Boarding to Barcelona: the story of a first-time traveller and his Spanish Adventure
Part Six: “Fui sobre agua edificada, mis muros de fuego son.” (On water I was built, my walls are made of fire.)
Madrid didn’t exactly welcome me with open arms when I arrived. Walking to the hostel, situated not far from Puerta del sol (Madrid’s famous city centre), I was battered by cold winds that reminded me of the UK; my hands were beginning to numb which made reading the map very difficult. Seeing so many adverts featuring happy families indulging in the roasting Spanish heat it’s easy to forget that Spain is only an hour away from Britain and, in the winter, it is pounded by exactly the same forces that make our Januarys so terrible.
We covered most of the important bits of the city, from the Plaza Mayor to the oldest restaurant in the world and from the avant-garde Cathedral to the Royal Palace and it set me up perfectly for further exploring over the next few days. On the walking tour I met a guy from New Zealand called Jake. As we talked we found that we were into a lot of similar things and after the tour we decided to get a coffee in one of Madrid’s many coffee shops.
Jake and I finished our coffee and set off for something heavier at a nearby Museo de Jambon: a kind of mixture between a butcher’s (jambon means ham), a bakery and a pub. When we got inside however, the people could instantly tell that we weren’t local and we received a reception typical of village pubs in England. That said, the experience was fantastic; I’d finally bitten the bullet and tried to depart from the tourist circles. It also gave me a place to practice the small bits of Spanish I’d picked up from my phrasebook, which made me feel a lot more confident, regardless of whether I looked ridiculous in front the Spanish.
In the evening we also visited the Museo del Prado: a showcase of classical art and one of the many galleries Madrid has to offer. It contains four floors full of varied paintings and we found ourselves trying to trace back our steps quite a few times because of its size.
Jake and I became quite solid companions during the two days that he was in the city, and on the last day before he headed to the airport we did a much more in-depth tour of the landmarks we had seen on the first day.
We found the Temple of Debod: an Egyptian temple that had been shipped over to Spain from the African country and rebuilt in the capital as a thank you for supporting the protection of many ancient temples threatened by the construction of the Great Dam of Aswan. Jake and I also stumbled upon the Plaza de Colón, a square dedicated to Spain’s age of conquest, discovery and empire – with a huge fish-tail shaped structure on one side of the square that contrasted the rushing traffic and busy skyline.
Finishing our tour, Jake and I paid a visit to the Reina Sopfia: another museum of art but with a much more contemporary, and in my opinion, interesting collection of work. From Dalí to Picasso and from Franz Kafka’s sketches for his books to a fantastic array of visual art, every inch of wall space in the Reina Sofia was painted with vibrant, unusual and contemporary forms. The highlight of the gallery was Picasso’s Guernica, a painting that spans an entire wall and depicts the massacre of Basque-speaking villagers during the Spanish Civil War.
Jake left for the airport after a couple of days and I spent the rest of my time immersing myself in cafes around the city. I found a particularly nice cafe right by the Royal Palace and spent several hours in there planning future writing projects and reflecting on all of the good adventures that I’d had during my three week trip.
My time had finally come to an end in Spain; I kept looking over my boarding pass, feeling a mixture of excitement at seeing my friends and family again and sadness because this enlightening trip had come to an end. The Spanish Adventure had changed me for the better. I felt more confident as I waited for my plane
Madrid’s has a motto, ‘fui sobre agua edificada, mis muros de fuego son’; it translates as ‘I was born on water, my walls are made of fire’ and I thought that it was quite a poignant sentence for summarising my trip. I had arrived full of anxiety and dread, trapped in my mind by what-ifs, but now, with everything that I’d experienced, I noticed a fire burning in my chest.
I talk as if Spain was a one off, but that isn’t true. As the plane turned and the windows were hit with torrents of English rain, I was already plotting my next great adventure.
Boarding to Barcelona: The story of a first-time traveller and his Spanish Adventure
Part Three: '¿Cómo nos ponemos manos?'('How do we get down?')
Andalusia. One of Spain's most iconic provinces and a place that has inspired people for hundreds of years.
Its land is diverse. From icy mountains to baked earth, from the Catholic soul to the Islamic skin, Andalusia is marked by historical and cultural events that make it sing a very different tune to that of the rest of the country.
By the way that I spoke about Andalusia above, it was obvious that I was excited about entering it. This was the part of my trip that I had been anticipating the most; if I had to choose only three cities in Spain they would all have come from Andalusia.
When I mentioned in the first part of my article that I was always intrigued by the image of the travelling man, it was only in Andalusia that I really felt as though I was on my way to becoming that man. This was probably because of the departure from large urban districts and the domination of wide, untouched landscapes where scuffed boots and trilby hats thrived.
My journey down from Zaragoza lasted six hours and I covered a distance of 733km (approximately Bristol to the tip of Scotland.) So you can imagine how energetic I became when the train changed its course and I saw mountains and settlements. These great icy crowned Kings were known as the Alpujarras and are the tallest mountains in Spain, set on the edge of the dry desert wilderness that is the Sierra Nevada.
At the hostel where I was staying the atmosphere was totally different to that of Barcelona. I felt like I was staying someone's house and I was uncomfortable about the idea that I would have to climb over people to brush my teeth. However, after a few short moments of being there, the closed space didn't worry me and within minutes of dropping my bags off at my dorm I was already chatting to other people who were staying there.
On my first night, as I ate the first of many microwaved pizzas that I would scoff in Granada, I got talking to another Englishman called Dom who was looking for work teaching snowboarding up on the mountains. We got on pretty well and he invited me out to sample a couple of the tapas bars that the city had to offer. The problem with me eating out in Spain is that I'm vegetarian and the country's diet is so heavily built on its meat, so I was only expecting a small piece of bread or a piece of salad. Yet, something much more colourful, a slice of brie and spinach pizza, was laid out in front of me.
The following morning myself, an Egyptian and a Belarusian, whom I had got talking to the night before, set out to see the Alhambra. The Alhambra had been the centre point of my Spanish trip; I'd planned to visit it long before a broader trip to Spain was even thought about.
The fact that there was a building which had been designed by Muslims who also reigned over a kingdom in Europe surprised me and intrigued me. With the conflict between East and West growing more tense, I thought that this would be an important place for learning about how the two cultures lived during the reign of the Islamic Kings.
Although I had only been in Granada for less than a day I felt as though I fitted more into image of the travelling man than I had ever done during the first week. In Barcelona and Zaragoza I hadn't always received the warmest welcome. Whether it be through unhelpful people or confusing streets, as a first-time traveller trying to overcome some of his fear, at times I wanted to turn away and go home.
Here, however, it was the opposite. Being a much more enclosed city full of interesting people, stories and surrounded by scenic landscapes I often forgot about my worries. Granada was by far the calmest place I explored in Spain and the rest from my thoughts liberated me so that I could put on my boots and walk around.
I was back with the Belarusian girl on the second day and the first stop on our tour was the Mirador Saint Nicholas. The Mirador (view-point) was a fantastic place to take some pictures with the Alhambra, the Alpujarras and the city in frame. Discovering the Mirador was like opening a treasure trove; the only way to reach it was through a maze of criss-crossing Jewish roads which could be, at times, confusing but rewarding when you did get it right.
We'd set out with coats to keep us warm in the bitter chill of the morning; yet, as we walked down from the Mirador we found ourselves baking under the Sun. Spain wasn't experiencing its typical fiery temperatures because it was the middle of January, but it was still a lot warmer than we would expect here or in Belarus at this time of year.
After the Mirador Saint Nicholas we wandered over to the other side of the river in search of a group of people living in the caves under one of the Alpujarras' peaks. Following a small path that took us up the mountain we stumbled upon what appeared to be the hobbit houses from the Lord of the Rings and the community that we were looking for. We didn't linger for long though as the place did look intimidating. This community, and the other set of caves used for community events, spoke to me of the closeness with nature that the residents of Granada held and it was something that I too wanted to be a part of.
I think that my desire to get close to the nature around Granada went too far however, as the next hour of my trip found me and my Belarusian friend stuck on the side of a cliff trying to reach one of the Alpujarras' smaller peaks.
The path that we had used to reach the caves soon vanished as we pushed forward in search of the top of the hill; what replaced it was a series of steps built out of flimsy earth and branches to carry us where the path fell away. As I mentioned earlier, the coat that I had been wearing was now being carried, and I also had a bag full of food making the journey even more difficult. We got half way up the mountain and, after nearly falling off of the cliff face a couple of times due to collapsing paths, I decided that I didn't want to go any further.
Knowing the path back was hardly safe we asked a Spanish girl who had followed us up the best way to get down, but our Spanish was broken and her English was too and, after trying to ask her in Spanish the safest way to get down, we went back the way we came.
I survived the descent and I talk about it like it was a brush with death; in reality, it wasn't that steep a cliff – I probably would've broken a bone had I fallen though. The danger of death wasn't really the point though, the point was more the fact that I had pushed myself to do something that I wouldn't normally do and, walking back to the hostel, I knew that I had done the right thing in scaling the cliff – if I hadn't, I would've returned with one less story to my name.
On the last day of my time in Granada I set out to have another wander around the city. The journey took me back to the Alhambra and, with my first trip being rushed, I thought about going in again to have a closer look. My money was getting low however, and I trekked a path that went up past the Alhambra instead.
What I got at the end of the path was a big national park and I wish I'd discovered it on the first day. From the park I could see the icy Kings in all their glory and Granada was the size of a Lego town. The closed wooded paths and open spaces meant that I could relax a little and take in the quieter side of the Andalusian city. I could've carried on walking, the wood went on for miles and, if I had, I probably would've found myself scaling the sides of the larger mountains in the distance.
When I compiled my list of cities to see in Spain Granada had been at the top and it certainly didn't disappoint.
Within minutes of arriving at my hostel, I didn't want to leave. The Jewish streets of the Albaicin, the solemn figure of the Muslim Alhambra perched above the city and the dense woods dwarfed by the domineering forms of the true Kings of Spain gave me the drive every morning to get out and explore. The laid-back bars and wealth of Erasmus students also gave the city a thriving buzz.
Granada cleared my foggy mind, I had more of a purpose in life and more of a vision. It was the first city that I could properly relate to and, on another trip to Spain where I'd see areas I didn't cover in the first visit, Granada would still be on the list.
My first city in Andalusia had left me with a tantalising taste in my mouth. I wanted more of this mythical land, and I was about to get it as the fourth part of my trip, the city of Cordoba, welcomed me in.
Boarding to Barcelona: The story of a first-time traveller and his Spanish Adventure
Part Two: “¿Donde esta la pensione?” (“Where is the hostel?”)
Zaragoza, the city I was heading to after Barcelona, wasn't originally in my list of cities when I was planning my trip. Valencia had been the second part of my adventure right up until the week before I flew out but there was always a sticking point with Valencia and it just wouldn't sit well in my mind.
All of the cities I had decided on for the trip had a selling point, whether it be an old converted mosque, museums, landscapes etc. However, Valencia didn't have that specific thing that really made me want to go there and, as I was going on a trip which was supposed to excite me and engage me I had to find somewhere that would.
As I poured through my Lonely Planet book Zaragoza struck me. I hadn't heard of the city before; yet, as I scanned the guide the different things that the city had to offer (history, culture and a vibrant night life) ticked all of the boxes in my mind. Valencia was taken out and Zaragoza was written in.
My first few hours in the city were challenging. Getting into Delicias station I felt like I had taken the wrong train out of Barcelona and wandered into the middle of nowhere. Instead of compact streets with richly decorated buildings I was greeted by large open roads and housing districts.
I started on what I thought was the route to the Basilica of the Lady of Pilar and the location of my second hostel; however, it soon appeared to me that I was in fact on the motorway leaving the city and so, I had to walk back to the station for attempt number two.
It became clear to me as I took another wrong turn and got lost again that my map reading skills weren't helping me much. Fortunately, after four hours of walking aimlessly I discovered the tram line operating through Zaragoza's city centre. The tram listed that one of its stops was the Basilica and I felt a sense of relief knowing that I could finally use my map rather than relying on the city maps, which were confusing to say the least.
I have never asked for directions as much as I did in Zaragoza. I should've recorded '¿donde esta...?' in advance to save me time as I asked almost anyone I could find to show me the way. The problem I found was that many of the people I encountered knew three words of English and explained the important part in Spanish, whereas I knew the important phrases in Spanish but knew nothing about how to translate the answer into English.
I eventually reached my hostel and, after absorbing so much of Zaragoza at once and carrying the weight of a bag full of clothes, I didn't want to do much else except lie on my bed.
After a couple of hours rest however, I thought I'd try to make the most out of my day and plan out what I wanted to do in the city. Another person staying in my dorm walked in whilst I was working and asked me if he could open the window in Spanish. When I spoke back to him in English the man's face lit up and it was very quickly discovered that we were both from the same country.
Michael was an Erasmus student (English Universities offer their students an Erasmus programme where they can swap places with international students and study in other countries for a period) and he had chosen Zaragoza as his exchange.
I was given a new lease of life when Michael told me about a €1 a bottle deal at an Irish bar around the corner from us. I originally planned to stay away from alcohol along my trip but, in the back of my head, there was always a door open to the idea, especially when a deal was brought into it.
It was refreshing to speak to another person with English as their first language. Although I had only been in Spain for four days, I had been surrounded by English for seven years and the sudden contrast did make me feel uneasy, especially as I hardly knew any Spanish.
Sadly the English bubble was burst when Michael flew out in the morning; I did get lazy with him around though. I didn't have to translate much because he was a fluent speaker and the whole reason for going abroad was that I had to be doing things by myself. He was the first of many to teach me some basic Spanish though and I got by with what I'd learnt once I was on my own again.
My first proper day in Zaragoza began with a visit to one of Spain's many gigantic Catholic cathedrals, the Basilica of Our Lady of Pilar. The most interesting thing about the Basilica is that there are two unexploded bombs displayed inside. During the Spanish Civil War these bombs were dropped onto the Church but, described as a miracle by the clergy, neither detonated and they are now on display as reminders of the war and of the Basilica's resilience.
Because I was sketching the architecture inside, I spent a good three hours in the Basilica. The rest of the day was filled with a trip down to the river Ebro, where I took some crisp winter pictures of the bridge and of the other side of the city. I also returned to the same Irish bar with a German man who I met in the hostel in the evening; although, we didn't quite connect as well as Michael and I did.
The residents of Zaragoza are also very proud of their Roman past. I saw ruined baths on display in the city centre, a museum devoted to the Roman era and a few metres south of the Basilica, lay the unearthed amphitheatre. Caesaraugusta, the Latin incarnation of the city, was still very much alive around me. But, what really caught my attention was seeing so many different periods of Zaragoza's history continuing to influence its modern image.
In most cities there is an El Corte Ingles, a Spanish equivalent of the big English department stores and I had my first experience of one of these in Zaragoza. I hadn't encountered any in Barcelona because I had tried to shop as cheaply as I could, but the layout of Zaragoza meant that it was impossible to escape its shopping district. I felt like I was back in Britain again, walking through the aisles and smelling the tasty bread and cakes as they baked them.
I did think that Zaragoza was going to be the quiet part of the trip, but my expectations of the city were rapidly changed by the people I encountered. The bold graffiti, tightly knit city centre surrounded by sprawling outer city districts and the sense of internationalism encouraged by Erasmus students all spoke to me of a city that didn't take itself too seriously and didn't feel the need to hide its imperfections.
On whether my trip would've been better had I gone to Valencia instead of Zaragoza, I'm still undecided. Zaragoza had lots of fantastic spectacles both hidden and exposed along its streets. But then, Valencia is the science capital of Spain and its buildings are contrastingly modern and metallic (something that might have been a nice departure from the old and blocky architecture I saw throughout my trip.) If I return to Spain I think I will pay Valencia a visit, but I definitely don't regret going to Zaragoza.
With travelling to Zaragoza I gained a much broader sense of Spain and if I had stuck to my initial decision, Valencia, I would only have explored the south coast - could I really say that I got a good picture of Spain if I had stuck to the coast?
When I'd finally settled into the city I found myself walking back to Delicias station for the next part of my trip. Boarding the train for Granada I heard the song of Andalusia calling and my excitement grew.
Mountains, mosques and the Moors were all waiting for me in the south: the tempo of my journey was about to change.
