On a temporate Friday evening, after a sing song at Spanish University choir, my American friend and I set off for Madrid's Estacion del Sur to catch an overnight bus to Granada. The journey took 5 hours and my thrifty travel companion came up with the ingenious idea of travelling in darkness to arrive at our destination at 6:30am to give us more time visiting and less money spent on accomodation. We are both EFL Teachers and had commitments Friday and classes early Monday morning. Now, for reasons only 'The Bus Story' can explain (check for later blog entitiled thus and it will give relevant background) I am not overly fond of bus travel. It's almost always too cold, chairs are either unable to recline or refuse to keep position, passengers encorach on personal space and it's boring. But in the exploratative mode I am in here in Spain I was excited of seeing somewhere new and also was accompanied by a freind to make the boring bits pass more easily.
Estacion del Sur is a large, fairly sterile building in the south of Madrid. Reached by Metro, Cercanias or local bus it is fairly accessable, with informative big arrivals and departures screens. There are places to get cash out without being charged (if you have a Spanish account) which is important as the two places to eat do not accept cards. We arrived in good time at a little before 12am and after checking bus details with Alsa (the Spanish equivalent to the British bus company National Express) we headed straight for the only Cafe open and grabbed a stool, for it was unsually busy, to enjoy food before sleepy time on bus.
Once installed on bus we noted how awake we felt for eventual napping but really it was a good time to climb aboard. I don't think it would have worked in England because of the different attitude to night life the country has compared to Spain. 12am Friday night is about the time the youngens think about going to a club in this country. 12am London, let's say, is about the time Karl and Chantelle are feeling the effects of their Carling and Vodka/Redbull hits before getting kicked out of Chicago's in 2hrs time. So the night's pretty much over at 12am back home, but here, you feel comfortably normal; you could go out, you've just eaten, you could stay on a bus and think about sleeping in a couple of hours.
I have no problem sleeping in moving vehicles. I think this is due to my parents using the car as a moving cot when I was first born because we travelled up and down the country every weekend until I was 3. I've learnt to prepare myself for the cold of the bus by always bringing more layers than you think you need. However this particular journey was quite irregular. The heaters were on so high, and I was sitting right next to them on the window side, that I kept on waking up out of thirst! Luckily I have also learn't never to travel without a handy bottle of water.
We pulled into Granada at dawn, a little sleepy but suitably pumped for the long day ahead. We nicked a tourist map from behind a closed information booth (one has to be nifty in these situations) as we had no idea how to get to our first point of call - the youth hostel. The one we had booked was our third choice. The first was one I had got information of from my Official International Youth Hostels Guide 2007 (www.hihostelss.com is the offical global website). Unfortunately this was not avialble for our weekend. The next was one highly reccomended on www.hostelworld.com, Oasis Backpackers Hostel. With an attractive write-up on the site left by backpackers who have stayed there we were dis-heartened when they had no rooms available either. Third time lucky?- we managed to book a little known hostel named Mochi Guesthouse from the same site with just as good recommendations. However we were both had no idea what to expect.
And how greatful I was of no expectations when we finally reached the hostel. As the ancient front door creaked open, and my friend and I stepped up over the historical threshold, tired from being lost for 20 mins in the interesting but narrow lanes of the Albaicin in first light - what a delight it was to be welcomed by a traditional courtyard layout. There were two sunloungers seemingly waiting for summer in the middle, looked down upon by moorish slatted wooden window shutters and timber roofed walkways. In the common room where we were lead by the mother of the lady who owned the hostel, there were traditional foot cushions strewn about the place, a battered guitar propped up against the plain and unpainted walls. The absence of decoration in this ancient room only seemed to add to the purity of the environment and add to our pleasent surprise. A makeshift bar at one end of the room was being prepared for breakfast. Next door to this was a tiny loo. Now bathroom facilities in hostels are always a canctancourous point - but this loo, and I do have to point this out, was cleanly decorated, well fitted and neat. Always a bonus on your travels.
After a short doze on the sofa, and the formalities of booking in, we settled down to a breakfast of fresh fruit, bread and marmalade, teas and coffee. Although the coffee was only filter and went cold really easily - there was a microwave to warm it up. And I was in a lovely new city so I didn't care - I just needed some sort of caffeine hit after being on a bus for 5 hrs, walking for over 1 and about to walk a whole day more.
