Day 145 Valencia

I was starting to get a cold during the last few days of Granada and it hit me hard in Valencia. Maybe it was the cold or the mediocre hostel or the gloomy weather or something else, but the city failed to exert any charm on me. I stayed one night and was happy to leave. I did wander over to the impressive new arts and sciences buildings, although, I had no interest whatsoever in going inside.

I am sorry to have had such a lousy experience in Spain’s third largest and reputedly pleasant city. I think it was only a bad set of circumstances so I won’t hold a grudge. It did feel good to get on a train out of town though.

One interesting thing about traveling is the occurrence of chemistry. In some places, as in Granada, the perfect mixture of elements comes together: Friends, atmosphere, good lodging, good weather, great food, and positive attitude. At those times things cannot get any better. When those things are missing in various degrees it totally changes the feel of places. This explains why some people love the places that others can’t leave fast enough. It is part chance and part attitude. I guess that is life in a nutshell.

Barcelona here I come.

Day 142 Granada

Granada is a lovely place that has a very comfortable feel. I was lucky to get in through an affirmative action program for non-dreadlocked people. Inexplicably, the second most popular hairstyle is the mullet, often with dreads in the back. I felt like a minority with conservatively short hair.

The hills around the city are filled with cave dwellings that originally created by Gypsies and now are predominately occupied by hippies. I think the long-term exposure to the hemp masters rubbed off on the general population. It still doesn't explain the mullet thing though.

The city is dominated by the huge and beautiful Alhambra, perched on a hilltop in its midst. There is a saying here that says, “If you die without seeing the Alhambra, you have not lived.” I can only imagine what it was like when it was occupied. According to the guidebook, when the last Moorish ruler, Boabdil, was finally pushed out by overwhelming forces, he looked back longingly at his beloved Alhambra and his mother told him, “You do well to weep as a woman for what you could not defend as a man.” Dang Mom, that’s a little harsh, don’tcha think? I feel for the guy, the place is spectacular.

I stayed in the Oasis, the best hostel of my travels, right in the center of town. It was a combination of a really fun group of people, free wi-fi, a cool bar, cheap delicious dinners, and nice facilities. Throw in lots of tapas, kebabs, beer, poker, intimate flamenco, many funny conversations, inebriated chess matches, and a hilarious Argentinean and it equals the best time I have had in a long time. Tapas come free with drinks in Granada and make a tasty and cheap way to eat at noon or 7:00 or midnight or much later. As good as tapas are, I still recommend the juicy, 3am kebab to finish off the evening. My friends included Patrício from Argentina, Sam from Scotland, Gid from the UK, Bianca from Australia, a bunch of Americans, Herberto the indecisive, and what’s his name from NY.

I had a very good time in Granada.

Day 140 Tanger, Morocco

It did not help that right before I took the ferry to Tanger that I talked to several people who were returning after being robbed there. Nor did all of the online warnings of daylight violence and thievery help. I was understandably wary stepping off the ferry and into the masses of this very foreign land.

The first thing I expected to happen occurred before I was even through the customs checkpoint. I was approached by a guide who tried very hard to get me to stay at the most expensive hotel in town and take his choice of taxi to get there. He tried his best: flattery, cajoling, and outright lying. He was an official licensed guide so I pried him off as nicely as I could.

The second thing I expected to happen didn’t happen. Where were the hoards of the unwashed youth clinging to my legs pleading for money? One young boy asked for money as I passed, but his heart wasn’t in it; it was more of an offhand comment than a request. I was left alone except for a few, standard, city beggars.

The third thing I expected to happen was that an unofficial guide would hound me in the medina (a bewildering maze of a market). That did happen. No matter how I tried to lose him, he was persistent. No words would make him leave my shadow. He offered mostly worthless bits of information as I wandered, trying very hard to get me into his choice of shops. I wasn’t playing that game but he didn’t care—on my way out of the medina he demanded 50 euro for his services. I laughed and laughed and kept walking. He stayed with me and started acting angry. I knew that it was against the law for him to be an unofficial guide and walked straight out into the open city. The further out of the medina I got, the more nervous he got. He did tell me maybe one or two interesting details about the market so I offered him 10 diram (about USD$1) to get rid of him. He took it, swore at me, and turned tail.

Later, sitting in a café, I started talking a Moroccan architectural designer named Youssef. We quickly became friends as he showed me around the city and I helped him with English and he helped me remember my French schooling. We had coffee and hit a little locals only place for some delicious, traditional pea soup, olives, and skewered lamb kebabs. And in classic Moroccan hospitality he refused to let me pay wherever we went. I insisted that he meet me later so I could return the favor in the form of an alcoholic beverage. We went to a few different places and had a really good time. I look forward to looking Youssef up when I return to Morocco.

The initially unnerving things about Tanger is that there are many young boys and men that are standing around watching you. They watched you closely as you pass making you feel like they are measuring you up to see if you are worth robbing. After a few days and spending time with Youssef I figured out that most are merely curious and enjoy people watching and that standing around is a social activity. With this cultural realization, the city took on a whole different feel. I felt much more relaxed. But not too relaxed.

I can’t wait to return to Morocco so I can see the interior cities. Tanger is a border town and much like Tijuana, Mexico is not representative of the rest of the country. Now it is back to Spain to head toward Granada.