Scored

Today, around lunch time, there was that familiar (and yet strangely unfamiliar) rhythmic thrusting sound coming from upstairs. I was mopping at the time and was very close to using the mop to thump at the ceiling, but thought better of it. Then Housemate 1 comes down cringing with his fingers in his ears. It takes me about a split second to realise in amazement that it is in fact, Housemate number 2 who is making the noise.

Housemate 1 says: "ARGH!!!!!!!!" makes a face and then says, "At least I'm not as loud."
I go: "No, you're even louder. It's as if you're having sex in my bedroom," (in some pornographic feature film that's only about 2 minutes long.)
Obviously I only think the last part.
Housemate 1 goes red and possibly is now scarred for life :p
The sex noises must have put off The Giggler (Housemate 1's girl) as she's usually giggling at every waking moment. (I'm still trying to figure out how she breathes in between.) All quiet on the western front from her sector - score. I know that this is petty, but it's nice when people get a little taste of their own medicine....... Such is the life of a twenty-something shared house.

Onto Housemate 2.
I. Am. Stunned. I take everything back that I've said about how he would never get a girl for the reasons of: not being able to maintain a conversation aside from grunting, (I mean, how do you approach a girl if all you do is grunt?), having a diet solely based on hamburgers, pizza, meat in the form of mince and potato chips (and not being able to stray from this,) having limited interests involving sitting on the couch, flipping channels idly and wiping his nose with the back of his hand and then his hand onto the couch. I mean, obviously, what do I know about men or relationships? I'm just the girl who tells people, "Don't touch me." and "If you try and kiss me, I'm going to punch you in the nose."
I take it all back. Everything I've ever said.

Postscript:
Later that afternoon, Housemate 1 asks me whether I've seen Housemate 2.
"I dunno," I say. "He's been constantly in and out this morning."
"Well that's for sure," says Housemate 1 sarcastically.

Ooh. Slightly bitter are we, no...?

The Wonderful Seasons of Ireland

Spring


Summer


Autumn


Winter


The Irish always reminisce about the "wonderful summer" they had "x" number of years ago. The specific year, nobody can tell me. (Personally, I think they are delusional and have made this "wonderful summer" up in their heads.) A. who has been here for almost four years confirms that this "wonderful" summer" has never appeared during this time. After living here for two years, I have come to realise that the Irish weather has a fairly predictable pattern of:
- One week of sunshine around the bank holiday weekend in late May
- Rain, rain and more rain from June through to September
- Two weeks of glorious sunshine in September
- Cold and wet from the end of September through to May

I usually dry clean my big winter coat in late March, and then suffer the handful of days when it's cold enough to wear your big coat but refuse to because a)you've already dry cleaned the damn thing and b) out of principle, it really shouldn't be this cold in March/April.

One the rare occasion when Munster hits 19C/20C and is gloriously sunny, the Irish literally melt and complain that it is "too hot", and then ask me "how on earth can I cope with such warm weather back in Australia."

Pity the ginger.

Guess Who Scored Free Designer Shoes?!!?

Just checked my credit card - I heart you Saks.

Such pretty sandals don't deserve to be used on Irish soil though.

Semana Santa & the Tapa Tales

Dedicated to N., my very patient and easy going travel buddy! x

Sunday
The airport coach drops us on the edge of Granada city centre. Luckily, there is someone on the bus who can speak both Spanish and English, as the bus driver has to use her as the translator.
"The roads in the city centre are blocked because of the processions, so you'll need to get off here and walk to your hotel," she says. "It's about a ten minute walk."

It's around 10:30pm on a Sunday night. In many countries, the streets would be silent and deserted. Not in this town. The restaurants are buzzing and the bars are alive and well. There are many families and children still walking around, which makes me feel somewhat safer wheeling my luggage around unfamiliar streets. Street vendors are doing brisk business selling packets of cheese puffs and balloons.

We find Hotel Las Nieves smack bang in the middle of one of the main streets. (Couldn't have asked for a more central location.) The room is clean, the beds are super comfortable, the bathroom is new and the shower is fantastic. The reception in the evenings is manned by a lovable old man who (bless him,) hasn't a clue what we're saying. (They obviously put him on for the night shift as they figured he probably wouldn't be asked too many difficult questions.
They got that one wrong.)

It is now past 11pm, and as usual, I am hungry after the flight. After the old codger at reception tells us, "No Ingles," we proceed in a rather theatrical display of charades to explain that we're - (fine, I'm) hungry and ask him to recommend a place to eat. His hand drawn map leads us to Calle Navas where after a short walk down, we decide on a place that has a crowd of people outside the doorway. So crowded the place appears to be that we can't even see the name of the bar or whether there is actually room to stand inside. The locals hanging around the front of the bar see us hesitating and beckon us to come inside. We squeeze past people and plonk ourselves directly in front of the bar where N and I cause a commotion with N's bright blonde hair and me......being Asian.

"Beautiful," the bar man tells me.

"I get the feeling that there aren't many Asian people around here," I mutter to N. (Or more like none that go around hawking dvd's.)
N chuckles and tells me that I'm certainly causing a stir.

We ask for sangria, and they have none so we get something similar. We find out a few days later that it's called tinto de verrano which is what the locals really drink. Sangria to the Spanish would be the equivalent of drinking Fosters. (Yeah, what do we know as silly tourists.) We get offered some type of Iberian ham on soft white bread. The jamon is salty and chewy, and the texture reminds me of proscuitto (but even better tasting). Hmmm, delish. An old guy with a digital SLR around his neck tries to strike up a conversation. He asks if I'm Japanese and I tell him no, and after that, nobody understands what each other are saying. The man then points to my drink. I assume that he's wanting to know what I'm drinking which makes things difficult given that I don't even know what I'm drinking. N. is more clued in and says, "No, I think he wants to pay for our drinks," and starts waving her hand going, "No gracias," but it is already too late. The payment of drinks usually comes with an expectation of something in return, so shortly after that, we make a quick escape.

On our way back to our hotel, we stumble across a procession, soon to be the story of our lives in Granada - right in front of our hotel.

Monday

BREAKFAST

It's blue skies and sunshine! We're so deprived from living in the UK that we head out in summer clothes. We take a wander down Bib Rambla and end up at Cafe Alhambra which becomes our local breakfast hang out for the next three days.

The churros are made to order (which is how they should be made), the chocolate dipping sauce is thick and not too sweet, and I'm in heaven. Any more than four days in Granada and I would have become a little churros myself. The lady at the counter is really nice and teaches N. to order tea with milk ("te con leche"). After brekkie, we have to make a compulsory stop by the hotel to change our clothes. The sun is warm but it is cool in the shade, and the wind is chilly. "The weather reminds me of Morocco," N says, which makes sense, given that Morocco is realistically a ferry ride away from this part of Spain. We head out again and this time I'm in more sensible attire - a sweater, stockings and boots.

LUNCH

We decided to go tapas hopping (what else?) and pay a visit to the tapas institution, Bodegas Castaneda (Almireceros, 1).

Again, we try to order sangria and get the local equivalent instead (tinto de verrano). We get a rice dish cooked in a tasty broth and also order some broad bean and ham combo recommended by the head bar man who tells us it's a local specialty for the region. We also get some sort of cod fish served on soft bread.

After polishing up the few small tasty dishes, we decided to go hunting for more free tapas. We try to find Chopp (Calle Abenamar), but our map isn't particularly detailed so in the end, we give up the search and stumble across a student joint serving tapas fast food style - small portions of french fries served along with fairly large toasted Iberian ham sandwiches. The crusty bread was particularly tasty as they had been brushed with a generous coating of garlic olive oil. After that, we wandered around aimlessly, ending up in the Moorish quarter for a bit before heading back to the hotel for a siesta.

We wake up and get out around six-ish to have another poke around the shops.
"I didn't bring enough warm clothes and need to buy more," says N.
In the middle of aimlessly wandering, we hear the sound of trumpets and stumble across our second procession.







After a few hours of watching, and with the sky beginning to spit, we decide to head for....
DINNER
It's time for more tapas. We decide to eat near our hotel and head to Bar Poe (C/ Veronica de la Magdelena 40). We order a few rounds of tinto de verrano and happily tuck into some more free tapas. Matt the barman and part owner of the bar along with his wife Ana, advise me that they like creating tapas inspired by different cultures and tastes - peri peri chicken and barbeque pineapple and pork skewers are on offer tonight. After sampling a tapas or two, we head to Bar Oum Kalsoum (C/ Jardines), an Arabic inspired tapas bar where we fill up on mini size tagines of chicken, lemon and olive, cous cous, baba ganoush, hummus and falafel. The antidote for bellies too full is of course a long walk followed by another parade.

Tuesday
BREAKFAST

It's back to Cafe Alhambra where we order our usual and then settle down at the table by the window. One of the patrons (an elderly man in a suit,) nods hello. It's like we're already one of the locals! After our churros con chocolate fix - we head up the hill to check out the views from the Albaicin.

Then, at some point while gazing into the skyline of Granada, the realisation of this:

"Argh!! We didn't pay for breakfast!!!"

MORNING TEA & LUNCH
With Cafe Alhambra being all the way down the steep hill, we decide to stop by Arab Tea House As Sirat (Paceta de la Charca) for morning tea first. If you're after a cool and quiet little oasis away from the Andalusian sunshine and heat, As Sirat is the place to go. We end up asking a policeman for directions who in turn has to ask one of the street cleaners.

(Above: Hmm, tea & pastries....)

It takes us much longer than expected to walk down the Albaicin. So much so that we then head straight to lunch. El Tragaluz (Calle Nevot, 26) to be exact, a little gem of a restaurant positioned in an alleyway within an alleyway in the Realejo district. The restaurant's known for its fusion of Moroccan and Spanish flavours, and is reportedly popular with many intellectual figures from Spanish writer Juan Goytisolo to Lebanese novelist Amin Maalouf. We have a huge lunch of salmon and avocado salad, followed by lamb tagine with sesame spiced pear.

With our bellies truly too full, we head over to Cafe Alhambra with apologies and pay, (luckily it's all a bit of a laugh for everyone,) followed by a well needed siesta.

The Alhambra
It's what everybody goes to Granada to see.

We take the bus down from the Alhambra in the evening, but in true Semana Santa fashion, the roads are blocked by parades. We walk the rest of the way down, and stumble into, yup, you guessed it, another parade.

Don't get me wrong, parades are great, but when you're trying to get back to your hotel and find yourselves blocked by parades on what appears to be every street corner..... It can get a little trying sometimes!

Wednesday
It's our final day in Granada and a day for lasts. Last breakfast at Cafe Alhambra, last free tapas lunch at Bodegas Castaneda's and last Semana Santa parade (in Granada).

"Should we maybe make this a parade day?" I ask N.
We head over to front reception where the lovable "old codger" is on duty.
"Parade?" he echoes, not quite understanding us. We then start our game of charades imitating marching arms (me,) and pointy hats (N.).
"Ah," he says, and we soon find ourselves at 6pm back where we started - Calle Navas, eating dried watermelon seeds while waiting for the parade to start.

I've always wondered where the cute Spanish guys were in Spain. I've always seen really good looking ones outside of Spain, but when I went to Madrid and Barcelona (aside from my hot firefighter friend!) they were nowhere to be found. Finally found them in the Granada. It must be the water in the south ;)

We make friends with a family standing next to us, and they kindly let us stand in front of them. No one can really speak English, and we really can't speak Spanish, but we still happily try and converse through body language. The granddaughter (about age twelve) tries to practise her English with us (which really surmounts to "hello" and "yes" and "no"), but bless her for trying and besides, grandpa is proud. Grandpa goes on to explain (in lengthy detail) about the parade, but we really can't understand.......

At one point when the Virgin Mary float comes out, N. nudges me and points, "Hey, isn't that the old guy from the bar on our first night?"
I look up and see the old man with the digital SLR. Turns out that he's one of the official photographers for Semana Santa. His eyes meet mine, and it is a tad awkward....

DINNER

Still on Calle Navas, we squeeze into Los Diamantes for some fresh seafood tapas. We get chatting a few locals and meet Juan and his girlfriend Pippa who end up sharing tapas with us. And sometime when holding a cana in one hand and a fresh langoustine in the other, I come to realise, it just doesn't get any better than this. Whoever gets free fresh langoustine ever? The answer is never. Pippa and Juan end up offering to take us around town, so we end up on the bridge at the foot of the Albaicin to watch a part of the procession followed by a late night bar . Come 1am and with an early 8am train ride to Seville to catch, we regrettably say our goodbyes to our new (and already connected by Facebook) friends and head off home to bed.

Thursday
FAREWELL GRANADA, HELLO SEVILLE

"I just can't see how Seville's going to top Granada," I say to N. as we board the train. The group is expanding with another four flying in from London to Seville in the evening. "Do you think we're going to be the really annoying ones saying for the rest of the trip, "In Granada....."?"

There's no culture of free tapas in Seville, so unless the food's exceptional, Granda's going to be tough to beat.

We arrive in Seville by late morning, and by the time we get settled into our hostel, it's time for lunch. We decide to try a place recommended by the hostel, and end up on the corner of Levies and San Jose.

We order some tapas staples - patatas bravas, spinach croquettes and some tuna salad. The food is totally unmemorable and sets us back eleven euros a piece. Absolutely disappointing.

Our night time affair involves possibly the worst tapas ever. So dry and chemically tasting was the tapas on offer (it was obviously frozen factory food of the worst kind,) that we were kind of embarrassed to leave behind most of it. (If you find a bar in a plaza called Ricon, be sure to stay well away.)

The parades are also harder to find (we don't keep on stumbling into one like we did in Granada,) more crowded, more touristy and less intimate too.

On the up side, the hostel has a cool and it is definitely much warmer in Seville. Warm enough for summer time clothing (with a sweater in two) :)


Friday
BREAKFAST

We go hunting for churros con chocolate and a Cafe Alhambra equivalent. No such luck - we do find churros, but they look suspicious - sitting in a big mound under one of those heat lamps outside a cafe. N. and I refuse to eat any churros if they haven't been cooked made to order, so we opt for a cafe breakfast instead prior to sightseeing.

LUNCH
We hit the jackpot Friday with Dos de Mayo (Plaza Gavidia 6) in the San Vincente district. We stumble across it quite by accident when hunting for another tapas place (Eslava) known for cheap and wonderful tapas (€1.80 instead of the usual €3 everywhere else).
Why pay €3 for one plate of tapas when you can get a boner for €2.35?


Sacrilegious.

Eslava was closed so we ended up at Dos de Mayo instead. Yummy breaded fried eggplant stuffed with prawn, tasty fried chicken wings, potato and fish patties..... We manage to get in prior to the lunch rush and before we know it, the restaurant's full to the brim with people stalking our table.

DINNER
We have similar luck at dinner and find (yet another) gem in San Vincente - Alcoy 10 in..... Alcoy.....This time we stalk a table, but don't have to wait for long.

Saturday
BREAKFAST
Hmmm.... Baked Spanish Goodness....

LUNCH

The girls decide to do a little bit of shopping and by the time we're done, it's siesta time with everybody flocking to the restaurants. Eslava is opened but overflowing with people, and by the time we try heading over to Dos de Mayos, the restaurant is also packed to the rafters. It's difficult to sit six people anywhere and because people are getting impatient and hungry, we end up at a very average cafe with unforgettable food.

DINNER
The group splits with four going on the hunt for pointy hats. I'm so disillusioned about lunch that I drag N. back to Eslava (Calle Eslava) which is open.

It's well worth the 30 minute walk as the food and the service is fantastic. And we're the only tourists there :) We try to be adventurous and order something that we decipher to mean "something of the house". Our waitress looks as us with concern and says something rapidly in Spanish. We don't get it, and then she says the word "tripe". Needless to say, we don't order it after all!! We have such a good meal, that we're back the next day for lunch :)

Last but not Least: The Quintessential Spanish Dessert -
Spanish Natillas <3

Because a certain somebody was immature and thought it sounded like herpes......