Granada: Lessons Learned

The city of Granada provided me with a few more lessons that are especially important to take note of. Some more pleasant lessons than others…

1. Como se dice, chaser?! For whatever reason, those hailing from Granada make a strong drink. I don’t know if it’s because the town is filled with pot wielding hippies who need more of a kick than your average human to awaken them from their haze, but regardless, I’d find anyone hard pressed to consume a drink that didn’t in some way or another, knock their socks RIGHT OFF! Whether, ordering what seemed like a common mojito one evening at dinner or being gifted shots of god-knows-what from our British waiter (named Juan Jose) on the proceeding eve, a word I would have liked to have had in my limited Spanglish vocabulary was “chaser.” On a mission from hell, “Como se dice, chaser?!” was immediately uttered to Juan Jose, or J as we called him. After a brief explanation, he understood that we meant a liquid follow-up to ya know, take the sting off. We never really did get a clear cut answer to that one. He sort of laughed in all his I-sound-like-a-Brit-but-am-named-like-a-Spaniard glory and as we walked away, I sort of thought to myself, “J, amigo, I meant it!”

2. Do not under any circumstances mail anything home from Spain without a
Spanish return address. This greatly confuses the women who work there. After gifting myself with a few things in Morocco that were far too big to fit in my backpack, and Jenny having the same dilemma, it became clear quickly that a trip to the post office was a necessity. No big deal we thought, we’ll just swing in before lunch, and pop these on over to Los Estados Unidos. Not so easy my friends. For one, navigating the post office was like combing your way through the Amazon jungle without a guide (or so I’d imagine.) With lines everywhere, tickets to be taken, and somehow not a word of English flying around the place, the post office was a nightmare at best. Try explaining to someone that your return address is in the U.S. because that’s where you live and you are merely here traveling, and then have her tell you that you need a return address in Spain all the way talking over eachotherbecause neither of you speaks the other language. After multiple rounds of back and forth in which she pointed at the return address blank on my box and said as loudly as possible, “Spain!,” and I tried to again tell her that I do not live here, my saving grace stepped in. The only person in that joint that spoke English somehow ended up next to me in line. I explained the situation to him which he then repeated to her, and what was her answer…. “Spain!” So the hostel’s address it was. This thing better make its way to the States without a hitch or that hostel is going to get an unexpected surprise from yours truly.

3. The important people DO NOT speak English in Spain. You know how people are always saying, “Everyone speaks English in Europe.” Well, if you haven’t been greeted with this phrase often, try telling your friends and family that you will be embarking on a somewhat solo mission to Europe. Then I assure you, you’ll hear it a lot. These people (or you, reader, you’ve probably told me this as well) are wrong. You know the people who do speak English in Spain, the people who work at restaurants that already have English menus or at least pictures to guide you, the people who try to sell you every souvenir under the sun, or the people that tell you how much that towel or hair dryer rental at your hostel is gonna cost you. The people who DO NOT speak Spanish are the people you really need to pick up what you’re putting down. This includes, the people who work at train stations who can’t inform you how to pick up your pre-ordered tickets or assure you that you are, in fact, on your way to Valencia, bus drivers, and clearly, those mailing your precious goods home. Note to self, start taking sedatives or at least asking your new friends in Granada for a bong hit before entering these places, and at the very least, always give yourself WAY more time than previously anticipated.

Lessons learned. Points noted.

Sidenote to my yogi friends: This means you ET Phone Home, Jack Attack, Gongdaddy, and Miss Leah J. I realize that my form in the picture above is not what it should be. For this I apologize. However, I would like to make clear to you that on the other side of that wall was at least a 20-foot drop onto cars and one seriously rocky road, and well, I was wobbly. Cut me some slack, drop the critique, and just love me because this one’s for you!

And NowEuropeToDate…