When I look back on this trip, there are many different aspects and avenues to it, much like a typical series of Spanish walkways, but it can predominately be split into two segments, pre-second night in Granada, and post second night… and the crazy seven-hour period in-between that acted as the transitional point.

I ended my last blog stating that a sliding doors moment occurred when I was gearing up for a solo night out in Spanish-orientated bars and trying to get involved in a culture different to my own.

When I look back on this night, I think to myself about timing and how every decision throughout the day that was too slow or too fast led to a precise moment. The time taken to steam my shirt… the annoyingly long time it took for the waiter to serve me breakfast… the slowness with which I walked up every hill I faced that day… the need to chill for an hour before going out. It all contributed to me walking down the alley at that precise moment. 

As I neared the opening, a familiar face came from the opposite direction, turning into the alley as I was just about to turn away from it. We caught each other’s eye in that precise moment. If either of us would’ve been twenty or thirty seconds earlier or later then this chance meeting would never have happened.

It was Housna, the Moroccan girl I’d met in my hostel the previous day. She shouted hello and came over to give me a hug. She asked what I was doing, and I said I was going to get something to eat and then head to a couple of bars.

She asked if she could join me for dinner. Of course… this is what it’s all about. She asked me to give her fifteen minutes while she got changed so I waited outside for her.

She reappeared and we decided to eat in a decent looking Italian nearby. It turned out that Housna didn’t want to eat dinner after having a big lunch, so she opted for a dessert while I tucked into a pizza. Her English was great, and I could understand everything she said, despite her protestations that it wasn’t good. Some of my more northern phrases needed the correct pronunciation or a more English friendly word at times though.

Sat across from a fellow traveller sharing a meal in such a city was an experience in itself. She was so very different to my world, yet we shared similar ideas and thoughts around life. She was a dedicated runner and her travel plans reflected that, as she had already run 12km that morning. She was in Granada for three nights and this was her last. She was an extremely disciplined individual who had moved onto the challenge of running after becoming a little bored with karate a couple of years earlier... holding a black belt in the skill, surprising for someone with such a slight frame. Knowing she was Morocco’s answer to Daniel LaRusso meant there was no way I’d piss her off. She told me she was from Fez in Morocco, which made me laugh as one of my best mates is called Fez. It was even funnier when I showed a picture of him and she assumed he was a girl (from his name, not by looks). I didn’t bring up a Tommy Cooper reference though. I’m guessing his reputation didn’t spread as far as Moroccan culture.

After our dinner it was around 18:30. Housna doesn’t drink alcohol so wasn’t bothered about going to a bar, and you know what, in that moment, neither was I. Sometimes you have to adapt from your own world into the travel realm you find yourself thrust into by chance and go with the flow. She wanted to walk off her dessert, which I didn’t mind. So, we just walked....and we walked...and we explored...and we walked some more… and we discovered things… and we walked even more. We meandered through the busy streets amidst the Day of Spain celebrations, stopping to observe the festivities whenever something of interest was occurring. Then we walked by the river at night, which was quiet, secluded, and a little daunting as we walked further out of the centre towards the more rundown residential areas. We cut across and headed back down towards the city, walking through parks and weaving in and out of all the pockets and narrow walkways the city offered. It lit up with youthful energy on one hand, and then with a turn of a corner, the area would be quiet, and you could be stood in a tiny historic square in front of a church.

We walked for about five hours solid…. chatting... sharing comfortable silences... and enjoying the experience of a Granada night together...observing everything through our differing cultural eyes. I never once wanted to stop for a beer...maybe a sit down for five minutes once or twice...but I was content with just walking and sipping water. Her North African heritage helped me understand the Moorish parts of Granada as she explained things I would've missed.

The highlight of the walk was when we stumbled upon the Carrera del Darro, a picturesque promenade by the side of the slender River Darro which runs by The Alhambra Palace. To walk down this slim, cobbled road at night with fancy restaurants and the music from Flamenco venues adding a certain mood was an astonishing experience.

By the end of the evening, I realised I had beaten my step record for the day, clocking up 28k steps which is about 13 miles, beating my New York record (which I thought would never be beaten).

It was a true travel experience, two people from vastly different backgrounds, religions and cultures enjoying the ways of another world together. No hidden agenda...no ulterior motive... no expectation, just enjoying a moment together and sharing an unforgettable experience with each other. It was an extremely unique evening, and one that I will cherish forever.

When I got back to my room two people were asleep, so again I had to creep about to do my pre-bed routine of brushing my teeth and injecting insulin. It was about 1am when I fell asleep… until 3am AGAIN when the final member of our dorm rocked up… a fat, pissed up South Korean man who struggled to climb on the top bunk above me, but when he did manage it and his head hit the pillow, he conked out immediately and began snoring loudly and profusely. I had my headphones on, but I could clearly hear the ferry docking. I am one of those individuals that cannot deal with snoring. I fixate on it, and it does my head in. I couldn’t get back to sleep and I even booted the bottom of his bed from underneath to try and stir him, but he was having none of it. It ended up being another semi-sleepless night and they were racking up, which wasn’t the best with the excessive walking I seemed to be doing too.

It was Housna's last day and she asked me to meet her for breakfast and then take a walk up the hills to the Gypsy Caves at Sacromonte. Cue another onslaught of steep inclines into the northern peaks of Granada.

She wanted to try churros and for me to have one too. They are a diabetics nightmare…pastry coated in sugar with a milk chocolate dip. I mean… they tasted great, but it meant several extra units of insulin to cover the sugar. I was surprised Housna indulged in such treats being a marathon runner in training and super-disciplined, but her argument was it was best to have these things in the morning and walk it off throughout the day. I’ll remember that one for when lemon centred croissants become available further into the trip.

Again, it was a strenuous walk up to Sacromonte, especially after the mileage covered only hours earlier, but we were met with stunning views of The Alhambra, countryside and city from a high vantage point and different angle to the previous day.

Coming out of one of the homes, at the foot of the hill that led to the Gypsy Caves, 1920s Delta Blues fired through loudspeakers. It was the first time I’d heard familiar music in public all trip, and I took a moment to soak it up. It felt weird for such a genre of music to be firing out of a Spanish Gypsy house.

After an even steeper climb up high, stony steps, we paid €5 each to get into the courtyard. The museum was fascinating as we got to see how the gypsies lived back in the day in these caves, seeing typical houses, washrooms, stables, where they worked and where they socialised. Well worth the trip up.

Housna eventually had to catch the bus to Malaga, so when we got back to our hostel, I walked her to the bus stop. We said our goodbyes. She had become a true travel friend and companion, who had brought light to the trip when darkness threatened to shroud it.

I didn’t know what I really expected from this solo travel experience or what I wanted from it. I kind of hoped that I would meet one or two cool people in the hostels to chat to and, presuming they were experienced travellers, learn from them and hear their stories. Housna gave me that. She completely changed the dynamic and my mindset for the rest of the journey. She inspired something inside me to really start to enjoy this trip and thrive.

I went back to the hostel to recuperate after she left. I had one night left in Granada and I was buzzing after what the last twenty fours or so had brought.

There had been another changeover of people in my room from the night before. Thankfully the fat South Korean had been replaced by an older German guy. He was in the middle of walking the Camino de Santiago, which was something that had always appealed to me. Fresh from meeting Housna, the conversations with this gentleman were extremely interesting and added to the high I was already feeling. Hearing his journey so far served as some sort of inspiration to my own trip. Maybe the Camino could be the next step? I am certainly not ready for something like that, but maybe after being hardened by a few more solo trips and an exercise regime, then maybe. It would’ve been nice to speak to the guy for longer, but he had his own plans that evening, and so did I. That’s the beauty of solo travel, you dip in and out if you want, and you do your own thing without offending anyone.

I was back on the solo trail but feeling much more content and confident in how the trip was now playing out. After the mammoth walk with Housna, I had discovered pockets of other lively areas, so I headed to one such area for a few beers and was pleasantly surprised to be given free tapas with each beer. I had heard of this custom, but somehow it had escaped me until now.

Granada was famous for its plethora of Flamenco shows and I planned to go to see one. There are many venues dotted around the city and each venue has three shows per evening. I chose the first one at 17:30.

It was only a small theatre with about a hundred seats max, and there was a bar where you could get a beer beforehand, but it wasn’t open during the actual show. Like a typical knobhead Brit, I was the only one that went to the bar and bought two bottles, forward thinking that I wouldn’t be able to go for an hour.

I didn’t know what to expect really. I was riding a cultural wave and gaining so much from it, so why not see something different that I am not usually accustomed to. I’m not a typical fan of musical theatre or dance really, but I thought I’d give it a go… and you know what, it was an inspired decision. What a show! I was absolutely hooked from the moment it started. I never expected to be so moved and get goosebumps at certain points. The way the female dancer moved with such power, authority and passion made my own body shudder at times. It held my attention for a solid hour, which was more than a lot of gigs I’ve been to. The mixture of dancing, singing, melancholy tones that switched to uplifting joy, was breathtaking. It was so captivating. The wailing vocal, intense dancing, and intricate guitar mesmerised me as the show twisted and turned through different scenes that I had no idea were about due to the language barrier… but you know what, it was best I didn’t know so it could never distort from what I imagined. Robbie Krieger, the guitarist from my favourite band, The Doors, was influenced by Flamenco guitar and you could hear the influences in certain Doors songs even from this brief performance. 

By the time I came out of the theatre I was feeling a little drunk and hungry. I headed back to the area I was in previously and saw there was an Irish bar. I stood outside mulling over whether to go in and revert back to type or carry on with a more cultural experience of Spanish bars and cuisine. Sometimes I hate myself, as I chose to go into the Irish bar, but after days of Spanish culture, maybe I needed to have a little taste of home and be in a proper pub/bar, and to be with my people. It turned out to be the right decision in many respects as the music was more suited to my tastes, being in the vein of classic rock, where The Doors was actually played. They also had a bit of football on the TV, and even though I’d had a few tapas, a portion of fully loaded fries was all I needed to see me right through the night. 

I was enjoying the music and minding my own business on my final night in Granada, reflecting on how I felt a change in me about the trip. Housna had re-invigorated my motivation and attitude, showing how great it can be, and how being your true self can hold the interest of someone so different to your own way of life. 

The bar became a little busier and I found myself next to a group of men and women. One of the women asked me if she could take the chair next to me. I replied, ‘Of course’. Upon hearing my accent, she could tell I was English and told me her boyfriend (who was next to her) used to play for a football team in England. Well, this was interesting. She said she’d introduce me, and we all got chatting. It turned out this fella was Italian and was in Coventry City’s youth team in the early 2000s and knew all the first team players from that era. He never made a first team appearance for them and ended up playing Serie C football, but he did share some stories about the players and culture at the time that can’t be published here. He did cite the reason he didn’t make it at a higher level was because of the excessive booze culture that followed the players about back then. 

One story he did tell me, was that he played against a young Wayne Rooney in a youth team game… Rooney scored two apparently and he was much younger than the rest of the players at the time. Funny who you meet randomly, but again this cemented the ethos around the whole travelling vibe… just chat to anyone and everyone when you can… people are friendly… you never know who you might meet. 

I ended up having a great night with them all, probably drinking a little too much given I had to get up reasonably early for the trip to Cordoba, so I called it a night around 11pm. The excessive walking and lack of sleep was catching up, and there was a long way to go on this trip. So, I made a sensible decision to go back to the hostel, long before I usually would’ve done. Is travelling making me a more sensible drinker? God, I hope not!