When I walked off the plane from our adventure
to Australia (see prior entry), I knew it was only a matter time before I´d be
off again...the only question was when...
Ever since 7th grade at the
Montgomery Academy, I had been studying Spanish – for why I don’t have a
concrete reason other than the program at our school was exceptional – from
Señora Sholtis to Señora Baker. When I started
studying way back when, I never would have thought it would have led me to
where I am now, but it undoubtedly started the process. I can vividly remember
our classes through the years including Brian Cone (I think this was actually from a
study hall in her room) driving Señora Baker absolutely crazy by setting her computer desktop to such a diminutive size she could not read the screen to those
excruciating days in the language lab practicing our speech.
As painful as some days were, they laid the
foundation for the decision I was about to make (i.e. what I talk about below) and contributed to communication skills which have opened up countless doors to
fascinating people, absolutely stunning landscapes, multiple
continents, countries and cultures.
Now, as was the case with so many opportunities, I was at
the doorstep. All I had to do… was step through it.
Instead, I jumped in…with Granada, Spain. After
researching my university´s resources and my own “googling” on various cities
in Spain, I ended up selecting a program with an organization
named International Studies Abroad (“ISA”) mainly because they provided the option
to stay with a family. UGA did not, which, to me, is ridiculous given the
merits of doing so far outweigh spending time in a dorm full of non-native
speakers. Just my two cents..
Granada supplied an extraordinary location
nestled deep in Andalusia, surrounded by the highest mountains in
mainland Spain – the Sierra Nevada, melded with Moorish influence, considered the "home" of the concept of tapas, and has a large university population constantly pumping the city full of energy
year ´round save for the siesta from 2 – 5 pm…EVERY AFTERNOON.
Accompanying me was a my friend, Drew Weil. He made it pretty easy given he asked me to
do all the research, and once I picked a spot, he´d go. Shocking, but cheers to
that. It is hard to think of a purer form of trust or laziness (I like to think
of it as the former!). In retrospect, I
think “we” collectively made the right decision.
So on we went.
The program started in Madrid a few days after
New Year´s 2004, and there were two realistic options: (1) fly over and arrive
the day before the program started or (2) come over several days before and celebrate
New Year´s or as I would learn “La Noche Vieja.” For me, the decision was easy.
Go and celebrate the Noche Vieja in Madrid.
I was fortunate enough that a former
classmate and friend of mine, Ilouise Bradford, was studying in Madrid, and the
family she lived with was kind enough to let a redneck from Alabama stay with
them on the 31st of December. So, I arrived that day and went
straight to the family´s “piso” and met Ilouise. That day she showed me a few parts of Madrid
but in the back of both our minds was the night / celebration to come.
The plan was to go to a spot
called Puerta del Sol in central Madrid with a
group of her friends and all the alcohol we´d need to make it to when the
clock struck midnight. Spain (and much of Europe for that matter) is relatively
lax when it comes to drinking in public areas, regardless of the time of year,
and is referred to as a “botellon.” After midnight, the plan was that we´d gradually make our way
to an after party somewhere else. However, before we made it to the Puerta del Sol, we dropped
by a few bars, and in one place, I was introduced to one of the more bizarre
beverages / mixtures I´ve ever come across. The cocktail is a Spanish
adolescent´s pastime and can be drunk in large quantities and, more
importantly, cheaply. It is called
Calimocho and is a mixture of cheap red wine and Coca-cola
Shockingly, it is actually pretty good but will deliver an almost guaranteed
hangover.
After putting down a few of the Calimochos, we
headed on to celebrate the New Year with another Spanish
tradition – grapes or ”uvas.” For each stroke of the clock, it is customary
to eat a grape to bring good luck for the coming year. So, we rung in 2004 and
began making our way to the after party, and within minutes of trying to work our
way through the melee, I was separated from Ilousie, her friends and to top it
all off without a cell phone, Ilouise´s number or a clear idea of where her
family´s flat was, of course.
But for some reason, it did not occur to me to
be an issue, and the party continued in the streets. I remember meeting all
kinds of interesting people: some Spanish, some English speakers, people in
purple and pink wigs (not sure why I remember that), some people who didn’t
speak English or Spanish but somehow we managed to communicate. It was amazing,
and I enjoyed every moment of it.
Miraculously, I managed to navigate my way back to Ilouise´s place around 5 or 6 am…how? To this
day, I do not know.
A day or two later, the remainder of the ISA
group arrived, and the semester abroad officially started. From Madrid it was
on to Toledo, which is a spectacularly situated medieval town located in the
center of Spain. There really wasn’t all that much to see other than
walking through its small, narrow and antiquated streets, but one of the more
interesting things of my whole trip happened that day. Something I will never
forget, and always serves to bring a smile to my face.
It was one of those surreal moments in your
life where you coincidentally become separated from everyone you know, and then
something truly inexplicable takes place. As I was walking through a small plaza on
the way back to our bus, a group of about 10 or 15 girls, who were probably about 9
or 10 years old, saw me, and then it happened. Before I knew it, I had a bunch Spanish “niñas” circling around me, literally, with their hands locked and
singing. Like I said surreal. I didn’t know what to do so I just stood there
trying to work through what the hell was happening, and once they finished, I
had to ask a smirking bystander to take a photo with me and girls. Even though
my camera was lost later in the trip, I still vividly remember the contents of the picture with
two girls trying to kiss me and with a massive smile on my face. And then like a gust of wind, the it was gone.
From recollection, the next leg of the trip was
our home for the next 5 ½ months, Granada. I don’t recall exactly why I
selected it, but I know as soon as I read about the city of about 200,000
I knew it was the place I wanted to go. It is a city steeped in a fascinating
historical progression tracing through both Arab and Christian times. Visitors are reminded of this coexistence as they pass through the city and see
the Alhambra towering over, the cathedral where the famed Ferdinand and
Isabella are buried and witness the teeming calles of both the Albayzin and
Gracia districts. Combine this with the white capped Sierra Nevada and Mulhacen
peering down on Granada, and you almost feel as if you are entered into a fairy
tale existence. For those who have witnessed this benevolent mixture of
culture, history, and setting, you completely understand why the Moors perceived
Granada as their “crown jewel” and allegedly wept as they left it during the
Reconquista.
So finally, we arrived. It was here and now
where the trip really began, and on that street corner, my flat mate and I
first met. One of the few things I had known about him up until that point was
his email address: notaplayernemore@hotmail.com. No offense to him, but seeing that
email didn’t exactly fill me with confidence. BUT, to be fair, I once arguably reigned
over an email address with an even more ridiculous reference: milf69@aol.com. So, with that being said, I will
stop there, at least on the email front.
The other thing I knew about my flat mate was
he was the guy we had identified as the most metrosexual guy (whatever that may
mean to everyone) and was hitting on every single girl in our group. Apparently
the email address didn’t carry much truth with it. Anyway, his name was Jordan from Reno, Nevada, and irrespective of his fashion sense and hair
styling, he ended up being an absolutely fantastic friend of mine.
There and then our semester abroad began with
us meeting our “señora,” Leonor Fernandes who is still, to this day, one of the
kindest women I have ever met in my life. I still speak to her and have gone
back to visit several times, and she always has a bed for me when I come
back to Granada.
With that introduction, I will attempt to
summarize the highlights of our trip to Spain:
- Hackin’ in all the plazas throughout Granada. Unlikely such intense hacksackying will ever take place again
- Spending many nights taking advantage of the wonderful tapas bars throughout the city. The most memorable places being Poë (close to plaza Gracia), Poderia (in plaza Gracia), two other small restaurants – one with the four squiggly line sign and the other by plaza del Toro – I can’t remember their names to save my life
- Bar Emilio and the perones
- Drew Weil making multiple Germans (we had just met the prior day and decided to go camping with) throw up in Cabo de Gata – you’ll have to ask him how and why
- Many a long night in the various discotecas: Three, El Principe, and El Camborio (among others...)
- The botellones by the Hiporcor and with Jordan and our friend named Miguel (the tennis instructor)
- Our hike through the Alpujarras with a group of about 7 or 8 guys where we were completely lost for about 3 hours but for good reason
- A crazy weekend in Nerja when we had a bunch of friends in town…nights spent on the rocks by the sea with guitars and drums played late into the night…being mugged and karate kicked by 15 13 year-olds…and then having my stolen wallet, credit cards, drivers’ license, etc., all returned to Alabama several weeks later (gave me faith in humanity)
- A weekend in Lagos, Portugal where we were fortunate enough see some things which few will understand (other than those who were there) and witnessed Jordan to smash our villa’s flower pot with a massive staff.
- Trips to the following places in Europe (and Africa):
- Prague: never will forget the disco called Roxy and James’ inability to control himself. We also had a buddy named Pete who got separated from the group one night and tried to make it back to our hostel. He didn’t speak Czech and, to complicate things even more, did not remember where the hostel was located other then the fact it was close to a large black roofed steeple. Needless to say, it took a long time to filter through the dozens throughout the city
- Amsterdam – twice
- Morocco – 2x. One trip to Chefchauen in the north and where we went on a trip to climb a mountain, which turned into a death trek involving thorned bushes, hash totting farmers, goats, an insane decent down the face of the mountain and a miraculous view from the top. Second trip to Fez, and on a local bus between villages, I sat next to a man who still to this day had the worst breath I have ever smelled
- A weekend in the previously referenced Cabo de Gata. One of the most spectacular places in Spain
- A phenomenal final week in Granada when we spent night after night in the various plazas playing music until all hours of the morning…nothing but good memories
- Many a mountain bike ride up through Granada, past the Alhambra, through various single tracked routes in the mountains with a phenomenal decent back into Granada accompanied by spectacular views of the Sierra Nevada above
- My first encounter with EasyJet
- The obsession with coffee began here, and it has not left since…
- Sitting a top the Mirador de San Nicolas in the Albayzin with an extraordinary view of the Alhambra and Granada and listening to the gitanos singing in the background…pretty hard to beat
I am sure I´ve missed some other things that
happened, but these are the ones that immediately spring to mind.
It was unquestionably a trip that added even
more momentum to the desire to see and experience even more places, people and unforgettable moments.
