Cordoba

I was sad to leave Granada - an incredible city that shaped this trip. I’d been to Seville before and thought that was class, but people had suggested trying Granada, citing that it was better. I wasn't too sure about that claim because I loved Seville so much...but they may be right… Granada could just shade it, and I didn’t even get to explore the main attraction.

Mercedes was the perfect host during my time at the Granada Old Town Hostel. As I left, she said to me, "This is always your home." Something about that statement touches the heart and sums up the idea of travelling. If anyone is willing to stay in a hostel in Granada, then this would be the place.

The train to Cordoba took around two hours, and I was sat on a bank of four facing two people with no table, so writing was out of the question. I spent the time relaxing, listening to my superlative playlists (there’s none better) of elite tunes that perfectly soundtracked the journey. Music was an important aspect of my travels. I didn’t want to wander around towns and cities with my headphones in so that I could soak up the sounds of those places, so I only listened to music while I was travelling. But it helped to reinforce and solidify the reasons I was there. I specifically chose songs that captured the essence of travel, music with emotive undertones that stirred sensations and roused my mind ready for the next destination. I mainly chose tracks that are lesser known - amazing songs such as ‘Lavendula’, ‘Lost in America’ and ‘Closer’ by Israel Nash; ‘Tears of Rain’ by Greta Van Fleet; ‘Sedona’ by Houndmouth; ‘Heaven Up There’ by Palace; ‘Heaven’ by The Walkmen; ‘Like a Rock’ by Bob Segar & the Silver Bullet Band; ‘Gypsy’ and ‘Seven Wonders’ by Fleetwood Mac (especially after Granada); ‘Boys of Summer’ by Don Henley; ‘Go Down River’ by The Heavy Heavy; ‘Blue Moon’ by Beck; ‘Fearless’ by Jackson Dean; ‘Parachute’ by Chris Stapleton; ‘Year to Be Young’ by Stephen Wilson Jr; ‘Goin Down South’ by R.L. Burnside; ‘Southside of Heaven’ by Ryan Bingham; and ‘Ferris Wheels’ by I Am Kloot.

OK, I got carried away listing songs as I was back in the travel zone momentarily, but that’s what I do, and I’ve given you a snippet of what I listened to… and given you one hell of an eclectic mini playlist to enjoy.

I was in a cheap hotel in Cordoba for one night, and after three nights sharing with three others, it was a welcome reward to have my own room, however basic it was.

I explored the city, starting off in the new, cosmopolitan area (seeing another JD Sports shop) before venturing to the old town.  The streets became narrow walkways that resembled a maze, with a more rustic, historic feel compared to Granada. I spent the time absorbing the atmosphere, nipping into quirky and interesting shops for a look around, eventually heading to the Roman Bridge that lay across the river. There was the famous Mosque-Cathedral where you could pay to take a tour. Under more refreshing circumstances I’d have gone in, but I started to flag and was hungry, so I grabbed a late lunch in a fancy restaurant before heading back to the hotel to grab a necessary couple of hours of sleep.

The trip was becoming a little physically demanding due to the lack of sleep and long walks with steep inclines, so I did start to feel fatigued. I’d not anticipated that beforehand. It wasn’t an easy trip, and it was sometimes tough. It certainly wasn’t a relaxing holiday… in many ways it wasn’t a holiday at all, but it was thoroughly enjoyable. There was a need for a strong mentality and managing being alone, and that was the challenge. But after the initial disorientation of the first few days, I felt I was starting to thrive, taking everything in my stride, consumed by a renewed confidence that guided me. I was growing into this travel mindset and lifestyle, and I was loving it.

It was around this point that Housna messaged me to say that she would still be in Malaga when I got there. She asked if I’d like to meet up so she could show me the city, having been there a few times herself. After our time in Granada, it was a no brainer to arrange to meet up with my travel buddy so she could show me around and open my eyes to places I might have missed. Malaga had been a late addition to my trip and came from recommendations at work. I hadn’t even had a chance to scope out the area to decide what I wanted to see, so having Housna as a guide was a great bonus. It was something I’d look forward to.

When I ventured back out later after my nap, I crossed the Roman Bridge and sat by the bank of the river, just at one with my thoughts, people watching as dusk was settling in over the town’s golden horizon.

I sauntered back across the bridge to the old town and saw that a lot of people were wearing the same football shirt. I checked Google to see that Cordoba FC were playing. The stadium was about a twenty-five-minute walk away, so I looked at getting tickets. Unfortunately, because I was a foreigner it asked me for my passport details and some other identification numbers that I hadn’t a clue about. I didn’t have my passport on me, so I left it. It would’ve pretty cool just to randomly decide to go and watch a game from the second tier of Spanish football.

Instead, I decided to indulge in a hefty tapas meal in a quintessentially Spanish tapas bar that looked like it was a hole in a wall. It was only a small establishment, but it had the feel of authenticity. I had eyes bigger than my belly, and I was stuffed after six tapas. I needed to walk it off before stopping for a beverage. 

It was a Monday, so everywhere seemed sleepy and there was little life in any of the bars or restaurants. It probably wasn’t a bad thing. I found a hidden bar in a small square and sat outside, eventually talking to an older Swiss couple all night, as I enjoyed a couple of glasses of cava. They were in the middle of a month-long tour of Andalusia, hitting every spot imaginable on the way. If only I had the kind of time or money to embark on such a trip.

Ronda

The travelling was starting to ramp up as I hit a period of only staying one or two nights in places, making me feel like a real traveller.

Ronda was up next, and I was eager to get there due to the stunning views the town possessed. Typically, my train was delayed by over an hour, so I sat in the station loading up on coffee and water. I had eaten breakfast in a typically Spanish establishment where none of the staff spoke a word of English. After a bit of broken English, I ended up having a cheese and ham toastie of sorts. There isn’t really much scope for variation when it came to Spanish breakfasts.

The train journey was another two-hour jaunt that flew by thanks to the specific music I had chosen coupled with incredible scenery that made me think that Ronda itself was going to be pretty spectacular.

I was staying in a hostel with a twist, specifically booking a certain place due to the view from the terrace that is opposite The Puente Nuevo, meaning, ‘New Bridge’. I had my own room in the hostel. It was a huge three-bedroom apartment where we shared a kitchen and bathroom.

Before I got to the terrace, a friend of mine had told me that his band, ‘A Band Called Jack’, had a song called ‘Ronda’, written at the foot of that bridge. I told him that I would have the song ready to play as I made my way out to the balcony for a first time listen and look. It was an inspired choice, as the song’s spirit truly captured the essence of the scenery. It will now be a song forever associated with that memory.

It was a truly remarkable sight to behold, and I couldn’t take my eyes away from it. Two fellow residents came out to marvel at the sight too. They were a couple from Germany, and we spent a brief period talking and sharing tales of where we’ve already been.

I got out and about into the town, taking in its offerings, strolling around aimlessly. I found that it wasn’t just the sight from the bridge that was a stunning view. That was tame compared to other viewpoints, as the sprawling unspoiled countryside stretched for miles, as far as the eye could see. It led to a lot of periods of just sitting and being in awe. I walked past the town centre’s limits and found a quiet spot on my own behind an old, crumbling wall on some steps. I sat alone and let the stunning views wash over me, revelling in the experience of this life-affirming trip. It looked like Spain’s answer to Yellowstone.

I came back into town and stood outside the Bullring of the Royal Cavalry of Ronda. In hindsight, I should’ve gone in, but I was just enjoying walking about too much at my own pace and leisure, completely content with life.

I had mentioned at the start of these blogs that I was hoping for some sort of epiphany about my future direction, but I was learning that it was unlikely to happen while on the journey itself. I think it was going to come after the culmination of experiences, and then perhaps when I returned home and the dust had settled, I’d find my path to take. It was too challenging and tiring to go deep into myself out there, not while trying to enjoy all that was on offer. I underestimated how tiring the journey could be. You can’t mix late nights with sightseeing, add in chilling, long leisurely walks, writing and then throw searching for answers on top of it. It’s too much to contend with at the same time, so something had to give. I’d given up the idea of writing while out there too for that very reason, and instead I made notes on my phone while sat having a coffee or in bars, so I wouldn’t forget things.

Ronda wasn’t the kind of place that had a pulsating nightlife from what I saw. It was a quiet, reserved kind of town perfect for couples. It was a Tuesday too, so even if it did have a lively area somewhere, I doubt it could be experienced on a Tuesday night. Instead, I chose to have a nice meal in an excellent restaurant as a treat and then ended up in an Irish bar near my hostel having a few beers and watching the international football being shown (which was in fact, Spain). I should’ve probably taken the opportunity to have very early nights in these quieter places, but with only being in Ronda for one night, and just the fact that I was away, it felt wrong to have an early one. I think I was still in bed before midnight though. However, I couldn’t resist taking a peek at the view from the terrace at night, which didn’t disappoint as the bridge was lit up. 

The next day I was faced with a dilemma. Two days earlier I received an email stating that my train from Antequera to Malaga may be cancelled due to a potential strike (just like back home). I was due to get a train from Ronda to Antequera first. When I landed in Cordoba the day before I saw a Renfe desk (the rail provider) and they told me that the decision to strike would be made on the day. Well, that’s brilliant, isn’t it? I didn’t receive any more correspondence about it, so was unsure what had been decided that morning. The Trainline app usually gives you live updates, which it did for the Ronda to Antequera train, but nothing was against the Antequera to Malaga train – no info on whether it was on time or delayed. I couldn’t take the chance of getting to Antequera and being stuck as the next train was about six hours later and it looked like there weren’t any buses. Fortunately, there were direct buses from Ronda to Malaga, and there was little difference in overall travel time. I played it safe and opted to get a bus ticket. I was able to get a refund for the Ronda train, and it was only three weeks after returning and a bit of back and forth explaining what happened that I was able to get a refund for the Antequera train (which did actually run, but was never communicated to me). With that decision made, I ate breakfast in Ronda, gorging on a croissant and a toastie (of course), before making the short ten-minute walk to the station. 

Whilst waiting at the bus station and having zero clue which dock the bus to Malaga was going from, I decided to ask two older couples sat nearby, after hearing their English accents. They were going to Malaga too and said they were waiting for the correct dock to be announced - it was good to be in the same boat as others if it all went wrong. After hearing my accent, one of the men asked if I was from Manchester, which of course I am. When he asked, ‘Whereabouts?’ and I replied, ‘Middleton’, he couldn’t believe it. It turned out he was from Middleton too and had lived there for many years and less than a five-minute drive from where I grew up. Small world, eh? 

The bus journey was again another stunning spectacle as the gorgeous countryside and villages we passed instilled an air of tranquillity. I fished out a selection of Ennio Morricone’s music to add to the mood, which always does the trick and heightens the senses. As we neared Malaga, I began to feel excited, not just to see the city, but to see my travel friend again.