1) JOSE DE LA TUNA
Now an infamous name across Murcia, Jose has taught me a valuable piece of Spanish vocabulary- 'Tuna.' When Jose texted me one dull afternoon asking what I was up to that night, I couldn't quite remember where I had met him but not wanting to be rude I invited him to our flat party. Little did I know, and now never will I forget, that 'Tuna' is the Spanish word for 'Band,' and 'Band' in turn means 10 Spanish men dressed in traditional Spanish costume complete with guitars, lutes and bells and whistles (quite literally). The evening was great- what wasn't SO great was our landlord threatening to cancel our contract. Oh well, the night was totally worth the daily looks of hate we get from our Spanish neighbors when we cross in the lobby.
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| Which one was Jose?? The everlasting question.. |
2) GRANADA
Granada; home of the Alhambra Palace, Lorca, cheap tapas, and for two days, some 30 Erasmus students and 1 questionable Spanish guide who went by the name of 'Lolo' (meaning 'grandpa' in the Philippines and 'lover' in Argentina, but I digress). The day started off well by a morning visit to the beautiful Alhambra palace, whose minutely detailed Muslim architecture was awe-inspiring, however things quickly went downhill from here as perhaps still on a sight-seeing induced high tequila shots were ordered with lunch. What was to follow would end up with our guide in hospital and 29 Erasmus students (one student in particular having peaked too early and deciding that it would be safer for everyone if she went to bed) wandering around the streets of Granada making the locals run for their lives (quite literally at one point).
Hazy flashbacks include wandering into a flamenco performance and joining in, putting our Spanish to the test by convincing a couple on their first date to get married (I still wonder about them sometimes), and stopping cars in order to inform the occupants of the drinks deals in a bar close by. Ok, I admit, having written it down it is much harder to see the funny side, and although I really don't want to be one of those year abroadees who constantly mutter 'oh but you had to BE there,' but, well, urm, maybe you did sorry.
Hazy flashbacks include wandering into a flamenco performance and joining in, putting our Spanish to the test by convincing a couple on their first date to get married (I still wonder about them sometimes), and stopping cars in order to inform the occupants of the drinks deals in a bar close by. Ok, I admit, having written it down it is much harder to see the funny side, and although I really don't want to be one of those year abroadees who constantly mutter 'oh but you had to BE there,' but, well, urm, maybe you did sorry.
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| Let's admire all the lovely Granada architecture...from the floor |
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| It started off so well |
3) MOROCCO
What a rich, amazing beautiful place. Despite our driver getting lost and turning the first day into a 23 hour coach trip, riding camels into the desert and camping overnight under the stars ( totally freezing) made the numb bottoms worthwhile.
The bustling markets of Marrakesh, once you get over the shock that the man who has just deposited a baby monkey on your shoulder is actually expecting some kind of financial remuneration, are brimming with every colour imaginable accompanied by smells of leather and spices and sounds of vendors attempting to entice passers-by with all sorts of things you never thought you needed until now. We quickly became dangerously addicted to the 'haggling high,' that euphoria you feel having bought something for a fraction of the asking price (or perhaps it was the 24+ cups of Moroccan tea, I'm not sure), pushing down prices like there was no tomorrow and convincing sellers that we were Belgian in order to account for our dodgy french accents.
Haggling in Tesco is just not the same, especially when they call the manager. Ahem. Thanks to this trip I have mastered the art of sleeping for hours on a bus, saying thank-you in arabic and how much a camel costs. True life lessons!
The bustling markets of Marrakesh, once you get over the shock that the man who has just deposited a baby monkey on your shoulder is actually expecting some kind of financial remuneration, are brimming with every colour imaginable accompanied by smells of leather and spices and sounds of vendors attempting to entice passers-by with all sorts of things you never thought you needed until now. We quickly became dangerously addicted to the 'haggling high,' that euphoria you feel having bought something for a fraction of the asking price (or perhaps it was the 24+ cups of Moroccan tea, I'm not sure), pushing down prices like there was no tomorrow and convincing sellers that we were Belgian in order to account for our dodgy french accents.
Haggling in Tesco is just not the same, especially when they call the manager. Ahem. Thanks to this trip I have mastered the art of sleeping for hours on a bus, saying thank-you in arabic and how much a camel costs. True life lessons!
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