I awoke feeling OK as my temperature had subsided and the shivers had stopped. I thought there was a glimmer of hope that I just may be able to go through with this after all. So, time to get this show on the road.

After a breakfast where I loaded up on vitamin C, the taxi picked me up from the hotel at 8am to take me back to Almeria. There was no way I was going to mess about with another bus after feeling ill and still having a train to catch.

I landed at the train station to be met with an issue: no trains were leaving from Almeria due to works on the tracks... so I had to get a replacement bus to another stop further up the road, about five miles away.

I got on the bus and noticed that the six people behind me all spoke English.... albeit with an American twang. They were all of Spanish descent and we chatted about the various places we were from and shared love of the modern wave of country music. With two of the girls being from Mexico, Manchester United and Chicharito came up in conversation, and they couldn’t believe he was so highly regarded at United. I love that taking conversation down to the basic level of Man United with strangers abroad immediately creates a bond. It’s almost like a meeting people cheat mode.

They were all students on a tour of Spain and were spending a day in Granada as part of the curriculum, meeting up with a local professor who would show them around the Alhambra. Sadly, we were on different carriages for the actual train journey… they may have been grateful for that after I’d already chewed their ears off for half an hour.

I had booked my train ticket via Trainline and there was an option on the app to view the ticket as a QR code. Seemed simple enough, right? Not quite. The conductor tried to scan it, and it wasn’t having it at all. I had to stand to the side to let everyone else on, so obviously this created a little apprehension. Why wasn’t it working? After about five failed scanning attempts I went back into my original email confirmation and saw there was a downloadable copy in the attachments. I opened it and it looked like a proper ticket with a QR code at the top. That scanned easily. Stupid bloody app. At least I knew what to do now on the subsequent train journeys. Would anything be straightforward?

The 2hr 20 mins journey flew by as I spent it catching up writing these blogs. Once we hit the countryside, I took sporadic moments to enjoy the stunning scenery of the Andalusian geography. The rugged, undulating dusty hills and barren lands looked incredible, with the odd rundown, derelict building thrown in for good measure, to add a rustic feel.

I got off the train and it was only a twenty-five-minute walk to the Granada Old Town Hostel. As I approached the centre from the surrounding residential area, I could feel a buzz stirring with every step I took, especially when the road became pedestrianised. I chuckled to myself when I passed a JD Sports - never too far from the reminders of home and work. A token picture was taken.

I made it to the hostel down a narrow alley off the pedestrianised walkway and met with the owner, Mercedes, a middle-aged woman who was super lovely and gave me lots of information about where to go. I had read the reviews for the hostel saying that she was a brilliant host and within seconds of meeting her I could see why they said that. As I’ve said before, this was my first time staying in a hostel, but I had done my research beforehand, and my chosen destination had received rave reviews.

Mercedes showed me to my four-bed dorm on the second floor. There was no way my first hostel experience was going to be in a ten-bed dorm or anything more intrusive. I needed easing into this. Thankfully, I was on a bottom bunk too – I didn’t fancy my chances clambering onto the top bunk after an inevitable few beers. My other three roomies weren’t there but had arrived: one lad and two girls, the latter had apparently gone out to enjoy the Spanish holiday festival celebrations going on in the city for Día de la Hispanidad (Day of Spain).

The room was spotless and when I was shown around, I could see that the kitchen, bathroom and communal area were too. I put my valuables in my locker and headed out to explore what the city had to offer, following Mercedes’ loose guide of where the busy areas were.

I can honestly say that within minutes of walking about I fell instantly in love with this city. It was bustling and full of energy with many typical Spanish narrow walkways to get lost down, sandwiched between stunning historical architecture (something I am always fascinated by and that makes me feel like I’m not in Kansas anymore).

I didn’t plan on doing anything too strenuous on my first day. I was here for three nights and was mindful that I was still recovering from illness, so I spent the afternoon getting a feel for the city without venturing too far from the hostel, losing all sense of direction in the nooks and crannies it had to offer.

I wandered around the Moorish quarter where the layout transforms, becoming more noticeably influenced by Northern Africa and Muslim culture than the parts I’d seen already. It was like I’d traversed continents in one crossover of the road. Walkways became narrower, shops were more orientated to Moorish heritage with flamboyant colours in the soft furnishings being sold, and jewellery shops. Restaurants were more catered to the region’s taste, and bars advertised shisha.

I then cut across to stroll around the Jewish quarter, a vibrant neighbourhood located at the foot of the Alhambra where whitewashed buildings between the narrow walkways add to the area’s charm.

There was a couple of long stretched walkways that were consumed by tapas bar after tapas bar with a variety of delicious cooking smells circulating through the air. All of them were full of people and it was too much choice. Where do you begin when they all look the same? It was so vibrant and reinforced the fact that Granada looked an astonishing place to spend a few days in.

I headed back to the hostel as the stretch of restaurants was only a few minutes’ walk away. I saw there were a few people in the communal area, so this was my chance to get chatting. After all, that’s what part of the travel experience is meant to be about. What struck me immediately was the age of the four people knocking about. There was an older couple from Australia and an older woman. All three were easily ten to fifteen years my senior. I was under the assumption hostels were a young person's game. I guess you live and learn, but it felt encouraging that I wasn’t going to look out of place, far from it.

There was a girl on her own sat eating a salad in the common space. I sat down to plug in my phone charger and she smiled and said hello. We began chatting. Her name was Housna and she was from Morocco. She was embarking on a similar experience to me but on a smaller scale. She was travelling alone and had already been in Granada for one day and told me that the heavens really opened the day before...so it seemed a stroke of luck to have arrived when I did. She told me she was a runner and would be doing the marathon in Malaga in mid-December, and part of her plan was to visit Malaga for that reason. She was training whilst away too, getting up early to do long runs every other day. It was interesting talking to Housna for half an hour or so. Just delving into people’s lives and finding out how they live when their backgrounds are so different from your own was part of the trip.

I'd still not met anyone from my room yet, but I headed back out to go and get some food and a few drinks. I went to a cafe bar that had English translations on the menu and ordered a steak. I wasn’t in the mood to tackle the gauntlet of tapas bars. Whilst eating in the awning, I noticed that the temperature dropped a little and a spot of rain could be detected. The wind began to pick up and the fact I was in shorts and t-shirt was no longer a good idea. I headed back to the hostel to throw on my jeans and zip-up top.

After scouring Google Maps for bars, I found a cluster of them on a tiny strip parallel to all the tapas bars. I went in a cool, lively joint and ordered a bottle of Heineken before standing out of the way. The music and vibe were very Hispanic and it felt like I was in a bar in Medellin surrounded by Narcos as the salsa beat rumbled around me. There was a lot of dancing going on to the rumbling beats, and the dancers looked so professional, far removed from British culture of a bit of body movement while clutching a bottle of beer. It was so different, and all I could do was just take it all in and be educated a little at these nuggets of cultural contrasts I was being exposed to.

I didn’t want to hang around in the same bar for longer than a beer. I was acutely aware that these places weren’t local boozers or taverns, but cool bars with energetic atmospheres, and I didn’t want to come across as a creepy foreigner lurking in the corner all evening. I had a beer in about six or seven different bars, some had live music on, some had a DJ, but none had any music that I recognised, and I don’t mean modern ‘pop’ music. It was all Spanish-orientated with a fast tempo, not a chilled Flamenco guitar serenading the evening.

The area I’d bar-hopped across became dead by about 22:00. It was strange. Places that were jam-packed only two hours earlier were now completely empty. Where did everyone go? I did notice that restaurants seemed to become busier, so was that the culture? Did the people here drink, eat later, then get back on it or go home? Or did they all move in their droves to a different area I wasn’t aware of. I was miffed, but it was probably a good thing as I did feel a bit tired, and the strength of Spanish lager had hit me. Coupled with a day of travelling and recovering from illness, I was wiped out, so decided to call it a night.

I got back to the hostel, and the lad was in bed, so I had to creep about getting my toothbrush and my insulin etc which I hadn't anticipated doing in the dark. It was a ball ache I’d overlooked when deciding to book hostels.

I must’ve been asleep about three hours or so when I was awakened by the two girls returning around 3am. They weren’t loud, but it played on my mind that I was in a room with three strangers. This was a situation I’d never been in before and it all felt a little too surreal for me. I couldn’t sleep a wink after that. I put my earbuds in (usually I wouldn’t) and listened to Ricky Gervais podcasts to try and lull me off to sleep, but it wasn’t working. I daren’t move or go to the toilet for fear of disturbing everyone. I was dehydrated, so my mouth was like the bottom of a birdcage too, even after ploughing through my water. It all got too much, so I eventually I succumbed and darted out of the door, letting the light into the room, and went to the toilet and to fill up my bottle, thinking that maybe now I could settle into sleep. Nope, not at all. I still felt weird, and it all resulted in about two hours sleep.

When I did wake up at 8am or so, the two girls were up and about getting ready to leave. The lad had already got up and gone out, but his stuff was still there. Fair play to the girls though. They’d obviously had a great night and got in at 3am and yet they were up and out with bags packed by 9am. Never happening with me.

I lay alone in the room thinking how weird that I’ve just spent the night with three strangers and I don’t think I saw any of their faces. I was well and truly out of my comfort zone, but this is what I asked for.

I was able to get ready comfortably with everyone gone and planned to go on a trek to see the city and all its attractions. My plan was to walk up to Albaicin and then walk around the edge of the Alhambra to the free parts.

Ok, so, the most famous touristy thing to do in Granada is to visit the famous Alhambra. However, what I didn’t know when I tried to book my ticket is that the Alhambra is one popular destination, and tickets get booked very quickly, so it’s advised to book a month beforehand. I’d not even finalised my route and days by that point. I’d barely even heard of the Alhambra until I finalised my stay in Granada. So, there was no chance I was going to see it, and Mercedes practically laughed at me when I asked if I could get tickets at some point over the next couple of days. Well…at least there’s a reason to come back.

Albaicin was a steep walk as you venture up into the surrounding hills passed the Moorish Quarter. The walk is quaint and quiet as you walk on uneven paving and cobbled stones flanked by rustic, residential buildings. It was hard work, and you could see a lot of older people struggling with it. It should be renamed ‘heart attack hill.’ It was a good fifteen/twenty minutes of climbing till I hit some sort of peak where the village became a little livelier with a few cafes, so I took the opportunity for a rest and to grab breakfast. I ordered an ‘omelette’ which was basically a series of fried eggs made into some sort of sandwich with cheese and ham inside. It wasn’t the conventional omelette I was used to, but it didn’t half do the job.

Fully fuelled, I persevered on my walk through the historic village, heading for the Mirador de San Nicolás, a famous viewpoint with stunning views of the Alhambra besides the San Nicolás church. I trekked up steps again as the crowds became denser, and before I knew it, I reached my destination. WOW! What a truly magnificent spectacle. The Alhambra Palace and fortress stood in the near distance, mounted at the top of a steep hill, and with the day being as clear as crystal, the view was stunning as I looked upon this grand fortress and the surrounding, glorious, mountainous countryside.

After marvelling at the scene for several minutes, I then looked to take a walk around the free areas of the Alhambra, but to get there, I didn’t anticipate another schlep up another heart attack hill. It was steeper than the price of a pint in Spinningfields... effing vertical! I definitely took the less taken road as most people were passing me as they walked down the hill, and it looked like only muggins here was trekking up it. It was really hard going, especially in a moderate heat, which felt like a decent British summer’s day.

Once I got to the top, I had to walk down the other side, which was a gentler incline, so I could see why people probably walked up this road, and down the path I’d taken, but due to the direction I approached it from, I did it the other way around. Oh well, it was all good exercise.

I walked around Charles V Palace circular courtyard and the surrounding enclosure. I was pretty tired by this point after so much walking uphill, so I wasn’t absorbing it as much as I would’ve liked. With it being free, I guess there wasn’t too much to marvel at, so I didn’t spend long there. I came down the hill and weaved through the Spanish streets, ending up in the Jewish Quarter, walking the same roads I had done the previous night.

Back at the hostel, the young lad was in the room lay on his bunk. He spoke little English and was South Korean, so conversation was limited. I used the time to rest and charge up my phone for an hour, prepping myself for another night in bars dominated by Spanish culture. I wasn’t really thinking of a plan, but I wanted to know where everyone went after 10pm. It was Saturday, so I refused to believe that nights would just fizzle out in a city as radiant as this.

It wasn’t as cold as the previous night, so I stuck with shorts and planned on wearing a short-sleeved shirt to look semi-smart. That was until I pulled it out of my bag and saw it had more wrinkles than one of Wayne Rooney’s cast offs. I asked Mercedes if she had an iron and she gave me a travel steamer that took me about three hours to work, but I managed to make the shirt look semi respectable.

I have to say at this point of the trip, I had been going through several ups and downs and I was on Day 6. Illness played its part, but there was something missing and I’d had a few ‘what the hell am I doing here’ moments. I had enjoyed a lot of aspects, and the solo aspect was sometimes easy, but other times difficult. It was almost like I wished I could magic up a mate to appear from nowhere when I needed one, and then make him disappear when I was OK on my own. I guess being solo on a trip was a learning curve and I hadn’t quite grasped it yet. I knew it may take a few days to adjust. After all, this was my first foray into such an experience. I just had to keep persevering. 

I was ready for my night out, but I had reservations given the difficulties with culture, language and being alone the previous night. Nonetheless, I geared myself up for another spate of solo bar hopping. 

But you know what, just when such thoughts run through your mind, the universe can throw a gift… a curveball… a sliding doors moment at you and completely turn the whole trip on its head.