Not to complain about visiting Spain in the summer or anything but, oh boy, does it get hot! After my time in the mountains in Alora, I was determined to spend more time in the mountains in Granada. This would be for the weekend of my birthday as well. I wanted a place with views and quiet so I could focus on catching up on my travel writing. I found what looked like a great hostel up in the mountains in the town of Quentar. It was called “Fundalucia”. Get it? Andalucia + fun? There was a pool with a view. There was a direct bus to the city of Granada. I figured: why stay in the city of Granada when I can stay up in the mountains? This plan ended up being hit and miss: I would discover a marvelous hiking path but, at the same time, the hostel was riddled with oddities. Enjoy hiking photos below as I tell the story.

I took the bus from Malaga Central Bus Station to Granada Bus Station but the boarding process was a mess. It was a typical nightmare bus station scenario: the bus was due to depart in 15 minutes, online ticket sales were not available, the line to the ticket machine snaked within the station, the ticket booth was staffed by one person, etc. I ended up missing my intended bus and took one that left 30 minutes later. At this time of the year, the sun doesn’t start setting until 8:30pm or 9pm so it did not bother me too much to take a 1:30pm bus instead of a 1pm bus. I was not going to miss too much sunlight and it’s actually quite nice to be on an air conditioned bus during the peak sunlight period. There were two buses departing at the same time for Granada. The driver for the bus that had a destination of Granada told me my ticket was for the bus that was going to Barcelona with a stop in Granada. So I went over to that other bus and that driver told me he wasn’t stopping in Granada and it is a direct bus. I returned to the first driver and explained in Spanish that he can just let me on because it’s the same bus company and it should not matter and, what do you know, he let me on.

From the Granada Bus Station, I took a local bus past the city central to a beautiful corner of the city where I would catch the bus to Quentar. The transition between the buses was really quite smooth and is one of the highlights of my European travel experience. Seamlessly transferring between modes of transport is thoughtful in Europe, especially Spain. I might even venture to say that Spain has the best public transportation network of any of the countries I’ve visited on this trip.

Arriving in Quentar was almost comical. It was the terminal for the bus and I was the only passenger left. It’s a hilltop town and the bus drops you off at the bottom of the hill, of course. There’s a pretty little sign welcoming you to Quentar, Andalucia as the bus makes it’s turn off the mountain road. Then within a minute or two the bus comes to a complete halt, the driver tells you to get off and you are left in what feels like the middle of nowhere. There is complete silence. Every shop is closed. The map is telling me to go up the hill and so I went. I passed several closed grocery stores. I started getting concerned about food. Eventually there are magnificent views of the valley below and the mountains in the distance as you walk through the mountain town. All of the roads are only wide enough for unidirectional traffic. I watched full size garbage trucks drive backwards down the hill. You wonder how they built this town originally and how they figured out the water pipes and sewage situation. One of the paths to the hostel requires walking on what appears like someone’s private patio overlooking the valley but it ends up it’s a public sidewalk and the viewing bench is definitely maintained by the locals as it appears like a piece of outdoor furniture rather than a park bench. There’s one final hill next to the elementary school and you find yourself at the door to the hostel. The staffers are a French and an Italian girl, volunteering through a web site called Workaway. (I would learn that Workaway is a very popular program for backpackers to get free room and board while working about 5 hours a day at B&Bs and hostels.)

Check in was simple but the oddities started right away. I was given a room with no windows and no ventilation. Remember: this is August in Spain. I remember reading online that there was a fan in the room, otherwise I would not have booked the place. The promptly brought a fan into the room. I knew that I wouldn’t get a good night’s sleep as the fan would just be blowing hot air around. Oh well, you cannot have everything! Then there was the overly touchy couple fondling each other and loudly whining everywhere I went. First I went out to the patio and within a few minutes, they followed suit. Then I went to the pool, and there ya go, here’s the couple again. Then I wanted to make some food (the hostel had it’s own mini-grocery store where you could take food and pay based on the honor system) and they seemed to want to eat at the same time. I could not escape this couple and it would be like this for three days.

It’s really amazing how when you are living in situations like a hostel where you are sharing kitchen and dining facilities, you not only become closer to those that wish to socialize with you but also to those that bring their relationship issues with them and speak at a loud enough volume to make their problems everyone else’s. There’s no solution to the problem except leaving the hostel and finding another place to stay.

The hostel pool also was closed after 4pm. I asked the staff about the reasoning for this rule. Previously the hostel served as a country house for the owners and they would want to take siesta at this time and… you know what? I cannot even bear to type the rest of the explanation. It pains me. The owners don’t live there any longer and you are telling me that this legacy nonsense rule exists to force siesta on everyone? When it is over 90 degrees outside all day long we cannot use the pool? Believe me, I jumped in the pool whenever I desired to just to cool off. To put people in a room with no window and then set arbitrary rules about when they can use the pool is terribly not fun-dalucia.

Then the family with misbehaving children arrived. Luckily this was the worst of it. Why parents would bring toddlers to the top of a mountain with 20-30 year olds cannot be explained. The mom was going through some serious depression issues and spent the entire time talking on the phone while the husband let the children scream and cry all afternoon long while the rest of us were trying to relax. Like I wrote earlier, you cannot have it all. The birthday gods were not on my side this year and I accept that. I’m done with complaining about the bad stuff, I know it is hard to read. I’m trying to paint an accurate picture of my experience as the photos only show the incredibly naturally beauty but they do not express what I was feeling inside.

My new roommate arrived on my second day and he was a film student from the UK named Matthew. He said he was going to hike to the reservoir. I had no idea there was a hiking path. He said the hostel manager marked the path himself with red markings, so it’s a bit unofficial. I made an impromptu decision to join him to escape the screaming children. Because I had a SIM card, I would be the navigator. This hike ended up being one of the best I did in Spain (all of the photos you see above). Of course the mountains were absolutely stunning. It was the approach to the reservoir and the walk across the dam that added that special “umph” of modern technological marvels in a stark contrast to the natural beauty of the mountains. We shared a dinner sandwich together at the one open restaurant. You can see in the photo that it looks like a gigantic bagel. Matthew would be departing the next day unfortunately to spend the night in Granada.

I decided to spend my final day, my birthday, in the city of Granada. I would still return to the mountains in the evening. I just loved the ride between the city and the mountains. The main tourist and historical attraction of Granada is the Alhambra Palace. I did not purchase tickets in advance and therefore could not enter. I preferred to see it from afar. I found a few prime viewing points and called my parents for the birthday phone call while viewing this incredible structure.

Granada is also known for its “caves” where people supposedly live and where they perform flamenco dance shows at night. I like flamenco dancing but I do not enjoy flamenco singing. I could not sit in a cave and enjoy a show like this unfortunately. The caves are a major tourist attraction and as you ascend the hill in Granda, more and more “caves” appear with signage for tourists. Then there are ladies standing outside who try to lure you in by telling you that you are allowed to take pictures inside. Other backpackers who I respect highly recommended the cave-Flamenco experience because it is “one of the most intense experiences”. Yes, this makes sense. In a small echo chamber with twelve people seated in a semi-circle, loud music and Flamenco singing reverberates while dancers are bouncing all around you. This is definitely not for me. I need an escape plan and in a seating configuration like this, everyone would see you get up and leave. It was one of the moments in my backpacking experience where I had to trust my instinct that this was decidedly not for me.

Back in the city center, Matthew contacted me to wish me a happy birthday! We decided to meet up and go for a short walk together and we were both trying to kill some time. In an act of incredible kindness, he bought me a Granada shot glass as a birthday gift! He said that everyone should get a gift on their birthday. It was an unforgettable moment and a complete surprise. The walk around the city was beautiful:

When I got back to the hostel, I had a new roommate. He was a guy from France who spoke limited English. This excited me because I would get to practice speaking French. I also met a lovely lesbian lady in the patio area and shared with her that it was my birthday. Next thing you know, I had a little group gathered for a birthday dinner. Unfortunately, once we got to the only restaurant in town, the new roommates let us know about his halal dietary restrictions and being that tapas are all shared dishes (many with pork), there was almost nothing on the menu we could order. So, for my birthday dinner we had salad, french fries and fried calamari. Maybe that’s what you get when a New York Jewish guy, a Dutch athiest lesbian and a French Arab Muslim share a meal at the same table.

Granada and Quentar were turning points for me. I realized that even though there was natural beauty everywhere, I really was not enjoying my time in Spain that much. I had not connected with a single local. I was not finding any tapas that I thought were worth the price. Even though public transportation is incredible and I was able to get to every destination I desired, children are allowed to run amok in Spain. I was not sure if this was a result of the millennial generation raising children or if this was a result of a post-Franco-era Spanish population offering their children all of the good things that their parents could not offer them. I just knew that almost everywhere I went, there would be screaming children or adults yelling at each other and I had to pretend like I was comfortable. Interestingly, I would find similar behavioral patterns in some places in Israel.

In Spain, I was not feeling welcomed as a tourist. Maria made me feel so welcome at her family home in Catalonia but since then, I had not felt anything of the sort. Maybe the Spanish are over the whole tourism thing? Maybe it was the end of the tourist season? I just could not figure it out. At the bus station in Grenada, the security guard asked to see my passport. I guess he thought it would be fun to guess my country of origin before I whipped out my passport. The conversation went like this:

Security guard: Pasaporte?

Me: Si, ésta en mi mochila. (Yea, it’s in my bag).

Security guard: Aleman? (German?)

Me: No, soy de Nueva York. (No, I’m from New York).

Security guard: (looks at me and hands back passport)

Oh boy, so the guard basically asks if I’m German, in not so many words, as a guess. Actually, he just says, “German?” Then he’s wrong and he does not say anything. Whoa… what an unfortunate experience. I was hoping we could have had a little chit-chat where he would have elaborated and said he was curious to know where I was from and then maybe we could have talked about New York. Unfortunately, this was just a bad guess for him and our interaction abruptly ended. I wondered if others had judged me based on how I look and maybe had negative feelings about Germans or people with dark hair and blue eyes or whatever. I do not judge my experience in Spain based on a single interaction like this. My feelings are the result of weeks of time in the country, in all different regions. I use the test thought, “could I live here?” to help me understand what I am feeling.

The next part of my plan was to go to Sevilla and then head over to Portugal to visit friends from New York who would be in Lisbon and then return to Spain to see the north coast afterwards. However, I was starting to think that it might not be a good idea for me to return to Spain after going to Portugal if I was feeling this level of discomfort in such beautiful places like Granada.