Catching up: Last day in Granada

Last day in Granada was fun, but nothing particularly unique. I wandered a bit, grabbed some churros and chocolate for breakfast, wandered around the city center for a bit (mainly around Plaza Nueva, where I

passed someone plein air painting a very pretty bridge scene), then grabbed a tapas lunch of seafood risotto and various fried fishy bits at a popular seafood spot. True to form, getting to lunch at around 1 seems to be the best bet in Spain (when the tourists are all done and the Spaniards haven’t settled in yet), as the restaurant was packed before I got there and packed when I left, but mostly empty while I was eating. After, I walked back up the Albiyazin and re-saw some fun bits from the other day. When I got up to the view of the Alhambra again, there was a gypsy playing guitar, which I totally ignored until an older and (slightly tipsy-looking) Spanish gentleman waddled over and started dancing flamenco next to him. I watched for a few minutes, then realized the clouds on the horizon looked an awful lot like thunderclouds, so I headed back. Sure enough, ten minutes after I was back inside the skies opened up, so I remained holed up with a book while waiting for it to pass.

Once it did, I took my book to a posh-looking cafe nearby, where I grabbed a table near an even posh-er looking British couple, who proceeded to get more and more posh the farther down their bottle of wine they went. Many “quite so”s, “mmyes”s and “indeed, dear”s were heard, as well as bemoaning the downfall of wine with proper cork in it. I just sat and read until it started feeling like dinner time, the went back and went to dinner with Iffa, where we ate falafel and couscous and burned the tar out of our hands while trying to pour ourselves some Moroccon mint tea. Why would you make a teapot handle out of silver, I ask. You do realize it conducts heat, yes?

Couscous and lamb

The next day, I caught a series of metro buses back to the bus station and grabbed a bocadillo and coffee while waiting for the bus to Cordoba, as well as a bottle of shampoo (mine went missing in the hostel). While I was waiting, a woman walked up and asked me something in Spanish. I didn’t understand her and said, “Perdona, solo Ingles,” to which she responded, “Oh thank god you speak English. Is this the bus to Cordoba?”

The countryside was gorgeous, though by the end of the trip I started feeling mad at olive trees, as there was almost nothing else growing the entire way. We only made one stop along the way (at a super sketchy looking stop hidden behind an auto garage in a Podunk little town), so we made really good time. Once there,

Olives en route to Cordoba

I hopped off and walked the half-mile to my hostel where I made the amusing discovery that no one there spoke English. Like, at all. I’m not one to expect others to speak my language when I’m abroad, but if you run a youth hostel, you think you’d pick up things like, “room,” “key,” and “towel.” Aside from that, it was a lovely place, and I had the entire room and bathroom to myself the two nights I was there, which I was rather pleased at.

After that I wandered the city a bit, but will cover that in its own post.