So for the best part of six weeks I stayed in this odd little hostel, with secret and irregular curfew hours and an opera-singing daughter and interesting passers-by. And all was good; I even spoke some Spanish. Best of all though was simply being right beside the Alhambra. The building, even from the outside, is simply stunning. And all the shops were selling this book, as if I ought to have heard of it:
Apparently it's very famous. I dunno, I still haven't read it!!
Other shops that I passed walking up and down the hill a couple of times every day made and sold guitars or chessboards and boxes in a morroccan style. And gitanas trying to press rosemary into my hand so that they could grap my palm and tell my fortune...
And, just a few weeks into my stay, it was Semana Santa....
Friday 28 March 2008
Thursday 20 March 2008
An Enchantment of People...
And what a great place it was! I struggled terribly trying to communicate with the owner-manager (A-level Spanish, even at A grade - sorry for boasting - being worth precisely nothing in Andalucía) but finally managed to do a deal where I agreed to stay for a month (bulk discount) in a dorm-room and he reduced the price. I paid 500 ptas a night, including breakfast. That´s about £2.50. Not bad.
The turnover in other travellers was fascinating. I declare, I probably had a more interesting time staying in the one place and having people pass by than moving around myself.
There was a bearded philosopher guy, who, like me, was a long-term resident.
There was Seán from Boston who later came to visit me in Ireland and was amazed at the Giant's Causeway.
There was the guy who just couldn't believe it when Kurt Cobain killed himself.
There were all the people who got mugged in Madrid (I made a mental note that if I ever went to Madrid, I wouldn't go alone)
There was the American woman with boots who had just come from Morrocco and loved it.
There were the two American lads who had also just been to Morrocco and whose friend had basically had a nervous breakdown due to culture shock.
There was the guy with the moustache who had learnt Spanish from scratch from his guide while boating down the Amazon.
There was the cyclist who ate all the fruit. Reckoned that what he was saving in transport costs he was spending on food to keep his energy up!
There was the film journalist who was learning flamenco guitar and used to practice with a cloth under the strings to dampen the sound.
Thanks to all of you, for your openness and company.
The turnover in other travellers was fascinating. I declare, I probably had a more interesting time staying in the one place and having people pass by than moving around myself.
There was a bearded philosopher guy, who, like me, was a long-term resident.
There was Seán from Boston who later came to visit me in Ireland and was amazed at the Giant's Causeway.
There was the guy who just couldn't believe it when Kurt Cobain killed himself.
There were all the people who got mugged in Madrid (I made a mental note that if I ever went to Madrid, I wouldn't go alone)
There was the American woman with boots who had just come from Morrocco and loved it.
There were the two American lads who had also just been to Morrocco and whose friend had basically had a nervous breakdown due to culture shock.
There was the guy with the moustache who had learnt Spanish from scratch from his guide while boating down the Amazon.
There was the cyclist who ate all the fruit. Reckoned that what he was saving in transport costs he was spending on food to keep his energy up!
There was the film journalist who was learning flamenco guitar and used to practice with a cloth under the strings to dampen the sound.
Thanks to all of you, for your openness and company.
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