After a day spent exploring the Alhambra’s countless secrets I made my way back to the hostel where I washed up briefly before heading to the hostel kitchen for the night’s special event – a group dinner. For 5 Euro the hostel provided all we could eat paella, a big bowl of soup, and a drink from the bar.
What is paella you ask? Paella is a cornerstone of Spanish cuisine and a must try for anyone visiting the region – cooked in large pans, not all that unlike the pans used for stir fry, the dish is predominantly seasoned saffron rice with large pieces of pork, horseshoe muscles, calamari, small clams, shrimp and peas. Depending on your region in Spain, and the cook, various other meats and delightful tidbits may be added. The pan used by the hostel was about 3 feet across and circular. It was quite the sight.
Stuffed and in good company we repeated the previous evening’s rituals. Starting in the hostel bar drinks and stories flowed before we set out to explore the city’s night life and enjoy Spanish music, culture and sights.
Despite morning coming far too early I awoke to a beautiful, crisp winter day. Blue skies, gentle and warm – far from what one might imagine a December day in Spain would look like. Eager to explore the surrounding area and the Sierra Nevadas I made my way through the city to a large square where I’d been told I could catch a bus into one of the small cities in the mountains. The walk took me into parts of Granada I’d previously left unexplored and added to my love of the city. After about 20 minutes of walking I found the square and began asking around…trying to discover which of the regional buses would take me to Guejar. Before long I’d narrowed down the approximate area where it paused along it’s route to collect people…and had a good idea of when to expect it. I’ll confess that my pronunciation of Guejar was abysmal and my heart was racing as I tried to figure out the bus system and isolate which of the 10 bus stops along the square was mine.
Finally feeling fairly confident that I wasn’t going to miss my bus, I grabbed a quick bite to eat and relaxed by the shallow river that stretched along one side of the square. There I watched a father and his two children at play. It reminded me of my time in Europe as a child, exploring grand cities and embracing experiences which fostered the curious passion for travel which drives me to this day.
Before long the bus arrived. One Euro Eighty cents later, I had my ticket in hand and was cozily sandwiched into one of the small bus seats. I’d picked Guejar at random and didn’t know what to expect, beyond that it was in the Sierra Nevadas. As the bus snaked through the narrow Spanish streets we quickly left the city behind and began winding our way up through several small canyons toward the mountaintops. Each time the bus slowed down and paused at a bus stop I felt my pace quicken and my stomach leap into my throat. I had no idea what to expect. What would Guejar look like? How long was the drive? Would there be a bus stop or would it be a proper station?
Resisting the urge to hop off each time the bus slowed to a stop I sat, taking in the scenery as we climbed deeper into the mountains. The snow capped Sierra’s drew gradually closer as the road hung on to the side of a rather steep valley. Soon, I found myself looking out my window and down the steep slopes below – the narrow roads, tiny guard rails and steep drop offs along a lot of European roads is something I’m not sure I’ll ever get completely comfortable with.
Before long we came upon a large dam. The dam was significant in size and filled in some two-thirds of the valley. The water it held back was an emerald green with rich, gorgeous waters lazily soaking up the winter sun. I knew immediately it was something that I needed to explore in greater detail. The quick views as the bus wound along the valley wall hundreds of feet above wasn’t enough. As I watched it wind away behind me I decided to get off at the next stop – even if it wasn’t Guejar.
Luckily, just a few minutes up the road from the dam we pulled into a beautiful small city which lazily clung to the side of the valley wall. Somehow, the bus pressed its way through the narrow streets and down tiny alleyways before coming to a stop on a steep incline next to a small square. The doors opened and the passengers began to disembark. I soon realized I’d reached Guejar!
Eager to explore the city I quickly set off from the square and into the small town. The streets were a delightful warren of small open spaces and narrow corridors – many of which suddenly split or dove off down the hillside. There were beautiful plants everywhere and interestingly most of the doorways had hanging rugs of them. I’m not sure if it was to keep out the cold, or a regional tradition – either way it added a fun element to the streets and brought them to life with their own special character.
Legs burning from the steep ascent and descent as I explored the small town, I spent a good 30 minutes wandering up side streets and down back alleyways before setting off back the way I’d come in the hopes of reaching the azure waters I’d seen from the bus.
As I left the town I quickly ran into a problem. The narrow winding road we’d used to reach the town was just that – a narrow two lane road with a steep drop off and small guardrail. This left very little room for me to safely backtrack along the road – leaving me sandwiched between a steep drop on my left and oncoming traffic on the right. Undeterred, I pressed on, carefully utilizing the narrow space between the guardrail and the steep drop down to the river below. It took me another 5 minutes of careful walking before I reached a bend in the road and paused to snap the photo you see above.
I lingered and took in the view – one that reminded me in a way of the Grand Canyon and Colorado river. Don’t get me wrong, the view was vastly different – but there was something about it that captured my heart and mind in the same way. It left me slightly awed. As I paused and shot a few photos/took some quick video I considered my options. I could continue along the road which continued from my perch for a short ways before winding back behind a small hill and away from the dam for about a quarter of the mile – or I could climb down the hillside a ways and get a better view of the lake, valley and several interesting structures on the opposite side. Careful not to fall and die, I slowly made my way down the steep hillside – heading towards a slightly flatter area which had been leveled off during the construction of several large power lines – why not right? What better than large power lines to ensure my safety as I climbed down a steep hillside.
Eventually, I found my way down to the flattened area – where I paused for a drink, some photos and to take in the sights. The descent had taken me down some 1/3 of the hillside and left me across and slightly above a group of goats and a shepherd I’d been observing from the roadside earlier. Having descended below the power lines, I finally had an unobstructed view of the lake. What better place to stop and read for a while? Enjoying my perch and the moment I pulled out my book and read for about 20 minutes before plotting the next stage of my exploration. I considered my location, looking back up the steep hillside I quickly decided that down was a far more interesting (and less difficult) alternative – and why not? I hadn’t hurt myself yet!
In a hail of small stones, mumbled curses and periodic gasps I eventually made my way down two thirds of the way to the river. The whole affair would have no doubt made the most clumsy of mountain goats proud. Eventually, I found a small path and decided to follow it instead.
Wondering if I was trespassing and about to get chased off by a local farmer with a pitchfork, I followed the path as it wound back towards Guejar in the general direction of the shepherd and his goats. The path quickly cut up and took me immediately them…leaving me under the watchful stare of two of his goats. One of which had an amazing, billowing goat beard and large set of horns.
I wound up, around, between properties and soon found myself back in the city. With ample time to spare I set to satiating my burning hunger. No easy task given the quiet nature of the city. Differentiating between tapas bar, bookstore and hardware store was far more difficult than one would think. None of the residents needed signs.
After exploring the city for another 20 minutes or so I finally found a little hole in the wall joint. The food was good, the price was incredible, the floor was dirty and the place was populated by old Spanish men – perfect. I headed inside, ordered and carefully tried to take the following incognito video…my apologies on its…authenticity:
After a quick meal, I headed back to the square – checked my watch and relaxed in the winter sun as I read my dad’s book – The Spirit in the Ruins by C. Descry. Eventually the bus driver emerged from one of the local tapas bars and we began our winding trip back to Granada.
That evening I joined a number of friends from the hostel for a wonderful night out on the town which came to a close at 4 am as we sat perched in the Albayzin looking across at the beautifully lit Alhambra.
It was December 30th. The following day I caught a train early in the morning to Madrid, where I began preparing for New Years and my return to the U.S. – what an incredible adventure!