The Night Before/Day Of

The departure day arrived, and it had been a strange build up that crept up on me pretty quickly. As is always the case, work was extremely busy the week beforehand, so I couldn’t even ease out of work mode.

A few people had stated an interest in flying over and joining me at some point on the trip. Normally, I’d have said yes and that would’ve been great, but on this particular trip, I declined every offer. I have to do it alone. Bringing a mate along halfway through for a few days is against the rules I’ve imposed on myself.

Packing has always been a bit of a concern around this jaunt. I had a standard 40x30x20 bag which is the limit Ryanair allow as basic luggage. I was sure I could pack everything I needed into it and I did manage it at a push, although it would mean a lot of repacking at every destination to make sure it all fit back in due to the complex nature of it.

I had packed and repacked a few times, trying different methods, seeing that rolling clothes up tightly was the best option. Everything was crammed in and it was an uncomfortable tight squeeze, but after pissing about for so long, I noticed that the seam was ripped near the zip. This wasn’t worth chancing. If that fully ripped then I really would be up shit creek.

I headed to Decathlon on the Saturday night, hours before my flight to get a new one. En route, I decided the best thing to do was to get a bigger bag and just pay the extra for two bags to ease the packing dilemma. That also enabled me to take a bit more and give me leeway on clean clothes if I wasn’t able to wash them with my travel detergent at various places. It proved to be a good move as the bag I got is very flexible - I could wear it on my back, hold by my side, and it even had wheels to pull about. Wearing it on my back did make me look like a Ghosbuster due to the squared box-like nature of the design though. I felt a lot better after making this decision. It was optimistic of me to think that I could pack sixteen nights worth of gear into a relatively small backpack, especially as a diabetic and all the shit I needed for that. As a writer looking to document this trip and maybe even write a bit of my third novel, I preferred a laptop instead of an iPad.

It was not the immediate build up I’d hoped for. I even had to work for a couple of hours in the morning to make up some time owed with my day job, so excitement was put on the backburner until that was sorted.

Once that was finished, I began finalising my packing. On the radio, ‘Like a Rolling Stone’ by Bob Dylan came on. The chorus struck a chord. It felt like a message into how I'd be living the next sixteen nights:

‘How does it feel,

To be on your own,

With no direction home,

Like a complete unknown,

Like a Rolling Stone’

I landed at the airport early via a train from Piccadilly so I could get the bits I needed from Boots that I couldn’t take through security, and obviously, get a few standard holiday pints in. I was definitely feeling it by the time I get on the plane as a range of emotions washed over me… fear…excitement… curiousity…as I was about to step into uncharted territory.

On the flight, I thought about what lay ahead, and what the fuck am I doing? crossed my mind. I must be off my head. This isn’t a week long stay in a resort where you’re pretty safe, which is easy. This was a jaunt around Andalusia where I was really being taken out of my comfort zone. I put my headphones on and some belting tunes soothed me, swiftly changing my mindset to a ‘Fuck it’ mentality, and that being taken out of your comfort zone is what makes you grow. Say yes to anything that comes my way...unless its shooting heroin.

I have to act like a traveller, an explorer and a seeker for the next sixteen nights, and I have to surrender myself to whatever fate and destiny comes my way, believing that higher purposes are at work and that’s all this trip is… part of an overall plan.

This is another one of my versions of emulating the likes of Chris McCandless and Cheryl Strayed. They are my beacons of inspiration, and although what they did dwarfs this trip, their ideals and stories are still influential and will always resonate with me. Watch the films or read the books about their escapades in solo travel. ‘Into the Wild’ and ‘Wild’.

Almeria - Day 1-2

If I’d landed earlier in Almeria I’d have looked into a bus or train into the city to get into the spirit of things, but landing at 9pm was too late for faff so I’d pre-ordered a taxi. The guy couldn’t speak a word of English so the twenty minute drive was spent in complete silence.

I stayed in Hotel Sevilla, a one-star rated hotel which had decent reviews. It’s all I needed for the two nights, and the room reflected that, without being atrocious. It’s as basic as you can imagine with a single bed. The room is small, in fact, I think the bathroom could’ve been bigger than the room itself, but, it’s fine and I have nothing to complain about. It’s what I wanted. It strips you of any sort of luxury.

Although I don’t want the trip to be just a sixteen-night piss-up, when it’s the first night of any holiday, one cannot help but get out and seek a bar for a few cheeky ones.

It’s pretty quiet as it’s a Sunday night at 10pm. I meandered my way through the narrow streets. If this was back home it’d be unnerving, but it all seems safe enough down the dark passageways.

There are a few restaurants open, but no actual bars it seems. I scoured Google Maps searching for open places, but it seems most places don’t open till Wednesday or Thursday. This would explain why my flight was £25.

I relented and sat outside a restaurant and ordered a pint. I asked the waitress in very broken English if there were any bars open and she recommended a place called Bar Tijuana. Sounded edgy…I was in.

I found the bar after a few minutes of walking through another plethora of dark, silent alleyways. I’ve seen too many films to stop my mind from going down the road of this is definitely how someone becomes a victim of a serial killer. But it’s fine, no one was lurking in the shadows as far as I know, and I did see the odd girl walking down other alleyways, so how dodgy could it be?

Bar Tijuana was what I was looking for and the best to hope for on a Sunday night. It is an actual bar and there are a few people in. The music is all Spanish orientated, so there’s not one tune I recognised to rock out to and announce my arrival in Almeria in embarrassing style.

There’s a neon blue glow to the place accompanied by a pool table and a dartboard. I ordered a beer and sat at the bar.

After a while two girls signalled for me to come over and join them. I was thinking this solo traveller malarkey is a doddle. One could speak very limited English and the other virtually none at all. It turned out they were from Argentina but lived in Almeria. Conversation was difficult but thank goodness for Google Translate as the entire time was spent communicating via that. A bit weird, a bit more time consuming, but it was different at least. Of course, I was able to go down the football route and mention Messi, Maradona and Manchester United (of course, everyone knows them globally, they wouldn’t have heard of the noisy neighbours). It turns out they were River Plate fans. It was perhaps not wise to mention The Falklands. (don’t mention the war.)

After a bit more chat, they suggested going to another bar, which they said was a rock bar. Ok, now we’re talking. So somewhere around 12:30 we set off, walking for a good fifteen or twenty mins, turning corners and taking backroads. What was more concerning was that my battery was about to die, and I had no fuckin’ idea where I was. We arrived at the rock bar, and it was shut. Now what? Well, given my battery had now completely died, it was probably best to try and find my way back. Not only that, these girls had to be up at 7am for work, which was mightily impressive - wanting to persevere on a night out when you have to get up that early. How do you say in Spanish? ‘Loco’ springs to mind.

I asked one of the girls to show me a Google Map direction to my hotel, attempting to remember it the best I could. This was going to be some task. I was tired and half cut trying to find my way back to my hotel in a city I’d never been in. There weren’t any taxis about either. It looked like it was about an 18 minute walk, but not straightforward.

I tried my best to remember the route and set off, trying to recall each turn. It didn’t work as I got lost, but I was a lot nearer for sure. It was eerily quiet too. What the hell was I going to do? Some things looked familiar but there were that many forks in roads, I couldn’t remember which one to turn down. I eventually saw a young man walking towards me and asked him if he knew where Hotel Sevilla was. He could’ve shit himself when some pissed up foreigner tried talking to him and fobbed me off. On the other hand, he may have taken advantage of a lost, drunk foreigner wandering the streets of Almeria and done God knows what to me. Thankfully, he was sound. He didn’t speak English but understood my plight. I showed him my phone and that it was dead. He led me to the road that would me down to the hotel. I had taken the wrong fork out of the four available at the junction that led to my hotel, so I was nearly right. It only took me an hour to get back in total, so at 2am I finally crashed.

One thing about my room that I didn’t notice at first is that it has the kind of non-view you only see in cheap European hotels, where the view from your window backs onto a wall you could actually touch, so there is no daylight, and it’s very difficult to see the sky due to the tall building the window backs up against.

With that said I got ready for my day of exploring by putting suncream on, slipping on shorts, and donning sunglasses. I exited my room with all the coolness of Crockett from Miami Vice, but once I got outside it was absolutely pissing down. Unbelievable! I chuckled to myself - back in Manchester when it was raining in the days leading up to my trip, I was thinking I’m about to leave this shit weather behind. Nope. It followed me. Never follows you home though, does it?

I knew it wouldn’t last all day, but it was a ball ache for my immediate plans. I knew where I wanted to eat, which was only six minutes away, so I set off, but the rain came down harder so I had to stop and wait it out underneath a shop awning. Eventually it eased and I was able to make it to the café without looking like a drowned rat.

The café was excellent. I had a ham and Philadelphia toastie on sourdough for €2.50. It was that good, I ordered another to keep me going till teatime.

Fully fuelled for the day’s exploration, I set off on my first jaunt to the Castillo de San Cristobel (a historical fortress built in the 10th Century during Muslim domination as part of Almeria’s defensive strategy) which offers stunning views of the city. This was a fitness test as the steep incline and numerous steps that led to Sagrado Corazon de Jesus next to it was a killer for sure, but it was well worth the schlep as I stood alone marvelling at the panoramic views of the city, surrounding countryside and sea that stretched for miles. Down below there was a view of the Mediterraneos de La Hoya Garden, which I would later walk around once I made my way down the hill. But for a solid half an hour I let the peace and quiet and solitude consume me.

On the other side, and part of the fortress, was the Alcazaba de Almeria which I’d planned on visiting. After walking down one side, and making my way half way up the other, I saw I still had a way to go, and due to the quietness I wondered whether it was actually open. Well, it turned out it wasn’t. I should’ve checked much earlier and saved myself the hassle.

I then meandered through the narrow walkways towards the Fuente de los Peces, meaning ‘Fish Fountain’. Without Google Maps it’d be easy to get lost as the numerous rabbit warren-like alleys could certainly disorientate you.

After a walk through the park observing the many fountains, I stopped for a coffee before tackling the Cathedral. I always find it funny that when you go to a city in Europe, checking out the cathedral is usually a must-do, yet I don’t recall setting foot inside a cathedral in the in the UK, never mind Manchester. And to be fair, Manchester is a stunning piece of architecture. Maybe I should change that on my return home.

It was €7.00 to enter the Cathedral Encarcacion de Almeria and with that you got a headset to guide you around and give you info at whatever point you were at. It was interesting and the artistry and architecture within the cathedral was something to admire. No matter what cathedral I’m in, it always astounds me how people knew how to build things like this back in those times. It’s quite incredible really.

I went back to the hotel for a nap before getting myself out. It was just as quiet as the previous night with many places not open, but I sat drinking a few pints in a café bar in a plaza before finding somewhere to eat. I was impressed with the frosted glasses the pints came in. Makes it go down a little sweeter. A proper holiday pint.

I used this time to contemplate and reflect on the day. It’s a very strange and weird feeling being on your own in a foreign city. This is the first time I've done it. Rarely do people speak English and that leaves you feeling more alone. There have been times, even on the first day, where I have thought to myself, what the fuck am I doing? How am I gonna keep a degree of sanity when pretty much left to my own thoughts for sixteen nights without twisting myself up. But I believe this is common with first time solo travellers. The first few days are tough, but it gets easier. I suspect by the time the last day comes I will have completely immersed myself into the life and won’t want to return.

I thought about the journey and the task at hand and became a little apprehensive when looking at all the travel logistics, relying on breaking through language barriers to find the correct train and bus platforms. But I have to take it one journey at a time, and that’s been my problem at times in general. I look at the whole thing and get overwhelmed when I should step back and take the advice of a friend...how do you eat an elephant? One bite at a time. I have to adopt that mindset for this trip. 

Aside from that, I’m going to be doing something different every day and that is an extremely exciting feeling to have, and which I constantly felt on my US road trips. Life on the road as a nomad, even if only for a few weeks is one of the most liberating feelings you can have. 

Eating times and restaurant opening times in Almeria, which may be the case throughout Spain, is late. Some restaurants don’t open till 8pm and many people sit down for food at around 10pm. After searching Google, I found La Consentida Braseria, a tapas restaurant that looked a little upmarket compared to the others I’d seen. I only chose this because they had English translations on the menu. There weren’t any prices on the menu, so I feared a rinsing when having four tapas and a beer. €14.00 when the bill came! I could live like a king here. Doing a trip like this on a budget is part of the challenge. I could do it on a bigger budget with a degree of luxury, but I want to set a strict budget and do away with luxuries where possible. There will be times when I will go gung-ho, and I thought this restaurant would be standard English prices… far from it. 

I went back into Bar Tijuana afterwards but I wasn’t feeling it so decided to head back to the hotel and have an early one. That was until I saw a kiosk bar right near my hotel that had quite a few people sat outside. This time, I knew where I was, so no chance of getting lost. One or two for the road? Go on then.