granada Pronounced like Canada (but not really)

All 14 Terps plus Mary headed to the bus station in Madrid after class on Friday for out 5 hour bus ride to Granada. Apparently, between Madrid and Granada there are 5 olive tree orchards, 2 giant bull billboards, and 2 abandoned buildings among the green rolling hills. Jenna, Sarah, and I had the last row of the bus, and I slept for the entire trip. We were pleasantly surprised to discover that the last row didn’t only have personal tables, but about five feet of leg room before the next set of seats. Had I known, I would’ve bought a sleeping bag and hosted a mini camping trip. Next time…

When we arrived in Granada it took 3 or 4 Spaniards until we reached the Funky Backpackers’ Hostel. Spanish people give you directions when you ask whether they know how to get there or not. The hostel was incredible. Yenna, the small, overworked Russian lady in charge arranged our rooms so that we were all staying together, showed us where to go grab dinner, and insisted on us settling in and getting a good night’s rest before worrying about paying. Jenna and I went and handled the bill anyway and Yenna gave us maps, told us how to get to the Alhambra, and told us all the advice we needed to get around the city. We went to dinner at a restaurant that actually played Spanish music instead of Celine Dion, Katy Perry, and Pussycat Dolls.

Besides the ice cold water that followed the 30 seconds of hot water, everything was perfect.

The Alhambra was breathtaking. I sensed peace, contentment, passion, and love, but at other times I felt there were dark secrets, betrayal, and hate. So much has happened there, both recorded and not, and actually walking the same paths walked by kings hundreds of years ago was overwhelming. Pictures hardly do this palace justice.

After the Alhambra we went to lunch a hole in the wall Kebab place, recommended by Laurel’s trusty guide book, and it did not lead us astray. We explored around the city a bit and found probably 15 side streets lined with identical Indian shops selling tea, bangles, wooden rings, and various Indian garments and tapestries. If they had been fast food chains, it would’ve been like seeing cobbled roads with alternating McDonald’s and Burger Kings on either side.

Laurel, Jenna, and I followed winding residential side streets up to a place called Mirador. It’s directly across from the Alhambra, and the site was just as unbelievable and surreal as the view from the palace’s tallest tower overlooking the city. The small plaza was filled with Rastafarians/nomads/gypsies, aka my kind of people. ;) They were performing, selling jewelry, and smoking. One man put on a little comedy jaunt spinning and balancing balls while collecting items from the crowd in a knapsack. He took my pen, but it was the Help Center one so I was ok with that. He ended up giving it back later, but I hope he wrote down the number.

The area was a perfectly diverse mix of travelers. I started talking with a guy next to us named Ameer who’s from Scotland. He’s 25 and has been teaching English all over Europe ever since he graduated. Then a gypsy man came over and asked if I wanted to buy some tea he had in a thermos. I wasn’t in much a tea-mood so I said ‘no’, but changed my mind a bit later and we shared life stories and chai tea. His name is Sven and he’s from Czechoslovakia. He and some friends, all over the age of 40 I’d guess, were traveling together. He recommended a book about natural medicine to me when I told him I want to be a doctor, and then we discussed various medicinal opinions, funny traveling stories, and the tranquility of Granada. His friends were all very amicable, as well. It was lovely.

Then a homeless French man joined Sven and me. He asked me if I was in good health, physically and mentally, and I said ‘yes.’ Awkward silence. Then I said, “And you?” He replied, “Yes, I am in good health. I asked you, because I heal people with my hands, like Jesus.” Sven and I gave each other a look that said, “This is kind of funny and entertaining, but more so this is really, really weird.” I talked to him about his beliefs and then told him that I don’t agree with him, but I respect him for having his own way thinking. Then, my French homie told me that black is the color of fear and to look at all the people dressed in black. I happened to be wearing a black dress with a my black sumowrestler looking puffy coat, and told him that I’m wearing black, but I’m not afraid, but that I am afraid of clowns. He asked me what color I thought represented fear, and I said that all people are afraid and I don’t think the way one dresses portrays that, but you can see it in people’s eyes. He liked my response, and Sven, meanwhile, is nodding in agreement with me and trying not to burst out laughing. I’d say it was a profound chat of life philosophies that may have fit better in an episode of Arrested Development.

At last, the sun set and I joined Jenna and Laurel to view the palace become illuminated against the navy sky. Yet, I wouldn’t leave without another interesting encounter. Another gypsy dude started talking to me; he invited me to flamenco, I said ‘no thanks’, so he invited me to tea, I said ‘no thanks’, he told me to wait a couple minutes for him to start performing, because he was going to sing a song/poem on the guitar about Granada dedicated to me, and I said, “I’m actually on my way out.” He told me I was the most beautiful person at the plaza and he loves my blonde hair – I said, “That’s very nice, but I’m not blonde,” and we peaced.

I took my much-loved siesta after Sarah, Rosa, and I had walked around exploring and ate delicious paella at the hostel with an Australian girl, Finnish girl, and elderly man from Taiwan who kept creepily taking pictures of the Australian girl and then showing them to her as he nonchalantly told us corny jokes. That night we went out to Salsero Mayores, a salsa bar mentioned in that magical guide book. Ameer said before he left Mirador that he’d try to meet us there, and he wasn’t lying. Our kilted friend, (ok, he wasn’t actually wearing a kilt, but I have a hard time believing he hasn’t), spent the night walking to all corners of Granada with Laurel, Jenna, Sarah, and me. The night life isn’t quite what it is in Madrid. Places close at midnight instead of opening then. We ran across a British guy who told us to walk down “cobbley street, cobbley street, cobbley street” and then we would find a fun Irish pub. The Americans weren’t exactly sure what these directions meant since every street looked cobbled to us, but Ameer made perfect sense out of it and we found the pub that was not actually as hoppin’ as our cheery lad had said. Instead we ended up at another Kebab place eating falafel pitas. Ameer walked us home, bid us ado, and vowed to see us again before we leave Europe. He’s one of the coolest people I’ve ever met. It’s the kind of cool that means he could start a revolution and have a decent following of people even if his cause was really stupid.

Sunday we visited Museo de los Tiros – actually it’s a much longer name, but that’s what I remember of it. The art was very interesting and some was quite moving, I’d say. We also went inside the massive cathedral that was just as intimidating inside as it was outside. Laurel and I found a café for a quick lunch before making the trek back to Madcity. Per usual, I passed out on the bus and dreamily made it back home.

Monday, all my classes were actually fun. Even our Don Quijote class, which lasted twice as long wasn’t too bad. Jenna and I found a hidden café close to school where we go on our break, and I felt like I was at home when we walked in and Horacio, the waiter/bartender, asked us about our weekend. At night, Marta, Alberto and I chilled for awhile, and then I hung out with Emily and Kristen and then we celebrated Australian Day with the Aussies. I tried Veggiemate, and thought I liked it, but after a couple more bites, decided it was the bread that I liked, not the thick black paste that squirts out of what looks like a tube of sunscreen. Harry and I stayed up chatting for bit, and when I went to bed at 6:30a.m. I decided a day off of school didn’t sound like such a bad idea. I woke up when classes ended and made my way to Plaza de Cervantes to catch-up on everything.

I love Spain. And gypsies. But mostly I just love Spain.