participating
I spent the holidays in Barcelona and visited the museums and parks that I had neglected earlier in the semester. The streets were quiet, my favorite grocery store was closed, and I was the only person in the apartment during the days around Christmas, but I spent the time packing my suitcases and backpack.
My six days backpacking in southern Spain started with a flight into Malaga and a bus ride to La Linea. From La Linea I walked across the border (through customs and across and airstrip) to Gibraltar. After shivering in 50 degree Barcelona, the 75 degree coast felt fantastic in December. Although no one was there to let me into my hostel and I had to spend the night in another hotel (and endure a 5am fire alarm), the view from the top of the rock made it all worth it.
The next day, after a full English breakfast at my hotel, I walked back across the border to catch the bus to Seville. There were a few moments of panic when the man at the bus terminal informed me that the word next to my bus translated to “cancelled,” but it ended up arriving on time. On the ride to Sevilla we traveled along the coast, passing windmills and windsurfers and countless places advertising surfing lessons.
Once in Seville, I bought a bus card (plastic, a much better option than Barcelona’s paper cards), and after almost breaking the card reading machine, got off at the correct bus stop. My hostel was very modern (hence the name Urbany Hostel), noisy, and within walking distance of the city center. I grabbed a delicious meal in a restaurant with bull heads on the wall, wandered around the city, and visited a few sights, including the Alcazar (a cheaper, more convenient, and just-as-beautiful version of the Alhambra).
Next, I took the Renfe train to Cordoba and headed into the Jewish Quarter to find my hostel. The streets are narrow and charming, and my hostel was refreshingly peaceful as it was New Year’s Day. Although I had to wait until the following morning to visit the Mezquita, I took in some of the Roman sights and caught up on sleep.
The next day I took a bus to Granada, where the troublesome Alhambra experience began. After catching a bus into the city, the driver told me that the main road was closed because of a festival, but he could drop me off at the nearest stop. I found my hostel, nestled on a narrow street that was covered with vendors of brightly colored clothes and textiles, and checked in. Unfortunately, I forgot I had to pick up my 30-euro Bonobus ticket before the siesta hour from 2-4pm. This meant I also couldn’t pick up my Alhambra ticket, which has to be picked up at least 1 hour before you even plan on entering the Alhambra. Without this ticket, my only option was to return to the Alhambra at night and see if there were any tickets left.
After numerous conversations in person and on the phone with the Alhambra and the tourist information center, I still had a variety of answers ranging from: “sorry you’re out of luck,” “you can’t reschedule tomorrow?” and “sure, come to the ticket office and we will let you in!” (Welcome to Spain.) I was finally denied entrance while in the line at the Alhambra, with the tourist information representative on my cell phone talking to the guard, and I decided to come back at night. Perhaps it was waiting in the cold for 2 hours in line to make sure I got in, only being able to see a few rooms in the dark, or wasting over 50 euros, but in my opinion the Alhambra just isn’t worth all the fuss.
The next morning I left my hostel at 6am and walked to the Renfe station to take a train to Ronda. I enjoyed a fresh orange juice and croissant in the cafe, the only place open in the entire city at 6am, and slept on the train ride. Ronda turned out to be a quiet yet charming little city perched on a cliff. I hiked to the bottom of the cliff, avoided the day-tripping tourists crowding around the churches, and bought a set of spoons from an adorable little old lady in an adorable antique shop. That afternoon, I took a bus back to Malaga, got lost trying to leave the bus statin, and finally found my hostel. I promptly checked my email, bought instant soup and red peppers from the grocery store nearby, and slept peacefully until I had to wake up one last time before dawn.
After arriving back in Barcelona and coming back to my lonely apartment, I repacked my backpack and bought enough food to make a quick lunch. I had already had the experience of lugging my two suitcases onto the metro (to drop them off at my rental agency’s office, which was closed) and then walking back for 30 minutes dragging them behind me, so I was happy to pay 5 euros and take the Aerobus, which drops you off right at the airport terminal. There, the woman at the ticket counter presented me with 4 boarding passes, attached several feet of stickers to my bags, and wished me a happy flight.
I landed in Zurich around 10pm and was directed to sleep in a strange area that resembles a waiting room but is enclosed in glass and guarded by someone who checks your passport. I had a nice row of 5 seats to spend the next 11 hours on, but I also was prepared with an inflatable pillow and the blanket from my bed. I woke up every hour listening to people beg to exchange Euros for Swiss Francs at the vending machines and left as soon as the rest of the airport began to function around 7am. From there, I went to Frankfurt, witnessed the hectic process of getting security approval to go back into the United States, and landed in Philadelphia.
I felt bad for the Philadelphia airport workers who had to deal with the room of at least 1000 people waiting in line to get through customs. Since I had already been in airports for over 30 hours, I collapsed on the floor as the line inched up for the next 30 minutes. After that, the lines stretched around all the hallways and we waited another hour to get through security one last time. I found my flight to Baltimore, exchanged my apartment’s security deposit at a pathetic rate, and shook from exhaustion as I laid in the chairs at the gate and waited for my last flight.
Last but not least, for the happy ending, I arrived in Baltimore safely, hugged my family at my dog, Bear, and celebrated Christmas a little late.
View more of my photos from southern Spain and Gibraltar.
