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.

a bad night

So, I had decided I was too poor to invest in a Let´s Go! of my very own, but had the good sense to copy out the details of the most likely looking cheap accommodation in Granada. What I hadn´t rekoned with, however, was that the bus might arrive at about 3am. Nor had I yet learnt that the bus station in european cities is always in the dodgiest part of town.

Naturally then, when a complete stranger offered to take me to his "hostel," I chose to ignore that he was a rather shifty-looking and dirty old man and went home with him. I´ve since found out that those who tout accommodation around bus and train stations are usually doing so illegally and are not properly registered or whatever; to be honest, though, I´m not really likely to be tempted again anyway - I think I learnt my lesson! Memory suggests, in a rather non-specific way, that both the stranger and his establishment were somewhat unpleasant and frightening. The six dirty bunk beds crammed into the tiny room, the heat and the noise - dogs barking, glass breaking and couples copulating - well, it was all just a bit much after three days on a bus.

Granada

Looking back, I was terribly innocent and overburdened. I had persuaded myself that I would look for work and stay indefinitely, not considering that Granada already had a student population of about 50,000 and certainly didn't need any more seasonal unskilled labour. Oh, and I don't really like working that much anyway, so when an opportunity didn't just fall into my lap, I kinda gave up on the work idea.

I busked a bit, without much success. So carrying the guitar all that way was a bit of a waste of time then...

Dale limosna mujer...

... que no hay en la vida pena como la de ser ciego en Granada.

So, I was 18 years old. I was meant to be doing a six-month placement teaching English to schoolkids in Spain, and it didn´t work out because the guy in Spain had taken a sabbatical without telling anyone else in the organisation. Typical.

So, what to do? Sit around moping? Instead, I sold my possessions and got on a bus (no easyJet then!) to Granada. That´s a long way on a bus...