I spent only one day in Madrid on my way to Pamplona to meet up with my friend Theresa. I saw the sites, enjoyed the Prado, relaxed at the Buen Retiro. It was fun walking around Madrid and even finding the movie theater where my Mom, thirty years ago, watched The Godfather on her birthday. I found a fantastic avenue with outdoor book sellers that I scoured over for books in English and talking with shop owners. Finally, the perfect book appeared: The Wizard of Oz. I’ve only seen the movie, never read the book, but it proved to be the perfect novel to read for my short train ride to Pamplona.

This is a short post on Madrid since I was only there for a day, but besides the sites that your guide books will direct you to – the botanical gardens are worth a stop! I traveled Madrid mostly on my own because I stayed at a hostel that, unfortunately, was not conducive to making friends. This wasn’t entirely the fault of the hostel for there was a community kitchen, but rather the hostelers that were there. It was a disappointing place to stay where people did not embrace the concept of hosteling and this bad experience with my hostel in Madrid prompted me to write an ode to the responsibility of a hosteler that you can read here.

I ended up staying a little longer in Madrid than anticipated because I didn’t make my 3pm train. I arrived to the station an hour early, found the lines very long to buy tickets and at 2:45 I paid a student 5 euros to trade numbers with me so I could buy my ticket. I ended up making it up to the ticket window with minutes to spare – only to hear that the 3pm was sold out and I needed to wait for the 6pm. Luckily, I was in Spain, and Theresa and I were still able to enjoy the night catching up since the Spanish night goes very late.

This is the one photo from Madrid that I’d like to share:

 Cheers to lifelong friends and catching up on gossip about the grandkids!

There is a saying that the worst fate a man can have is to be blind in Granada. I’d like to add another unfortunate fate: to have no appetite for food in Sevilla. I arrived to Sevilla mid-siesta and wasn’t feeling my best, especially in the heat. After no food for nearly 36 hours, vomiting, in general having a mal cuerpo it is a huge testament to the receptionist at the hostel that I enjoyed check-in. From the second I arrived to The Garden Inn Hostel in Sevilla I knew I was in for a good time. Some hostels have that charm. This hostel also had free sangria.

I was supposed to meet up with my friend Peter the day before, but illness leads to tardiness so I was a day late to see him. He greeted me at the reception desk and the receptionist started singing the worst, most off key version of Happy Birthday after I told her it was his birthday. There is never a pleasant sounding Happy Birthday song,  but her rendition was one of the most hysterically terrible but endering Happy Birthday greetings I’ve ever heard.

Peter and I headed out for tapas as he was hungry and I realized that I should be hungry. My stomach wasn’t able to handle the food but it was able to handle a beer – progress and priorities but gosh did those tapas look good! We had a great lunch catching up, laughing about the people we met on exchange, sharing travel stories and discussing our future travel plans.

We the split ways and I headed to the Alcázar to catch the once a month free hour of entry (lucky timing!) then went back to the hostel because it was way too hot to function. My tour through Alcázar can be described as “shade hopping” and admiring the structures from under trees, roofs, anything that could provide some kind of relief from the heat.

My favorite photo from the Alcázar – even the birds needed to hang out by water to stay cool!

Back at the hostel, Peter and I sat outside and enjoyed the free sangria with other guests. Not only was the hostel a charming place to stay, but we also hit a jackpot with the other guests staying there. We sat at a table from 8pm to 11:45 laughing and chatting with everyone – Australia, Sweden, Malaysia, California, Canada, England, France were the nations sipping on sangria.

Hostel recommendation: The Garden Backpacker Sevilla 

The boy from Sweden, David, had been at the other hostel with me in Granada. I thought I had left behind the embarrassing puking reputation in Granada, but sure enough David came strolling in with a smirk, finger point and somewhat sympathetic eyes when he saw me. Despite throwing my face in my hands in embarrassment, I was extremely happy to see him. We had a great conversation at the other hostel, but it was way too short and I was regretful that I had not asked him for book recommendations. Its so great when travel reconnects people again!

Our crew headed out to the town around midnight for another round of tapas and some parties. I had the best spanish in the group so I did all the ordering, and had so much fun with it. After tapas, I was also able to order Peter a slice of birthday cake. I asked for a “postre” which I remembered was either “sandwich” or “cake” so it was a huge relief when the cake was handed to him. Would’ve been awkward to sing Happy Birthday over a sandwich.

This is when our night turns hysterical – David had met a girl who recommended a really underground club in Sevilla. She said it might be shut down because of issues with the police, but we were still determined to check it out. Steve Jobs assisted us with navigating down the winding roads of Sevilla until we finally hit the street. Our next clue from David: “Its near a post office bin”.

We found a post office bin then headed down the dark alleyway, all laughing at how ridiculous the location was. We reached the back and nearly gave up when Peter told everyone to be silent: sure enough, we could hear the pounding bass of club music.

Excited, we walked around front again trying to find the hidden door to enter. I pushed open one door, and we all slowly entered. I somehow ended up in front because I spoke spanish, so I lead us up the neon lighted staircase towards the secret club. We were a group of 7 goofy dressed, semi-dirty backpackers giggling up a neon staircase. At the top, I was surprised to nearly walk into a private living room.

I absolutely lost it and started laughing, as did Peter who was right behind me. We all retreated but the owner of the living room came out laughing at us. He told us that we were in the right place, was really curious how we found out about the club, then explained that there was no party tonight. A massive man then stepped out behind the man, and though all our interactions were friendly, we decided it was time to go.

Outside, we discussed what just happened and congratulated ourselves for finding the secret club. Though, because we heard the music, I do have the theory that there was, in fact, a party – and our group just didn’t make the cut to enter. Regardless of the party/no party debate, we had a hilarious time finding the club.

My second day in Sevilla started very early with a walk around the neighborhood surrounding my hostel. I then met up with a free walking tour that ended up taking 4 hours (though it was advertised as 2). Our tour guide was hilarious and knowledgeable, and it was a relatively small group. We were all able to introduce ourselves and I really enjoyed the company of the group plus the knowledge from the guide Medi. Sevilla is filled with years of history on history on history – one of the oldest cities in Europe.

Small details on the tour struck me as particularly interesting. Cathedrals in Sevilla are an odd mix of moorish and baroque architecture. It was fascinating to see arabic ceramic designs inside cathedrals.

After the tour about half the group went out to lunch together, and the table I was at strategically ordered community style tapas. We absolutely feasted, and this was my first meal with my appetite back and one of my favorite meals of all time. For the rest of the day I hung out with people I met on the tour, continued exploring the city, then stayed up late into the night talking on the hostel terrace.

From Barcelona Sans I caught a night train to Granada. Saying goodbye to everyone was easy because my head was focused on not missing my train, but once I loaded my backpack and pulled back the train bed sheets – I realized I was alone. Three other girls later joined me in the train berth 55 but the company of strangers isn’t an air of comfort like the company of friends. As the train lunged forward and I sat in the uncomfortable silence of strangers it finally struck home that I would be existing in discomfort for the next month and a half. A bit excited, a bit terrified, I was on my way.

After the disaster with the Girona/Barcelona flight, I have very little belief of self efficacy with directions and general navigating abilities. For the journey to my hostel, I asked people every step along the way – only to realize that everyone had something different to suggestion. I finally just followed the map, and MADE IT NO PROBLEM. This was a navigating victory that my self confidence desperately needed. I also enjoyed speaking Spanish – which to my surprise I was able to quite effectively. Three years and a summer in Barcelona equiped me with language skills, but my abilities are just a taste of what actually communicating in spanish entails. There is a sweetness of speaking a foreign tongue, and I might just try to study spanish again to continue savoring the language – why did I stop studying Spanish?

In Granada during my two days I enjoyed visiting the Alhambra and getting miserably lost in the moorish quarters. It was an old defense strategy to make the town difficult for foreign invaders to navigate- and I must say that the city planners did a fantastic job at that. I also visited all the free cathedrals, explored the jewish quarter, enjoyed some sun in a public garden and visited the St. Augustin market and left with my backpack filled with fruit. See photos of the beautiful Alhambra and other snapshots of Granada HERE.

The Alhambra

I went exploring and got miserably lost and found an apartment rental office to go ask for directions. Behind the desk was a guy about my age working who then offered to give me a tour of the apartments gardens, where I saw possibly the best view of the Alhambra in town:

I naively thought that the tour was just out of kindness then he gave me his business card and asked me to dinner. I didn’t end up calling him that night but his invitation was the first of many for the summer – you become very easily approachable when traveling solo. This comes as a huge blessing and opens up many great opportunities to meet people, but is also something that all female travelers need to keep their wits about.

On the night of my second day I went on a walking tour with the hostel where we hiked up a mountain to see Roma (gypsy) homes. Please read my post about “Gypsy” Europe to gain a better understanding of the culture, political correctness regarding the Roma as well as some safety precautions that all travelers should keep in mind.

People live in caves and come from all over the world. This is my one and only photo from the hike through the “gypsy” village because I didn’t want to be rude photographing people’s homes, but I hope that it gives an idea of the conditions of the houses and general quality on life that we walked through and that people and even full communities live in:

View from the top of the mountain:

After the tour, Oladai, a boy from Jordan, and I decided to go to a flamenco show. The hostel recommended a place that was very cheap, and we headed off to the venue which translates to “The Andalucian Dog.” Inside, we squeezed into what appeared to be a wine cellar and sat on stools with the rest of the audience. Everyone was young and speaking spanish – so it seemed like we were in a legitimate venue for flamenco. There is a large gypsy quarter in Granada that has been there for hundreds of years and is considered the “heart” of flamenco – and the show we saw reflected the passion and talent Granada has for flamenco.

The plan was to go out after the flamenco show…but I did not feel up to it. Instead Oladai and I went to a viewpoint to see the Alhambra at night and headed back to the hostel. I thought I was hungry as I went to sleep, but when I woke up in the morning I had stomach pain that indicated something way worse than hunger.

I was on the second bunk and I lunged from my bed, hit the floor and started running to the bathroom. I made it halfway there, and instead vomited into a trashcan in the middle of the courtyard. It was 6am so I was the only one around, but I’m sure I must’ve woken someone up with the awful, deep stomach sounds of vomit.

I could tell that I was in for a very, very long day. At 11:45am I was supposed to catch a train to meet up with my friend Peter in Sevilla. At 11:45am I instead found myself passed out in a hammock with a trashbin nearby.

I’d like to say the hostel did a good job taking care of me – this is not true. Oladai found me in the hammock and made me tea, another girl offered to get me water, and another friend came to sit on the hammock next to me to keep me company but he quickly disappeared after I started vomiting again. Three staff members were at the hostel, and they were more concerned with me moving out of the room by noon than with me feeling alright.

I asked for a private room – one hostel worker said he’d check but I watched him head back to the bar instead. When I was moving out I had to carry a trashbin with me and my big pack by myself down the stairs in the hot afternoon Southern Spanish sun. I took refuge under the stairs in a small nook – dragging my trashbin, backpack and mal cuerpo under the stairs. Even through the miserable illness, I laughed at how I was like a “sick monster” hiding under the stairs. I was barely visible to anyone in the courtyard, but I’m sure my monstrous noises were very audible.

I finally got fed up of being sick and I went up to the counter and demanded that they find me a private room. It was about 5pm at this point and my illness was relentless – I was not going to make it to Sevilla that night as planned. Turns out, there was a private room open in the same hostel. I got incredibly bossy and in Spanish said “I will go upstairs now, give me the keys. You will bring up my backpack and bring me a water bottle.” There was no por favor in the demand.

Up in the private room, the cleaning lady came in to make the bed. She was friendly and seemed motherly, and honestly that’s exactly what I needed. I asked her if she needed help cleaning, and she told me to sit down and relax. We then got to chatting about how I was sick and I said that I wanted my mother. This got her going – she went and got me a tea, brought in extra pillows and ended up laying down with me in bed, talking in Spanish the whole time to comfort me.

It was exhausting to keep up the conversation in Spanish with her, but having someone care enough to lay down in bed with me was a huge blessing and I could not be more thankful for this crazy cleaning lady. Translation errors aside, I am nearly positive that she talked to me about how difficult it is for her to have a husband in Spain and another husband in Ukraine. She was the most bizarre and most perfect medicine at that moment for me.

Falling in and out of a feverish sleep, I was able to enjoy watching the sunset from my window over the Sierra Nevada Mountains. I’m now on a train heading to Sevilla, it has been about 30 hours since I’ve eaten anything but I am feeling much better and am hoping that this will be the only illness I face for the rest of the trip!

I’m happy that this challenge arose early in my traveling adventure. If I can make it through puking under a stairway for hours, then I can make it through just about any challenge this trip has in store.

One of the joys of travel is the many modes of transportation you find yourself on: airplanes, trains, busses, the back of a camel, the back of a van…

As Annie, Casey and I left Maastricht en route to Spain, our best friend, Marta, was waiting to welcome us to Barcelona.  We had no idea how hysterical the journey to get to Marta was going to be.

It has been two weeks since I’ve left Maastricht. Two weeks since I picnicked with friends under the overcast but lovable Maastricht skies, two weeks since my bicycle handlebars rattled my hands while riding on the Vrijtof cobblestone. Two weeks since I (embarrassingly) cried at the final party saying goodbye to the faces of foreign countries that had become my best friends over the 6 months I spent in Maastricht. It has been an impactful six months, and I’ve emerged as a totally different person from the girl who stepped off the airplane in January. Cheers to Maastricht, and now onto part two of my adventure: Two months as a vagabond traveling around Europe.