Spring Breakers 2: Escape From Spain

So my roommate and I had a little adventure trying to get out of Spain after break. I'm going to preface this with the fact that I'm sure y'all have had way worse travel stories than this. This is a mild situation, like Travel War Story Level 3 on a scale of 1 to 10. But still. It was rough at the time.

The sun sets on our last day in Granada

I was somewhat shocked when, on our way into Spain, we descended directly from the plane onto the tarmac at the Madrid airport like some kind of rockstar or diplomat (although I doubt rockstars have to ride crowded buses to the terminal-I think they get limos). I was even more surprised when the Granada airport turned out to be a small building with four gates and minimal security. We could basically walk straight off the plan and cross the tarmac to our bus into town.

This was great coming in and less so leaving, because there were NO OFFICIAL LOOKING PEOPLE around to ask why our plane was mysteriously delayed for 45 minutes. I still don't know. It was like the staff turned up to scan boarding passes when it was time and then apparated back home until the next flight. Needless to say, the delay severely cut into our 55 minute layover at Madrid (booking a flight with only a 55 minute layover was mistake #1). When we touched down (again, straight onto the tarmac), we had about ten minutes to find our gate and catch our flight.

The risen sun was too bright in our losing eyes
 (10 points if you get the reference)

Now, this is the thing about the Madrid airport. I have a deep seated dislike for it based on both my incoming and outgoing experiences, and I know others who share my feelings. Instead of being laid out in some sensible way, it's just stretched, like as long as they could possibly make it, which makes getting from one gate to another (inevitably at the opposite end) just awful. The ceiling rafters are painted in a rainbow and you just spend the walk looking at the ceiling and desperately hoping the colors will shift from orange to yellow soon.

Back to the story. Ten minutes. Terrible airport. Jordanne and I started booking it towards the gate ASAP, with our huge backpacks on our backs. We ran towards our gate until we hit a train, at which point we realized the gate was in the other terminal, a 20 minute train ride and passport check away. At this point we had a minor breakdown on the train, much to the other passenger's enjoyment, I'm sure. We did the only thing we could-trudged to our gate in time to see the plane pulling away. Luckily, the next flight to Heathrow was only an hour away, we had no checked luggage, and they just printed us new boarding passes. Unfortunately, the gate was back in the terminal we'd just sprinted through.

So. We went. Back on the train, back through passport control, back through security (only to realize we'd filled up our water bottles in Granada and had to basically drown ourselves to drink it all in two minutes), and then through passport control again. Judging by my passport, I entered, exited, and reentered Spain all within the space of about twenty minutes. By the time we made it to the new gate, the flight was already boarding and all thoughts of bathroom use or food gathering were lost.

The point here is, of course, that we made it home. Had an adventure, have a story to tell. And that's one of the great reasons for traveling, isn't it? To have stories to tell.

Titanic Tip and Daring Dash, Adventurers Slash Explorers
(It's like a contest to see how many pop culture references I can make in one blog post.
Another 10 points for getting this one)

In Which I Make You Incredibly Jealous

Transcript of a Facebook chat prior to spring break:

Maylen: Do you have a swimsuit?

Me: Um. Yes? Why?

Maylen: I have a surprise for you once you get to Spain. 

But it requires 25 euros. And a swimsuit.

Me: Is it worth 25 euros?

Maylen: It's worth it.

She was right. It was worth it. Maylen had been holding this secret over Jordanne and my heads for over a week. We kept quizzing her about it, "Is it like, active swimming? No?" We figured out that it wasn't a regular swimming pool and it wasn't a water park, but we had no idea what else it could be. Finally, about an hour before we went to whatever it was going to be, she told us. We were going to the baths. Like, traditional Islamic baths. The kind that involves a cycle involving three different kind of bath and a sauna. It was, needless to say, heavenly.

We were greeted at the baths by a handsome Spanish man named Fernando who explained to us that there were three baths: a huge, swimming pool type bath of warm water, a long shallow bath of hot water, and a deep, square pool of cold water. The point was to circulate throughout the three types (with occasional breaks for the sauna or tea), starting with the warm and ending with the cold. Naturally, this meant that when you jump in the cool pool you have about three minutes of complete temperature shock where you're sure you are going to die before your body adjusts. It was perfect. Our 25 euro also covered a ten minute, full body, hot oil massage, which is something I think every student should have a legal right to at least once a month.

 The best thing about the baths (after the massage, obviously) was that it's a really communal experience. Everyone is in the little groups they came in, of course, but we found ourselves going round and round the cycle with the same group of people and doing what communication we could without really sharing a language. Shrieks of surprise at the shock of cold water translate into every language.

Slightly damp but happy

Spain Recap

So I'm sitting here at the tail end of spring break, having spent the last six and a half days in Granada, Spain, trying to think about what I want to say in this blog post. As usual, I don't think I'll be able to keep it to just one blog post. It's going to be another week of me blabbing on about Spain. I would say I'm sorry…but I'm not.


So, to recap. My lovely roommate Jordanne and I flew out to Granada via Madrid last Friday to meet my friend Maylen who is studying there. Maylen served as tour guide during our stay, showing us her city. We visited the Alhambra, Albayzín, walked along the river, went to a traditional Islamic bathhouse, met (and were fed by) Maylen's host family, and ate more churros than is probably legal. I'll get more specific about certain things (the ones that I feel like writing about extensively) later in the week, in other posts.

Needless to say, the whole experience was rather spectacular. Granada is so different from London, which seems like an obvious statement, but I found that the real difference were much more subtle than I expected. It goes way beyond the fact that we speak different languages (side note: I feel like my many years of Spanish language education were somehow leading up to this, and I have to say, I performed credibly well, except teachers have lied to me my entire life about the words for "juice" and "bathroom"). Spain has a whole different pace of life. Everything is later, lunch at 2 pm, dinner at 10 pm. From 3 to 5 pm or so hardly anything is open due to siesta time. I can't imagine anyone in Spain sprinting to catch the Tube like Londoners do on a regular basis. It was great for about three days, and then I started struggling with it. First of all, I'm a morning person, so when dinner doesn't even start until I'm basically asleep, its a problem. Secondly, I don't do "slow paced" very well. I walk fast. I work hard. I'm not into taking two hours out of every day to do nothing. It was great for vacation, but not for forever.

That's a fairly vague recap, but keep a weather eye on the horizon (or this blog, whichever) for more detailed Spain posts later this week!

My Weekend With Maylen

There was (unfortunately) significantly less Eddie Redmayne in my weekend with Maylen than in his week with Marilyn, but it was spectacular nonetheless. Maylen is currently studying away in Grenada, Spain, and we decided to do a little inter country exchange. So she came down for the weekend and I'm headed to Spain with my roommate Jordanne for spring break.

I made sure that Maylen got the English essentials: fish and chips, tea, and a visit to a pub (the Sherlock Holmes pub, so even better). We also got up earlier than should really be technically allowed for a weekend to wait in line to get tickets to Matilda. IT WAS WORTH IT. First of all, the tickets only cost £5, so that's a steal considering the usual rate of £30+. Seeing the musical just made me remember what an important story Matilda is for children to read and see, because Roald Dahl doesn't sugar coat it. He tells it like it is. Sometimes school sucks and parents suck and people are mean. But equally, sometimes we have friends and teachers and experiences that are wonderful. Not to mention the fact that the 10 year olds in the cast were more talented than I'll ever be.

Her being here also made me really think about what I like about London, what I want to do with people when they come here, what I want to show them. Because living here it just becomes home. I go to work, I got to class, go about my daily routine without really thinking about the parts that I like or hate about London. But seeing through Maylen's eyes made me appreciate the city again, from a whole new angle than I used to. My initial love was based on wide eyed awe and the newness of being here. Now I have favorite places and don't have to look at a map and love it because it feels like home.