Capiliera and Alicante

July 13, 2010

The next morning, we woke up early, wrote Irina a thank you note, and left her a gift of champagne. After another breakfast of pastries, we walked to the bus stop and caught the bus to the train station. The seats and standing room were packed, so the three of us stood squished into a little corner. By the time we arrived at the bus station, we had hardly 15 minutes left before our bus to Capiliera departed, and we ran to be first in the ticket lines. With all three of us in a different line,we had the luxury of picking the fastest one and getting our tickets just in time.

According to Lonely Planet, Capiliera is a quaint little mountain town high in the Sierra Nevada. Although it is very small, Lonely Planet recommends it because it also happens to be one of the best starting points for any mountain hiking. As you can imagine, the bus ride to Capiliera was wrought with all sorts of twists, turns, and switch backs, and once again, I fell straight asleep to avoid the inevitable motion sickness. At one point, the bus came to a screeching halt and every one's gasp woke me up, but the bus driver calmly backed down the narrow road to allow the other bus to pass. Like I said, it's just better to be asleep for bus rides.

When we finally arrived in Capiliera a couple of hours later, I looked to the south and discovered what I had been missing: Capiliera stands high in the mountains, surrounded by cliffs and dry, brushy trees. The streets are cobblestone and all of the buildings are painted white and have strange little chimneys perched on top. The view is... Perfect. For 180 degrees, the mountains tumble down and up into gentler, softer mountain tops, and in the valleys below, mountain streams and rivers churn themselves white in their frantic pace to reach the grey-blue waters of the Meditteranean Sea. The horizon just behind the mountains fades from ocean to air almost imperceptibly, and the effect leaves you believing that both the sky and sea go on forever, or perhaps that they are the same. The 180 degrees above us is craggy and snow-capped, and it seems impossible that tomorrow we will climb the tallest one of them all.

In an effort to do just that, our first stop in Capiliera was the Sierra Nevada Tourist Information Office. In broken Spanish, I explained to the woman behind the desk that we were interested in climbing Mulhacen, and did she know how we might find the bus to get to the drop off point? The woman was very patient and repeated a couple of times that we were to catch the bus here, outside this very office, next morning at 8 AM sharp. It was the only bus that would be going to the drop off point this week.

Feeling very lucky indeed, we went in search of our Hostal Paco Loco. The day before, Irina had helped us book our reservations, and when we arrived, we were all the more thankful for her help. The inn keeper led us to the second floor just above the bar and showed us our three person room for which we would pay 39 euro per night for (13 euro per person). On the opposite end of the room, I spied three doors, and I intuited right away that we had majorly lucked out. The room was spacious and clean, the beds were expertly made and crisp, and the doors... The doors led to a roomy balcony that looked out over Capiliera and the mountains and valleys behind it. As if that didn't make us happy enough, the room also had an en-suite bathroom with a shower and a bidet (not that I know how to use one, but saying that there was one makes me feel somehow classier.).

Pleased as punch, we went in search of a little supermercado for foodstuffs for lunch and dinner, and fortified with bread, veggies, fruit, and cheese, we packed our little day packs and started hiking. The hike out of Capiliera is a steep one, and within minutes all of us were panting. Ashlee, who is easily as fit as the two of us (and probably faster), became very quiet as we hiked. After a while, she said, "I feel kind of weird, like I'm short of breath or something." Joshua and I looked at one another and then thought to ask Ashlee if she had ever been at altitude before. Besides a few car-ride mountain passes, she had not. Both Joshua and I looked forward to sharing the mountains with Ashlee. It's always fun to be with someone who's never been in the mountains before and are seeing them for the first time.

The first time I saw the mountains, I was flying into Colorado with my mom and David. I looked out at the Rockies, and I thought the wrinkly, bumpy land looked weird and almost out of place. When we began driving through them, I got the sense that they were, in fact, a continuation of the very same thing that is usually flat, but they were just way, way, way better. With mountains, there is a sense of anticipation when you come into a valley and begin your ascent. At the summit, you find what you've been waiting for: a vista, a view, a sense of where you would like to go. I feel like I'm suspended between the sky and the earth. I feel like this is what churches were trying to do with echoing, cavernous cathedrals and soaring, stretching spires. I feel like the architects tried and they did a pretty good job, but they never quite got it because, really, it had already been done so perfectly and effortlessly on the top of every mountain.

Ok. So mountains are like a religion, and Joshua and I proselytize with missionary zeal. I think you get the picture.

Our first hike took us through the ghost town of Cebadilla where an old water power plant and hermitage looked more than a little bit creepy in their desolation. Beyond Cebadilla, we began climbing the river valley, and when we reached an open area where we could get to the water, we did so immediately. It was hot.

Perched on some large rocks in the middle of the river, we ate our salt and vinegar chips and dipped our dusty, hot feet in the icy alpine water. Ashlee decided it would be a good idea to play chicken, and the two of us fought it out, taking turns submerging more and more of our bodies for longer and longer. It has been documented that I won, but I am a generous enough winner to admit that Ashlee also submerged her entire body (including her head).

On the way back, we listened to the cicadas singing and the hot, dry air rustle the yellow, brittle grasses and bushes. Past Cebadilla, we once again had a splendiforous view of Capiliera and the mountain towns below, and when we arrived back at our hostal, we rested on our beautiful balcony.

Although the day was almost completely perfect, Ashlee did find a small fly in the ointment: she was unable to use her debit card, and when she tried to call the bank, she found that it was impossible. No. I mean, really. It's freaking impossible to call the US. We tried a hundred times. We bought phone cards. We tried them. We brought them back. We bought more phone cards. We tried them. We tried 10 different country codes. We tried no country codes. We tried international codes. We tried to call from residential phones, from public phones, from pay-as-you-go phones. It didn't work. To make matters worse, Lonely Planet describes - in detail - how to make international phone calls, and we still couldn't figure it out, much to the amusement of a handful of spectators that we soon accrued. Ashlee IS pretty entertaining to watch when she's pissed.

Once we had given up, we retreated back to the bedroom for a cold dinner of supermercado snacks, and we relaxed, reading and writing to the sounds of the bar below. For a nightcap, Ashlee and I wandered down to a little cafe for gelato, and after we had ordered (chocolate ice cream for Ashlee and chocolate dipped raspberry sorbet for me), we sat in the fading light of the street and savored our icy treats. Joshua stayed back because he's seriously considering becoming a vegan after reading Michael Pollan's The Omnivore's Dilemma. I'll consider it too, but not while I'm in Spain :)

July 14, 2010

Early the next morning, Ashlee, Joshua, and I woke up, got dressed, packed our hiking day packs, and hustled to the bus stop. Outside the Sierra Nevada Tourist Information Office, we found a global assortment of day hikers at all fitness levels. Call me a snob, but it just BOTHERS me when people exercise in their jeans and makeup.

Anyway, after a little bit of waiting around (and let's be honest, sizing up the competition), the small bus arrived. After about 20 of us had boarded, the little bus was nearly full, and Paco, our guide, hopped on with us. As the bus driver made his ascent, Paco took it upon himself to educate our multi-lingual group on the endemic flora and fauna of the Sierra Nevada. I think he also told some dirty jokes, but my Spanish isn't that great, and I certainly didn't want to ask him to repeat himself. At Mirador Trevelez, Paco let us off, and we were treated to a spectacular view of the Sierra Nevadas running into the Mediterranean and far behind, a glimmer of Africa.

From there, we took off on foot. While some were not planning on making the ascent, most of us were, and we walked at the head of the group until Josh looked at his map and directed us in another direction. Nobody followed. After we rounded a corner, we were completely alone, and above tree line, the landscape seemed impossibly big. The trail led us over a couple of snow and scree fields, and Ashlee nervously panted her way across them, certain that we were trying to kill her. On the other side, we found another spectacular view of a dramatic caldera and an alpine lake partially covered in ice. To our right, the mountain rose up at a dramatic, rocky incline, and when we looked at our map again, we realized that we would be climbing directly up the steep scree field. Luckily, after another half mile, we found a path that led us up, and we were not forced to plow our own path. Between grunting and panting, we stopped and turned to look at the ever-widening view below us. At one point, four hook-horned goats scampered down the slope at top speed, and Ashlee tried to catch their descent on her camera.

After nearly an hour of climbing, we finally made it to the top where everyone was waiting. I felt like a complete fool, but Ashlee said that - for all they knew - we had taken the more bad-ass scenic route. At the summit of the highest peak in all of Spain, Joshua, Ashlee, and I ate the largest tomato known to man and some delicious sweet and sour gummy candies. Once we had finished stuffing our tummies, we climbed the Spanish Geographical Marker for a photo op and some more oohing and aaahing over the forever and ever vista.

On our way back down, we got lost again, and ended up scrambling down a steep, rocky slope to the path 400 meters below. At one point, I began crab-crawling on all fours, and I think even though we were a little ticked that we again looked like total outdoor hiking fools, we had a lot of fun. (One creepy note: we definitely saw large bits and pieces of a burnt plane hull littering the side of the mountain.)

Once the three of us rejoined the trail, we cruised. Paco had told all of us to just keep walking past the drop off point so that we wouldn't have to wait and get cold, and so we walked a good couple of miles past our starting point before the bus passed us. Ashlee looked at me, frantic, wondering if they hadn't seen us, and I reassured her, saying that I seen Paco wave at us, and besides, we were above treeline, OF COURSE they saw us (to be perfectly honest I was reassuring myself, too). Thankfully, I was right, and about 20 minutes later, the bus stopped on its way back down. Not that everything is a race or anything, but we totally toasted our competition.

On the way back down, Paco told a couple more dirty jokes and picked on Ashlee, but all of us were so tired, we could barely put up the effort to laugh. Back in Capiliera, the three of us took turns showering, and when we were done, we went to a nearby Taberna to have dinner, drink a pitcher of Sangria, and play cards. While Joshua ate grilled chicken, Ashlee and I feasted on enormous fillets of swordfish which were AMAZING. Once we had finished eating, we entered a complete food coma and decided to call it a day. And that, my friends, was my favorite day in Spain.

July 15, 2010

On our last day in Capiliera, we did practically nothing. We slept in, ate bread, fruit, and vegetables, and napped a little more. Joshua read and contemplated various forms of veganism, Ashlee fell asleep reading, and I tried to catch up on my writing.

Later in the afternoon, Ashlee and I went on a little walk through the village, and we wandered through the narrow, windy, and steep cobblestone streets. Even up here in the cooler mountains, everybody takes siesta, and the entire village was resting peacefully. On one of the lowest streets in the village, we found a tiny little art and tea shop with beautiful little tables set up in cozy spaces with absolutely stunning views. The woman tending the shop wore a flowy white dress, and the sound of the old berber irrigation that runs through the whole village made the whole place seem otherworldly (think paradise in the Lord of the Rings).

Back at the hostal, the three of us changed into our running clothes and began running the path we had walked two days before. While Ashlee and I sweated our way to Cebadilla and back, Joshua turned his run into a loop. Back at Capiliera, Ashlee and I taught each other our favorite calisthenics and sweated it out in a little park with perfect scenery. The three of us reunited again at the hostal, and once we had showered, Joshua and I went out to have tea at the little art shop while Ashlee finished getting ready.

Tea in southern Spain is usually Moorish, and the teapots are lovely little silver numbers with intricate detailing. We sipped on our mint infusion and watched the sun set over the hills, the Meditteranean, and Africa. Once the sun had set and the moon had risen, we went back and found Ashlee. Although we had planned to eat at another Arab-infusion restaurant, Ashlee had met up with Paco, and he had invited us to come and see him play guitar at a little Taberna where he and his friends like to drink. At the Taberna, we were the only foreigners, and when we asked the bartender what he would recommend off his tapas menu, he told us everything. If he doesn't like it, he doesn't put it on his menu.

Amen. They were the best tapas we had in Spain. We had rabbit stewed in whiskey, pheasant braised in something, and something else that I can't remember, save for the extreme gastric pleasure it brought me. We ate everything. We drank wine and beer, and we were happy. Back at the bar, we somehow communicated with Paco and his friends, and we all became amigos. One woman taught me briefly how to flamenco, and everyone had fun watching the American girl try to stomp her feet and twitch her skirt with style. At one point, Paco took out his guitar and tried to get Ashlee to sing, and everyone laughed when I fed her the line, "No canto" (I don't sing.) It was a ton of fun, and we had some sort of traditional sweet liquor before we all reluctantly said goodbye and rolled into bed for our early date with a bus ride tomorrow.

July 16, 2010

Bright and early the next morning, we wiped the sleep from our eyes, hefted our packs onto our backs, and headed out to the bus stop. From Capiliera, we returned to Granada for another connecting bus ride to Alicante. Although our bus driver to Alicante seemed more serious about stopping for rest breaks than he was about actually driving, we eventually arrived in Alicante at about 4 PM. I pretty much slept the whole way there, so I can tell you little else :)

Once we arrived in Alicante, we took out the Lonely Planet and navigated our way to the Hostal were we had made reservations. Hostal Milagrosa was centrally located less than a five minute walk from the beach, next to the old historic cathedral, and just below the Alicante alcazaba. Fortunately, we stayed in the very nicest part of the city, because, as our new friends had told us the night before, Alicante is ugly. It's modern and has little of the old-world European-Arabian flavor that Sevilla, Cordoba, Granada, and Capiliera have. The little square where our hostal was located was very nice though, and we were all looking forward to our air conditioned private rooms.

After we settled into our rooms, we changed into our swimsuits and headed to the beach. Although the sand was a pretty pale shade and the water was startlingly blue, the place was jam-packed with tourists. At the boardwalk, we ran into Eddie and Tim, Ashlee's friends from college, and we made plans to meet up later on the rooftop terrace at the hostal. After wading in the water for a little bit, we made our way back to the hostal to shower and get dressed.

The top of Hostal Milagrosa is an open-air dining room, and the night we arrived, they were serving free paella, the traditional dish of Alicante. While everyone waited for the Paella to cook, we met the crew. There was a couple from California, two sisters from San Jose, Eddie from Minnesota, Tim from Germany, and a few other travelers from Austria, Italy, Norway, and France. We played spoons for a little while, and after it became apparent that no one other than Joshua would ever win at that, we moved on to Sangria and cigarettes. While everyone smoked, drank, and talked, the sun set and the Paella was served.

At midnight, Joshua and I called it a night, and Ashlee went out with Eddie and Tim to "sample the frenetic nightlife" (as Lonely Planet recommends).

July 17, 2010

The next morning, Joshua and I awoke to the loud tolling of the cathedral bells outside our window. Downstairs, we gathered information on how to visit the town of Torrevieja, and then we woke up Ashlee. The poor girl had just barely gone to bed by 8 AM, but she was determined to view the beaches and pink and emerald lagoons of Torrevieja.

After we walked back to the bus station, we caught a smaller bus that stopped at multiple destinations down the coast. After an hour, we got off at our stop and headed for the beach. One thing I will say about Torrevieja is that it made me appreciate Alicante a little bit more. In comparison to the lifeless, dull apartment buildings and flavorless streets of Torrevieja, Alicante is a regular hotbed of beauty and culture. We stayed on the beach for a couple of hours, occasionally going for a dip in the crowded waters to cool off, and when we got hungry, we packed up and wandered forever looking for an acceptable meal. Although the meal was overpriced and our fish salad had way too much mayonnaise, the shrimp in garlic butter was pretty delectable, and watching Joshua eat his fried octopus was pretty hilarious (he had no idea what he was ordering).

Finished eating, we went in search of the pink and emerald lagoons only to find that they would require a half day's walk to reach. Scrapping that idea, we walked along the lackluster and somewhat polluted coast, trying to enjoy the sea-salt air and the crashing waves. At one point, Ashlee tried to get us to go cliff diving, but if you were wondering where the buck stops, it's there. I do not go plunging into uncertain waters. I don't care if the locals are doing it. I'm not.

On our way back to the bus station, Ashlee searched for the perfect dress, but like the rest of our day, it evaded her. At the bus station, we discovered that the bus wouldn't arrive for another hour, so Ashlee and I went in search of a supermercado to gather items for dinner. At least in this, we were successful, and after we had made our way back to the hostal that night, we showered, changed, and made a fabulous pasta meal (all credits go to Ashlee, who is an absolute MATRON in the kitchen).

The night before, Ashlee had bought a bottle of wine and another of tequila to aid in our true experience of Spanish night life, and we had yet to touch either. Never ones to waste, we opened both, and within the next two hours, they were gone. I'm not saying that we drank all of it between the three of us, but I'm not saying that we didn't. I guess what I'm saying is, I'm not really sure what happened. It's kind of a blur.

I do know this: at some point, we left the hostal. At another, I was dancing, and I must have been dancing well, because people thought I knew how to flamenco. Joshua and I danced. Ashlee and I danced (to All the Single Ladies?). We went to a club, to another club, and then an outdoor bar? I drank lots of water, and I'm pretty sure that's the only reason I did not vomit. At 4 (or 5?) AM, Joshua and I went back to the hostal to sleep it off.

It might not seem possible, but Ashlee had an even wilder night that we did. She didn't get to bed until 8:30, and before she did, she managed to swim in ocean, watch the sunrise, and eat McDonalds in a foreign country (all good goals well accomplished).

July 18, 2010

The next morning (or should I say afternoon?), Joshua and I rolled out of bed feeling... Ok. Not great, but not too bad either. For drinking more than I've ever drunk before (and being drunker than I've every been before), I'm pretty amazed that I did not vomit. I feel pretty proud of myself (pat on the back).

To begin, we woke Ashlee to see if she would like to walk about the city with us and climb the Alcazaba. She did not. Leaving Ashlee to her bed, we wandered in search of a post office, and then - realizing that it was Sunday - gave up. At a little joint, we ate sandwiches to absorb the last of the alcohol, and refortified, we went to climb the Alcazaba.

After we had returned from Torrevieja the night before, I had run up the stairs of the Alcazaba to see the night lights of Alicante. The run had taken me a full fifteen minutes to the top. Today, in the light of day, the walk took us nearly an hour, but the view was just as breath-taking. We could see all of the city, the hills off in the distance, and the torquise-blue ocean below. The water looked very enticing indeed, and we resolved to immerse ourselves as soon as possible.

Taking photos of the copious graffiti on our way down, we made a stop for our swim suits and Ashlee at the hostal, and then we headed for the beach. Joshua and I played in the waves while Ashlee sunbathed, and in all, we decided Alicante wasn't so bad.

For our last night in Spain, we made corn and avocado relish and fried eggplant. The eggplant was a bit too oily, but the relish was delicious, and we ate the whole saucepan between the three of us. With our tummies full, we went back to our rooms to rest and digest in the air conditioning, and after night fell, we went for a last walk through the streets of Spain. At a heladoria, we stopped for cups of ice cream and sorbet (respectively), and then we idled the last few blocks, slowly savoring our after-dinner sweet and listening to accordion music.

At 11 o'clock, we went to bed. Tomorrow we leave for London.

July 19, 2010

At 5 AM, we saddled up and hopped a taxi to the airport. The flight was completely full, so we split up and sat apart, and when we arrived in London, we hustled through immigration, customs, and the baggage claim to see Ashlee safely off on the National Express bus to Heathrow where she would catch her next flight to Rejkavik and then to Minneapolis. We cut it very close, and I was worried for the rest of the day that she wouldn't make it to Heathrow in time for her flight (she did, just barely).

Our goodbyes were suitably European, with a kiss on each cheek and well-wishes of a bon voyage. I feel impossibly lucky to have been able to travel with Ashlee in Europe. It's the stuff that high school friends dream of, and we did it. Kudos to Ashlee for beginning her life as a traveler and falling in love with mountains. I'm so glad we were able to share it all on this trip, and I think we may have found a new backpacking buddy, too :)

Back to the two of us, we went back into the airport to buy train tickets to London Bridge and then to Charlton Station. At 1 PM, Joshua and I showed up at the Naylor-Roll residence. Everyone was at school, but it was just as well, because Joshua had to reassemble our bikes and we had to pack our panniers for the next leg of the trip: Lands End to John O'Groats! A bike trip from the Southwestern most corner to the Northeastern most corner of Great Britain. Our other errand involved finding a camping store where we could purchase a camp stove and light weight cookware, and with the help of Google maps, we biked 3 miles through outer-city London to get there. NOT FUN. My initiation to driving and cycling on the left was absolutely terrifying: rather than simply think, "oh! Everything is opposite!" I thought, "holy shit! Where is the next car going to come from?!" as I wildly wipped my head left and right and right and left and then back again.

In the end, we made it there safely, and with our stove and cookware purchased, we headed back to the Naylor-Rolls. By the time we arrived back at the house, nearly everyone was home. Joshua and I briefly forayed out again for a little jog and to pick up some foodstuffs for dinner, but by 7:30, everyone was back. We spent the evening eating chicken from the grill and salad, talking about Spain and biking, and the travels to come. When the light fell, we all said goodbye, and Joshua and I stayed up a bit longer to finish packing.

Tomorrow we will bike!