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Published: January 28th 2010
If you've been worrying since the last blog as to whether I was eaten by a fox, then fear not, I fended the savage bastard off. If you weren't worried, then you're not very nice.
The morning of the 11th started badly. I woke up feeling like I had been out all night drinking (whatever that feels like, ahem) and was not in good shape at all. I was shaky, my vision was blurry and I couldn't stand up whatsoever. On top of that, I was having heart palpitations and continuous cold shivers like there was someone walking over my grave. Aleks naturally just thought I was being my usual hypochondriac self and pretended to look worried, while I decided maybe I should go to hospital. After a while of wandering around the truck stop (which, incidentally, looked like it should have been taken from the set of Texas Chainsaw Massacre) I felt a bit better, and decided that hospital would involve too much paperwork. It was very strange, but as they say all's well that end's well.
Because I was feeling like retarded seagull it was up to Aleks to drive the 240km to Granada, and she did
Snow Mountains? Again?
En Route To Granada, Spainit beautifully. As we drove along I looked out the window beside the FREE motorways (yeah, screw you tollroads), and realised that the weather in the Andalucian region in the south of Spain is very, VERY strange. One minute, it's rainy and stormy and hot, the next minute you're busting out the snow tires and salt. At one stage on the drive I was looking to my left and seeing fresh snowfall, and 5km to my right I was seeing a beach with people actually on it. It was all very confusing, and so I contented myself with watching the altimeter reading on the GPS. We topped out at 1410m; That's a fairly decent height just for your average Carretera (highway). The road was flanked either side by hundreds of olive and orange trees, and not to mention strange giant termite mounds into which houses had been built. Oh, and the wind was about 50 knots. That's fast.
Arriving in Granada (elevation 685m) at 2:30 in the afternoon, we decided instantly that I was hungry. We found a tapas bar called Castaneda that was listed in The Bible as the oldest of it's kind in the city. Wandering in,
The Stormclouds Over The Horizon
En Route To Granada, Andalucia, Spain we were frightened by an ultra covert and efficient waiter in the classic white shirt/bowtie/apron outfit sneaking up behind us. I ordered us a couple of beers with as much nonchalance as I could muster, knowing full well that this was going to score us some free tapas alongside. And so it did! They brought out a lovely side plate of paella with two little forks for us to munch with our Cruzcampo beers, and we wasted no time demolishing the lot.
After finishing with our paella and beer, we paid our €3 (!!) and left to continue our aimless wander. We walked through the town taking in the old buildings and the groups of stoned, dreadlocked, hippie bums sitting around ruining the view, the groups of cats running rampant down by the river, the tight streets where your car has to be buttered to get through, and lastly the magnificent unpretentiousness that is Granada. After that 20 minutes of walking, I decided that I hadn't eaten enough tapas and dodged into an almost-empty bar near the river called Minotaurino.
This place was covered in paintings and artworks dedicated to Theseus and the Minotaur, and we were served
by a lovely lady that accepted my rudimentary Spanish with a smile, and grabbed us some beers and hot pork fillet and aioli bagels. They were so yum, we decided that we should also have a section of manchego cheese covered in bright green olive oil. Now I know how much Aleks goes on and on about “good... FRESH olive oil..” but this stuff really was outstanding. Cheese and oil? Who woulda thunk? Not this black duck, that's for sure. Next time I... no wait... Aleks throws a dinner party, I'm putting that on the table.
After this it was time to get our asses off and a little sightseeing, as it was drawing late and soon we'd have to retire to a truck stop. We decided to squeeze in the obligatory cathedral visit then, as we'd seen it earlier in the day but it was closed due to siesta. And wow, Granada Cathedral: what a completely incredible spot... totally different to every cathedral/church/overblown religious shanty I'd seen yet. If I thought it was big from the outside, the inside just gave you the feeling that it fit into an even bigger shell. I won't waste words describing it,
Starving Kitty: Fed
Granada, Andalucia, Spain just look at the photos. Lots of gold and 130 foot ceilings, two pipe organs side by side and an incredible altar surrounded by chapels. Great stuff.
Another quick point I have to make about Granada is how much bloody graffiti there is around! Now before you go thinking that I've suddenly aged forty years, I want to make it quite clear that I'm a huge fan of urban art. Take the photo of the girl's eyes for example. THAT, my friends, is some of the best urban art I've ever seen in a while. That takes artistic talent. Should it be in a main square of town? Maybe not. But it's far better than “tagging,” writing your name in crap script coloured black on some construction site just to guffaw with your friends about.
At that stage we decided we'd had enough for the day, and went to the tourist office to make sure we had all the info we needed for tomorrow. We then bought some roscos fritos (kind of like long, thin doughnuts) and headed for the truck stop. By this stage we were running very low on batteries of all kinds (well, not our
The Mad Beauty Of Spain
Granada, Andalucia, Spain iPods and Aleks' camera battery anyway, haha) and so we checked in the truckstop for powerpoint availability. There was bugger all at the first one we stopped at, so we decided to drive 10km round trip to the truck stop across the road... which was EXACTLY the same truck stop in every way. In EVERY way. I'm serious, everything down to the positions of the screws in the toilet roll holders. It was terrifying, and the worst deja vu I've ever had in my life.
On the upside, that night we just so happened to make a new friend: a small cat, reow-ing at us for a morsel of food that we might spare. Now most of you know that I hate cats, and will kick them at any given opportunity. But this one looked so miserable and just sat there looking sad, that I decided to give him some milk. I did this by cutting the bottom of a 1L water bottle, and followed this with a 100g can of digusting tuna we'd had under the sink cupboard for a while. The kitty got stuck into both like an Ethiopian into a Big Mac, and I was happy
Granada Cathedral
Granada, Andalucia, Spain to feed him. See photos.
Oh, and I nearly forgot. We went shopping in Dia Supermarket earlier that day, and in the car park, guess what was playing. Tom Jones? Nope, way too European. Michael Jackson? Nope, super common here.
Give up?
It was none other than JOHN F**KING FARNHAM! Yep! I swear it ain't a lie. The song was “You're The Voice”. I had to go to the plastic surgeon that afternoon to have my jaw replaced after it fell off. We were wooooaahh-oh-ah-oh-ohing along like you wouldn't believe, and I had a bit of my tear in my eye and missed home. But seriously, John Farnham? In Spain? Pfftt....
It was busy as a beehive outside the camper in the truckstop that night, but we were up early and driving to The Alhambra. The Alhambra is world famous, and is described by The Bible as “one of the most graceful architectural achievements in the Muslim World.”. The Muslim clerics would probably take great offenceto that, and declare Jihad on the writers for making such an outlandish statement against a religion that peacefully strives to be ungraceful. But I, in my simplicity, agree wholeheartedly. It
IS beautiful. It is a combination of several areas: The Alcazaba a.k.a the local Fortress, the Palacio Nazaires and Generalife. No, not pronounced “General Life” but “Henner-ah-leef”. The trio of the fortress, the palace and the gardens are nothing short of spectacular, and in conjunction with the Carlos the 5th Palace (which looks like a half-scale bullring made out of conglomerate rock, minus the dirt centre) it's a fair whack of an area.
The funny thing is that you don't actually see the Alhambra until you're right up close to it. It's hidden amongst heaps of pine trees and the like, and even the staggered, rough red towers of the Alcazaba seem fake up close. Alhambra, in arabic, means “Red One,” and rightly so, as the whole place is layer upon layer of redbrick, ochred concrete and flat stones. The outside is a mess, in short, but belies the intricate detail and endless work that has been put into making the inside a wonder. We managed to latch onto a tour guide: an overexcited but wonderful tour guide that was almost definitely muslim, as he described the religious connotations associated with the architecture down to the finest detail. And
Spud In Tapas Bar
Granada, Andalucia, Spain glad I was, because I don't want some stupid kid on his holidays taking the tour, I want someone who has lived and breathed and studied the place for years. And this guy was legitimate.
I'll give you a short spiel; the place is absolutely beautiful, and no other word will do it justice. Typical of other Moorish palaces, the Alhambra dates from the 11th to 15th centuries, and is plain from the outside but marvellous on the inside so as to not draw attention to the wealth of it's inhabitants... the saying the guide gave us was “Don't clothe your horse in a golden saddle.” The inside was a combination of small courtyards, water features designed to reflect the best aspects of the space, intricate plasterwork on the walls and cornices (much of which was sold of by resident gypsy squatters up until the 1920's but later replaced) and phenomenal wooden ceilings built to reflect the levels of heaven as dictated by the Muslim faith. Look, see photos eh? For all the attempts made at converting the Alhambra to a Christian place of worship over hundreds of years, it remains an exquisite testament to it's mother faith, with
it's chin out and middle finger raised in every corner and cove.
I also took the opportunity to steal an orange off one of the garden trees, ignoring what the Tourist Information lady in Sagunt had said about them being ornamental oranges. Naturally I was sorely disappointed as I cut it open next to the sink in the parking lot... pith, pith and more pith. Bugger. Oh well... that'll teach me I suppose. We really needed a laundromat by that stage, and drove around for 2 hours to find one based on the advice of the people in the tourist office at the Alhambra. Bad idea. I got mad, and even more sick of the tight streets in the middle of towns. Stupid cities! Why weren't they built to accommodate my van! How rude!
I should also quickly note, at Aleks' prompting, that during our stay in the town of Malaga, we wore nothing more than jeans and t-shirts. No really - it was about 16 degrees and humid as all hell for the most part, and felt something akin to Cairns weather leading into summer. Obviously in a place like this it meant rain, and sooner rather
Interior Max Height - 47m
Granada, Andalucia, Spain than later the deluge began. Oh well... the heat was nice while it lasted.
Then, after finding no campsites, no WiFi, no dry places in the torrential rain and no coffee shops open during siesta, we drove and drove until we reached a truck stop near Malaga. It didn't have showers or laundry facilities, and the WiFi didn't work, but the tapas was free and the beer was cold, and most of all the people serving it were really really nice, and that was all I needed to live. The weather by that stage was something reminiscent of hurricane season in Florida, with epic wind and bullshit humidity, so we made the escape and hunkered down for the night.
The next day, whilst I was trying to blog on the run, Aleks got lost and I had to steer there whilst talking to my mum on the phone. We eventually ended up in a parking garage in Malaga and stopped by the tourist office. This was followed by Maccas, where we spent an hour wrestling with the stupid NAB website to try and find out if the keycard that was stolen with Aleks' wallet had been used by
filthy thieves. Eventually we worked out that it hadn't and got on our way, marvelling at how much the town looked like Cagliari in Sardinia. The local Cathedral was, somehow, even more incredible than the one in Granada, and I got a free audioguide with my €4 entry fee! Aleks waited outside until I joined her, then she took me to a store where they were selling Malaga t-shirts with a bull (El Toro!) on them for €6! I was sold, and was desperate to replace more of the t-shirts in my inventory with new ones. I'm such a tourista.
After a wander through the old town area of Malaga, decked out with orange trees and more old buildings, we arrived at the entrance to the Alcazaba of Malaga, which we bought tickets to for €6.90 and that included entry into the Castello de Gibralfaro. We had an exploring session of that, and I was quite amazed by how full the gardens were and in what good condition the interiors of the buildings were in. Maybe the taste of a cheap ticket for two attractions was sweet in my mouth after having being gipped for 20-odd euro at the
The High Altar
Granada Cathedral, Andalucia, Spain Alhambra, but I think it was just spectacular, especially given the views over the city. Once we had explored as much as we could there, we moved out of the Alcazaba and spent half an hour trying to find the walkway to the Castello. Once found, and after I ate an olive off a tree that made my stomach do backflips with nausea (stupid Nemo), we began the climb to the Castle. And what a climb it was. Imagine a zigzagging, slowly sloping walkway designed for wheelchair access and fat British tourists. Usually nice, but not when there's a couple of hundred metres of vertical scaling to do. Overall, it was excellent and the Castello afforded us some magical views of the area whilst showing us a small but interesting display on castle-atop-a-hill life. We simply HAD to sit down and have a beer at the top and take in the landscape, with some cheesy spanish disco music in the background... you'd think we'd have learned by now after the Montjuic, Barcelona schamozzle 😊
We decided to leg it out of the Malaga area as soon as we got back to the van and paid for our parking. I
Incredible Urban Artwork
Granada, Andalucia, Spain was at the end of my tether with the local radio stations as we drove, as all they were playing were endless repeats of songs from the new Black Eyed Peas album and crap Spanish pop songs. Aleks was wishing for some Bonnie Tyler the whole time, and I told her not to be silly. Sure enough, about half an hour later, guess what came on the radio... to my delight... Total Eclipse Of The Arse. Oh joy. But I really was glad that Aleks could sing along to something now.
That night after high winds and flogging rain at the crap truck stop just near Gibraltar, we thought of all you bums at home, and wanted to say that we missed you, but couldn't.
And we really do miss you all. Just not enough to come home yet 😊
- Fishy
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