Life is Change

Just over twelve hours until my journey in Spain comes to a close.  My luggage is crammed into space bags, my backpack squeezed to the brim, and the only thing staying behind are my stained corduroys and the most incredible experience of my life.  As I look back on my first entry in which I stated some of my primary goals, I cannot help but be so happy and proud at what I have accomplished in a very short time.  My Spanish has improved by leaps and bounds and I learned more about Spain and its culture than I could have imagined.  I have made unforgettable friends and connections with people who cared for me and made sure that I was having the best experience possible.  After having just finished my Spanish comprehension test a few hours ago, I can say that the journey has not been easy, but the difficulties were so far outdone by the accomplishments and amazing times that it was all well worth it.

I have no doubt that I will miss Spain dearly and all the friends that I have made.  Earlier today, we had a farewell lunch, and I could not believe that a few months ago, we were standing in a circle sharing what our goals were for the upcoming months.  Studying abroad has been my dream since I knew I wanted to go to college, but the experiences have been such that I could not have even imagined the unbelievable experiences that awaited me.  I visited the Canary Islands, Morocco, Portugal, Barcelona, Madrid, and so many other cities that once were a figment of my imagination.  Undoubtedly, I will cherish these memories until my great-grandkids complain that they’re tired of hearing my stories about riding camels in the Sahara Desert.  There have been so many small moments and blips of time that I will look back on in ten years and remember the special opportunities that I had.  I am so thankful to God for every single moment that I have been blessed with, and I cannot wait to reunite with family, friends, and mommy’s cooking. 

Tomorrow, I will be leaving Spain destined for Rome.  After a few days in Italy, I will be flying to Greece where I will then spend some time before going to Germany.  My Spanish dream may be over for now, but I am so excited to visit three of the most captivating countries in the world.  As I finish my blog and cram my laptop into the last small crevice of my luggage, I am zipping closed the most amazing five months of my life.  Nevertheless, life is change, and I look forward to making new and incredible memories.

Thank you so much for following my blog, and I hope that the next time you hear from me, I will be working for change in the poor regions of Africa.  Until next time!

Morocco

Canary Islands

Portugal

My last week in Granada.

Nerja, Spain

Finals were two weeks away and, with a ten page art essay and a twenty minute presentation on Francisco Franco upcoming, I was focusing all my energy on getting ahead so that I could enjoy my weekend in London.  With plans to leave on Thursday afternoon and stay until Sunday evening, I went online to print my boarding pass last Tuesday.  Although I had vowed to never make a mistake on RyanAir’s tricky and deceptive website, I realized that I had only purchased a return flight and my hopes of traveling to a European country by myself were dashed.  After wiping away my flood of tears (not really), I cut my losses and figured that I better think of something fun to do on my second-to last weekend in Spain.  A few minutes of researching ultimately yielded a bus ticket, round-trip this time, to Nerja, a pretty beach town about an hour and a half away from Granada.  Aside from the less than ideal bus accommodations, we arrived in Nerja on Thursday ready to soak up some high-quality rays for two days.   

The small town was more than relaxing, and Friday turned out to be one of the best days spent with program friends in as long as I can remember!  Paddle ball on the shore, tanning, or better yet, burning in the sand, and chicken fights in the chilly sea waters were an ideal way to spend our limited time with fifteen friends.  Because I am such a food monger, I cannot express my enjoyment of Nerja without mentioning Little Italy, the Mom N’ Pop restaurant that stuffed me full of cheesy pasta and ham pizza for a mere five Euros, a true steal.  The touristy strolls through the beach shops reminded me of typical summer afternoons at home, and with only eight days left here, San Diego felt closer than ever.  Although it was not exactly London, my time spent with friends made me appreciate wherever I was and remember that where you are is not nearly as important as who you are with.  Eventually, our crispy friends got lathered up in after-sun lotion before painfully bouncing our way through the small towns and back to Granada.

Saturday morning, I rolled over at 8 am and quickly got dressed and ready for a day In Ronda with my school program.  From what I knew, Ronda was a small boring town where we would spend an afternoon before finally returning to our lively Granada.  To be honest, I was not extremely excited to stroll through rows of old white houses, but upon arrival, I could not have been more surprised.  The focal point was a massive bridge built centuries ago that separated the old and the new sections of the city.  After touring the most ancient Bull Fight Plaza in Spain and imagining my less than lanky body being mangled after not fitting behind the miniscule guard rails, our guide, who resembled a female Indiana Jones, led us to some of the most spectacular viewpoints that I have ever seen.  During my free time, I descended down a trail and climbed treacherous rocks in hopes of reaching the massive waterfall that epitomized the beautiful city.  I was not able to reach the huge waterfall, but the fact that I returned to the bus an hour later without having been swept away by the rapids was consolation enough.

It may not have been the weekend that I was expecting, but I could not have turned out any better.  With this weekend being my last in Spain, you can imagine that I will live it to the fullest.  Here’s to finishing off my study abroad experience with No Regrets!

Bullfight in Granada

Spain is internationally recognized for its soccer.  With two of the outright best players in the world playing for Spanish clubs, a World Cup win in 2010 and an absolute fanaticism throughout the country, it is almost second-nature to correlate the region situated between Africa and the rest of Europe with the most popular sport in the world.  It may come as a surprise, then, to learn that bullfights are actually the official “Fiesta Nacional”, or national pastime, of Spain.  I knew about Las Fiestas de San Fermín, a ridiculous gathering of mostly men who run through the streets dodging a handful of monstrous creatures, but that is about as far as my knowledge went regarding the centuries-old celebrations.  It made sense, then, to buy second row tickets for the first bull fight of the season last week when a few of the most renowned bullfighters in the country put their skinny bodies in front of the thousand-pound horned creatures.

Not knowing what to expect, I elbowed my way through the crowd of white handkerchief wielding Spaniards and found a hot piece of cement painted with a blurry number “19”.  With friends on my left and a die-hard 45-year old fan on my right, I took a seat and started asking questions.  Fortunately, my new friend explained the bullfight and gave me the play-by-plays as the daring bullfighters narrowly escaped death in the background.  The matadors craftily maneuvered the bulls for a short time before finishing the last and final stage with an efficient kill.  The three stages of each round lasted less than twenty minutes, but the adrenaline-pumping moments leading up to the final stage were exhilarating.  It got tense a handful of times when a bullfighter made a small mistake and got nicked by the razor sharp horns, but the courage of the fighters astounded me.  Not much bigger than a horse jockey, these interestingly dressed men relied on a shiny cape to teeter them between life and death.  For someone that has grown up living for the rush of making a tackle on the football field or carrying the ball into a pack of huge forwards in rugby, I was on the edge of my seat as though I were the matador tip-toeing around the huge mass of meat and muscle. 

Half an hour before the crowd hectically filed for the exits, a matador-in-training was given a shot in the limelight to prove that he could hang with the professionals.  In an attempt to make a great impression, he knelt ten yards in front of the gate that opened to free the raging bull.  Unfortunately for him, a deadly mix of amateurism and distracted bull resulted in the matador being bucked and trampled on the dirt plaza floor.  Somehow, he managed to animatedly jump to his feet once the bull became distracted, and the show went on.  Whether it was his lack of experience or simply being shaken up from the initial injury, the last matador was clearly inferior to the rest, but it showed that the matadors’ suave and nuanced movements just inches away from the bulls were extremely dangerous and skilled.  The whole spectacular lasted a few hours, and I was happy to experience a fundamental aspect of Spanish culture as well as feel my heart race as though I was sprinting down the football field for one last touchdown. 

Lagos, Portugal

I looked down at the massive Atlantic Ocean and held my breath as I jumped off a sailboat and into the frigid water.  The ice-cold temperature literally took my breath away, but the sensation of jumping into the middle of the ocean with massive cliffs and caves in the background was exhilarating.  Typically, I did not think about the consequences of jumping into the water on a cold, cloudy day without a towel and a cave tour upcoming, but I was content to have leapt into the same waters that the Europeans considered the end of the world before 1492.  As I glanced to the shore on our way back to the dock, I saw a small Portuguese beach town littered with fishing boats, and I eventually set foot on the dock ready to explore another foreign country filled with picturesque landscapes and laid back living.

Shortly after jumping in with Alli.

On the sailboat.

Still freezing but ready for our cave tour.

Cave tour.

I woke up on Saturday morning with the unfortunate sight of large clouds and rain in the forecast.  Nevertheless, our guides promised a wonderful day, and we blindly accepted their promise.  The bus driver took us to the same cliffs that we had toured by boat the night before, but this time we were able to climb and watch the waves crash from above.  After taking pictures from every possible angle for thirty minutes, we spent the rest of the afternoon kicking a soccer ball in the sand and taking in the beautiful Portuguese coast.  As the weather forecast had it, it did rain later in the day and we scurried for cover underneath a tiny roof.  As much as we would have liked a warm, sunny day, it is interesting how, regardless of how much planning goes into a trip, the weather aspect is never certain and it often dictated our plans.  One thing the rain could not inhibit, however, was NahNahBah Cafe.  With one of the best fifty burgers in the world, the wait to make it inside the door was enough to convince me of its title.  Our ravenous appetites inevitably led us to a Thai Restaurant, but we ended up working through the mass of meat and bread the next evening.



This is one of the sections that we boated through the evening before.

On Sunday, we had the option to explore Lagos, the small beach town in which we were staying, or take a bus to an exclusive beach on the western coast of Portugal.  Naturally, we chose the western coast and we sleepily bussed down a narrow dirt road until we hit a beautiful cove surrounded by jagged cliffs.  Nestled between the cliffs on the north and south side and the crashing waves to the west, we laid out our towels for a nice day of relaxation.  It was short-lived, however, as the wind immediately kicked up and people began running for cover.  I would have rather protected myself behind the masterfully engineered sand fortress that I had just constructed, but the ensuing “hurricane” destroyed my perceived indestructible wall.  Again, we bolted to the only roof in sight and cuddled up for another afternoon of cloudy beach.  Fortunately, it cleared up within an hour and I hiked with some friends to an even smaller cove hidden underneath a massive rock face that surrounded it on all sides.  Eventually, we trekked back to the bus destined for Lagos before the upcoming eight hour trip back to Granada. 

The small cove that we hiked to.

NahNahBah Cafe.

               Regardless of the weather, Lagos, Portugal was an incredible experience.  There is something about watching the sun set beneath the Atlantic while standing on the exact cliff that was believed to be the literal end of the world.  I stood over the turbulent waters picturing Christopher Columbus conquering the infinite ocean and, immediately, my mind shot back to Friday evening when seven of us sat on a little boat and gazed at the mass of water that eventually led to my homeland.  Seventeen days of smooth sailing stood between me and the Americas; that or a quick visit to four more countries before boarding today’s traveling marvel, an airplane headed for California in four short weeks!



This was considered the last piece of land before the end of the world during Columbus' time.

Holy Week

Easter represents one of the most important days of the year in my family.  It is the day that we gather with extended friends, grandparents and cousins to celebrate the Resurrection of Christ and for this reason, it has always marked important stages of my life.  When I think of the crazy Easter photos we take every year when at least one child cannot survive the session without shedding a tear, I am reminded of how drastically different and new the past twenty years have been.  As exciting and noteworthy as Easter is year after year, this was the first in which I was not cracking eggs and sprinting through Grandma’s yard ducking and dodging the waves of confetti being thrown about. 

Sure, I was not shattering colorful eggs or hunting for jelly beans, but Easter in Spain had surprises of its own.  Andalucía, the autonomous community in which I live, is famous for its Holy Week processions and traditions, and I returned from Barcelona on Holy Thursday with just enough time to take to the streets and witness the 17^th century icons and statues being carried through the crowded roads and sidewalks.  Each procession was unique and different, but some were as big as school buses, and each was supported by an organized group of men who marched in unison in such a way that the statues appeared to be dancing.  Older women, families, children and study abroad students lined the streets in anticipation of the processions that lasted close to an hour, and the scene was incredible.  Some were there to enjoy the spectacular, others cherished the religious significance.  Regardless of others’ motivations, I was moved by the unbelievable reality of the Easter season and was amazed at the opportunity to watch 400 year-old statues dancing through the same streets that I hurry down to make it to Islamic Culture class on time.

I woke up Easter morning with the same excitement that I had ten years ago when I found my Easter basket overflowing with Reese’s and Nerds.  After a decade, my enthusiasm was not motivated by the candy resting by my sleepy head, but by the connection I felt with my family back home as we celebrated such an important day together in the celebration of the Mass.  I whipped out my nice slacks for the first time, and I walked with my host mom through the tourist crowded streets to Fray Leopoldo, my new favorite church in Granada.  Carmen showed Alli and me around the small underground chapel where its patron, a life-long beggar for the poor was buried in plain sight.  We soon proceeded to the main church upstairs where we celebrated Mass, and I spent the rest of the day enjoying the sun with friends, but never forgetting the beautiful significance of such an important day.

As May is fast approaching, I am being struck by the realization that this semester is nearing a close.  A month remains, and I have resolved to make it the best yet.  I have spent this week planning my last trips through Europe and with Greece, Italy, The Vatican, Portugal, England and Germany awaiting my arrival, I have no doubt that I will make the next forty days some of the most memorable in my life.  Stay tuned for next week’s entry where I will be sharing my experiences in Los Lagos, Portugal!

Spring Break: Barcelona

Having planned the trip four days before boarding RyanAir Flight 9378 to Barcelona, I knew as much about the city as the famous Gaudi architecture that I learned in art class the week before. Regardless, Michael, Kody and I finally arrived in the bustling metropolis at 11:30 am on Saturday after two bus rides and a quick flight that traversed the country. After exhaustedly wandering the labyrinth of streets in search of our apartment, we finally settled in just in time for a day at the beach. Being the great packer that I am, I left my bathing suit at home and instead brought three pairs of jeans, a great wardrobe decision for a summer-like atmosphere on the Mediterranean coast. Nevertheless, we distractedly walked through a huge open air market and dodged the thousands of Messi jerseys and gadgets before stepping foot on the warm, fine beach sand. Gaudi and the rest of the famous city would have to wait.

Although the water was cold enough to scare off most sun-bathers, we spent the next three days exploring beaches, enjoying the sun and even swimming from time to time. It was definitely a different experience than the beaches I am used to in San Diego as the shore was as much a commercial sales region as it was a place to kick a ball around. Vendors poked around every fifteen seconds and we became experts at feigning naps long enough for the masseuse or the hot dog man to walk by. We also had to be careful walking down the shoreline because, at any given point, the perceived tourist destinations would quickly become nude beaches, and it was very evident when three clueless tourists stumbled into the “clothing-optional” zone. Differences aside, had it not been for the cloudy weather that finally set in on day four, we probably would have forgotten to explore the rest of the world-famous city and stayed relaxing on the amazing beaches.

With two days left and a light drizzle covering the city, the three of us woke up on Tuesday unsure how to tackle the huge city and all its must-see destinations. Some Icelandic friends from Barcelona had suggested the night before that we tour the city on a bus, so we put our rain coats on and hopped on the double-decker in the early afternoon. Our first stop, La Sagrada Familia Basilica, was the most astonishing church I have seen in Europe thus far. With lizards, fruits, and pillars in the form of palm trees, its naturalistic approach mixed with Gaudi’s gothic style was entirely unique and unlike anything else in the world. Although construction began in 1882, it is yet to be finished, and I dream of returning in twenty years to see the church in its completed state. Aside from the basilica, we also made stops at Gaudi’s Park Güell, a large project that I would liken to Disney’s Candyland, and FC Barcelona’s soccer stadium. By sheer coincidence, we arrived at the stadium gates two hours before a big game, and we watched the best soccer team in the world pull up on their team bus and walk into the stadium. By day’s end, we were exhausted from all the sight-seeing, but happy that we had seen the major destinations in just an afternoon.

We returned home to Granada last night and, in retrospect, we could not have planned a more fun and fulfilling Spring Break trip. Together, we saw the famous structures and plazas that make Barcelona such an esteemed destination, yet we also found three days to relax and enjoy our time on the Mediterranean coast. I cannot say that going in with no plans or itinerary is the ideal or recommended approach but, for us, it always seems to fall perfectly into place.

Seville and more...

                Midterms were fast approaching.  Having been sick the entire previous week due to a bug that I contracted in Morocco, I was still trying to subdue my fever such that I could attend my most important classes.  I would feel better for a short time, but after my two mile power walk to school, I inevitably wondered how I would get through the next ninety minutes of Contemporary Art.  Salsa class every day was out of the question, and I was hibernating in my five foot long bed for hours at a time.  Forget afternoon hikes, going out with friends on the weeknights, or anything secondary; I was just trying to convince my host mom that I was not avoiding her food because it tasted bad, but in fact because my body physically could not handle it.  Nevertheless, I stumbled to week’s end with my prescribed medicine crumpled in my nifty travel backpack and I plopped on the bus with forty-five friends destined for a weekend in Seville, the capital of Andalucía.

                María, our program director, enthusiastically skipped through the bus aisles striking up conversations and, after a few hours, we made a quick stop outside the city.  It may have been due to my lack of attention in class on Thursday, but I had no idea what I was looking at when our guide walked us through mazes of ancient looking ruins.  Fortunately, I eventually realized that we were walking through a city that is over 2,000 years old!  It was constructed by the Romans during their empire, and it contained entire excavated homes and sculptures, not to mention an impressive coliseum.  The concept of walking on the same platform where warriors fought for their lives literally thousands of years ago was undoubtedly very thought-provoking and, inevitably, my friends and I joked that we would have probably been the best warriors back in the day.  The whole tour lasted two hours, but walking on Medusa’s tile floor in a home that housed children centuries ago was an experience unlike any other.

                Eventually, we arrived in Seville, where I spent most of my time wandering through the city streets and overlooking the city from the Cathedral’s impressive viewpoints.  We ultimately packed into the bus on Sunday evening with just enough time to return to Granada at 10 pm for dinner.  With a test at 8:30 am and 6:30 pm the next day, I wished that my final grades would just reflect all the educational tours that I had taken in Seville.  Luckily, I survived the extensive essay questions and eventually made it to this weekend.  With a nation-wide strike being held on Thursday, my school week was cut short, and I took to the streets to curiously wander through the thousands of protestors who desperately want economic change in Spain.  Surely, many union members were protesting with a purpose, but I was amused to see that the confetti, organized drum squads, and hundreds of flags resembled a joyous parade more than anything.  Even so, the twenty-four hour marathon of whistles and fire-crackers ended at midnight and it brought yet another work day in Granada and the rest of Spain. 

                With Friday brings the official start to Spring Break, and I am preparing to head to Barcelona for the next week.  A five hour bus ride and a quick plane ride await, but I hope to be taking in the beautiful northern Spanish sun within the next twenty-four hours.  This is a trip that I have been excited for since arriving in Spain, and I am excited to share my experiences in the coming week!

Africa: Dreams Realized

We walked out of the airport, passports in hand, with the name of a hostel and a few hundred dirhams.  Five of us, all friends from the Granada program, had no idea what to expect other than a new world experience when we landed in Marrakech, an Islamic city of over 1,000,000 people located more or less in the center of Morocco, Africa.  Other than a questionable camping trip that we had organized online through a third party organization, we decided that our first day would be spent “experiencing the culture.”  We did not have to wait longer than two minutes before we realized this was no longer Spain and surely not the United States.  About ten taxi drivers approached us offering their services, a theme that would recur time and time again throughout the weekend.  Eventually, an Arabic speaking gentleman convinced us that his “derpy” taxi was absolutely the best and we crammed into a tiny, run down car headed toward the main region of the city.  After dodging donkeys, horses, camels, and oncoming cars (there were no street markers or lines), we finally got off the taxi only to be overwhelmed by mobs of locals who saw an opportunity to pounce on obvious tourists.  We spent the next day eating amazing Moroccan food, taking pictures with cobras, watching monkeys back flip through the crowded streets and, more than anything, take in the sights and sounds of a city that none of us had ever even come close to experiencing. 

Friday morning, our second day in Morocco, we woke up at 6:30 a.m. with plans to meet a stranger in front of a post office who would drive us to the Sahara Desert, a six hour excursion, and leave us with camels that would trek us in for a night camping under the stars.  If it sounds a little bit unscripted and questionable, it was surely all of the above, but we were optimistic that our twenty euro online deposit had not been stolen and our excursion a fiction of the imagination.  Surely enough, we cautiously approached our preliminary meeting spot and a nicely dressed local stepped out of the nicest mini-van in Marrakech and muttered, “Michael Dildine?”  Seeing as how our reservation was under Michael’s name, it appeared as though this might be a legitimate operation after all.  Eventually, we made our way south and made stops in the mountains and at the site where Gladiator, The Prince of Persia and other famous movies were filmed.  As the sun was setting, the driver finally pulled off in a city called Zagora, where he instructed us to follow a couple locals who would lead us to the camels.  Before we knew it, the five of us were watching sun bow below the desert dunes while we realized that camel riding was not exactly comparable to sitting on our luxurious living room couches.  We finally got comfortable two hours later, at which point the guides dropped us off in the pitch black desert and walked the other way without saying absolutely anything.  Curiously, we stumbled up and down the sand hills until we came across a camp site.  In the middle of the African Desert with camels resting in the background, we set our bags down and spent the rest of our night beating on drums, conversing with the locals, meeting people from around the world and letting the smooth Saharan sand run through our dirty fingers.  My dream of visiting Africa was officially a reality.

                Eventually, we rode the camels back to Zagora where we were subsequently driven to Marrakech.  Three days after first arriving in the marvelous other-worldly city, we were again dodging honking cars and buses, this time on foot, in a desperate attempt to find a taxi that would take us to the train station on time.  Fortunately, the five of us piled into our Harry Potter-style train cabin just in time for our ten hour overnight ride to Tangier, the northern-most city in Africa.  We had to untwist our pretzel shaped bodies when we awakened just in time for our train stop and, within three hours, we were disembarking the ferry that had taken us across the Strait of Gibraltar and back into Spain.  The whole traveling adventure lasted a mere twenty-four hours, but I finally returned home on Sunday night with the most eventful weekend memories of my entire life.  I unknowingly mentioned in my blog a few weeks ago that, if my experiences and excursions continued to open me to new world experiences, I might just find myself riding a camel through the Sahara Desert in the near future.  Evidently, dreams continue to become realized and, while I prepare for a week in Barcelona and northern Spain, you can expect that I will continue filing away the hundreds of memories that I will cherish for a lifetime.               

Vacation in Madrid

               I sat listening to my favorite Granada playlist while en route to Madrid last Friday.  It was a trip that I had long awaited because fifty of my friends would be traveling through three of the most historical cities in Spain together.  While we spent the majority of our time in Madrid, we took day trips to Segovia and Toledo, and every excursion was filled with new and memorable experiences.    

                Once off the five hour bus ride to Madrid, we went straight to El Museo del Prado.  With some of the most historical and famous paintings in the world, it was impactful to see the very same artwork that we had studied during the months prior.  With hundreds of works by El Greco, Goya, and Velásquez scattered throughout the three stories of showrooms, I was most impressed by the self portraits of kings and nobles that could easily be confused with modern day photographs.  As opposed to the contemporary art museum, El Museo de la Reina Sofía, which contained some of the most odd and inexplicable “art” that I’ve ever seen, El Prado contained absolutely stunning masteries.  Aside from spending countless hours in museums, we took a guided tour through the famous plazas that give Madrid its reputation as a beautiful and bustling metropolitan city.  At one point, we visited a historical site in which many people were killed during the Civil War, and it evoked a sense of eerie wonder as to what the scene may have looked like in the serene park just decades ago.  Excluding Granada, the many sights and wonders of Madrid make it my favorite city in Spain thus far.

                Sunday was an exciting day because our program took a bus ride to Segovia, famous for its Roman aqueduct that pierces through the heart of the city.  Constructed literally 2,000 years ago, the aqueduct measures eighteen kilometers and its sheer mass and masterful engineering overwhelmed me.  Not only was it built two millenniums ago with ancient techniques, but the massive structure is held together entirely by the weight of each rock that was carefully placed one on top of the other.  Although the city is the third smallest in Spain with a population of 50,000, its atmosphere and beautiful sights were something to hold onto.  As our guide weaved us through the ancient streets towards famous churches and palaces that appear in Disney’s Snow White, we dodged the thousands of families that were gathered in full costumes for the city-wide carnival.  What an incredible way to spend a Sunday afternoon, for myself, but also for the hundreds of families that call Segovia home. 

                Before trekking back to Granada for a short school week, we spent a day in Toledo.  Having researched and presented information on the city last semester, I was especially excited to bring my silly PowerPoint presentation to life.  Store after store, block after block, we came across thousands of swords, switch-blades, knives, and virtually anything with a sharp point.  Had I not been walking with two guy friends the whole afternoon, we probably would have spent more time in museums and cathedrals, but our undeniable attraction to pointy objects lured us into dozens of stores that girls might propose are all the same.  Regardless, I finally did find my perfect memento in the form of a hand-crafted knife, and I hopped on the bus for a five hour bus ride through the beautiful Spain countryside.  Five hours later and with yet more experiences to cherish for a lifetime, I crawled in bed in preparation for one more fantastic day in Granada.