Andalucía: “Land Ahoy”

Having spent several hours up on the bridge of the MV Bonavia, watching with growing anticipation as Gibraltar and the lights of Algeciras grew before us, we were exhausted when we finally docked at 2am. Fortunately we had no onward plans, so we were able to catch a few hours sleep in our cabin and a quick shower, before saying our farewells to the officers and crew and making our way down the gangway to dry land.

We were instructed to wait at the bottom for a port bus, which came 15 minutes later. The driver was pretty surprised when we piled on with all our belongings, usually he takes crew and stevedores between the different ships, so we looked like something out of the ordinary. Not knowing quite what to expect, we were dropped outside a small office. We walked through the open door, down a tiny corridor where we showed our passport to another confused man, and out the other side. That was it. No customs, no "excuse me sir, would you mind opening your bag".

We stood outside the door, slightly perplexed and wondered what on earth to do next. Gemma went back inside and asked the confused man if he could order us a taxi, while I waited with our bags, enjoying the sensation of walking on something that wasn't moving. Until I slipped off the kerb.

Although Algeciras has the feeling of many border towns (people only stop there on their way to or from Morocco), it was actually pretty nice in the old town, full of Moorish ruins and winding side streets. We found a little pension, dropped our bags off and discovered an open restaurant in which to have coffee and some food (of our choice!). We had decided to stay for one night, to give ourselves time to work out what to do next, and frankly because we were still exhausted, which worked out well, because our pension had a comfy double bed with a huge duvet, and we were given a heater too, so we slept away most of the day.

The next morning we caught a bus to Granada, 5 hours away. It was quite a pleasant drive, the road following the coast through Estepona, Marbella and Malaga before heading inland towards the mountains. When we arrived, my initial impression of Granada was that it looked a lot like a tacky French ski resort, which goes to show you not to judge a town by the row of buildings opposite the bus station. Unless you're in Managua – in which case you should be telling yourself to get back on the next bus out.

Our hostel was in the old town, full of tall imposing buildings in a distinctive style, reached by navigating a maze of tiny side streets which had the odour of sewerage. As Granada is located at the foot of the Sierra Nevada mountains, the air was frosty and we could see our breath for the first time in months. In fact, now that we had recovered from the lack of sleep, we were noticing just how cold it actually was.

In a desperate attempt to warm ourselves up we walked to the Alhambra one morning. There weren’t many people to be seen, and it was such a beautiful walk that our spirits were soon lifted. We reached the ticket office, paid for our entry, and wandered inside. We were curious about the time printed on our ticket, seeming to suggest that in 30, then 29, then 28 minutes we were supposed to be somewhere. But where? Oh Hell – the Nasrid Palace. We raced through the maze like paths, over a stone bridge and past several bathrooms in order to make it in time (the palace is so popular that you have to take up a 30 minute window to enter). We turned the last corner and wham – a huge queue. Blast. By this time we were warm and in need of a toilet (urgently)!

Despite this, the interior of the palace took our breath away. Some of the most original and beautiful examples of ancient Islamic art were tucked away inside. From elaborate window frames and intricately painted tiles to the carved Fountain of Lions, at every new doorway we both let out sounds of awe. For 45 minutes I completely forgot about my pressing need for a bathroom, and happily queued behind long lines of people to take photographs from a million different angles.

Later we walked to the old fort area, and climbed up the narrow, claustrophobic staircase to get an amazing view of the city of Granada spread out before us. We also took in the Palacio de Carlos V, which featured an interesting exhibition on a Welshman, Owen Jones, who had travelled to the Alhambra and been so captivated by the beauty he saw that he built part of the Great Exhibition to resemble what he saw. In fact, it so motivated him that he went on to become one of the most published and influential designers of his era. I got a telling off for trying to take a photograph of his work. I might have tried to explain that surely if Mr Jones was alive today he might have tried to take a few photographs himself, but I resisted. My Spanish was still improving, but it couldn’t cope with an argument.

After filling ourselves with delicious falafels at lunchtime in the old town, we decided to try some of the local tapas for dinner. Granada is apparently one of the few places left in Spain where the tapas is free, provided you buy a drink or two, so we decided to have a glass of Rioja and a free meal. We headed off to find a suitable place, and found ourselves in what looked like a traditional establishment. Seated down at the table with our glass of wine, were we ready for some patatas bravas (fried diced potatoes), gambas al ajillo (prawns in garlic), or maybe a few albondigas (meatballs). We certainly weren’t expecting to be served two ham and cheese bagels, a pasta salad and chips, which was what we received.  The waiter misinterpreted our quizzical looks, and kindly brought us some ketchup. We wouldn’t have been more surprised than if Salvador Dali had jumped out from behind the bar and tipped the food over our laps.

The following day we made our way by train to the beautiful hillside town of Ronda, a few hours West. I had been to Ronda previously with my father, and recalled it being one of the most photogenic places I had ever visited. We had two nights to explore the sights, including the stunning, ancient bull-ring, and the impressive gorge-spanning bridge, as well as the beautiful parks and the historic old town. It’s a great place to spend a few days relaxing, and very easy to understand why the likes of Orson Welles and Ernest Hemingway enjoyed coming here so much.

The next destination on our whistle-stop tour of Andalucía was the historic city of Seville. I’d like to say that we took full advantage of our 3 nights, running around town like two mad people. Unfortunately Gemma was starting to feel ill, and I was getting a bit tired of seeing so many people (not that it was especially busy, but after more than two weeks on a boat surrounded by empty ocean, entertaining ourselves, it was hard to readjust to being in a city atmosphere).

We did manage to visit the Royal Alcazar of Seville, a beautiful palace very similar to the Alhambra (without being on a hillside), and one of the best remaining examples of Mudéjar architecture in the world. We were quite surprised to find that many of the Islamic tiles had retained some colour, whereas in the Alhambra they were mostly faded. It looked as though, maybe a few hundred years ago, someone had repainted them – or maybe they had just been better cared for. Yet it was a surprising building, with many layers, which had been built up over many years by a variety of different monarchs. Within 60 seconds you could go from a sultan’s bedroom to the chapel where the Duke of Medina Sidonia (leader of the ill-fated Spanish Armada) had prayed before setting out to invade England. In the spirit of cultural vandalism, I began to whistle the first few lines of “Rule Britannia" in front of a large group of Spanish students.

The following day we had planned to spend in far less exotic surroundings, ignoring the beautiful cathedral and tranquil riverfront, we instead headed to the only suitable place to watch live sport, an Irish pub, and watched the England vs Wales game on a big screen TV. Thinking back to our time on the ship, deprived of so many things we missed, we suddenly felt rather relaxed, although that may have been the effects of the cider. So despite seeing England lose, we rather enjoyed our day, and treated ourselves to cakes at a little place off Seville’s main square, where the chocolate mousse came with gold flakes, and pictures of the staff serving their delicacies at the Whitehouse for US Presidents adorned the walls. It was the perfect way to round off our time in Andalucía. Not because I can find any deep cultural meanings in the deserts we ate. They were just that good.  

Honduras and Nicaragua: Gemma's Thoughts

Our first stop in Honduras was Copan Ruinas, a small, scruffy town that is just over the border from Guatemala, and our last stop on our Mayan tour. Although we felt a little on edge, the town seemed quiet and sleepy, and there was very little hassle which made a nice change. After crossing the border in the dark we arrived at our hostel and settled into a large, comfy room. We took a short stroll but opted to eat at the restaurant opposite the hostel. I always feel a little uncomfortable arriving somewhere after sunset and much prefer to get my bearings in the daylight hours.

 

I was surprised how similar Honduras is to Guatemala, maybe this is because we are only just over the border or maybe it is because much of Latin America feels quite similar, and we are still in Mayan territory. After a whistle-stop tour of Copan and the ruins, which were the most ornate so far, we set off for our overnight stop in the city and planned to leave Honduras the next day.

Honduras has been my least favourite country, but perhaps I'm being a little unfair. Both of us are homesick, which doesn't help but it is also a slightly smaller, less interesting version of where we have spent the last six weeks - maybe if we had come hear first then I would speak more highly of it.

With Christmas coming we tried to make plans but timings worked against us. Buses were already full and skirting through the country quickly soon became impossible. We got stuck in San Pedro Sula, the second largest city in Honduras, for three nights instead of one. It is fairly dangerous there, and we had little to no chance of venturing out. The hostel was fairly decent though, and as everyone else used it for a one night stop over we had a constant flow of people to share stories with.

We left on Christmas Eve via a 14 hour bus journey to Managua, the capital of Nicaragua, which is another dangerous, dirty city, an hour away from Granada - where we wanted to be. Still, being Christmas, we had made the most of it and ourselves booked into the Lonely Planet's "top pick" hotel complete with air con and pool.

But it didn't work out that way. We woke up on Christmas morning in an absolute dive, Darren close to depression and me constantly in floods of tears.Without even unpacking, we put our bags on our backs, I flagged the nearest taxi and we began making our way to the bus station. On enquiring, the taxi driver said he would take us all the way to Granada for $40. After a quick discussion that consisted of "sod it, it's Christmas!" we were bombing up the duel carriage way, windows down, sun shining, music playing and smiles on our faces.

Granada is a great place and we got lucky with the hostel - small pool, loads of space and only $20 a night! We arrived by lunchtime, so there was plenty of time for a wander. We were both starving so some nice food was a priority. We stumbled across a posh hotel just off the central park and browsed the menu. Normally the prices would have scared us away, but after another short "sod it, it's Christmas" conversation, we were sitting at a table with more than one set of cutlery each and a leather bound menu trying to decide between whiskey or blue cheese sauce for our expensive steaks! The food was fantastic! Now we had smiles on our faces and full bellies. It was a happy Christmas after all!

Wandering back through the square the heavens opened and we ran for cover where we bumped into a couple we had met in Honduras. We arranged to go out for dinner with them the following day.

Nicaragua was turning out to be fun, a lovely place with lots of people to talk to and nice places to stay. It was unfortunate that we missed a lot of it. I wanted to see Leon, another colonial town, but the man selling the bus tickets told us it didn't go there (it did, and lots of people got off) and I also wanted to go to Ometepe, a volcanic island in a huge lake with beautiful waterfalls and rock pools to swim in, but the buses were mostly full so we had to miss it out in order to be in Costa Rica in time for the start of our tour (four days early!)

We did spend a couple of days at a crater lake called Apoyo which was beautiful. Stunning scenery, clear water and a little beach. The hostel there had a large balcony which over looked the lake with palm trees framing the view perfectly. It was like something from the movies! We spent our time relaxing by the water swinging in hammocks and I ventured out in a kayak for a better view. There were a few expensive looking villas with sailing boats moored outside that were only visible from the lake which wouldn't have been out of place in a James Bond film, but apart from that, we were on our own! Truly a piece of untouched paradise.

The Festive Season in Nicaragua

We stayed in San Pedro Sula for 3 nights, awaiting our connecting bus. We went out a couple of times in the day, but in the evenings everyone generally stayed put inside the hostel. There was a good atmosphere amongst the guests but everyone felt it was like being inside prison, the high barbed wire fences and security cameras hinting at troubles outside. Even the guests who had spent longer than us in Honduras said they felt particularly unsafe in San Pedro. 

Although the final day dragged on, we did eventually get some sleep, only to be woken at 3.30am to be ready for the taxi. Given the high prices, we crammed four of us into a small car for the short drive to the bus station. San Pedro, unlike many Central American cities, has built a large bus station for all the different operators, making it something of a transport hub for the region. By 4.15am we had checked in and awaited our bus. Unfortunately the huge food forecourt was completely shut, so we couldn't pick up a coffee or water to pass the time. 

The bus set off at 5am, remarkably on time for a change, and soon we were speeding down the dual carriageway towards the capital city, Tegucigalpa. We both fell back asleep, although the rattling window kept waking Gemma while a pair of knees in my spine prevented me from getting a good rest. At 9am were were in the capital, and took the opportunity to stretch our legs and grab a cold drink. We didn't wander far, Tegucigalpa didn't appear to be much of an improvement on San Pedro. 

The only highlight came when we spotted the airport, purely because we had seen a documentary about the worlds 10 most dangerous airports which featured a large segment on the difficulties of landing here. Apparently pilots have to undergo specialist training to land here, and we can see why! The approach is between mountains and requires a steep banking manoeuvre despite fluctuating cross-winds, whilst the end of the runway involved a drop, a motorway and the city!

We eventually hit the border at midday. The conductor, an unusually large muscular man for this area, collected everyone's passports and the $15 fee from tourists. We waited outside the bus for his return but were glad to get back onto the air conditioned vehicle 20 minutes later. Unfortunately it didn't last long, we had to get back off on the Nicaraguan side for a baggage check. When we returned to the bus the burly conductor was waiting with an immigration official and our passports. 

We reboarded and everyone began flicking through their passports to see the new stamp. Unfortunately they hadn't stamped inside, just on a border fee receipt, which stated we had paid the $10 border fee. And that really sums up the issue I have with Central America, there are very few people you can trust, it makes you suspicious of everyone you meet. I'm not the most experienced traveller, but I do compare little things to the four months I spent in Africa a few years ago. 

Africa has a reputation for graft, but in fact I'd say the situation out here is worse for your average traveller (at government level it may be different of course). In many parts of Africa that I went through you got the feeling that the people were proud that you had chosen their country and wanted to assist you, to ensure you went back with good memories. Here I feel that I can count on one hand the number of people who have demonstrated similar emotions. Often I have thought that maybe I over romanticized Africa, but travelling here has merely cemented Africa's place in my heart. 

Back on the bus we resumed the voyage to Managua. After a couple of hours we stopped outside Leon, a number of other backpackers jumped off. We hadn't realised you could get off here, with hindsight we should have grabbed our bags and jumped ship. The bus continued on to the capital of Nicaragua, Managua. When we arrived at the station the taxi drivers fought for our attention, following our guidebooks advice we dived into one for the 60 second drive to our hotel, it's a rough area.

We checked in just as the heavens opened, and dived into our room. The Lonely Planet had called this "our pick" of the places to stay in Managua, which was genuinely stunning. It was awful. We thought we had paid a bit extra to stay in a nicer hotel for Christmas, in fact we had been the victims of a cruel joke. Tired, stressed and not looking forward to Christmas day we both fell asleep, despite the fireworks going off around us, sounding more like a Somme recreation.

Whilst other people around the world were opening presents or tucking into huge festive meals, we awoke and began to check out our surroundings. The hotel hadn't improved on the first impression, and the local area looked even worse. After making use of Skype to call our families we decided to move on to Granada. We hailed a taxi, initially intending to go to a different bus station, but then decided the $40 dollar ride out of Managua would be a suitable Christmas gift to ourselves. 

The drive didn't take long, and we checked into a lovely hostel, a beautifully decorated old colonial building, Hungry, we headed out to the most expensive restaurant in town, La Gran Francia, and had a wonderful Christmas Lunch of soups, steaks and cheesecakes. Not the most festive meal ever, but after a week of stress and fear it was a great antidote. Revived, we attempted to have a walk around the beautiful town, but instead headed back to our hostel for a sleep - how festive is that! There is not a great deal I can say about a Nicaraguan Christmas, as we plodded back to the hostel the main square was empty. The only thing that struck us as being any different from other days was the temporary respite from home made firecrackers.

Granada really improved our moods, it felt much safer than anywhere we had been since leaving Guatemala. We visited an old museum, a beautiful church with art and ancient relics, and met up with some friends for dinner one night. After a few days we took a minivan out to Laguna de Apoyo, a lake and nature reserve about half an hour from Granada. We checked into a waterfront hostel and spent a few days relaxing in hammocks, paddling on the lake in Kayaks, and watching out for the local fauna who paid the occasional visit. Apparently 2 days before we arrived they found a tarantula exploring the dorm room. 

We returned to Granada for New Years eve. The hostel relaxed their 11pm lights out policy for one night, but most of the guests celebrated at the time of their home country judging by the cheers coming from anyone near a computer. We treated ourselves to another fancy meal, at the Gran Francia - did I mention they do fantastic steaks? 

We had a couple more days to look around, but by now we had worked out which were the restaurants to avoid, and had seen most of the towns attractions. We planned to catch a boat to Isla de Omotepe, an island formed between two volcanoes, but having wandered down to the Tica Bus station we discovered that we had to leave Nicaragua on the 3rd January, otherwise we wouldn't be able to get out until the 10th, which might have ruined our plans as we have booked a tour of Costa Rica starting on the 7th. 

We're both looking forward to the tour, it's like a holiday within a holiday. We'll be staying in hotels, travelling by private vehicle, and not having to think too much for ourselves. Normally those are the kind of ideals we try to avoid, but as tomorrow marks end of our fourth month on the road we are both going to enjoy not having to make any decisions more strenuous than choosing which drink to accompany our dinner.