TRAVEL: A Spanish Odyssey Part II

Previously in Part I...  

Undies! Tarmacs! Ass Cramps! Sucklings! Aqueducts! Vultures! Tap-ass! Minge Calls! Don Quixote! Bed Shares! Toothpicks! The Walla Walla Walla! and Pot Plants!

And now, the finale...

The Adventure continues with Rebecca, Penelope, Kelley and Turtle catching up.

Day 5: The Candy Cane Cathedral

Penelope has amazing calves. On the morning of Day 5 I found myself staring at them in some awe. They were bulgy and taut, like biceps on a body-builder or clams plucked from a rich sea. If she was a footballer over a dead ball, you'd be in strife over what to cup, knees trembling as a defender in the wall. They were honestly like chicken drums, but with the meat in the middle. I wondered if they were implants?

We were up early that morning to get inside the Cathedral-Mosque of Cordoba, having failed the previous day. Penelope let us get away with that relatively unscathed, but we were not going to tempt fate by missing it on our second, and last opportunity. We must have arrived there a good 45mins before 10am (the €18 cost entry time of doom). Much to Penelope's delight, the gates were open and we were allowed in free of charge. "This was the reason people came to Cordoba" Penelope said (as mentioned in Part I). The inside was unusually unique. It was a vast space that stretched far and wide. Supporting the roof were these Mosque inspired beams, with candy cane painted arches. I'd never seen that before. I whispered to Turtle that the building would've made a great confectionery amusement park and that we should go into business with it. He agreed, but then we thought the whole religious thing would be a problem. What god doesn't have time for candy? Good way to lose subscription if you make that a sin. 

Walking around I gave it my qualified architectural analysis. I found the layout to be a little bitsy. They had Christian bits and Mosque bits scattered about, with a large cathedral bit in the middle. They really did mix it up, as if encouraging the intermingling of religious persuasions. Would've been fascinating to see it in its prime, filled with pilgrims and followers of both faiths having a good old pray.

A sweet factory, and a church and a mosque... bloody great idea. 

Penelope was slightly underwhelmed. Maybe the hype had given her unrealistic expectations. 

"Rather have stayed at home and scratched me own minge." she said (now she knew the meaning of the word she was using it in its correct context). 

We left and wandered back to the car. Cordoba was nice and deserved more, but it was time to move on. Granada awaited!

Granada was a good 4 hours away so we decided to break up the journey. There were these excavated ruins with an attached museum so we chose to stop there on the way. Took a while to find, going past it a couple of times, but eventually found the premises. The place looked like more of a military compound than a museum. It was a relatively new square white facility, with immaculate grounds in the middle of nowhere, with very few people around. The sort of place that screams 'There's a sniper on you.' but we went in anyway to get our tickets. The lady at the counter asked where we were from. Kelley tried answering "New Zealand" in Spanish but the woman couldn't understand what he was saying. When she realised what he meant she told him off and made him say it properly, giving him a demonstration. Was so embarrassing. The museum itself was not bad. Basically explained the history of the site and how it was a fallen city of some standing. You got the impression that it was trying really hard to hype the ruins up (which required a further bus ticket to visit). Rebecca wasn't that interested in going to see the ruins, and wanted to wait by the car and eat cheese, but in the end we all got tickets and hopped on the bus to check them out.

Sun bounces off concrete, and bounces well. Living in London, you forget the somewhat obvious facts about such things which in fairness are unrelated to life there. This was a shock awakening, for it was baking. Up on the hill, the site seemed to be positioned in the perfect spot to catch all the heat that was burning down on it. Further more, every rock seemed tilted at an angle to reflect that heat, back towards our faces. Rebecca was first to tap herself out, finding a shaded 2000 year old ledge to lay herself down on. The rest of us battled the elements to take in what had been hyped in the museum below. It was what ruins are. Rubble. I think I wanted to appreciate it more and gain some historical perspective, but it was just so damn hot. A few large umbrellas, girls with peacock feathered fans, a wind turbine powering air-conditioned units. All things that would've solved the problem. Alas, there was nothing and we were picked off by the heat, one at a time. Eventually it got too much and we decided to gap it and leave. We tried leaving Rebecca behind as she was still sleeping on the slab, but thought that would be irresponsible given she is a spreader.

Kelley airing out in the heat.

Granada had been described as this small cute little town but on arrival it seemed anything but. There were swarms of people scattered everywhere. The tourists had got a hold of this place with a vengeance. The hostel we were staying in was in the middle of a Medina like part of town which meant we had to drop the car off in a garage and walk ourselves there with all our things. We didn't mind as we were eager to get to the hostel to meet the first of our friends to join us on this trip, Steve Davies.

Steve (known as 'Davies' amongst our group) is part of the Roskill Collegiate, but not from the special-needs section where Kelley was schooled. A mutual Spanish friend of ours described Davies and I as like-individuals. Suffice to say, Davies is a well-balanced, good-natured soul, quiet but not in a self-effacing way, more considered in his charity. A charmer of noble intent, he is popular with the ladies but remains level with both feet firmly on the ground, humble like a stone. He'd just been holidaying the sunny flats of Northern Ireland with Derek (who was also joining us later in the day). We found the hostel and Davies along with it who was his affable self, and pleased to see us. After catching up we decided to go for a geeze and perhaps find somewhere to eat.

Evening time is really what Spain is all about. The sun heats the surface of the streets all day and then as it starts to rest, cools to a gentle simmer and the place comes alive. The restaurants were packed, the performers were out, the place was preparing itself for the excitement ahead. This made finding an eat-stop for ourselves, a little challenging. The typical thinking is if a place is busy then the place must be good. We settled for one that was not busy hoping that this would not correlate in the opposite relationship. Unfortunately, it did. We should've been suspicious by the outrageously cheap menu. €10 Euro for 2 courses and a drink. Instead we thought 'Wow what a bargain for real, this gonna be some fark tasty shiz-whizza!'. Our next warning was the fact there only seemed to be 2 staff manning the entire operation for a 50 seat establishment, and they were both waiters. That is either some manic productivity or something's not up. Nevertheless, we ordered our meals and a jug of Sangria and waited patiently for them to arrive. In the end, patience wasn't required as the dishes came flying out. What was a little strange, was despite the fact that we had all ordered different meals, they all shared a striking similarity. We soon ascertained why. Each and every single item had come straight from the deep fryer. They were different shaped bits and pieces, so they weren't completely lacking in variety, but it all tasted exactly the same. Don't get me wrong I love a good deep fry, but they could've saved us a bit of bother by admitting it on the menu. 'Deep fry' printed on 1 side of A4. Easy. 

"Yes waiter we'll have 6 Deep-Fry's please. I noticed they come it different sized chunks?" 

The Sangria was also top quality made to a traditional Spanish recipe. It appeared quite an easy one to follow. Fill an empty jug with cracked ice cubicles, pour in some wine (casket will do), find the sweetest lemonade you can (shake that shit up) and finish it off with a good can of quality unbranded tinned fruit. Mix, mix, mix and call "Sangria" in a cool whisper. It actually complimented the dish quite well as you needed that amount of concentrated sugar to cut through the accumulated salt, built into the fat and oil that was on the food like a drench-coat. We couldn't get through much of it understandably. Luckily for us Derek turned up with a hunger on, to help finish it off.

"You can't have dessert until you finish your booze!"

Derek is another one of he Roskill contingent but also played football with me in the good old days of Roving Stars FC. He left his contract as the clubs top striker to embrace Europe and travelling, and embrace it he has. Since his arrival a few years ago, Derek has visited over 350 countries in Europe and also keeps a blog of his accounts like me! His is a proper one (see here) where he actually talks about the places he has visited, without being distracted by minges etc (sorry can't be helped). Derek's intrepidness has also earned him an adventuring wild man reputation, so the prospect of having him onboard for this part of the trip, added an element unexpected excitement.

We left this place to go find some proper food. The cool thing about Granada (which I think is unique to the city) is that they have these Tapas bars, where if you buy drinks, they'll serve you food for free. For free! I didn't believe it at first, but sure enough, we went to a place, ordered some drinks and were brought out some food. Was good food too! None of it deep fried! Well not obviously so. I couldn't figure out how the economics of this made it viable. You're probably thinking the drinks were fiendishly expensive, but they were standard prices. Each time we brought a round, another bite sized bit of Tapas came out for us all. And different ones each time! Granada's stock was quickly rising.

After about 3 rounds of this the girls (who weren't drinking) could see we were in it for a long haul and decided to head themselves back to the hostel. Kelley was given permission by Penelope to stay out, provided he was back by 11pm, txting at 10 minute intervals. Built on trust, but it was a generous concession for the girls to make as they knew the Granada nights had to be tackled by boys and boys alone. It was time for the night to begin!

Night view of Granada

Evening 5: A Night in Granada!

Granada is a great city at night for the clueless inclined. I've no evidence to back this up other than the fact that we were of such influence and the fit was tight. There seemed to be a lot of throwabouts on he streets so we blended in well. There were five of us in the group that night. Five is a good number to head out in, on a night with the boys. In a team of five you can deal with most situations. If you get lost, five man-brains should be able to get you home. If you get in trouble five warriors should never really lose a fight. If someone needs carrying from drunken stupor, there's a support person for each appendage. Also, between five individuals you usually get a good mix of personalities which we had. There was Derek the party man, Kelley the fool, Davies the straight guy, Yohei the Prince and Turtle from the jungle. We pretty much had all bases covered to deal with any situation worth mentioning, and with that confidence we strode out.

The first place we hit was another Tapas bar right across the other side of the street. It had a very bohemian feel to it due mostly to the congregation of backpackers that seemed to be amassed there. It was down-to-earth, almost too much so for five style-savvy lads such as ourselves, but we relaxed ourselves into a corner table, and ordered some more drinks with free Tapas. Now, anyone who knows me, knows that I am a first-class gentleman. A man to always look out for, and never take advantage of female counterparts (especially the young ones). A sire really. Honour worn like a badge. A brood of such quality can often have unintentional effects on the impressionable with some potency, so when a group of young American girls came and sat at a table next to ours I realised there was potential danger in the lurk. Danger you say? Indeed, and I'll state why. Despite preconceptions, I'm only one man. My reach goes far, wide and touches many, but my heart beats deep within. Only a girl with a jackhammers force worth of love can wreck their way through, which pretty much gives the young pups no chance at all. Even if one were to physically succeed, exposure against such concentrated passion would leave nothing but a glitter in remains. There are worse ways to go, sure, most girls would queue for miles, but its stance of responsibility I've always adhered too, borne of such power. Its a trait some call calibre. For females (especially young ones) its very hard. They look at me and see something they've never seen before. A mirage of a man, in almost impossible form. They double-take their glance. They always double-take their glance. A primal reaction then consumes them. A phantom appetite and desire. A fulfilling need that must be satisfied. An evolutionary want, to which all resistance is folly. One can't fight ones nature, and in that lies danger.

As they took their seats I tried to hide myself behind the unsightliness of Kelley. It worked for a while, his teeth reflecting a good spectrum of visible light, but you can't hide a Monet at the back of a garage for long. Sure enough, the prettiest one in the group had her eyes on me, like the last chocolate in a candy store. I now realised how young in age the girls were... no more than 16 or 17 by my reckoning. That means that they were born in the 90's. I turned my back some more, but that only made it worse. I could feel her eyes on me, transfixed. In an effort to escape, I went to the bar to buy the boys a round of drinks. Who should saddle beside me at the bar? This same girl. An eternally awkward moment of pause then passed as I waited nervously for my drinks. I started having 'Fatal Attraction' flashbacks of Glenn Close with no eyebrows. The last thing I needed in my life right now was a girl with no eyebrows. The drinks finally arrived and I ushered them quickly back to our table, head straight and forward.

"Drink these quick boys, I've got a code: U18/69 on my case."

The boys turned and saw the girl, still caught in her love trance. They immediately thought it was a great chuckle and insisted on being no help at all by trying to encourage it. I was not amused, and after issuing several threats of black eyes and bruises, convinced them it was time to move on.

Back on the streets, Derek was hitting his straps and took charge towards the next destination. It was some place with live music, and he wasn't exactly sure where it was but was adamant he could get us there all the same. As we wandered away from what appeared to be the bar/club district and into the quiet, the sympathy in my soul began speaking to me. I wondered if I had been too harsh on the young girl? Breaking hearts is not something I like doing. Is it unjust to punish those, impulsed by love? Inflicting hurt on the blame of an emotional reaction seeks to remove that which makes one human. Had I had become inhuman? I felt a balance had been disrupted. A simple "hello" would've been enough to send her floating, yet I had turned my back, and it did not sit well. These thoughts however, were soon subsumed by others, namely 'where the hell are we?' as it now appeared we had reached the edge of the city and were lost. Derek was sure we were in the right area but the place was nowhere to be seen. We ducked into a few bars in and around the area, but all were none too welcoming and we exited quickly. Suddenly, Derek had a moment of clarity and knew we were close to where we needed to be. We moved with haste, again following his lead. We turned a couple of dark corners and found ourselves in front of a couple of rolled down shutters. We stood there silently.

"Oh" or words to some extent were muttered by Derek.

The place was closed, but not only that, it wasn't even a bar/club to begin with. It was some other random business selling spare parts or something.

"I'm sure it was here."

The defeated in us felt that it was possibly the end of the night. It was reasonably late, we'd had a few drinks, a few laughs, not a bad effort really. We decided to give one last place a go. We managed to somehow find an underground hangout with a live rockband performing in front of a small but enthusiastic crowd. They were lead by 3 female singers thrashing it out on stage. We'd arrived pretty much at the end of the set, but they really had the audience going. We hadn't had a drink in a while now so Derek, who was most keen to keep he party going got us some Rum and Cokes. Because we had been drinking beers we hadn't noticed, but the Spanish Pour is a rather generous one indeed. A Rum and Coke is really a Rum.... Rum.... More Rum... and fuck it have a cap of coke for colour. We were all taken aback by the the booze/mixer ratio. It was like Coke was premium supplement that they were trying to stretch in supply. This actually made me feel a little queasy as Rum usually turns a bit toxic in my system, but then again one could not turn your nose up at such generosity. By the time we got our drinks the rock girls had finished their performance and the place was starting to clear out. A further 3 minutes later we were 5 guys standing in the corner of an empty bar, a few sips short of tall top brimmed vessels of Rum-Cola. We then did what most guys would do in this situation. Played some fusball. There wasn't much else happening and the table (which had seen better days) was right there. It kept us entertained for about 10 minutes or so, which wad enough time for us to finish our drinks and head off back to hostel.

The walk back was again a quiet one. Darkness has a solemn effect on the mind. I again started thinking about the young girl I had ruthlessly rejected. I pictured her in tears, shredding old photos. Was I so obtuse? Was I so soured? In an effort to protect, had I inadvertently achieved the opposite? I expressed my concerns to Turtle who agreed with insight.

"You a heart-braker"

It was deeply troubling.

We stopped in our thoughts and stride when we realised we were two short in the group. Davies, Turtle and I were together, but Kelley and Derek were not. We turned around and stared into the distance behind us to see their faint outlines, individually indistinguishable but one of whom had definite drunken swagger on. On odds we thought this had to be Kelley, but much to our surprise it turned out to be Derek. We hadn't noticed how drunk the boy had got, but the lad was left-to-right, all over the bloody shop. It was like he was on the deck of a ship in rough seas. As we stood there waiting for them to catch up we noticed a bit of commotion close by. Young people were queuing outside what appeared to be a large hall. The posters on the building revealed that what was going on was a 'Discotecha'. What a funny name for a gathering I thought? Derek and Kelley finally arrived, Derek looking as done as one could be. 

"Feel like some Discotecha Derek?" one of us said in full jest. 

Derek's eyes lit up. 

"Discotecha!!!" 

He immediately headed towards the crowds, and we took after him in a protective manner. None of us at the time were even remotely considering the possibility of entering whatever a 'Discotecha' was. This for some reason had triggered something in Derek's mind and he was hell-bent. I couldn't believe we were giving it the time of day but Derek was determined and fast convincing others. In his state, and our impending states, I thought it was madness. It was decided the only fair way to settle this was over the toss of a coin. Heads we go in, Tails we don't. Davies seemed to be the most sobered so took the honours and flipped the coin. It came up tails and I breathed a sigh of relief. 

"... Fuck it lets go in anyway..." 

Without anytime to protest we were in line, parting with a cover charge, and heading in. 

I'd never been to a 'Discotecha' before. I had a fairly good idea with what comprised a disco, but wasn't sure what element the 'techa' brought in. Sounded like fob-speak to me inserted to excite the masses. Thinking back on it now that probably was its main function. The venue itself was a grand old theatre of some immensity. Suitable for classical opera or ballet, it had been taken over for the purposes of wild reveling and it was completely packed out. It seemed like everyone that was still awake in Granada was partying it up here. There was a DJ setup on stage with monster speakers behind him pumping out tracks. It was so loud, my god it was loud. How loud does music really have to be? I mean we all get the play here. You've got big speakers, with volume dials up to 1000 which means you must be well large, but really, is the deafness it causes really necessary? I was just about on my march towards the stage to tell him to "pipe it down" but another round of drinks was on the boil so I had let it be. The same pouring philosophy was condoned at this place, as we got our Jager-bombs, bombed full with Jager. Derek had reformed quite dramatically in this short time. It was like he had found his second wind or something. The man was charged, and was ready for some full blown madness. The rest of us were a bit more subdued until Davies (think it was Davies) said something to wake us all up. 

"She's here!" 

He was of course referring to the young American girl I had insensitively turned my back to. This got the boys into an excited frenzy and me into a bit a panic. 'A woman scorned, quickly grows horns'... made that up just now, but a physical assault was the only outcome I could see and it was one I was keen to avoid. So fresh from the greatest heartbreak of her life, violent expression would be her only recourse. This was to end nasty. Most friends try to protect their mates from such fatalistic curtails. Mine, not so. And as I went to hide, they went to find the girl, confront her, and lay access to my mortal remains. I knew they were drunk beyond the point of threat and protest. I was resigned to their encounter, and accepting of my fate. 

Anxiety slows time with much effect. It's not often you're forced to reflect upon your own demise in a real life situation. I'm too young I kept thinking to myself. Too young to be taken away, ashes spread across the sea. If the good fall, who then inspires the dormant righteous? In the distance I saw Kelley in return. He had upon him his grin, teeth a plenty. I could not see her, but assumed she had become invisible in her rampant fury. I closed my eyes and pursed my lips. 

"She doesn't even know who you are aow!" 

At first I was beyond comprehension. I don't think I had heard those words in that sequence in my life ever. I opened my eyes to see if he had his joking face on. It was his regular Goofy.

"You're having a farking wind-up is what you're doing, Jesus by Christ!" 

I had to test him, but Kelley was loving it. 

"Aow she had no idea! She was like who's that? Even when I pointed you out she was like who's that?" 

I stared at him stunned and speechless. 

"That farken bitch... That farken bitch!" 

I was in a rage. It's one thing to be a woman scorned and act out with physicality. I would've accepted that scratches n'all... But to lie!... To lie about one's own affections. To add bitter deceit and cast shadow across the character and reputation of a man. A reputation built on years nurtured prestige and allure. That is another matter altogether. This demanded justice. This demanded retribution. There were fumes coming out of me, fumes. I could taste it in my mouth, and it was salty. I decided I needed to take a breather from the situation. Was drunk, tired, and emotional, and now was not the time. I did what I have done on many occasion, and rose above it. In letting her win this little battle, I knew I had taken the war to her heart. The suffering was mine, but the demise was hers. You don't rise, having sunk so low. A hard lesson for a girl to learn, but one that would be done so all the same.... ... ... seriously though, what a farken bitch. 

The rest of the night was a bit of a haze. I felt like I was in a state where I was conscious of things, without being apparent of things. I knew music was playing but I didn't know what. I knew it was late but I didn't know the time. I knew Derek was bouncing around like a Wallaby on speed but,.. well it didn't really matter where he was bouncing around like a Wallaby on speed, but the point is I didn't know and the amount of unknowns that were creeping in made it all disconcerting. I knew the night was done when I looked to my left to see Turtle sleep-dancing with his eyes closed. I knudged him awake and asked him if he wanted to leave. He stumbled at first as if not sure of his whereabouts, but then acknowledged that he was. We moved ourselves through the crowd to find and tell the others. We found them all (including Derek) in a dancing man huddle. Derek was pumping it up like an aerobics instructor. How was this the same guy from a few hours ago? We could have nearly declared him dead back then. Now all that was missing were a few glow sticks and some fluorescent body paint. We told them we were off and we vacated the premises. The hostel was only 5 minutes away, but somehow Turtle and I managed to get lost. Made it back to the room eventually and found the girls had fallen asleep with all the lights on, probably in anticipation of Kelley's 11pm curfew and return. Wasn't my immediate concern. Sleep was, which I managed to eventually achieve. About an hour later I awoke with Kelley screaming in my ear. 

"Aow she's staying here! She's in the lobby! She's from Idaho!" 

I explained to him quite curtly that I didn't "give a fark" before rolling back to sleep. It was 4am at that point when Kelley and Davies had returned. Derek himself was still going. 

Day 6: J-Lo and Fort Alhambra

A late rise was a given after a night like that. I thought the sister Gins would be pissed but they were more amused by it all. We were in fairly rugged shape but managed to gather ourselves (minus Derek) for a walking tour that had been planned. The walking tour was lead by 2 local girls, one of which was an absolute stunner. She looked like a Spanish J-Lo, amazingly pretty. Even Rebecca, who can switch-hit like the best of them, thought she was a hottie and was the first to say so. 

"I'd do that up and down, Monday to Friday!". 

The girl has never worked Monday to Friday in her life, but the sentiment rang true to all on board. The tour started from Granada and went up through the hills into Sacromonte. The area of Sacromonte is known for the Gypsy community that reside there and the tour was in part, a showcase of this. The Gypsies there actually live in caves. When J-Lo first mentioned this I thought she had mis-translated or slipped in the tongue, but as we were to see they actually do live in caves. We were allowed to walk through and peer into their dwellings to have a look. They were a bit dark inside but incredibly cool, considering how hot it was outside. They were furnished more or less like normal homes, just in cave form. The Gypsies even referred to their homes as caves themselves, painting their addresses on the outside 'Cave number etc etc'. Felt a bit weird sticking our heads into the caves so casually, but the Gypsies that were there didn't seem to mind. There weren't that many around actually and I wondered if they were hiding out of view, being very private people. We were eventually taken to the top of hill where we got an amazing view of Fort Alhambra. Our legs were dead, but it was quite a spectacular sight. I wanted to go there and take it over which was good because as it happened, it was our next destination.

The Fort from the hills of Sacromente

Before that however, we rested our legs for a few hours back at the hostel where we eventually saw Derek again. He explained his night's activities stating that he had continued on, drinking wine with some Australian girl till 7am in the morning. I kept trying to think at what point had Derek swapped his batteries that night. You must understand the condition of the man from point A to B just didn't equate. He didn't even seem that hungover. All night on the trot? Someone up above was taking the piss. Time ticked over however, and Derek's adventures with us were done. He was booked on a flight back to London that night so it was time to say farewell. Derek had brought with him, the experience expected and more. There are characters in life, that take you places, empty of consequence. With risk you follow, but in reward you gain. Derek was largely responsible for the night of prevail, and for that we were thankful. The night had needed to be done, and it had been done well.

The Fort was another big long walk away. Fort Alhambra was the big showpiece of Granada. Penelope said "It was the reason why people came to Granada.". The best defense for a Fort in the old days, must have been the hike to get there. Any invading army having to do that climb, would've been bloody knackered hauling armour and spears etc not considering the heat. Weren't no steroids or Powerade back then, nor Adidas. Don't know how they managed it. There was a great lack of signs to find out where to go, so we ended up walking twice the distance before we made it to the ticket place. We stopped to get drinks and ice-lollies but just as we were about to stroll in realised they didn't allow food of any kind in the premises. We were now tasked with standing there, eating our ice-lollies as fast as we could, which is almost akin to torture. Further more, we had an extra ice lolly as somebody had passed on it. The only option I thought was to chuck it away, but Rebecca was adamant there would be no ice-lolly wastage on her watch. It was one of those weird rod-shaped ones, and I don't know where she hid it, but she smuggled it through and we were inside.

The first things that were up, were the gardens. Strange as it sounds, Forts need gardens. Pretty delicate gardens contrast dynamically against a towering Fort, making it seem that much more impressive. These gardens were good, but having seen a fair few this trip already, was going to take something like a Flying Unicorn or Siamese Hippo to really get me excited. Turtle, in an effort to further his quest of knowledge, had hired an audio guide, and had been listening to it intently as we wandered through. We asked him with curiousity what the guide had been telling him.

"You want the long version or the short version?" he responded.

"Give us the short version." we replied after a quick contemplation.

Pause.

"It's a courtyard." 

What's it really saying?

We eventually managed to stop laughing but found we had walked ourselves into a bit of a dead-end. Quick as a flash, Rebecca whipped out her rod ice lolly (again not sure from where) and began sucking away at it vigorously. Afraid we would get caught out, we surrounded her in an effort to conceal the act. It was actually rather amazing how quickly she was able to finish it off. Quickest I've seen, and I've seen a few. It reminded me of this movie I had seen on DVD. She ended up making a bit of a mess of herself, so I threw her a tissue to wipe her mouth clean and we continued on, this time to the Fort itself!

Fort Alhambra is galactic. It takes monumentality to a whole new level. I know I tend to go on and on about each Fort I see and how each one was better than the last, but this one really was unbelievable. It was just so big. One struggles to think how such a structure was achieved when placed in context of time and place. The views from high in the turrets were the best. Against a blue sky, you really did feel like you were looking through a postcard. To stay there all day and wait for sunset would've been an easy temptation indeed, but we resisted, and moved on.

The inside of the Fort was good, but stood no match for what we had viewed from high above. We actually had to queue and wait to get in as well which made us resent the experience a little bit. There were fountains, there were mosaics but all in all it was pretty so-so. Davies was least impressed as he got through the whole thing about 20 minutes faster than the rest of us, preferring to kick up his heels on the bench outside. Was hard to blame him given all the walking we had done. By the time we had all finished, we were fairly well drained, and we exited, rolling ourselves back down the hill.

Penelope on the lookout

Davies on a ledge with a view

Dinner was next on the agenda, and again it was Tapas. To mix it up we got seafood Tapas (may have been a Granada specific recommendation) and found a place with that as its specialty. It was good, clean and fresh. The generosity with the drinks and tapas continued to astound. Getting political, I was convinced Europe had to bail out Spain based on the Tapas alone. A tradition much to precious for the world to lose. After this we went to another Tapas place (one in a night is never enough) which we also enjoyed and just as we were leaving the host there stopped us to give us a complementary round of shots. Free Tapas and free drinks! This was getting ridiculous. So silly in fact we decided to call it a night and go to bed.

Day 7: DD-Day

We started early in the morning, farewelling Davies at the same time. He was moving on Malaga whilst we were hitting Valencia via Al Cantilado. It was sad to be leaving Davies at this point in the trip. His malleable personality had suited our group well and we could've have easily joined us on. The sister Gins had enjoyed his company especially, as it was like having another me around. Its not often you have an unrelated twin join you in a trip like this, and the experience had added much value to all and sundry. It was double the fun, with no extra cost. The girls smothered him with kisses and the boys man-hugged him goodbye and we were off.

Having had a good night's sleep, the drive to Al Cantilado was relaxed and easy. We arrived at the place that had been booked which turned out to be this full-on resort. Remarkably, this was the cheapest accommodation in all our stays for the trip. The apartment had its own living room, kitchen and deck with an ocean view facing the sea. We unpacked our things and lounged out thinking life couldn't get much better than this. Penelope then walked into the room with a bit of a giggle on about to turn that idea, on its head.

"I think you're going to want to have a look out the window in the other room."

I've not seen much that's made Penelope get so excited. The odd teapot or lampshade here and there perhaps, so I was immediately intrigued. I rose up off my chair and entered the room. The shutters were closed which was a bit strange, so I opened them.

Haven't had many 'hallelujah' moments in my life. I would surely add this as one of them, for behind the shutters, across the way and beside the pool lay exposed two of the biggest breasts I had ever seen (in non-digital format). My first reaction to this (indeed my only reaction to breasts being thrust in my face) was to burst out in laughter. They were just there, out for all to see, by the pool. DDs, saying hello and getting some rays. There were families, kids, loads of other people about, but the DDs didn't mind. Not one bit. On second glance we noticed there were another pair of paps exposed that were fairly sizeable in their own right but it was the DDs that were taking all the glory.

"We're going for a swim!" 

By this stage we were all in stitches, apart from Turtle. He was almost in sensory overload. He just stood by the window, staring, completely expressionless. Rebecca was first to get the cameras out. Never one to turn up a free feed, she shoved Turtle out the way and began snapping away at the juggernauts. I took time to thank and congratulate Penelope. Her stock had risen exponentially in a matter of seconds. Here was a woman. A woman in the fullest sense of the word. A woman who assisted in bringing jumbo sized knockers, into the world of me. What courage, what sacrifice. Too few give as she gave that day. Not enough share treasure, in this day and age. Penelope had discovered the DDs which were rightfully hers. Her own pair of DDs to call her own. Yet she had passed them on for others to enjoy also. Penelope had reached a pinnacle. I promised her, I would write to the Queen.

"Can't get enough, can't get enough, no. "

After a few hours we got tired of the breasts and thought we should go have a look to see what was around. A path we found went down to the rocks by the sea where we had stone throwing competition, much like the one at Loch Ness. Years of playing cricket meant the boys didn't have a chance against me (like last time) but I still amused them all the same. Turtle was determined to try and beat me, but his side-armed technique (developed from years of throwing spears) was never going to be of use in this context.

On our way back to the apartment we saw the resort had a Padder Tennis Court which looked like fun, so we booked a time-slot for a few hours later. We rushed hurriedly back to the apartment, and to the window to see if the DDs were still there. Unfortunately they were not. It was dejecting. Its not even my cup of tea to be honest, but there was a captivating marvel about them. We had Rebecca's photos I suppose (there were hundreds) but a flat 2D image doesn't quite do it justice. The sense of movement and breath is gone, you don't get the depth and it just doesn't seem as real... Not that they were real in the first place but you get my meaning. 

After an hour of the photos it was time for the Padder Tennis. We got changed and headed down to the courts. For some reason we were split up in groups heading down . The others were slightly ahead with Turtle and I in the rear. It was a nice pleasant stroll as we basked in the twilight dew. It was beautiful and was hard to think of anything that could top the moment. Its always when you think these thoughts, that something does. As has often been the case, (in a comparatively short amount of time) Turtle was the provider, saying something worthy of hall of fame fob folklore. I must add at this point that the episode I am about to describe is heavily contested by Turtle himself. He denied it later with absolute rigor, using his business face. He accused me of verbal fabrication. Admittedly, I myself cannot categorically confirm I heard what I think I heard. I've often been accused (mostly by girls) that I hear what I want to hear which has been true in instances (not once lead to conviction). There was no one else in the vicinity of earshot to verify what was said, no witnesses at all. It is simply my recollection of what I think I heard against, Turtles fervent denial such utterances were ever spoke forthwith. 

Trotting down the hill as I recall, Turtle paused and said this. 

"Fark. I got to go shit my pants. I catch up with you later." 

I reiterate again, that Turtle denies this quote unequivocally. Indeed on paper, this use of expression to excuse oneself to the loo reads of such brilliance that one could easily attribute it to my own creative embellishment. By my own admission I write to Chopper Reid's storytelling philosophy which prescribes to "Never let the truth get in the way of a good yarn". I will say also for the record that Turtle is a stand-up guy, and that Bornean's did not know of lies until the white man came. In conclusion though, I will add this. A small bit of what you may call circumstantial evidence. Later that same night I was writing some notes of the day's actions (how I'm able to remember all this shit) when I noticed 2 x idiots had vandalised my note pad in the days before. Kelley's writing and style was obvious and fairly typical of his character, but it was Turtles contribution that caught my eye and struck me. Bear in mind this was done at least a day before the alleged incident as previously described for the notebook had been on my person since then. Like I said before, it reads as entirely circumstantial, and circumstance isn't proof, but you'll take from it what you will. 

I present exhibit A... the prosecution rests.

The Padder Tennis was good fun. The danger in such a sport is that if one person is even marginally better than the rest it's boring for all, as they end up merely humouring you with a point here and a point there before smashing you off the court. Here we were all quite well matched. The girls had gone through tennis tutoring at high-school ($18k a year at St. Cuthberts gets you that) and I was naturally gifted enough to make up for Kelley and Turtle at the other end. We played some good rallies and I was more and more impressed by the girls' ability at the game. Rebecca with her arms and legs of independent thought looked like a court disaster waiting to happen, but her coordination was surprisingly sound. Penelope you could tell was a true technician with form and flow. I've always fancied myself racket in hand and Penelope made encouraging comments when she saw my serve for the first time. 

"Fuck a minge Yohei you've got a good serve!"

Turtle didn't seem to quite get the rules as he tried to wallop everything that came his way without any thought of placement or precision. Kelley just made monkey movements, at times playing with such buffoonery I was convinced he was trying to lose. It was fun and a pleasant way to end the evening. We went back to reception to return the gear. There were a few other guests there milling about but we didn't pay them much attention. Just as we left Penelope whispered to us. 

"Those were the girls!" 

"Girls? What girls?" 

"The girls from the pool." 

"Really?" 

She was adamant they were. I had all seen the girls sitting there having their drinks but not for a second did I, or any of the rest of us make the connection between them and the DDs. We stood there in recollection and realised we couldn't actually picture the faces of the girls the DDs belonged to. Not a foggy, didn't have a clue. Even with all Rebecca's photos and 3 hours worth of staring, we had no idea what features these girls contained, neck up. It was an extraordinary thing.

Back at the apartment, Penelope cooked us a nice dinner with £50 worth of ingredients we had been ripped off on at the resort convenience store (got to make your money back somehow) and we settled in for a well earned rest.

Day 8: Paella in Valencia

DDs aren't early risers, and neither am I. Proof of this lay in the first 2 actions of the day. The first being me not rising for the sunrise at 4am in the morning when all others did (I'm a sunset man), and the second was the fact that the DDs were not outside the window when I checked upon my eventual rise. It was disappointing but took the positive spin in that I had been lucky to see them in the first place at all... some people don't even get that.

Morning faces

We didn't want to leave the resort and tried to organise another night there (not because of the DDs, honest), but it was unfortunately fully booked so had to stick to our original plans... not that there was anything wrong with our original plans which was to move on and head out to our final destination of the journey. Valencia.

The drive there was standard enough, though one incident did stand out amongst the rest.  On our way we pulled into a carpark of a shopping court in search of some water (I think). A curiously observed Asian woman spotted us in the car and stopped to stare. Kelley was driving with Turtle shotgun, and the girls and I made up the sandwich in the back. The woman then approached the car and began speaking to Turtle in one of the 6 languages of his lexicon. They seemed to hit it off quite well. I had never observed Turtle speaking in anything but slightly stifled fob, so to see him converse in a more natural tongue was bewildering. There was a smoothness, a charm to his demeanor. I couldn't understand what he was saying but the words seem to warm with the old lass. Before long she was offering him her daughter in marriage, such was his grace. She actually had an interesting life story as Turtle later explained. She was the owner of a Chinese Restaurant just around the corner which she had setup some 20 - 30 years ago, having come from China and had been there ever since. Stories like that always fascinate me, and how people are able to cut all ties and reestablish themselves in a foreign setting, despite the challenges. She explained most of her customers now were British tourists but it hadn't always been that way. She actually invited us in to her restaurant as she was keen to hear our (mostly Turtles) stories from Borneo, but there was no time and we were back on the road.  

We actually arrived in Valencia later than expected and we were all quite tired. The hostel was interesting. They had themed based rooms, and Turtle and I had scored the Piccaso-esque minge themed room. Penelope was eager to change, but we had already unpacked so stayed as we were. 

Valencia is known for many things, but one of those things was its Paella. Penelope said "This was the reason you came to Valencia"... not sure she said that to be honest but its a catchphrase that works now so we'll assume she did. Wasn't quite dinner time yet, so we went for a look around Old Town before dinner. As it happened, there was some kind of festival occurring in the Town Centre at the time which involved lots of kids dressed up in traditional robes for a march of some kind. It was quite a gathering and entertained us for a while. Turtle was busy taking photos with his long lens, which we eventually decided looked a bit dodgy him being Asian and all, so pressed on.

Time for Paella

We sat at our restaurant booked earlier, and waited eagerly for our Paella. We got a range of different assortments including a noodle Paella which I hadn't heard of. Took a while to arrive, but arrive it did, and we quickly realised we had again, ordered beyond our waistlines. Paella is served in these extra large fry-pans, presumably what they are cooked in, before being dished out to the customer. We had 3 of these suckers and there was 5 of us, plus we had already devoured some bread presented earlier. As for the Paella itself?... I found it all a bit greasy. Its one of those dishes that when you serve up on a clean plate, it quickly looks like a culinary oil spill has taken place. Turns into a bit of a translucent soup with a sheen of which you can only take so much. Another problem was we doubled up on flavours getting 2 seafood dishes (probably to accommodate Rebecca), one with noodles and one with rice. I also had question marks over the sanitation of the dishes. There seemed to be this crust coating the inside of the fry-pans, that appeared like it had been there, perhaps since the beginning of time. A layer of every single dish that had previously been served to each and every patron. Rebecca had already latched onto this and had her knife out, scrapping the substance off.

"This crunchy stuff is farken shiz-whizza!" she said scoffing it down. Kelley, being the dog that follows, was next to try it, and in no time at all, they were all munching away at it. I watched the putrid act in some horror, and imagined the waiting staff running to the kitchen chef in panic.

"Señor!  The extranjeros are eating rotten crust from the Paella!"

"The rotten crust?... we do not even feed that to the wild dogs?!"

"Ci Señor!"

"Stop them you silly fool before they die and we are closed forever, rápidamente!"

But it was too late. By the time the waiter had returned to collect the plates, all of the crust that was left was being dislodged from Rebecca's teeth by her rapidly moving index finger that flossed them. She could tell I was judging her, but she didn't care.

"Waste not, want not, muthafarka!"

We were stuck a bit for ideas after dinner, but knew that Valencia had an America's Cup village, and being Kiwis decided that we were bound by visitation to pop along. It was across the other side of town but there was a big meal to work off so the option made sense. 

Given what the America's Cup village is in Auckland, there was an expectation about the Valencia one in that it might blow it out of the water, so to speak. Turn's out, not so. It was dead to be brutally honest. It had taken us bloody ages to get there, and when we did, there wasn't much to see. Thought then occurred that's why it was probably dead, as it took blood ages to get to. Disappointing.

We decided since we had hiked that far that we may as well hike a bit farther to the beach and see what was happening there. We passed some expensive restaurants on the way and found an empty open air stage seating. Rebecca did a good Walla Walla Walla and even convinced Penelope to join in with her in one too. She had really loosened up since the minge shackles in her life had been released, if I can describe the incident in Part I as such.

Work it!

The beach was impressive, though it was dark and we couldn't see much. I realised during the walk (due to the vast quantities of sand one foot seemed to be carrying) that there was a gaping hole in the shoe. These were recently bought too! 6 months in, already wasted. Didn't have another pair and upon examination I hoped that I may be able to salvage them somehow on the return home. 

We all got icecream's and began the trek home. Turtle started to groan, that the bag he had been carrying all day, was getting the better of him and he couldn't continue on. A true Bornean, wouldn't have wilted, but Turtle had picked up some bad western habits so I took the bag off him and carried it the rest of the way. Only for the brothers I do this. Only for the brothers.

Day 9: Ciudad De Les Artes Y Las Ciencias

It was hard to believe this was our last morning in Spain, yet here it was. It had happened so quickly, so fast. It felt like we had only just started to get into the swing of things, yet everything in the day before was now tainted with a degree of finality. Logistically, the day presented awkward time constraints as we had to set aside 4 hours of driving time to Barcelona, in order to make our flight in the early evening. The decision on how to divvy our time wasn't hard however, as Valencia is home to a phenomenal attraction, the like of no other. No not the topless beaches, the DDs had satisfied that crave in all of us, with cups to spare. I am in fact referring to the Ciudad De Les Artes Y Las Ciencias, or the City of Arts and Sciences. The site itself is one of the most impressive architectural achievements in modern times. Without seeing it for yourself it is quite hard to describe in a way that captures its true and complete spectre. I believe my words when we first drove in and saw it were "What the fuck is that?!?" The 'City' is comprised of 6 or 7 superstructures, each is an achievement in its own right, set amongst perfectly manicured grounds with lakes and green spaces. They follow one after the other and are so out of this world in design, you feel like you have entered a foreign alien colony. It's the shear scale and scope of the facility which is staggering. The feat of engineering and the cost, the cost must have been no less than billions. I could not believe I had not heard of this place, and had never even seen a picture. Was it my fault? Are the Spanish not proud of these achievements? It was most puzzling.

Wow!

Woow!

Woooooow!!!

The Science Museum which was in one of the buildings, was what we were interested (minus Rebecca who wanted to shop). As one went through you got the feeling the museum itself was heavily aimed at kids. It was highly interactive in a very playful way. Nearly every piece they had, required you to yank or pull something. Andrew would've farken loved it, but it was much fun for us too. There were jumping things and kicking things and also a marvel exhibition taking place. Critics will probably say that its a little lightweight and I'm not exactly sure they make best use of the space and facility they have there but its early days and they have to be given a chance. The best thing they had was an exhibit featuring Kelley's ancestors which we managed to get a photo of. It was striking how close the similarities were. I also managed to play a practical joke classic on Penelope with one of the exhibits. It featured a row of seats that when you sat, revealed the shape of your buttocks in a hazy digital imprint on the screens in front. Penelope sat on one an idea came to me that I could not resist. 

Quickly taking a seat next to her I said "Penelope, look at this."  

With great cunning (and this might sound worse than it was), I placed both hands between my legs to create the mother of all schlong digital imprints on the screen.

"Aaaaeeee!" Penelope screamed leaping out of her seat.

It was a precious moment. Obviously, she'd heard the stories, seen the photos, and thought the lizard had come out to lunch. It had flustered her properly well. Penelope had come far this trip, but had it been the real monster it may have tipped her over the edge. Luckily for her, I know lines and when to cross them, but it was a supremely exercised practical joke. Of the few achievements I have attained in my life, it was up there. 

Traced,... the Neanderthal Lineage

Unfortunately our time with Valencia was up so we left the museum, collected Rebecca and began our 4 hour drive to the airport. We seemed to pass 20 toll booths on the way to Barcelona which accounted for the last of the funds we had left. It was a bit strange going to Barcelona without going to Barcelona, but that decision was made earlier as the city we felt deserved a trip on its own. At the airport, the guy at the check-in counter pointed out that we shared the exact date of birth. A quirky coincidence, but we thought nothing more of it. Penelope later remarked that I had looked after myself far better than he in my time on this Earth which I thought was harsh on the poor fella, but Penelope had been making keen observations all trip so who was I to deny her. Was feeling pretty good about the compliment (don't get many), until I walked into the Men's on the other side of the terminal, right through a puddle of some not so miscellaneous liquid substance. What's more the shoelace was untied at the time and dragged through it completely. If I thought the shoe with its tear was salvageable before, I did not think that now. I had to pull out several tissues in order to re-tie the sopping shoelace, without touching the shoelace. If you haven't tried it, it is nigh-on impossible. It was also fairly disgusting and thought it an act unfair to finish the trip on. Luckily, the scales were soon to tip back in our favour as we realised in taking our seats, that my date of birth sharing brother at the check-in counter, had assigned us the more expensive, significantly more roomy, emergency exit seats. What a good man to do so. We were able to stretch our arms and legs out completely. It was probably the closest to business class I had ever been, and would ever get. I was now in the right frame of mind to reflect on trip now complete. As long as this blog reads, separated over 2 parts through poor writing and pace, it felt like it had gone by in a flicker. It was one of those trips you could travel on forever, in good company and surroundings. The sites, and sights of Spain had not let us down. The food, the adventure, the scenery. To list it all would only risk in jeopardy that which was missed. It was the perfect way to see a country with beauty in range and diversity. The people there are experts in joyful relaxation. Laying up in my emergency exit seat, I now felt the same.