spain, part 1

The thing about traveling… or should I say the thing about me traveling, is that I spend my days in an overstimulated state.  I am wide open, taking in every single sight, sound, smell, taste, encounter.  Fully.  Completely.  So that when I come to put it all on paper, it appears flat and lacking color.  A little like I’m serving up dry toast and instant coffee as opposed to a warm apricot croissant and double espresso with a thick layer of crema. 

I sit in front of the screen and I stumble on my words because how do I convey how life changing the past two weeks have been?  I feel so fearless and free.  I feel very unlike myself… yet I’ve never felt more like me.  I’ve journeyed from place to place with very little planning and never once fretted because it seems like the road has already been paved for me.  I’m just following signs and directions to my next destination.  Yes, the advantage of planning is you save time and money, both of which are in short supply, and I could certainly benefit from a little foresight and organization skills but every time I sit down to plan the next step of my journey, something unexpected happens or someone invites me to tag along and I inevitably switch directions.  I’ve barely opened all the heavy guidebooks I brought.  I am guided in other ways and am quite enjoying the road a little less traveled.  My feet take me where they want to go and I somehow stumble upon gems along the way. 

But that doesn’t tell you much about Spain, does it?  I thought I would share a couple journal entries and give you the facts, strait up, then I’ll embellish when I get home and have had a chance to process it all. 

The journey to Spain begins on a Monday morning at 4:30am.  After a few hours sleep, I hop off the old boat on which I slept with my friend Saffa, catch a cab to the airport, fly to Malaga, meet Rafael and Sandra (friends of a friend), they take me to the beach and treat me to a glass of red wine and the best damn olives I’ve ever had, walk the beach, take a siesta in the afternoon (I adapt well to the cultural differences  – ha ha), Sandra gives me a tour of the old city at night, it smells of ocean and sweet dama de noche and orange blossoms, stray cats roam the streets, cathedrals are lit from below, a crowd gathers after evening mass, we walk past Arabic ‘teterias‘ (tea houses), little tables with fuschia colored candles and silver tea pots, we go to Pepa e Pepe’s at 10pm for wine and tapas, dates wrapped in bacon and fried calamari, I eat more fried food in the past 8 hours than I have in the past 6 months combined, but apparently it is okay because they fry everything in olive oil here… mmm hmmm, sure.  The saying in Andalucia is that they even fry the air here.  I believe it.

The next morning, I take the bus to Granada.  It is so empowering to get by on your own in a place where you don’t even know the language.  The 2-hour ride has such beautiful views of the country side, my head nearly explodes from overstimulation.  I want to tell the bus driver to let me off as I would be happy to walk the whole way to Granada.  That is the thing about buses.. such a great way to see a place but it all goes by so quickly, you barely have time to process it.

From the bus station in Granada, I take the number 3 bus to the cathedral stop.  From there, I walk up the cobblestoned alleyways lined with tiny shops selling gypsy wares, scarves and lamps and Moroccan tea pots and exotic tea leaves… the whole alley smells of incense.  Near the  top of the alley, before the church with the fountains where the dogs drink and the little tapas bar where they sell beer and tapas for 1 euro 50, I veer left and come to a massive wooden door with a cast iron knocker.  It looks like a secret society but it is far from that.  It opens to a community of world travelers.

Get settled into bed 4 in room 4 then hit the town.  Walk for hours.  I know the general direction but have no set route, which is the best way to discover a new place.  Feels like a treasure hunt.  It is 26 degrees, I am sweating my tits off.  I see my first olive trees and massive aloe plants as big as shrubs and orange trees hanging heavily and oh so seductively over white walls.  Saunter across plazas where hippies and dogs play, under window sills where men sit, picking their guitars and singing flamenco tunes. 

I come back to the hostel and have me a proper siesta then meet the group for a free tour of the gypsy caves.  We are all from different places (4 canadians), some are beginning their journeys, some have been on the road for months.  And the tour, well the tour is beyond words really.  We zigzag up the hills, lined with caves where people live.  Some very primitively, no electricity or water… others are like cave mansions dug into the side of the mountain.  We stop at the tour guide’s friend’s cave.  Her name is Rosa.  She made tortilla de patatas and lemonade for us.  We visit her home and sit in her garden overlooking the city down below.  We then hike to the top of the hill and watch the sun drop into the horizon.  Get back around 9pm then a bunch of us go out for wine and tapas until midnight.  Sit in the kitchen drinking tea and chatting up a couple from England until 1am then hit the pillow. 

This post is getting long and my internet time is dwindling, so I’ll have to share the rest of my Spanish adventures another day… hopefully sometime soon.  But I can’t guarantee anything, I may fall into a gelato-induced coma and be unable to type.  The streets of Florence are calling and I can no longer resist.

Ciao!

good bye england, hello spain

I wish I had words to properly describe how I feel, what I´ve seen and where I´ve been over this past week, but I am lost in a world of wonder.   I fell in love with England and this beautiful soul in particular.  There is so much I want to say about my time with Susannah but it will have to wait, because I fear I wouldn´t do it justice right now.

All I can say is that I am totally blissed out.  England was so good to me and I was sad to leave this morning.  But it is 16 degrees and sunny in the south of Spain and a whole new adventure awaits… time for tapas and wine.

london, baby!

It’s been a long build-up, but the day is finally here.  I fly to London this evening.  Trepidation was lurking last week, but it suddenly vanished yesterday afternoon and in its place is a calm I haven’t felt in awhile.   Sure, fear might try to squeeze its way past the airport check-in point but I do believe it’s a restricted item on board and I’m just going to have to leave it behind and trust this feeling — that this adventure is going to blow my mind wide open.  Plus, I’m not alone… I’m bringing my super cool posse with me.

I found Gnomie’s passport while I was looking for mine.  It turns out that this little dude has a name and his name is Cedric and he is from the UK.  Cedric is pretty pumped about this trip.  He is a traveling gnome after all and a traveling gnome doesn’t like to stand still on a windowsill staring into space all day.  I think we are going to make fine travel companions as he has fondness for drinking homemade brews and he doesn’t shy away from the camera.  In fact, he insisted that I snap 2 shots of him with his passport.  The second one to show off his profile (his right side is his best side).  Also, gnomes are seven times as strong as the average human (who knew?) so I am well protected.

As for Wilbur, he’s been drinking way too much coffee and brushing up on his Italian and Spanish.

Hola!  Me llamo Wilbur.  Tienen banos equipados para puercos?   Do you have bathrooms equipped for pigs?  Valid question.

Buongiorno.  Mi chiamo Wilbur.  Dove la gelateria? Where is the gelateria?  oink oink.

We’ll have to hide Wilbur in a secret compartment during the flight so they don’t put him under quarantine.  The gnome and I have already plotted a diversion — a crazy little jig he does.  It works every time.  I bet you would be distracted too if you saw a gnome dancing for you.

Well, that’s it folks.   I’ll try my best to blog from abroad but I can’t guarantee anything.  Let’s put it this way, given the choice between drinking limoncello here, or blogging, I promise to choose the former.

Getting ready to take a big juicy bite out of life.

Attraversiamo (let’s cross over), shall we?