(Photos by © Brandon Elijah Scott / Eye & Pen)
Leaving Granada, I ran into two traveling musicians from England. A younger man with a killer 70’s-like California surfer look, and his friend was an older man who looked like his father from the 70’s. The two were heading to the train station as well, so we walked through the old parts of the city until we came across a set of cabs. They were lighthearted and a load of fun – it’s amazing the people you meet while traveling, and how easy it is to have great conversations and perhaps strike up lasting friendships. The two were off to perform at a wedding south of Granada – I’ll be honest, I would have rather joined them than heading to the Costa del Sol.
All along my travels through Spain, people had raved about the city of Ronda – everyone told me that I HAD TO VISIT! So for the first time, I decided to sign up for a tour. I’m not typically a “tour” person – I like to wander alone or in a close-knit group of people I know. I don’t like to be on a schedule or guided this way or that – it’s just not for me. My tour pickup point was just south of Malaga, along the coast, in Torremelinos. I booked a last second hostel online and I hopped off my bus from Granada to find a sprawling, over-developed cesspool. The coast stretching from Malaga south is built up with hotels, resorts and bar districts – usually, I like bar districts, but only when they’re full of local flavor. I don’t travel to find faux culture and overdeveloped areas that remind me of childhood family trips to Myrtle Beach, South Carolina. So, I was instantly let down and I wanted to escape back to the wondrous hills of Granada.
All along my travels through Spain, people had raved about the city of Ronda – everyone told me that I HAD TO VISIT! So for the first time, I decided to sign up for a tour. I’m not typically a “tour” person – I like to wander alone or in a close-knit group of people I know. I don’t like to be on a schedule or guided this way or that – it’s just not for me. My tour pickup point was just south of Malaga, along the coast, in Torremelinos. I booked a last second hostel online and I hopped off my bus from Granada to find a sprawling, over-developed cesspool. The coast stretching from Malaga south is built up with hotels, resorts and bar districts – usually, I like bar districts, but only when they’re full of local flavor. I don’t travel to find faux culture and overdeveloped areas that remind me of childhood family trips to Myrtle Beach, South Carolina. So, I was instantly let down and I wanted to escape back to the wondrous hills of Granada.
My hostel was the Escandinavia 2. I have never experienced a bigger shit hole, to be honest. I rang the bell and knocked, and knocked some more – and finally slammed my hand on the wood door in hopes of someone coming to my rescue. After a good while, an Asian woman came to the door, and without saying anything, turned away and walked behind the counter and said “passport?” While this is normal, the next 25 minutes was not normal – in that she started rifling through stacks of paper and couldn’t find any reservation for me. She tried charging me double the price that I had booked for. And to make matters worse, her English, as well as Spanish was quite inexistent. After showing her my reservation on my phone, she disappeared with my phone and came back ten minutes later – and the whole time, I was basically thinking the worst in my head, of course (typical of a backpacker mentality).
When she returned she still tried to overcharge me, and I ended up paying the 2 extra euros and thinking that ‘I can’t be bothered by it.’ Instead of handing me a key and explaining where my room was, she turned and walked up the hallway. I didn’t follow her, so at the end of the hall, she turned and waved at me in a sort of exasperated manner. I followed up the winding stairs and a ridiculously strong stench of cat piss and feces met my nose. She unlocked the door to what was apparently my room, and I could see past her, that the room hadn’t been cleaned. She began straightening up the room while I stood there. She made the bed, and I asked her to change the bedding, as I was not about to sleep on previously used sheets – I mean, come on. Instead of accommodating, she began to say “is clean, is clean!” I told her that I saw her try to clean up and that all I need is a clean sheet at least. She shook her head and began yelling in an almost unbearable high pitch, “deez is clean, clean!” All I could do was wave my hands, saying “No.” and stand there solemn with my arms crossed. I wasn’t even mad at her, but I was completely blown away by the obvious disgusting conditions of a hotel that stood right in the middle of the high priced vacation areas. She finally returned with a ‘clean’ sheet – she thrusted it into my arms and walked away muttering. To make matters worse, the shower head sat on the ground, and had no holster, and the water from it came out in spurts – every few moments it would change from blistering hot with low pressure and then ice cold with such a strong pressure that the shower head would squirt all over the bathroom. In the end... I laughed my ass off at the absurdity of the situation and downed a few beers.
When she returned she still tried to overcharge me, and I ended up paying the 2 extra euros and thinking that ‘I can’t be bothered by it.’ Instead of handing me a key and explaining where my room was, she turned and walked up the hallway. I didn’t follow her, so at the end of the hall, she turned and waved at me in a sort of exasperated manner. I followed up the winding stairs and a ridiculously strong stench of cat piss and feces met my nose. She unlocked the door to what was apparently my room, and I could see past her, that the room hadn’t been cleaned. She began straightening up the room while I stood there. She made the bed, and I asked her to change the bedding, as I was not about to sleep on previously used sheets – I mean, come on. Instead of accommodating, she began to say “is clean, is clean!” I told her that I saw her try to clean up and that all I need is a clean sheet at least. She shook her head and began yelling in an almost unbearable high pitch, “deez is clean, clean!” All I could do was wave my hands, saying “No.” and stand there solemn with my arms crossed. I wasn’t even mad at her, but I was completely blown away by the obvious disgusting conditions of a hotel that stood right in the middle of the high priced vacation areas. She finally returned with a ‘clean’ sheet – she thrusted it into my arms and walked away muttering. To make matters worse, the shower head sat on the ground, and had no holster, and the water from it came out in spurts – every few moments it would change from blistering hot with low pressure and then ice cold with such a strong pressure that the shower head would squirt all over the bathroom. In the end... I laughed my ass off at the absurdity of the situation and downed a few beers.
In the morning, I met at the ‘meet-up’ point for the Ronda tour. The bus went south down the Costa del Sol and then west, into the mountains. The tour bus was the normal large size of a tour bus, but oddly much taller, and this extended height mixed with the confident style of the driver made for an almost sickening ride where you weren’t quite sure if you were safe or in grave danger every few seconds. Once we reached Ronda, an interesting Swiss guy made my acquaintance – he had a handle-bar mustache, but he had kind eyes and a curious smile, and I found the combination rather interesting. He asked me to take pictures of him throughout the guided tour. The tour I had purchased included a couple hours guided and a couple hours of free time. Majority of the tour was crap, based around sponsored stores and stops that the tour company obviously made money from its purchases. It stopped at the old bull ring and then crossing the bridge, we toured the old Ronda square. I was eager to ditch the group and wander around – because crossing the bridge in a hurry WASN’T even close to my idea of what it meant to experience Ronda.
Our guide finally did something right, and ended the guided tour at the wine museum, where we were able to try several local wines. The funny thing was that I hadn’t eaten anything so far, so I flirted with disaster after meeting a group of Belgians – they were quite fond of staying put for the next hour and downing copious amounts of wine. So, me and my new Swiss friend joined them, and we spoke of the typical travel short talk about home and travel plans – and they invited me to join them for drinks in Belgium when I visit. Our group split ways as some had already paid for lunch with the tour group. I left them and went back to the bridge and the park just beyond the bull fight arena, taking as many photos as I could – the park sat atop the cliffs and offered seriously beautiful views of the surrounding countryside and the mountains beyond.
I have to say that I will NEVER take a tour again! I don’t care if I’m in a wheel chair and 80 years old – mark my words – I will never take a tour group tour again. No offense to the group I traveled with, because everyone I met was lovely, but the age range of the majority of the group skipped the better part of a half millennium, at best. While I knew this would probably be the case ahead of time, I thought I’d give it the benefit of a doubt, but even though the age range differed, there were many other reasons why I detested the experience of a tour group. Instead of turning this travel update into a rant, I will just say that tour group prices and itineraries don’t quite meet my stubborn personal standards.
Instead of returning to Torremelinos, I hopped off the tour bus in Malaga, where I wandered for a couple of hours through the pedestrian streets and markets. While I had previously judged Malaga as part of the issues I had with Costa del Sol, I was quickly proven wrong. Malaga definitely had life – it was full of charm and had its own remnants of an interesting past. I quite enjoyed roaming aimlessly through the small stone alleyways, where I found quaint homes and the usual boutique bakery, but I also found various old Roman ruins as well. I found my hostel with some help from the local shop keepers. The Picasso’s Corner hostel was just a cheap result that I found online the day before – the reviews were pretty decent, and the hostel offered wifi, so I was all set. The hostel didn’t really have much to offer as far as amenities and most of the kitchen appliances didn’t work, but it had a small bar downstairs where a group of hostelers hung around making it a comfortable and friendly place.
Instead of returning to Torremelinos, I hopped off the tour bus in Malaga, where I wandered for a couple of hours through the pedestrian streets and markets. While I had previously judged Malaga as part of the issues I had with Costa del Sol, I was quickly proven wrong. Malaga definitely had life – it was full of charm and had its own remnants of an interesting past. I quite enjoyed roaming aimlessly through the small stone alleyways, where I found quaint homes and the usual boutique bakery, but I also found various old Roman ruins as well. I found my hostel with some help from the local shop keepers. The Picasso’s Corner hostel was just a cheap result that I found online the day before – the reviews were pretty decent, and the hostel offered wifi, so I was all set. The hostel didn’t really have much to offer as far as amenities and most of the kitchen appliances didn’t work, but it had a small bar downstairs where a group of hostelers hung around making it a comfortable and friendly place.
I had a few hours the next day to continue exploring Malaga. I found myself walking past the ruins and through the pedestrian district, where I found a beautiful little park that lead to the port of Malaga. I ended up catching an earlier bus to Sevilla (A.K.A. Seville). The bus from Malaga to Sevilla didn’t offer the same majestic sights as that of my trip from Madrid to Granada, but it was still quite pleasant. The landscape was much more flat, and littered with vineyards and seemingly endless rows of olive trees. The moment I arrived to Sevilla, I felt the sweltering heat that I had heard about. Due to Sevilla’s location, the air is typically stagnant, with little breeze to relieve those faltering under its fierce dry heat.
As I do most of the time – I wandered and ended up finding my way through the old city of Sevilla. After a couple hours of being lost, I finally asked for the directions to my hostel and then realized that I had circled the area nearby, multiple times. But it was okay, as I got a real feel for the antique city.
As I do most of the time – I wandered and ended up finding my way through the old city of Sevilla. After a couple hours of being lost, I finally asked for the directions to my hostel and then realized that I had circled the area nearby, multiple times. But it was okay, as I got a real feel for the antique city.
I stayed in a pair of sister hostels, Traveler’s Inn and Sevilla Inn. Both are unique in their own ways, with one being much smaller than the other, but they both share a likeness in that the staff of like-travelers are fully genuine and special people. I could have had a typical, basic time in Sevilla, but because of the people I befriended and spent the week with – Sevilla will always have a special place in my heart. At both hostels, a lot of the staff was comprised of other travelers from all around the world – they worked a bit, and played a lot. Upon arriving to the hostel I was introduced to everybody by another member of the staff, and I was instantly accepted into their tight-knit group of misfits – and a guy by the name of Emrys handed me a liter of beer and asked me to take a seat to join them. With my bags still on my back, I took a seat and a whole week of randomness, various adventures and sun-lounging took charge.
Me, Emrys, and the others were together nearly everyday, but at night it was like old friends coming together, all over again – we took turns creating random and out-of-nowhere ‘party’ nights, where we would share in cooking food for the gang, or have a night out, and once we even had a last second sangria night (which of course ended rather hazy). During the day, when some of the group was working in the hostels, the rest were either on the rooftop patio, sitting by our new makeshift pool (you know you’re jealous) or we wandered the city that they knew all too well. No matter what the plan was or who was involved and who wasn’t, I was always accepted and even expected to come along – it was the perfect week. I doubt everyone that stays at these hostels will have the same spectacular experience, but it’s a great place, with great people, and I know that will never change.
A few of the highlights of Sevilla were its near-impossible layout, where even after you’ve walked the same route many times, you will never quite know if you’re heading in the right direction, because every antique corner looks a lot like the next. Only after enough time is it possible to understand where you’re going, or even what you’re looking at most of the time. Besides my hangs with the hostel gang and the normal wanderings, there are two other highlights of Sevilla that are definitely worth the visit: 1.) Real Alcazar – The Real Alcazar is a wonderful palace, but what I enjoyed the most was the stone-wall enclosed gardens, as they were brilliant, but seemingly never-ending – it was loaded with history and character, and even a maze. And 2.) a Flamenco show at the Flamenco museum. Andalusia is long known as the birthplace of Flamenco – the special part of the museum is that it hosts a unique and, passionate and powerful show each night. Never will you see the same show twice!
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