Time for our favorite kind of breakfast, the free kind! In the hostel kitchen we met some real characters including the american version of Russel Brand who was rocking high tops, a retro leather jacket and wifebeater combo with some serious toucan hair as he poured milk over the enormous trough of cereal and ice cubes he had created out of a large plastic casserole dish. He seemed to have lots of wise words of crazy wisdom so we decided to hire him as our life coach...turns out he was the worst life coach ever but his friends were discussing their afternoon departure to Morocco. Turns out these guys weren't Russel's friends after all, which made him and his toucan hair even weirder. We talked to the Morocco guys about their plan of departure. Since we both always want to go everywhere we decided that Morocco had to be added to our travel itinerary at some point. Maybe today? We did some research and made no decisions on the matter, befriended our breakfast friends on Facebook and told them maybe we would see them shorty in Africa. Standard hostel breakfast conversation seems very strange when we think about it.
Then it was out for some good old fashioned wandering. Granada is unbelievable. White washed houses with tile roofs are eeeerywhere and the stone (not cobblestone) roads are accordingly winding and confusing. Granada is essentially built in a valley, 2 huge sloping hills packed with the houses perched dangerously at all angles with a small river in the middle. On one of these hills sits the magnificent and enormous Alambrah, a huge palace dating back to the 12th century. A pamphlet about the Alambrah claims it to be on par with the 7 wonders of the world. On the other hill is the Arabic district of hooka smoke filled tea shops, street front shops packed with bright silk pants and knitted tops, leather bags, mosaic jewelry boxes, and a strong smell of incense. Our hostel is located on one of these Arabic tea streets on the opposite side of the valley from Alambrah.
There is a very young alternative crowd in Granada, maybe even more dreadlocks than Samara and certainly more piercings. We dont quite understand the biggest hair trend in Spain at the moment, a buzz cut with long dreadlocks in the back, kind of an extreme rasta mullet. Girls and guys sport this look but who are we to judge? There is something so delightful in walking up an extremely old street with classic Andelucian houses with their white peeling walls and crooked flower boxes amongst young modern people with lip rings, dreads, and strategically ripped jeans and shirts.
We are really embracing the mantra "Life is about the journey not the destination." Going places on our feet and getting lost for hours beats taking a bus directly there any day. We find hidden jewels and local spots and turn left or right on a whim usually avoiding the most touristy and discovered spots. That's what led us here (see video later). Amazing amazing day!
Next we decided to check out the Alambrah, a walk that everyone deemed too far and too steep. We decided to give it a try. We weaved onward and upward and downward and every direction until we were in the valley where we ate a salad and discovered a crazy work out playground. We had made it down one side of the valley, next for the hike up. Impossible walk may have been a true statement but our overfed tapa bums were in need of this serious hike.
We finally made it to the top and stood at the Alambrah ticket office where we decided we didn't really care to go in here and stare around and take pictures. Instead we went to the gift shop and flipped through some Alambrah cofffee table books and admired the Moorish architecture and then left. Psh, 7 wonders of the world, just a bit of good PR we decided.
Our "only book hostels one night at a time in case we decide to go somewhere else" method had really screwed us and our home away from home, oasis backpackers, didnt have a single unbooked bed. After all the homeless jokes we had finally jinxed ourselves.
Dilemma: we are homeless. We were too indecisive to book a second night at our hostel and now they are full. So is every other hostel in town, which we understand because Granada is the shit.
We have 2 solutions for this problem...
Solution 1: take the train to a ferry to Morocco, Africa and find home there for a few days.
Solution 2: accept homeless state, eat cheap tapas dinner, and attend all night illegal underground rave outside of Granada, negating the need for a home at all.
We decided to make this important decision over beer and tapas. Grenada really gets tapas. With every beer you order they bring you a huge plate of food...for FREE! We had one too many tapas, and maybe one too many beers as we discussed our plans for the night.
Option 2 wins, Morocco will have to be a future destination on tour'de JenKel.
Dear parents, you're welcome. Although an all night illegal Spanish rave may not be your favorite, we're sure that an unplanned trip to Africa is lower on your favorite list.
Skip forward a few hours, HUGE buzzkill, Yan, the super tall bald Parisian manager of Oasis informed us that his employee who was going to take us out to the rave had bailed. Hmm, maybe we should have gone with option 1: skip town and head to Morocco, but it was too late to get a train or bus to the coast by this point. Luckily Yan had an idea and he walked us down the Arabic tea street and rang the buzzer at a huge door. We walked up a few flights of stairs and Yan banged on another door. A tiny super excited Spanish man peeked his face out of a sliding compartment in the door. Think in mafia movies when the badies bring a goodie into a secret building and their friend makes them say a password through the door. Yan told the guy we were there for a room and the tiny Spanish man opened his door looking puzzled. "A room for 3?" he asked, suspiciously eyeing super tall bald Yan with his hood up and the 2 of us with our huge inconspicuous backpacks on. This was one of those hilarious situations that our poor writing skills can't do justice to. The tiny Spanish man, who was moving and talking at 100 miles a minute, ushered us into a principal like office and sat us down to sort out a room while Yan sat in the corner with his arms crossed like a super scary body guard. The office was full of oragami swans and random books, we were in the Spanish Mr. Miagi's hostel. Mr. Miagi's got us a room in his pension and then scrambled around loudly telling us to be quiet and showing us the wifi zone (2 plastic chairs in the dark hallway) and best of all, the microwave which he gave a full demo of how to use as he proudly told us it was FREE for us to use! What a phenomenal perk as we were clearly laden with microwavable foods. Mr. Miagi said everything no less than 12 times before he was sure we understood and moved on to the next thing. Our room was awesome though and we controlled our hysterical laughter about the situation briefly and gave Yan a hug and a thank you before he peaced out. The comradery of people traveling is hard to explain but such an amazing thing to be a part of. People that you have known for only a few hours and will most likely never see again go out of their way to befriend and help you. Everyone watches out for everyone else in this little hostel hopping international subculture that we have become a part of.
Right dilemma resolved. We are no longer homeless, sadly rave is out, and even more sadly we had lost our great cerveza buzz from earlier. Solution, out for more beer, which came with more snacks, damn the Spanish! Then we fell into a classic 4 hour Kelly and Jenny heart to heart about all kinds of things. At 5am we decided the night was still pretty young, for Spain and all, so we went back out on the town.
We went to the biggest nightclub in Granada, so we had been told. It looked a lot more like an awkward teenage filled Bar mitzvah party to us and everyone sang along to terrible Spanish pop. Bed time...but first, a shared falafel for breakfast. In case you cant tell from reading our posts, we are really starving here in Spain, wasting away to nothing.
Overall and unbelievable day!! No Morocco, no rave, but the destination is in the journey remember?
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