Adam's Adventures Vol. 2

Disclaimer: This is a really long email.

The trip in was not without incident, both positive and less-than-positive. My mom saw me off at Detroit Metro on Monday at about 6pm, for my 7pm flight, and the subsequent 8 hour flight was actually rather pleasant. First of all I was placed in the aisle seat of an emergency-exit row, which meant that not only did I have about 5 feet of leg space in front of me, but that I didn’t have to worry about bothering my row mates in the event that I needed to use the bathroom. My only neighbor was 57 year old Craig, a retired U.S. customs agent from Columbus, Ohio, headed to Paris for a two week vacation, where his wife was to meet him a few days later. We had a series of engrossing discussions, from Michigan football (he’s actually a Michigan fan, despite his nauseating proximity to the home of the Buckeyes), to his involvement in airport security, to the French language. Since we flew Air France, all the attendants were French, as were many of our fellow passengers. Although it was unnecessary (since the attendants all spoke some level of passable English) Craig helped me order my meal in French, and between his aid and that of an older French woman across the aisle, I learned to count to 100, say please, thank you, and goodbye, and “hey, you might want to get out of the way of that charging rhinoceros” all in French.

Contact between the plane’s wheels and the asphalt of the runway signaled a distinct reversal in my formerly high level of satisfaction with the travel experience. First, upon landing, the plane did the sort of jiggly-shake normally reserved for the highly agile on the dance floor, causing me to a) remember the chimpanzee in full airline uniform I’d seen while boarding the plane and b) question the species of the pilot. However, the rest of the taxi procedure went without a hitch, and it wasn’t until 5 minutes later, during the bus trip to the terminal that things once again took a turn for the worse. At first it seemed like any other plane-to-terminal bus ride, however after the 20th minute of circling around an under-construction airline terminal, my fellow bus riders were getting a bit restless. Some offered helpful advice like “turn left here!” or “I’m going to miss my flight, so hurry the **** up!”, others were less genial. Whether or not our driver knew where he was going all along remains a topic of heated debate, and I for one believe that he was well guided by the person(s) at the other end of his walkie talkie, most likely Bozo the Clown and/or the Three Stooges.

After a tour of entire city of Paris (apparently it’s all terminals and airplanes) we ended up at the correct destination, and from there, hilarity ensued. It’s no one’s fault but my own, but somewhere along the one mile walk between customs and B terminal, where I was to catch my flight to Malaga, I dropped my boarding pass and the attached ticket. Security rerouted me to the ticket counter, where I waited 20 minutes in line only to discover that I had to go to wait in line to talk to an the airline agent around the corner, who would be able to help me more effectively. The airline agent told me that I’d have to buy another ticket, since the ticket I’d lost was a paper one. This set me back 118 Euro, or about $150 (probably more since, despite being offered the worst exchange rate in history at Detroit Metro, I changed my money there anyway). After this I proceeded to security, thinking the paper ticket I held in my hand was the golden key I’d been searching for, that which would allow me to pass through the pearly metal detectors and into the heavenly waiting area. Nope. I needed a new boarding pass, and that could only be attained by waiting in the ticket counter line once again. So I did my time, waited my 20 minutes, and ended up with an agent who told me she could give me a boarding pass…but wait. Angels sang out, and rays of sunshine radiated from the windows as she told me that someone had found my ticket, any beyond that, it was being brought to me. Furthermore, I would be able to return the new ticket I purchased for a full refund, which I did, and was finally allowed to pass through security and wait for my flight.

Just before boarding the plane, I heard a trio of gentlemen speaking English and carrying backpacks, so I questioned them as to their objectives, to which they replied that they were headed to Malaga, and then to Granada for a study abroad trip. Not being aware, as I am now, of the number of schools that have programs here I asked whether they were from Illinois, which has 50 students in our program, and they said no, they were from the University of Michigan. Well that was quite a shock, I told them, since I myself am from Michigan too. We became fast friends, Ben, Carl, Nate, and I, and lived happily ever after. Not quite.

There is one more tale of horror on our trip. Out of the four of us, three of us had our luggage lost between Malaga and Detroit. It was most likely in Paris, but at the time, they didn’t know. This meant we had to spend the night in Malaga, which we did, and return to the airport the next day to look for our luggage, and then take the group bus ride to Granada with all the other students. Which we also did. Two of the three with lost luggage got our things back (myself included) and we all headed to Granada with the group. Ben got his last bag a few days later.

So the travel period was eventful, and so far living in Granada has been too. The night life here is active, as it is a college town with a high population of young people, including ourselves (the students of CEGRI). One major difference between things here and at home, is that people don’t even go out until around 1 or 2 AM, and often don’t return home until 6 or 7. This reminds me a lot of last summer in Buenos Aires, where I found a similar penchant for staying out all night among locals and fellow travelers. I might need to work my way up to that point, as the latest I’ve been able to go so far is 4:30 in the morning. I know, I’m a total party pooper.

In other news, Carl, Ben (from Michigan) JT (from Illinois) and I are planning a trip to England, Scotland, and Ireland for our first “spring break”, which lasts from February 9th through the 20th, although we’ll only be traveling for 9 of those nights. I’m pretty excited, since I’ll have the chance to see some friends from the last time I was in London 4 years ago, and also meet up with some people I met over this past summer.

One silly observation. It is uncanny how easily one can pick out the Americans walking the streets. There are many other US universities with students in town, and we populate a similar central area of town. I’ll often offer a “Hello there, my fellow Americans” in passing, and while some smile, recognizing our solidarity as foreign exchange students acculturating and assimilating (or trying to) in a new culture, others return acrid looks, ignorant of the fact that a North Face jacket doesn’t function as local camouflage in most places outside the US, including Granada.

Now for a few pictures:

This is a shot of the Gran Via de Colon, in the modern district of the Granada.

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This is me in the Realejo, which is one of the original Muslim sections of town. Compare this to the last shot, and you can see a pronounced contrast between Christian and Muslim style architecture and city planning. In the first shot, the street is wide, straight, and the buildings have a great deal of decorative detail, as well as a boxy and angular nature. The old Muslim district streets are narrow, steep, and follow the natural slope and curve of the mountain, instead of a grid style layout. These differences can also be, in part, attributed to the passage of time and a utilitarian difference in the needs of the people, but those differences in needs were also due to the diversity of the two cultures. Oh yeah, here’s the picture;
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Up in another old Muslim section of town, the famous Albaicin. I’m playing a set of castañuelas. The castle on the mountain behind me is the Alhambra, Spain’s most popular tourist attraction.
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At dinner with the entire program. We had paella, a traditional Spanish food that combines yellow rice, vegetables, and seafood or chicken.
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Our tour of the Alhambra with Manolo (in brown). In the black jacket is Ben, and in the grey is Carl.
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Just about every wall or surface is decorated in the Alhambra, another Muslim motif. It was the stronghold of the Muslim empire in Spain from the 8th century through the 13th century (specifically 1492) when Los Reyes Catolicos, Ferdinand and Isabella, captured it.
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Our hero in the sun. Who’s this joker behind me?
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Cats of the Alhambra. There are hundreds of them, and they’re everywhere. They’re considered to be sacred, so you aren’t supposed to mess with them, although most people pet them anyway.
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A wall. Yes, the entire thing is covered in designs.
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One of the main palaces in the Alhambra.
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Overlooking part of the city.
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A 1.3 megabyte video of yours truly playing the castañuelas.
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