Jamon Iberico is proof that God loves us and wants us to be happy

Finally, I arrived in Malaga on Saturday the 20th! I hit up nearly all the major sites in the city in the afternoon, including my first tapas meal. The flowers here have richer colors than any flowers I’ve ever seen, so I gravitated toward the many gardens.

I now have all my train/bus tickets, all my lodging, and a train ticket back to Paris that should avoid the planned strikes. I’m not complaining- unpredictability is something I love about traveling, especially when I’ve been tightly wound. It reminds me that so much is out of my control no matter what I do, and more importantly, that I can thrive within this chaotic world if I only let go and accept it for what it is.

I’m in the world of tapas and paella, gazpacho, jamon iberico, sneakily delicious seafood. I’m also in a place where I get free tapas with each drink, so I’m drinking frequently. In Granada, I have vermut on recommendation from a friendly local who tries to chat with me while we both stand at the counter in the tapas bar at high lunchtime. I say try because he speaks very little English and I speak even less Spanish, but we find that we both speak a little French. He learns that I am from the center of the US, that my name is Sara, and that I’m on vacation through Strasbourg, Marseille, Malaga, Granada, San Sebastián, and Paris. I learn that vermut is a typical local drink, that his name is Antonio, and that San Sebastián is the most magnificent place in the world- after Granada, of course. Exchanging this limited information takes at least 15 minutes, but who cares- I’m waiting for jamon iberico and manchego to accompany my glass of gazpacho, and I could not be more thrilled. This is my absolute favorite summer meal. In fact, I have it at the same place for both lunch and dinner, if you can characterize my constant grazing as meals.

I took a nighttime walking tour of Granada neighborhoods, which I could never have navigated on my own. My tour mates included people from Costa Rica, Toronto, Italy, South Korea, and Taiwan, which I thought was super fun. We walked around the old Moorish neighborhood, then to a neighborhood of homes that are carved out of the Sacramonte hillside. Our guide calls them caves and they technically are, but these caves have multiple rooms and electricity. Officially, many of these homes don’t exist on the city’s plans, and the people who live here can’t afford to live elsewhere. But tourism is bringing them some income- I wonder how they feel about this.

The next day, I travel to Cordoba. This marks my fourth city in as many days, and my body wracked by so many consecutive days of travel anxiety gives out. Travel – at least in the way I’m doing it- is a lot of work. I also struggle to sleep the night before I need to catch a train or bus, and I’ve been moving every day for several days straight. On Tuesday, I hit my limit. I spent my morning on the public bus to the bus station in Granada, then on a luxe bus back to Malaga, so I can catch a train to Cordoba. After taking a taxi to my pension and finding lunch, all I want to do is collapse. I am arguing with myself.

“Sara, you are in a new city, in SPAIN. Who knows when you’ll be back here again. You need to go see everything!!”

My body responds calmly but resolutely. “Nope.”

“But the Mezquiza is right here! You can see it from this table.”

“Nope. And to show you I’m serious, I will make your nose start dripping.”

“Ugh, this is so gross. Can’t you just hold off until I’ve crushed Cordoba? I’m out of tissues.”

“Nope.”

So, I’ve instituted a napping policy for the rest of my trip. My life is real hard. I had two days in Cordoba and did see everything, from the old mosque expanded over time and then converted to a Catholic church to more beautiful gardens.

Next stop, San Sebastián!