Tag Archives: travel

My list of invaluable online resources as an expat living in Spain

15 May online resources, expat, living away from home, travel, blog, josh taylor

online resources, expat, living away from home, travel, blog, josh taylor

We had a power cut the other night.

I hate power cuts, and especially when they happen at night; I am invariably prevented from doing anything that I want to be doing (if my laptop battery is low, which is often) and I can’t boil the kettle or use the hob, therefore am unable to make myself a cup of tea, which causes the sort of anguish that no man should ever have to bare.

As a kid, I’d jump for joy if ever there were a power cut, and then rush off to the loft to unearth some dusty board game (usually Risk or Monopoly) while Mum sorted out the candles and Dad waited in a dark corner with the torch held under his chin, ready to click it on and petrify me when I emerged with the board game underarm.

On this occasion, my instinct reaction was very different. I swore, sighed, got up (still swearing), wandered off to fetch a candle and then began reading a book. Of course I like reading books, but not when I am forced to do so and generally not at night – it’s much more of a daytime, terrace, coffee and sunshine thing for me.

Inevitably, the lights flickered back into life within moments of having sat down, and my untimely, darkened interlude was over almost as abruptly as it had started. I drifted insentiently back to my computer and settled down into my swivel chair to resume my evening of mindless web browsing.

And that’s when it hit me – just how reliant I have become on the internet as a tool not only for casual distraction, but for everything I do. Before coming to Spain, I hadn’t been so unremittingly consumed with it; Facebook, uni stuff, fantasy football league and one or two news websites were just about the extent of my web browsing. Truthfully, I had neither the time nor reason to use it for other means.

Evidently, that’s all changed now, and after a bit of a ponder and several cups of Yorkshire’s finest, I’ve drawn up a list of the online resources that I deem to be categorically invaluable to me, as a young (barely), working, travel-fervid expat here in Spain.

If you live under similar circumstances or have done before, then perhaps you’ll be inclined to agree with some. If you’ve never called yourself ‘expat’ but are thinking about it, then I assure you, ALL of the following will be hugely helpful in the settling in process – I only wish I hadn’t had to find (most of) them myself…

#1 Couchsurfing

online resources, expat, living away from home, travel, blog, josh taylor

Fair enough, you don’t have to be an expat to become a ‘couchsurfer’ – the worldwide social networking site is for anyone, anywhere – but if you’re living away from home, you’ll invariably be surrounded by new and interesting places that you will no doubt want to investigate on a regular basis.

Couchsurfing is the perfect way to go about doing this. You save lots of pennies and meet lots of very agreeable, local people, who are likely to show you around town or at the very least send you on your way with an elaborately modified map.

What’s more, couchsurfing also offers expats the opportunity to meet other, like-minded people in their own cities. It wasn’t until my impromptu trip to Pamplona last March that I realised the potential benefits of attending regular meet-ups here in Granada. Before that experience, couchsurfing had only ever been a service I occasionally needed whilst travelling or offered to other travellers. Now I attend the Granada forum’s intercambio every week and meet new people from all over the world every week. It’s a huge part of my life.

#2 Car sharing websites

online resources, expat, living away from home, travel, blog, josh taylor

In a recent post about SOS 4.8 Festival in Murcia, I alluded to the Spanish car-sharing website amovens.com. This particular site is probably my favourite, as it never seems to let me down. I’ve also used blabacar.es and carpooling.es, albeit each on just one occasion, but both were equally as positive experiences.

To give you an idea of the savings I make using these types of sites, consider that a one-way train ticket to Seville from Granada costs €29 and lasts just over three hours. Now consider that I made that same journey in almost half that time at a third of the price. I’ll say it again…

There is of course that element of risk involved, but I’ve never heard any horror stories to put me off. Girls, understandably, are and ought to be more cautious, but like couchsurfing, many of these sites function on a reference-based system, so that any would-be passengers may give their would-be drivers the onceover before making arrangements. The golden rule is that you do not fall asleep; this is both rude and dangerous!

online resources, expat, living away from home, travel, blog, josh taylor

#3 Tusclasesparticulares.com

It took until my third year here in Spain to stumble across this gem of a site. Whether you are planning to stay in Spain as a short-term or long-term expat, you will, inevitably, at some point begin teaching English. It’s the easiest job to find and with a bit of luck you’ll be able to find a decent academy who treat their staff well. I am fortunate enough to be able to count myself among the few English teachers here in Granada who are paid well, on time and most important of all – legally. Others aren’t so lucky, and often find themselves scrapping for hours and desperately trying to seek out private students.

Tusclasespartiulares.com is a service that makes this issue a hell of a lot simpler. Students – of any language – and language teachers alike may create a profile and post short ads detailing their needs/services etc. Users can instantly see prices, hours of availability, relevant experience and so on.

Earlier this year, I created my own profile and received around 10 messages within the first week. Some came from private students and others from directors of local academies asking if I’d like to come for an interview for a part or in some cases full time position. It’s a surefire way to get the moneys rolling in.

online resources, expat, living away from home, travel, blog, josh taylor, teaching in spain

#4 Expatforum.com

This site provided me with answers when I needed them most.

Last year, I went through hell and back trying to replace my lost NIE at Granada’s oficina de extranjero (complainy post in the works). Those of you who already live in Spain will almost certainly be aware of just how infuriatingly slow and tedious Spanish bureaucracy can be. I was desperate for a new certificate so that I could legitimately claim el paro (extremely generous unemployment benefit) over my jobless summer, but ran into countless stumbling blocks along the way.

online resources, expat, living away from home, travel, blog, josh taylor

Hours of frantic Google searches led me to expatforum.com, where I was at last able to read something concerning the matter in English and, after registering as a user, send beseeching messages to the senior, Spanish bureaucracy hardened members. Eventually, I resolved my issue by requesting and subsequently being granted a temporary residence card, but I very nearly had to cry in order to get what I wanted. I didn’t cry, but probably would’ve done had it not been for some expert guidance via the Spain page on expat forum.

#5 Second-hand / flat-share websites

I’m guessing sites like this exist in just about every country by now. The US has Craigslist and the UK have spareroom.co.uk, gumtree.com and flatshare.com. All of them work amazingly well. Here in Spain, you have to look a bit harder for the better ones. I use easypiso.com (branch of easyroommate.com) and loquo.com to find potential places to live.

online resources, expat, living away from home, travel, blog, josh taylor

It’s just chaos in the mornings…

My first year using easypiso.com yielded a moderate apartment with excellent flat mates (except one, asshole) and the second pretty much the opposite way around; I now live in an incredible, modern, three-floor house with a terrace, patio and soundproof basement. However, my housemates and I do not get along, and I recently decided that, despite how in love I am with the house, the people with whom I live are more important, so I’ll be enlisting the services of easypiso or loquo once again this coming June.

I should also mention that loquo.com, as well as segundamano.es, are fantastic sites for buying second hand stuff. I’ve bought a phone, a bike and various other bits and pieces, and met with the seller in person every time. Waaay better than ebay.

 online resources, expat, living away from home, travel, blog, josh taylor

#6 Wordreference.com, NOT Google Translate

Thanks to wordreference.com, I am able to trick people who I only speak Spanish to on Facebook into thinking that my Spanish is completely flawless. I can use words like ‘diluviando’ or ‘quisquilloso’ or (personal fave) ‘zarrapastroso’ and pretend as though I didn’t just look it up in two seconds flat. Better still, each translation yields two, three or even four uses of the word in context, so you are able to choose which word suits what you want to say best.

The same cannot be said for the erroneous Google Translate. Often, a search for a single word will turn up numerable results, with no contexts given as examples. If an entire phrase or paragraph is copied, pasted and translated, the result is even more inaccurate, as complex grammatical structures somehow seem too much for Google’s gargantuan brain to deal with.

online resources, expat, living away from home, travel, blog, josh taylor

I must admit, since I downloaded the app for my smartphone I have perhaps become ever so slightly overindulgent. Beforehand, I used it as a quick fix whenever I was reading or writing in Spanish online. These days, it’s whenever I am momentarily unsure of how to say something, when in actual fact I could probably wrest it out of me if I just mulled it over for another minute.

#7 Twitter

online resources, expat, living away from home, travel, blog, josh taylor

Now no list of invaluable expat resources would be complete without giving an honourable mention to Twitter now would it? Frankly, I’d be lost without it.

Since finally giving in and joining shortly before Christmas, it has become an almost exclusive news resource for me. There is, however, a lot of distracting, pointless dross that when clicked on swallows up a good chunk of my day. And that isn’t good.

I can’t keep up with it to tell you the truth, but I do like retweeting things I find funny or interesting. I’d retweet this if I hadn’t already tweeted it.

God that’s the most incredibly twattish-sounding thing I’ve ever said on here.

 

Expats, would-be expats and er, ex-expats! What are your most invaluable resources in your adopted homeland? Do pitch in!

Hiking in The Sierra Nevada: Monte Trevenque & Los Cahorros

26 Apr Monte Treveque, Spain, Sierra Nevada, España, hiking
Monte Treveque, Spain, Sierra Nevada, España, hiking

View from the peak of Monte Traveque

‘Hiking’ is not one of my hobbies. To be honest, I have rarely hiked anywhere if the upshot of it hasn’t involved me being able to turn around, strap myself to a snowboard and hurl myself back down from whence I came. I’ve been up Machu Picchu and – wait for it – Ben Nevis before, and both climbs were thoroughly enjoyable and memorable to say the least, but neither experience left any irrevocable longing to partake in the practice on a regular basis.

I’m not so sure of that anymore.

Last Saturday, I was invited by a group of friends to join them for a day’s hiking in the stunning Sierra Nevada mountain range. The chosen trail was the long, gravelly and rugged route up to the peak of Monte Trevenque – known to locals as ‘El rey’ (ooh er), followed by a walk through the cascading terrains of Las Cahorros in Monachil if time permitted it. Other than passing through on my way to the ski resort, I’d never been to Monachil nor any of its surrounding areas before. It was a no-brainer.

Monte Trevenque, Spain, Sierra Nevada, España, hiking

Next morning, we left Granada aboard the 181 bus and arrived in Monachil at around 11am. We were supposed to meet several others and our guide for the day but in typical Spanish Sunday style, things had gotten off to a slow start. A quick snooze, one revitalising glass of freshly squeezed orange juice and about an hour and a half later, and we were finally piling into the back of a Citroen hatchback so that we could be taken to the starting point of the 10km round hike.

The route starts near Fuente del Hervidero, a traditional country fare restaurant situated on the edge of the Sierra Nevada national park, though most walkers generally begin at the car park a km or so further up the road. This, sensibly, is what we did, though not before stopping to fill several plastic 2L bottles at the restaurant’s fresh mountain water reserve – an importance that cannot be underestimated given the entirely exposed locale of the mountainous domain.

Monte Treveque, Spain, Sierra Nevada, España, hiking

It begins…

We set off in zipped up sweaters under a cloudy sky, though only a matter of minutes had passed before the sun broke through and the layers were being stuffed back into rucksacks. For at least an hour, the terrain maintained a very steady incline, which zigzagged its way around the sandy wastelands, offering splendid views of the lower-lying Las Arenales along the way.

Monte Treveque, Spain, Sierra Nevada, España, hiking, arenales

Squint and you’ll be able to read it…

Our guide, Wayne – an outgoing, brawny and Manchester bred fella (ey up!)  – was already a friend of ours, and had offered to take us out for a very agreeable fee. He was a living and breathing brochure for the Sierra Nevada – full of facts and answers to any questions we posed to him. I only wish he had told me about the callous and spiky-natured plant life along the trail before I accidentally grabbed a handful of one in order to stop myself from falling. I’m still plucking splinters out of my fingers from that almost a week later.

Further along we stopped beneath a cluster of jagged rock-forms perched on top of a sandy mound. We raced to the tip of the highest one where we mucked about pretending to be apes in 2001: A Space Odyssey for a bit, and then stopped being silly and carried on.

Monte Treveque, Spain, Sierra Nevada, España, hiking

Aren’t we a wild bunch?

Monte Treveque, Spain, Sierra Nevada, España, hiking, josh taylor

Eventually, the route began to steepen, and before we knew it, the gravel was slipping away from beneath our boots (or in my case a pair of hole-ridden converse). The peak loomed in front of us, yet still seemed miles away. Some climbers on their way back down bid us a cheerful ‘hola’, while others warned of the ridge’s sharp increase in steepness towards the top. Honesty is good.

“Take small steps and tread with the soles of your feet!” yelled Wayne from behind me.

Small steps, soles of feet, small steps, soles of feet. Keeeep it steady…

Monte Treveque, Spain, Sierra Nevada, España, hiking

What a view…

Miraculously, each of us made it to the summit without slipping. Dare I say we were beginning to feel like seasoned pros.

There we stood at 2079m overlooking the entire Sierra Nevada national park. It was magnificent. Below us the rolling rises and arid plateaus stretched out to the shimmering haze of Granada on the horizon, and up in the distance between various other mountain ranges, we could even see the ski resort’s La Laguna chairlift where some of us had been exactly a week before.

Monte Treveque, Spain, Sierra Nevada, España, hiking

La Laguna Chairlift, Sierra Nevada Ski Resort

Monte Treveque, Spain, Sierra Nevada, España, hiking, josh taylor

Yo

We were in no hurry to begin the descent, so we took our time snacking, gazing, exploring and even napping in some cases. Wayne pointed out a couple of tiny manger displays at the highest point, which had been assembled by a visiting Catholic group on a recent trip. A pair of Ibex that showed up minutes later proved far more interesting to watch. Surprisingly, neither seemed particularly bothered that we were just a few feet away from them, though they did get a bit iffy when my friend attempted to close in for a closer look.

Monte Treveque, Spain, Sierra Nevada, España, hiking

Da Crib

IMG_1032 copy

Crazy Fool

Monte Treveque, Spain, Sierra Nevada, España, hiking, ibex

It won’t work…

Monte Treveque, Spain, Sierra Nevada, España, hiking, ibex

Best photo I’ve taken yet?

Eventually, we got moving again, treading even more carefully than before. The descent is a lot more dangerous, and takes its toll on your legs. If you’re very surefooted and half mad then like Wayne and aforementioned friend you might prefer to jump and skid your way down (the gravelly section). Personally, I was content to continue with the ‘small steps, soles of feet’ approach. I prefer not to tempt fate.

Monte Treveque, Spain, Sierra Nevada, España, hiking

Small steps, soles of feet…

Monte Treveque, Spain, Sierra Nevada, España, hiking

Horses in the Dry Valley

Just as the gradient eased off we moved into La Rambla, a dusty, dried up river valley with very little vegetation. Sooner or later, this developed into a small pass that led us back to the route where we had originally started. Before long, we were chomping on giant olives and sipping ice-cold tubos back at the restaurant. Annoyingly, the kitchen had already closed – even though there appeared to be various other groups returning from lengthy walks, all equally as famished. Why I ask? Why!?

Monte Treveque, Spain, Sierra Nevada, España, hiking

Yeah we just climbed that!

It was late by the time we arrived at Los Cahorros, a sprawling, waterfall abounding area just twenty or so minutes from the town of Monachil. Our group size had reduced to four, including Wayne, and rather predictably there was nobody else around at 7pm. We had the whole place to ourselves.

It was lots of fun; from scrambling under or around protruding rocks that blocked our path to scampering beneath gushing waterfalls and along wobbly rope bridges, our tired legs – unbelievably – still had some energy left in them. At one point we passed a bikini top that had been nailed to a rock hanging over the stream. According to Wayne, its previous owner had climbed from underneath the overhang and up the front side, simply to prove that she had managed such a feat by flaunting the colourful garment for all to see. We were suitably impressed, though apparently not enough for me to remember to take a photo of it. Doh!

Los Cahorros, Spain, Sierra Nevada, España, hiking

Los Cahorros

Los Cahorros, Spain, Sierra Nevada, España, hiking

Los Cahorros, Spain, Sierra Nevada, España, hiking

The rope bridge suspended over the falls. Bring’s out the Indiana Jones in anyone.

Los Cahorros, Spain, Sierra Nevada, España, hiking

The day finished with yet more beer and generous portions of carne en salsa at one of Wayne’s favourite local bars. We all agreed that it was undoubtedly the best carne and salsa any of us had ever had, ever.

Whether you’re into hiking or not, The Cuerda del Trevenque and Los Cahorros are two gems well worth investigating, though the former is considered to be one of the more difficult routes throughout the park, so maybe start smaller if you’re not match fit so to speak. The best time to visit is in late spring, after all the snow has disappeared and before the heat becomes insufferable.

I found this blog that has a lot of useful information for anybody keen to learn more. I know I’ll be using it a fair bit from now on anyway…

Los Cahorros, Spain, Sierra Nevada, España, hiking Los Cahorros, Spain, Sierra Nevada, España, hiking

 Have you been hiking in the Sierra Nevada? Where else is worth going to? Any suggestions most welcome!

Not San Fermín in Pamplona, Navarre

11 Apr Ayuntamiento, council, Pamplona, Spain
Pamplona, Spain, Paseo Sarasate

Paseo Sarasate, Pamplona

I hadn’t planned to go to Pamplona. Originally, my semana santa plan of action was to spend just two nights in Bilbao (which developed into three after I realised how much I loved the place/that the Guggenheim was closed on Mondays), three nights in San Sebastián (which was reduced to two after I realised I was actually rather bored) and one night in Santander (which just gradually, for some reason, became less and less appealing).

If truth be told, my decision to go to Pamplona was based purely on one man’s recommendation and the alleged fact that I was more likely to encounter Basque being casually spoken in the streets, even though Pamplona isn’t actually a part of País Vasco. There also happened to be a couchsurfing night on which, judging by the number of confirmed attendees pre-departure, looked to be a rather promising climax to my trip.

Pamplona, Spain, Paseo Sarasate

Paseo Sarasate, Pamplona

Until that day, the city hadn’t even been on the radar. All I knew about it was that once a year its inhabitants allowed a drove of disoriented and understandably irked bulls to gallop around the city for an entire day, which, to be honest, wasn’t something high up on my to-do list, given the fact I am completely against animal cruelty and I am – not unlike most I imagine – shit scared of bulls. I’ve heard the stories; seen the horrifying Youtube videos; and been charged at in a field when I was about 10. Placing myself within the immediate vicinity of one of these unforgiving beasts was not on my bucket list, oddly enough.

Perhaps I was being slightly naïve. Well, I was definitely being slightly naïve, as it turned out. When I met my eleventh-hour couchsurfing host in Pamplona, just half an hour after arriving and three hours after deciding that I would go, my previously uneducated opinion on the matter quickly began to manifest itself. My host, Nacho, met me by the city’s famed ayuntamiento building and readily pointed out to me how various metal bollards that are usually kept hidden within the ground are raised during San Fermín, in order to protect spectators. Apparently, they could be found all over the city.

Ayuntamiento, council, Pamplona, Spain

Ayuntamiento de Pamplona

Not that bollard spotting was something I felt particularly enthused about, but I’d soon find out in any case, as a bike was pushed in my direction moments after we arrived at Nacho’s flat.

“It’s going to rain tomorrow”, he proclaimed with a smile, “so I take you on a bike ride to see the city today!”

Moments like this reminded me why I love couchsurfing so much. It really is the best way of meeting people when travelling – a couch or bed for the night is merely a bonus.

Off we went, beginning the tour where the bulls themselves are let loose into the city. First, we passed a tiny, doll-sized porcelain model of San Fermín which stood behind a glass panel in the brick wall beyond the ayuntamiento building – something that would have completely passed me by had it not been for Nacho’s local knowledge.

San Fermín, Pamplona

San Fermín, fun-sized

Iglesia de Santo Domingo

Iglesia de Santo Domingo

 

Hemingway, Pamplona, Spain

Old Town

Hemingway, Pamplona, Spain

Hemingway is still a big deal in Pamplona. He put them on the map after all…

Next, we came upon a park filled with ducks, geese, peacocks and other feathery creatures. I’m pretty sure I kept it locked but I am also, embarrassingly, shit scared of geese. Well not scared…scared, just massively uncomfortable around them. I can’t be certain, but I’m fairly sure I was chased by a gaggle of them when I was little, after innocently tossing a few chunks of bread at some ducks, who were then ambushed. The memory is hazy, but on the rare occasion that I actually do encounter geese, that same sudden pang of panic hits me, and I just need to get out of there. I envisaged my own hellish version of San Fermín: the running of the geese. Thankfully, I wouldn’t have to run anywhere, as there was an 8ft wall between us, and I had a bike to escape on if it somehow managed to sense my fear and fly at me. On the upside I did see a black swan for the first time. Take a look:

Black swan, cisne negro, pamplona, spain

Cisne negro en el parque de la Taconera, Pamplona

Parque de la Taconera, geese, ducks

Parque de la Taconera, Pamplona

With the geese in our wake, we pedaled on toward Pamplona’s 16th century fortress so I could soak up a bit of history. The castle was built under the rule of King Phillip II, who later had the city bounded by walls so as to keep out the French and any other unwelcome guests. For hundreds of years after the city could only develop within these walls, as Pamplona served as one of northern Spain’s most fortified of military footholds. The walls – visibly ravaged by war – still stand today. One we passed had a small opening with a metal pane barricading its entrance. Again, I’d never have noticed if Nacho hadn’t stopped to tell me all about it.

“Tunnels like these stretch for miles, and were used for eavesdropping”, he explained, “people would be sent down them for days at a time and remain in absolute silence so that any enemy strikes or ill-intentioned conversations between conspirers could be preempted back at the fortress”.

secret passage, Pamplona castle

Secret Passage. Ooohhh!!!

Nacho was full of interesting information, and could have easily fooled me into thinking he was an actual tour guide.

That evening, he and I headed out to a bar to meet other couchsurfers of the Pamplona community, some of whom had other travellers staying with them. We were the first to arrive but before long others were blowing in thick and fast. Eventually the bar was swarming with Spanglish speaking couchsurfers, mingling to no end. Beer and pintxos were lavishly consumed, and contact details for future reference affably exchanged. In truth, it was a real eye-opener of a night; how, and why on earth had I been missing out on this scene in Granada?

Next day, I unsurprisingly awoke to a merciless hangover that kept me prisoner for the rest of the early afternoon.

“The solution is easy!” declared Nacho. “We will go to other bar to drink more!”

Despite my lack of enthusiasm I really did admire the guy’s adeptness at hosting – and drinking for that matter – he’d certainly fit in with my usual crowd at home.

“Ahh. Hair of the dog” I replied.

“Como?”

“Err, ‘pelo del perro?’”

“Que dices hombre? Vístete! Vamos muy pronto.” What are you on about mate? Get dressed. We’re leaving very soon.

Fair enough. I could hardly rebuff such a proposal after all that he had done for me thus far. His house, his rules.

Half an hour later, I watched with one dry, bloodshot eye as a grinning barman poured me a locally brewed cidra (cider) whilst the other got to work on locating the bathroom just in case I needed to pay an impromptu visit (I wasn’t cross-eyed). Nacho and his friend who’d joined us were evidently less effected, or just way more macho than I was, as they got started on a couple of Perucci Martinis. My cider was only a 250ml measure but lasted me a good hour.

cidra, perucci martini, pamplona

Cidra y Perucci Martinis

As we chatted outside, Nacho suddenly nodded in the direction of a family standing to our left. They were speaking Basque. Weirdly, it more or less involved another mother telling off her children, though on the previous occasion I hadn’t managed to retain a lot of what I’d heard believe it or not. It was a lot clearer this time, though still an utter mystery.

Several remedial pintxos and photos of the world’s third largest Plaza de Toros later and I was headed back to the bus station, in the absolute pissing rain, feeling rather pleased with my brief but decidedly satisfying trip. Pamplona – minus all the fuss and bustle of San Fermín – is a city worth visiting any time of the year.

Plaza de Toros, Pamplona, Spain

Plaza de Toros, Pamplona

Ayuntamiento, council, Pamplona, Spain

Me, bike and ayuntamiento, Pamplona

Have you been to Pamplona? Would you like to go? Do leave a comment!

Pintxo hopping in San Sebastian, País Vasco

7 Apr pintxo, san sebastian, spain, basque country

pintxo, san sebastian, spain, basque country

The only thing I could be sure of before heading to País Vasco was that I was going to eat well; anybody I spoke to who had been before would probably have testified to it in a court of law had they been given the chance.

“Dios mio que suerte! La comida alli es increíble!” they would more or less say.

“Me traigas un pintxo vale?”

Hmm. Bring you one back? Wouldn’t a fancy tapa along Calle Navas suffice instead?

They were joking of course, but when I arrived at Bar Txalupa – my first Pintxo bar in San Sebastián – cold, sodden and starving, I quickly realized that such a request – whether it had been a joke or not – wasn’t so unreasonable after all. The overflowing dishes of elaborately concocted pintxos looked fit for a king. Choosing which I was going to devour first was a tough decision to take. Eventually though, I settled for the elegant jamón and goat’s cheese salad tostada and sweet tuna mayo-stuffed, red pepper. Both of them were practically inhaled at the cost of €2.50 each (without a drink included). A budget lunch in San Sebastián, it seemed, was not an easy thing to come by.

pintxo, san sebastian, spain, basque country

Pintxo de jamón y queso de cabra y pintxo de pimienta roja con atún. Divine.

pintxo, san sebastian, spain, basque country

Next, my couchsurfing host, Luis – author of ‘Aquel Año Erasmus’ – led me to his personal favourite, Bar Juantxo, where the pintxos were apparently a tad more agreeably priced and just as appetizing. We arrived and waded in through the jostling crowd. Beside the Spanish menu was one written in Euskera. ‘Time to flex my lingo skills’ I thought, ‘how hard can it be if it’s written in front of me?’ I gave it my best shot, and was met with first a smile, and then the translated version in Castellano. ‘Si’ I replied with a sigh. I’d managed my first proper Basque sentence but the fact that the barman had answered in Spanish irked me, just as it used to when Spanish people spoke to me in English when I was trying my hardest to spit out a sentence in Spanish. At least I knew I’d got it right.

Bocadillo de lomo y pimiento rojo

Bocadillo de lomo y pimiento rojo

(Source)

(Source)

The food was just as gratifying as Luis had promised, and notably cheaper, at just €2 a pintxo, and €3 for a larger bocadillo. I went for a pork and pepper baguette and another wedge of ham-topped tortilla. The highlight though, was hearing Euskera spoken properly for the first time. It came from a family sitting to our left, and largely involved a mother scolding her children for chasing each other around the room. I wouldn’t have known if Luis hadn’t pointed it out. When I tuned in, it honestly sounded as though it could have been any foreign language; I couldn’t relate in any way whatsoever, except for that it seemed to have the same rhythm as Castellano. That’s when it hit me that I could have already heard Euskera on numerous occasions in Bilbao but had simply failed to realise it.

san sebastian, basque country, spain

Pintxod out, I spent the rest of the afternoon making hay while the sun still shone. Unfortunately, a broad layer of dreary, txirimiri (basque for ‘drizzle’) tipping clouds choked most of that sunshine out, leaving me somewhat underwhelmed by my environs. Next day, however, it opened up a bit, and in between yet more pintxos, I spent the afternoon wandering San Sebastián’s parte vieja and unhurriedly climbing the littoral, castle-topped Monte Urgull, which overlooks the city and offers sweeping views. The sky at the mount’s summit was still overcast, but inadvertently provided a brilliant, spooky sort of backdrop to the small island of Santa Clara, which lies just 700m from the curved Playa de la Concha.

La Parte Vieja (The Old Town) 

san sebastian, basque country, spain, catedral

La Catedral

san sebastian, basque country, spain, santa maria

Iglesia de Santa María

san sebastian, basque country, spain, catedral

The Door of Santa María

Views from Monte Urgull

san sebastian, basque country, spain, monte urgull

San Sebastián

san sebastian, basque country, spain, monte urgull

Statue of Jesus atop Monte Urgull

san sebastian, basque country, spain, monte urgull, santa clara

Isla de Santa Clara

More Pintxos

san sebastian, basque country, spain, pintxo

Casa Vergana, Calle Mayor

pintxo, san sebastian, spain, basque country pintxo, san sebastian, spain, basque country

I enjoyed my time in San Sebastián, and could see why many people insist on the city being the highlight of the Basque region – there’s a certain ecclesiastical charm about the place that is lacking in neighbouring Bilbao – but things get rather quiet in the evening. Spain were playing France in a World Cup qualifier match one of the nights I was there, which in Andalucía would warrant jam-packed bars on every street corner, but you’d be forgiven for thinking there had been a recent outbreak of the plague in San Sebastián; it was dead, and those out for a drink seemed to be totally unconcerned about the football. In a way, it was a refreshing change, but a surprising one nonetheless.

san sebastian, basque country, spain

Making music on Zurriola Bridge

san sebastian, basque country, spain

San Sebastián, or Donostia, as it is called in Euskera, is definitely a daytime city, which revolves around its inimitable gastronomy scene. There’re plenty of tasty tapas elsewhere in Spain, but you’ll have to come here if you really want to sample Spanish cuisine at its absolute best. Take it from me, a newly converted pintxo aficionado who guzzled back no less than eleven of the toothsome treats in just under 48 hours. And for the record, I actually did attempt to bring a couple back to Granada, though they were accidentally eaten on the plane.

san sebastian, basque country, spain, playa de concha

Surfers on Playa de Gros

Have you been to San Sebastián? What’s the best pintxo you’ve ever had?

Basque hunting in Bilbao, País Vasco

2 Apr Casco Viejo
Casco Viejo

Casco Viejo

Easter week, in Spain, is known as ‘Semana Santa’. Much like at Christmas time, the emphasis veers away from the commercial side of things; there’re no eggs – chocolate or decorative, hard-boiled ones – and no kitschy shop-window displays of Easter bunnies who are supposed to have somehow laid them.

For most, it presents the opportunity to take part in or simply observe a historic and deep-rooted Spanish tradition that is as much a social ritual as an ancient religious practice. For others, it’s a week of going out, getting drunk and staying in bed. For me, it’s a time to travel. I’ve seen Semana Santa once before, and forty-five minute journeys on foot that ordinarily take just five become a little wearisome after the fifth or sixth time.

This year, I travelled north to País Vasco, an area of Spain I have long since wanted to explore, given its interminable tide of rave reviews and my unswerving curiosity for all things where peculiar languages are concerned.

My trip started in Bilbao, the largest and most densely populated city of the region, which, since the construction of the famous Guggenheim Museum in 1997, has seen itself go from a relatively uninteresting port city to a thriving, trendy and avant-garde tourist hub.

Thanks to a couple of very informative posts from the likes of Young Adventuress and Liz en España, I was easily able to draw up a rough plan of what I was going to do keep me busy. Two nights seemed about right.

I arrived at the airport Saturday afternoon and boarded the Bizkaibus to the city centre. My ears were pricked, ready to ingest all those baffling Basque words, but everybody on the bus seemed to be speaking Castellano. ‘They’re just regular Spanish-speaking people on holiday’ I thought, ‘I’ll be drowning in it soon enough’. I turned my attention to what was happening outside the bus. The difference between what I was seeing and the Spain I was used to was incredible, in almost every sense. It wasn’t just the lush, green meadows filled with cows and sheep that struck me as different; it was the smell as well. I breathed in the pungent scent of freshly cut grass, more evocative of the peak district where I grew up in England, when my nostrils were abruptly hijacked by the equally as powerful aroma of freshly laid horse manure. I gagged loudly. Rough with the smooth and all that I suppose.

Bilbao, Spain, spring, pintxos

Plaza de Miguel de Unamuno

Not long afterwards I was looking out onto Plaza de Miguel de Unamuno, instantly enamored with the place. Luckily, I had managed to secure accommodation in this old part of town, El Casco Viejo, via couchsurfing, so everything I wanted to see was right on my doorstep. Before finding my host’s apartment, I went out in search of some Euskara (the official term for the Basque language) as I still hadn’t heard any, and was at a loss as to why. I decided to home in on old people. Surely they would speak it, proud as they are of their roots and regional identity. Two old ladies approached on my left flank. I slowed my pace, and listened intently…

Nothing. NADA. Why on earth was nobody speaking this mysterious language? Weren’t they proud to be able to speak it? Was I actually in Bilbao?

Bilbao, Spain, spring, pintxos

Plaza Nueva

I soon found my host’s apartment, where my questions were duly answered. Apparently, people tend not to speak Euskera in the cities of País Vasco, and a surprising amount of Basque-born natives speak relatively little of the language, knowing only useful words and phrases for the rare times they should ever need them. If you want to hear Euskera spoken fluently and liberally, you have to head out to the smaller towns in between the three main cities, Bilbao, San Sebastián and Vitoria-Gasteiz. This came as a surprise to me. Clearly, I hadn’t read Liz’s post on ‘5 Things You Need To Know When Visiting Basque Country’ closely enough. I inevitably began to draw comparisons with Catalan, a language that is spoken anywhere and everywhere in all of Catalonia, in cities big or small. Why wasn’t it the same here?

I spent the rest of the day wandering the elegant Casco Viejo, which exuded a perfectly balanced mingling of things both old and new. I was completely sold.

Bilbao, Spain, spring, pintxos

Catedral de Bilbao

Bilbao, Spain, spring, pintxos

Space Invader!

Space Invader!

Casco Viejo

Casco Viejo

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Always love a bit of street art...

Always love a bit of street art…

Later that evening, I met my host’s housemate, Tania, who, although not a native herself, offered me her thoughts on why Euskera is less common to hear in País Vasco than Catalan in Catalonia. I was shocked. According to Tania, many Basque natives choose not to speak Euskera as abundantly as they could do for fear of being associated with the now abdicated ETA terrorist organization. This explanation seemed a little radical to me, but I could see some sense in what she was saying.

Understandably, it’s still a very touchy subject, ETA. While few supporters of the organization remain, there is still a well-backed call for the transfer of all Basque prisoners, currently serving life sentences for acts of terrorism, to Basque prisons, where their families would be able to visit them without the cost of travelling elsewhere in Spain. Earlier this year thousands of people marched in downtown Bilbao to give voice to the cause, and each week, family members stand outside the city council in silent protest. The movement for complete separation from the state is still a very much alive in Bilbao. Spain’s World Cup win in 2010, for instance, triggered a number of street fights, after those that openly celebrated the victory were set upon by separatists out looking to make a point.

The following day, I visited El Mercado de Ribera, explored more of the old town and went to the Guggenheim. Here is what I saw:

Mercado de Ribera

Carne

Carne

Mercado de Ribera

Mercado de Ribera

Fruta, Mercado de Ribera

Fruta, Mercado de Ribera

The Guggenheim

The Guggenheim Spider

The Guggenheim Spider

The Guggenheim Cat

The Guggenheim Dog

Elevator inside the Guggenheim

Elevator inside the Guggenheim

Metalic flowers, The Guggenheim

Metalic flowers, The Guggenheim

'The Matter Of Time' room, The Guggenheim (didn't realise that I wasn't allowed to take this one but still got away with it...)

‘The Matter Of Time’ room, The Guggenheim (didn’t realise that I wasn’t allowed to take this one but still got away with it…)

Balls, The Guggenheim

Balls, The Guggenheim

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That evening, I had my first pinxto tour. I started with a aubergine and goat’s cheese topped tostada, then went on to a jamon and breadcrumbed chicken baguette and finished with a colossal helping of tortilla:

Pintxo de lomo y tortilla

Pintxo de bernjena y queso de cabra

More pintxos

More pintxos

Humungous tortilla

Humungous tortilla

They were all delicious, but not a scratch on what I was about to discover in my next port of call – San Sebastián.

I didn’t hear one single conversation in Euskera whilst in Bilbao, but I did pick up and attempt to learn one or two phrases from the people I met. Here are some of them:

Kaixo  – Hello

Zer moduz – How are you?

Garargado bat – One beer

Bi garagardo – Two beers

Mezedez – Please

Eskerrik asko  – Thank you (incredible, I know)

Ez dago zergaitik – You’re welcome (even more incredible)

Agur – Goodbye (unsurprisingly easier)

Despite the disappointing realization that there wasn’t much Euskera to be heard in Bilbao, I still loved my time there, and certainly hadn’t predicted that I’d be so mesmerized by the city. I ended up staying three nights it was that good.

Euskera

Euskera

Have you been to Bilbao before? What did you think of it? Would you go back?

Ronda on a whim

8 Mar Ronda, Spain, Andalucia, bullring, plaza de toro

Ronda, Spain, Andalucia

Of all the Puente weekends we Spain-residing workers are fortuitously bestowed, February’s is, in my opinion, the most prized of them all. While in most other parts of the world two working months without respite may not exactly seem difficult to endure, here in Spain, such a lengthy Puente-less period, once accustomed to, can prove rather arduous. So when this year’s finally came around, I intended to fully make the most of it.

Where to go and what to do? So many places unchecked on my list. Salamanca? One glance at the sorry-looking weather forecast and my decision was made for me. Valencia, perhaps? Nope. A €110 return bus fare pre-payday was out of the question. I faffed and ruminated for several days, before eventually deciding that I would go to Ronda ­– somewhere that had been on my radar for some time, yet had remained unexplored due to that omnipresent ‘I’ll save it for another time’ sort of approach. Well it would remain unexplored no longer! It was Wednesday, and I would leave the following morning. I booked a hostel for two nights, met with some friends and embarked on a night of unreserved binge drinking, pleased with my decision and looking forward to hitting the road, or train-track, as was the case in point.

“Ronda es una cuidad colgada del cielo sobre una montaña partida en dos por obra de los dioses”

– Walter Starkie (1894-1976)

Morning came, and despite the truly horrendous hangover I awoke to, I quickly packed a bag and left – on time. Half an hour later, I arrived at the train station to discover a hulking queue tailing back into the lobby. There were fifteen minutes to spare. Not enough, as it turned out. I heard the train whir away from the platform as I stood, helplessly, in third place. Bollocks. First night at hostel squandered and hangover for nothing. I bought a ticket for the next afternoon, trudged back home along the snow-covered streets (yes, snow in Granada!), and spent the day reeling in disappointment and physical pain.

Ronda, Spain, Andalucia

A Ronda backstreet

Ronda, Spain, Andalucia

Socorro Church, Plaza SocorroRonda, Spain, AndaluciaHercules and his chirpy companion

I’ll get on with it now. Next day I caught my train and successfully navigated my way to Ronda, feeling a damn sight chirpier about it. A ten-minute saunter down a dusty backstreet and I found myself leaning over a railing 750m above sea level, overlooking the capacious countryside in front of me. It was spectacular to say the least. I’ve climbed Machu Picchu, gazed out onto the Rocky Mountain peninsular and even been up the Sheffield Ferris Wheel at Christmas, and this vista was right up there with them. I hadn’t even got to Puente Nuevo yet and I was already falling for it. Twenty long, camera clacking minutes later and that’s exactly where I was, eyes fixed and jaw suitably limp. The stone bridge, completed in 1793 after taking 42 years to build and claiming 50 lives in the process, towers 120m above the El Tajo Gorge. It is a feast for the eyes, and almost impossible to turn away from.

Ronda, Spain, Andalucia Ronda, Spain, Andalucia Ronda, Spain, Andalucia

My hostel, which, despite having charged me for my first night’s stay (my fault, mustn’t grumble), was in the most idyllic of locations. It faced the bridge, offering a view that others could only have drooled over, as they saw me clacking away from the balcony. Checked in and all that, I explored further afield in order to view the bridge from every possible angle, though not until after the shadow of a mountain somewhere in the distance had crept up the face of the giant edifice as the sun dipped beneath the horizon. Had I known better, I’d have hiked to the facing lookout point to catch the perfect snapshot. Unfortunately, I was too slow off the mark and missed it. Still, can’t complain with snaps like these:

Ronda, Spain, Andalucia, bridge, puente nuevo

Puente NuevoRonda, Spain, Andalucia, bridge, puente nuevoPuente Nuevo sobre El Trajo gorgeRonda, Spain, Andalucia, bridge, puente nuevo, josh taylorRonda, Spain, Andalucia, bridge, puente nuevoAt dusk

That night, random Indian guy from hostel and self headed out for dinner and drinks. Nobody else had wanted to come, despite the hostel being full.

“Ronda is a quiet place. No parties happen here, especially at this time of year”, explained the receptionist.

She was absolutely right. The place was dead when we left the hostel at 10pm. I wasn’t after a party anyway, just a wedge of a pizza and perhaps a couple of large jars to wash it down with. My wishes were fulfilled by way of an enormous bbq chicken pizza and (shoot me I’m a guiri) three litre-sized Weissbiers in a local Irish pub. God they were good. And the music was bloody good too! Live music, I might add, and the only sign of it along the cricket abounding promenade.

The third of our beers and a round of tequila slammers were proffered to us by the most affable of fellows: one Jack Boris Rodriguez García. The man’s driving license had to be seen to be believed. That really was his name – among the best I’d ever heard. Apparently his first name was given to him in owing to a long-standing family tradition (his father, grandfather and great grandfather had also been called Jack) that had started due to an American of the same name saving his great, great grandfather from execution during the Peruvian War of Independence in the early 19th century. Boris was the name of his mother’s father, who was Russian. He now works in the military and plans to spend the rest of his life in Andalucía. Smart guy. I was enthralled by his story. Well the first bit anyway. But as much as it pained me to bid Jack Boris Rodriguez García good night, I eventually forced myself to do so, for the next day was the only day I planned to spend in Ronda, and there was yet much to be done!

Ronda, Spain, Andalucia

View of the hostel from Puente NuevoRonda, Spain, Andalucia, bridge, puente nuevoView of Puente Nuevo from the hostelRonda, Spain, Andalucia, bridge, puente nuevoAt night

Breakfasted and showered, I headed straight to the tourism office to enquire about day excursions to some nearby Roman ruins I’d heard about. I was dressed too, in case you were wondering. Unfortunately there were no such excursions to speak of upon my arrival. I could have jumped in a taxi and paid the man to take me there but that was obviously not going to happen. Instead, I plumped for a leisurely stroll in and around the city’s Plaza de Toro, famed for being counted amongst the country’s oldest of bullrings.

I’m against bullfighting, but I’m not against learning about it. Until this trip I had never actually learnt the historical significance of the sport and how it came to be. I won’t get into the nitty-gritty, as I don’t want this post to turn my blog into a debate forum, but a good half an hour spent reading plaques and brittle newspaper clippings proved incredibly educational. The bullring itself was equally as absorbing, though the added element of bull-imitating French exchange-students took the gloss off a bit. When they eventually disappeared, I was, for just a moment, completely alone inside the eerie dome, sort of feeling like Spartacus or a chained lion might jump out at any moment and chop me up into bits. I seized the moment to take my favourite (bridge excluding) photo of the weekend:

Ronda, Spain, Andalucia, bullring, plaza de toro

Plaza de TorosRonda, Spain, Andalucia, bullring, plaza de toroRonda, Spain, Andalucia, bullring, plaza de toroRonda, Spain, Andalucia, bullring, plaza de toro

After that, I wandered down to the lookout point for the second time, for a thoroughly good read. I’d say I picked a rather nice spot. Wouldn’t you agree?

Ronda, Spain, Andalucia, bridge, puente nuevo

Ronda, Spain, Andalucia, moorish door

Moorish gate that can be seen from the bridge

Eventually I had to be going, but not before I stopped off at Daver bakery to sample one of the city’s local sweet-tooth specialties. It was a grueling decision to have to make – almost as tough as the other one I’m currently faced with – but in the end, I went for La Miloja Chantilli. It was delicious. So delicious in fact, that I forgot to take a picture of it. This is what Google image search came up with, but it honestly doesn’t do the delectable treat justice.

Tarta de Miljoha (Source)

Tarta de Miloja (Source)

I’ll be back to Ronda for sure. It is without doubt one of the most stunningly beautiful places I have visited since moving to Spain, though next time I’ll take a car. There’s much to see within the city if like me, you don’t stay for longer than a night, but if you’re intent on visiting Roman ruins or off-the-beaten-path hiking trails then renting a car is by far the best way to go. It’s also a rather couply place, so be warned if you are easily annoyed by overexuberant canoodling and/or are going through/have just gone through a painful break up. Especially depressed/brokenhearted people and readily accessible, 120m tall bridges is perhaps not the most sensible of combinations.

Ronda, Spain, Andalucia

Have you been to Ronda?

Cadiz Carnival: A Step-by-step Guide

13 Feb Cadiz, carnaval, carnival, spain, party, fiesta

Cadiz, carnaval, carnival, spain, party, fiesta

If there’s one festive tradition I’ve kept since moving to Spain, it is Cadiz’s Carnaval. Given that this year marked my hat-trick, I’d like to think that I now have a good case for assuming expertise on the discernibly anarchic event. Those of you that have been before know the drill. Those of you who haven’t will either have:

  1. Stayed away on purpose
  2. Not had the opportunity or enough ganas to actually make the trip or
  3. Have no idea what I’m going on about.

To the former, I understand your disaffection – it is no doubt to a certain extent justified and the likely reasons for it will be addressed. To the latter two clutches, please lend me your ear as I guide you through the crammed and cluttered alleyways of Cadiz while giving you a thorough and honest step-by-step compendium of the unruly and manic street-thrash that is Carnaval.

Cadiz, carnaval, carnival, spain, party, fiesta, cathedral

Cadiz Cathedral

Cadiz, carnaval, carnival, spain, party, fiesta

The Basics

The principle is simple. Turn up in a daft-looking costume and join the colourfully clad masses to form one giant, stumbling, booze-guzzling party monster that permeates Cadiz’s streets for an entire weekend.

The effects are simple too. Drinking from noon onwards in the company of hundreds of thousands of other similarly cracked and self-intoxicating socialites results in very blurry vision and widespread disorientation on an extraordinary level. It is sheer anarchy, on a colossal scale.

But what makes Cadiz Carnaval so fantastically different from any other fancy-dress blowout is its distinctly fertile imagination; costumes will often relate to trending and controversial news topics without even so much as a whiff of self-acknowledged ignominy. Though the event is best known for its chirigotas – satirical groups of performers who dress identically and serenade other revelers with witty refrains about politics, current affairs and everyday life. Each chirigota – whether made up of professionals, family members or friends – has a wide repertoire of songs and typically station themselves on steps or high walls where everyone can watch. Even if you don’t understand Spanish it’s not hard to tell that they’ve been practicing for weeks. It’s a pretty big deal.

What not to wear

The obvious answer here would of course be ‘normal clothes’. Though there’s a lot more to it than that. Skimpy t-shirts/shorts/vests/ generally anything that shows a bit too much skin is a massive no-no. As a rookie, you’d be forgiven for turning up dressed in your used-once-only-at-Uni Baywatch costume – we are in Spain after all – but Cadiz is an island, and during the winter is pummeled by winds from both the Atlantic and Mediterranean. In other words it’s fucking freezing. Lose the Speedos and take the Top Gear jumpsuit instead.

Now earlier I alluded to there potentially being several downsides to Carnaval. Well there are, although in my respectful opinion these are far outweighed by the upsides. A major one of these downsides, however, is the matter of going for a piss. Naturally, it is less of an issue for boys than girls, owing to the relative ease with which we can find a deserted and already piss-strewn doorway. Not that I’m condoning the act – there is just simply no alternative. Girls face a much more problematic task, though I tend not to ask where and how. At any rate, by the early hours the streets are absolutely inundated with pure liquid gold, so do not wear shitty €3 pumps bought from a chino if you’d like your feet to remain dry and pee-free. A sturdy set of trainers/boots are the way to go. These chaps have all got the right idea (and they all had suitable footwear):

Cadiz, carnaval, carnival, spain, party, fiesta Cadiz, carnaval, carnival, spain, party, fiesta Cadiz, carnaval, carnival, spain, party, fiesta

What to bring

If you should decide to take a bag, or have been involuntarily appointed inebriant-keeper for the day/night, you will no doubt be wondering how to keep weight down. First off, pack extra alcohol. Decanting spirits from glass bottles into plastic ones and then mixing with coke will significantly reduce the load by a few kgs. Also take plastic cups and don’t forget those emergency beers either. Now that the important part’s taken care of, cram a hoody (and an extra pair of socks if you actually did buy some shitty €3 chino pumps) and plenty of munchies in there and you’re all set.

Cadiz, carnaval, carnival, spain, party, fiesta

Last year’s Edward Scissorhands costume was part of the ‘Tim Burton’s characters’ theme. Bumped into this fella whose hands were distinctly better than mine.

Cadiz, carnaval, carnival, spain, party, fiesta

Tweedledum never did find Tweedledee

Who not to go with

  • People that are likely to constantly whine, moan and walk about with a face like a smacked arse. It will only massively piss you off and probably ruin your night.
  • Mates that just want to get their end away – you’ll rapidly lose patience with them and wind up storming off and then feeling guilty when the next day you find out that they spent the rest of the night alone.
  • Scroungers. They’ll slurp all that boozy-goodness up and you’ll be left tipple-less before you know it.
Cadiz, carnaval, carnival, spain, party, fiesta

A mere drop in the litter-laden ocean

Cadiz, carnaval, carnival, spain, party, fiesta

How not to get lost

Forget phones. If the signal isn’t jammed then actually managing to meet someone somewhere via your mobile when lost is futile – nobody knows where the fuck anything is when there’s that many people about. If truth be told, keeping all your troops in tow for the event’s entirety is a rare feat. This year, my band of merrymakers and I began as a mere threesome and thankfully ended as one, though we had for several hours in between been part of a much larger brigade. Of the hazy memories of my first year, I can recall wandering alone for what I thought had been about fifteen minutes. Next day my friend told me I had been lost for almost three hours. So this year’s result was definitely a favourable one.

Getting lost or losing friends is essentially an inevitability that one must face prior to Carnaval, unless, as I have now learnt, you decide to create a group theme so original that it would be impossible to lose each other. Take these happy carousers for example:

Cadiz, carnaval, carnival, spain, party, fiesta

Favourite of the night!

Cadiz, carnaval, carnival, spain, party, fiesta

Also rather impressive

And I think that just about covers it. I suppose my final word of advice would be to just make sure that if you’re going to do Carnaval then do it properly, and accept it for what it is. There’s nothing refined or pretentious about Carnaval – it is a no holds barred, debauched and raucous piss-up which in its latter stages is unreservedly disgusting. But it is one of the most epic fancy dress parties on the planet. And that’s surely worth investigating isn’t it?

Cadiz, carnaval, carnival, spain, party, fiesta

Have you ever been to Carnaval in Cadiz or any other larger-than-life fancy dress street party? What did you think? Would you go back?

Cordóba: A Few Highlights

9 Jan Bridge, Cordoba, Spain

I moved to Granada in September 2011 and I am wholeheartedly ashamed to admit that it took me a whopping six months to visit the neighbouring Moorish city of Cordóba. I attribute this to three reasons:

  1. The trip was just too easy to put off, considering it could be reached so easily via a 2-hour bus ride. Very bad excuse, I know.
  2. Granada isn’t a place you want to leave in a hurry, and I won’t deny that I may have got a little bit too caught up in the magic of it all.
  3. With a deep-seated snowboarding addiction like mine, the lure of the even closer Sierra Nevada was often too compelling, so almost all of my long Puente weekends during the winter months were spent here instead.

With spring in full swing, however, I eventually got my act together and booked myself onto that bus. I was going to Cordóba at last! Fortunately, I was lucky enough to have a friend to stay with for the weekend, thus, research carried out beforehand had been pretty minimal, based on the assumption that there would be a perfect itinerary waiting for me when I arrived (this was naïve and sloppy of me and I learnt my lesson). All I did know was that there was a massive mosque, a bloody great big bridge and that it was the climatic equivalent of a vat of boiling oil. Still relatively dazed by the sheer magnetism of Granada, I honestly hadn’t banked on seeing much else to write home about.

córdoba, puerta del puente romano, spain, españa

Me standing in front of La Puerta del puente romano, Córdoba

Well, I did, and I did actually write home about it. Now, I’m jazzing that letter up and writing to you about it, though after reading this smashing, beautifully photo-illustrated post on the city by Liz over at Young Adventuress I hardly feel I’ll be able to say it better, so I’ll try and keep it brief. (328 words and counting…)

La Mezquita

La Mezquita, Cordoba, Spain

The gold and red arches inside La Mezquita. Click here for a waay better picture!

For those of you unfamiliar with Cordóba’s most alluring tourist magnet, or indeed with the Spanish translation of the word, this is that massive mosque I alluded to earlier. We’ve all seen mosques before – there are at least three in every major city back in Britain – but this one’s an architectural cut above the rest.

The history of La Mezquita is a complex one. It began life as a Catholic Christian church around the year 600 but was converted into an Islamic temple of prayer in 784 after the Muslims sieged the city. A number of drastic, mosque-befitting modifications were made over the next 200 years or so before the ancient edifice was finally completed in 987. Years later, in 1236, Cordóba was liberated of Islamic rule by King Ferdinand III of Castile following La Reconquista (the recapturing) of the city, paving the way for another era of change. Three Catholic chapels were added, a new nave symbolic of the renaissance erected, and the minaret at the heart of the structure was transformed into a Bell Tower*.

La Mezquita, Cordoba, Spain

The Bell Tower that once was the minaret

So, La Mezquita is in fact a Catholic Christian Cathedral, where Muslims are not officially permitted to pray. In 2010, a group of young Austrian Muslims on an organized tour caused a stir by kneeling down to pray inside the tourist-packed Cathedral and then attacking and subsequently hospitalizing two security guards after they were asked to stop.

Anyway, take one look at La Mezquita and you’ll see what all the fuss is about. I said I’d keep it brief, and I’m not doing such a great job of that so far. Let’s move on.

La Mezquita, Cordoba, Spain

Ceiling of La Mezquita

The Alcázar Palace and Gardens

Alcázar Gardens, Cordoba, Spain

(© Gina Edens)

These Moorish grounds were built in 1328 by Alfonso XI following La Reconquista and have also undergone periods of radical change, though at no point has the untold beauty of them ever been affected. When Springtime comes, the contrast in colour is quite extraordinary; plush green trees and blossoming pink flowers combined with the sandstone palace walls and the deep blue sky backdrop is sure to have any photographer salivating behind their lens.

Alcázar Gardens, Cordoba, Spain

(© Gina Edens)

The palace was once home to Ferdinand, the aforementioned King, and his Queen, Isabella, who has her own effigy sitting pretty atop a marble fountain in the centre of Granada. A lazy walk through this multihued maze is a must on anybody’s itinerary.

Alcázar Gardens, Cordoba, Spain

(© Gina Edens)

Hookah Bars

In keeping with the Moorish theme, you may or may not want to spend half an hour or so huffing away on an ornate hookah pipe in one of Cordóba’s numerous Hookah Bars (or ‘Shisha Bars’ as we Brits say). Many of these foggy enterprises boast menus longer than a cut-price Chinese takeaway’s, and some of the tea and tobacco available when I visited were odd to say the least; ‘Dragonfly’, as I recall, was the most intriguing. Or perhaps it was ‘Dragonfruit’. Should have written it down. In any case I opted for the safe route, and went with the blueberry tobacco and a cup of vanilla tea. How bold of me.

tea, hookah, moorish, arabic, spain, cordoba

Moorish Tea

hookah, shisha, spain, cordoba

Puffing on ma shish pipe

Food

Southern Spain has long been a hub for exquisite traditional eats and Cordóba is no exception. In fact, many will argue that Cordóba has produced a great deal of the region’s finest gastronomy. Churrasco Cordóbes (Grilled Iberian Pork fillet served with green and red Arabic sauces) and Estofado de Rabo de Toro (Bull’s tail stew) are two particularly noteworthy examples. I tried the latter during my visit and loved it. Chewy, but tasty and wholesome. Very wholesome.

Estofado de Rabo de Toro, Cordoba

Rabo de Toro  (Source)

My friend was also kind enough to take me to the alleged birthplace of tortilla, Bar Santos, by the cathedral. I was skeptical of this claim to say the least but birthplace or not, this tortilla, after a mere nibble, was on my life the best I’ve ever had- not to mention the largest. I’m no food critic but I’ll throw some words out there to give you an idea of what it was like: enormous, warm, buttery and flocculent yet sturdy… How’s that?

Tortilla, Cordoba, Bar Santos, Spain

The Tortillanic

Tortilla, Cordoba, Bar Santos, Spain

Cordóba is also where I first tried Churros and Chocolate- a gastronomical near orgasmic experience that I will never forget, though I believe this sweet-tooth indulging dish can be sampled just about anywhere in Spain.

churros, chocolate, spain, cordoba, breakfast

Heavenly churros and chocolate

The Zoo

At first I just didn’t believe the pamphlet. “What’s a zoo doing in Cordóba?” I asked my friend. She shrugged. She didn’t know there was one either. It did seem a little out of place all things considered, but after two and a half days of exploring nothing but ancient mosques and palaces, the thought of ogling a few swinging orangutans was rather appealing. And I love the zoo anyway! So off we went, and I have to say it was bloody great fun. There was a tiger and everything. Polar Bear didn’t look too happy though**.

cordoba, zoo, cordoba zoo, spain

Tres monos

cordoba, zoo, cordoba zoo, spain

Elefante

cordoba, zoo, cordoba zoo, spain

Hipo

cordoba, zoo, cordoba zoo, spain

Don’t know this one in Spanish

There is, of course, a whole load of other things to see and do in this unique and gorgeous city, but I did say I would be brief. Fail. Perhaps you’d like to fill in the blanks. What else is worth seeing in Cordóba?

*All info was taken from Wikipedia at the time of publishing

**joking (as in there aren’t any Polar Bears, not that he/she was happy to be there)

 

Practical Info

La Mezquita

Opening times:

10.00h – 19.00h Monday-Saturday

08.30h – 10.30h and 14.00h -19.00h Sundays and National Holidays

Entrance:

Adults- €8

Children between 10 and 14 years- €4

Children under 10 years- Free

Best to visit as early as possible to beat the queues and get the best photos.

The Alcázar Palace and Gardens

Opening Times:

May and June- 10.00h -14.00h & 17.30-18.30h

July and August- 08.30h -14.30h

September to 14th October- 10.00h – 14.00h & 17.30h -18.30h

15th Oct to 30th April: 10.00h – 14.00h and 16.30-18.30h

Mondays Closed

Entrance:

€1.87
Fridays Free

Cordóba Zoo

Opening Times:

November – February: 10.00h – 18.00h

March, Sept, Oct: 10.00h – 19.00h

April – June: 10.00h – 20.00h

July – Aug: 09.00h – 14.00h

Entrance:

Adults: €4.50

Children between 5 and 15 years: €2.00

Students & Seniors: €2.00

Children under 5 years: Free

How to… get a haircut with minimal Spanish!

27 Dec the-barbers-corner

the-barbers-cornerLets get one thing straight: living in another country is vastly different to holidaying in another country. It may not seem so dissimilar on the surface- there is, at times, enough sun, sand and sangria here in Spain to suggest otherwise- but eventually, every expat realizes that they have to build a life; find a place to live, make new friends, get used to the local fodder and, worst of all, get their hair cut.

This daunting task is obviously a lot easier after a few months of tussling with the local lingo, but initially, the anxiety brought on by such a distressing yet gallingly necessary exercise can be enough to put you off your paella for weeks. Even going for a haircut in your native country is worrying at the best of times, but imagine trying to do it in a country whose language you’re only just getting to grips with.

If the proper steps aren’t taken, then consequences can be disastrous; the mullet, for example, still very much lives and breathes in these parts, as does the army-style crewcut. I fell victim to the latter days after my arrival in Spain just over two years ago. I had learnt the words for ‘short’ and ‘long’ but foolishly forgotten to write them down, giving rise to inevitable confusion and a sort of Spongebob squarepants look that I’d never sported before.

Before

Before

After

After

This experience left me justifiably wary of Spanish barbers, so for the next year or so I opted to cut my own hair, which, in hindsight, was an even worse decision owing to the frequent hunks of hair visibly missing from the back of my gauchely beshaven bonce.

Earlier this year, however, I waltzed back in to a nearby peloquería, confident that I possessed sufficient Spanish to help me through the impending ordeal. Fortunately, I did, and I eluded another coiffure cataclysm. Now I am on first name terms with my chatty barber, and a simple ‘lo mismo como siempre’ is all I need to say.

Torres, Mullet, Spain, España, Hair, Pelo

This was not a fad in Spain

Though if I look back on that first dismaying encounter with a Spanish barber and his set of not-so-trusty clippers, I can’t help but think that with a bit of expert guidance and some thorough planning, my resulting Spongebob bouffant might have been successfully averted…

So if you’re new in Spain, or in any other foreign land for that matter, and your locks are in need of a good sheering, then heed my advice:

One: Learn some useful phrases and write them down

Do this and the risk of adversity will be considerably reduced. Pronunciation may be an issue, but if you’re really unsure then simply show your barber what you’ve written. You could even get a local friend to translate exactly what you want to say onto paper, though ensure that this friend can be trusted; you wouldn’t want to get stitched up and be the laughing stock. Some useful Spanish phrases to know are:

“Me gustaría un corte de pelo por favor” – “I’d like a haircut please”

“Corto por los lados y de atras, pero mas largo en la parte de ariba por favor” – “Short round the back and sides but longer on top”

“Solo un recorte por favor” – “Just a trim please”

“Me gusta liso/rizado” – “I like it straight/curly”

“Está bien asi?” – “Is it fine like that?”

“Si, está bien asi” – “Yes, it’s fine like that / No, it’s not fine like that, but I’m going to pretend it is and swear all the way home”

Two: Cut out a picture from a magazine 

If your style can be likened to any celebrity hairdos, you may want to take one or two magazine clippings with you. This keeps things simple and, needless to say, completely eradicates the necessity of words. However, this is neither culturally embracing nor healthy for your second language skills. And there’s no telling what the back will look like.

 

Three: Look serious and don’t talk 

Following the initial verbal hurdles, one then has two options; proceed, and try in vain to understand and contribute to the barber’s chosen topic of conversation, or sit down, look dead ahead and keep schtum. If you opt for the latter route then the assumption is that the barber, upon noting your unwillingness to engage in small talk or listen to him harp on about Real Madrid’s latest playboy haircut, will inadvertently become quietly engrossed in what he or she is doing and therefore be less prone to mistakes or overzealous snipping.

 

Haircut, Spain, worried

I’m sure we all know just how this chap feels…

Four: Ask for something simple

If back at home your usual cut involves blending, thinning out, colouring, straightening, shaping (is that a service?) etc, then you may want to rethink your style abroad. Throwing technical words like this into the mix only complicates matters, and leaves you wide open to potentially perilous consequences. Start small and work your way up.

 

Five: Take a friend

If you have nice, native friends with enough free time on their hands, then why not bring them along? This eliminates the possibility of having to contend with unforeseen questions and accidentally agreeing to a number one all over or, heaven forbid, the famed dreadlock mullet.

 

Six: Get drunk

If the idea of leaving your precious head of hair in the hands of a non-English speaking barber really does give you the heebie-jeebies, then you might find that a generous pre-intake of alcohol will help alleviate your concerns. And of course everybody speaks better Spanish when they’re drunk. That’s just science.

Have you ever had a haircut in Spain or any other part of the non-English speaking world and experienced disastrous consequences? Or do you have any other tips? Let’s hear about it!

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