Spanish bananas

Rain, 200+ miles of walking, a mild concussion, and a terrible sore throat with a bout of extreme laryngitis might not sound like a perfect vacation, but it was still exactly what I needed!

I know it has been a while since I posted, but my wife and I returned yesterday afternoon from two weeks in Spain. I would have warned about my absence, but the nature of having a public persona, even as small as mine, means I need to keep vacations secret until my return, as you never know who is listening. I’ve no intentions (yet) of being a travel blogger, but the adventures of a long journey are ripe with material, and I can see the allure.

It was our second time vacationing in Spain, the first time being just last year. My wife and I are on a quest to see as much of the world as we can before we die, so visiting a country twice within such a short period is strange for us. It attests to how much we have fallen in love with the country. We visited Barcelona, Valencia, and Madrid on our first excursion and loved every minute. Entering the bitter Boston winters, we thought some warmer weather would do us good for the sequel. So, we chose the southern cities of Seville, Cordoba, and Malaga, then returned to Madrid for a few days as it was our departure point.

Our adventure began before we even arrived in Spain, and it all had to do with a banana. Yes, you heard me right. We were flying Iberia Airlines, which was a new carrier for us. The little video at the beginning of the fight said that they offered snacks at the back of the plane. Well, that’s nice, we thought. My wife felt a little peckish about midflight, so she checked out the offerings. She indeed found some snacks sitting unattended, so she grabbed a few things, most notably a banana. She returned to her seat with the spoils, quite proud of her discovery (my wife loves fruit). A few moments later, a flight attendant hovered over me and loudly asked my wife, “Is that your banana? Where did you get it?” She continued to tell him she got it from the back. “That is for the crew!” he yells, “Never do that again.” The man was furious, but in the ridiculousness of the moment, how do you explain the simple misunderstanding? Mind you, this is midflight, and the cabin is dark. The commotion wakes people, and they remove their eyeshades to see what’s causing the hubbub. My wife looks up to the man, completely embarrassed, and meekly hands him the prized banana. He grabs the fruit and storms off.

From what we can tell, my wife had inadvertently stolen the man’s banana. We joked that perhaps he hates life and his job, and the only thing keeping him going is the thought of that banana on his lunch break- who knows? Later, when he was handing out the snack before landing, my wife noticed that her box had a little tear in the corner. She didn’t eat it, fearing the vengeful banana lover may have contaminated her food with god knows what. I have to admit, it was suspect. As we strolled about Spain, we couldn’t help but chuckle every time we saw the fruit, and probably will for some time. If you remember from my Munich epic, we tend to get into trouble with life’s minor officials, though this time, we didn’t get a fine. Thankfully, it only gave us a red face and story, so all is good.

We arrived in Madrid in the early morning, about four hours before our train to Seville. We had an excellent breakfast with some much-needed coffee and then explored the neighborhood we would stay in at the end of our trip. It was Sunday, which was market day in Madrid. It is known as El Rastro, and the squares fill with thousands of vendors that stretch on for miles. We didn’t know about this little gem then; it was a happy accident that gave us plenty to do while we waited. It was hard to leave, but we had a train to catch.

Seville is the warmest city in continental Europe. Generally, its average high in December is 62 degrees Fahrenheit. It’s not balmy but typically warmer than Boston and perfect for travel. But as we watched the weather as our departure date approached, we realized we might need our umbrellas and an extra layer. It rained for at least some part of the day, six of the seven days we were there. Mostly, it was a light, drizzly mist, making the umbrella pretty much useless and leaving our pants and shoes soaked by the end of the day. The temperature also stayed in the 50s until the last few days in the city. It wasn’t ideal, nor the warmth our New England bones craved, but we didn’t let it damper our enthusiasm or resolve to see as much of Seville as possible.

We crisscrossed the city, exploring every street we stumbled upon- large or small, busy or quiet as you never knew where you would end up. By our last day, we stopped finding new streets and realized we had seen just about all of the old town. The sites of Seville are impressive, especially the cathedral (the largest Gothic cathedral in the world), but it’s Seville’s life that makes it a special place. This is tapas country, and we were amazed by the number of restaurants. Almost every ally, no matter how dark and dreary, has a restaurant, cafe, or bar full of people enjoying life. We just happened to be in the city during Spain’s Constitution Day and the celebration of the Immaculate Conception (not planned), which added to the festive feel. Although the public holidays closed some stores and sites and added some hiccups to our plans (always check local holidays before you travel), they produced some flamenco street performances and pop-up puppet shows, which added magic to our trip. My wife planned our itinerary well, and although we had an absolute ball, it felt like time to move on when we hopped on the train to Cordoba.

We only spent the better part of a day in Cordoba, but it proved to be enough time to see the major sites and get a sense of the city. My wife and I are efficient, speedy travelers who pack light and walk fast. I stress the word walk, as it is the best way to see a city and get a sense of its pulse (hence the statement about 200+ miles of walking above- not an exaggeration). We stuck our backpacks in a locker at the bus station (next to the train station) and took off on our mission to see as much Corboba as possible in five hours. We will probably return someday to conduct a more thorough examination, but Cordoba was small and quiet after the bustle of Seville. We took fantastic pictures (especially of its Roman bridge), had a great meal in a local tavern on the hill, where we were the only tourists, and completed two loops of the old town. We bought our magnet to add to the conquests that cover our refrigerator and huffed it back to the train station for an hour-long journey to Malaga.

It is in Malaga that our trip shined, both literally and metaphorically. The city is almost always warm and is sunny 300 days a year. A large cathedral, medieval palace, and citadel dominate the old town, and the city’s proximity to the coast makes it a great place to stroll the beach and get some fresh seafood (especially sardines roasted over an open fire). We arrived in the late afternoon after a long day in Cordoba. The walk from the train station to our accommodations was about a half hour under the burden of our heavy packs. We were tired and sore when we got to our rented apartment but instantly knew we had found a special place. My wife and I have traveled to some extraordinary places in the last twenty years, but they all felt like visits. In Malaga, it was like we were home. The apartment overlooked the harbor with views of the cathedral and the castle I mentioned above, now warmly lit. The location was quiet but only five minutes from the action. As we settled into our new home, the sun sank into a bath of orange and red hues, and the seabird silhouettes danced across the pallet. We opened the large windows and let the warm breezes from Africa embrace our souls. It was magic.

The next day, the adventure continued but with a bumpy start. We were woken by voices over loudspeakers at about 7 AM (which is very early for Spain) and had no idea what was happening. I looked outside and saw police officers tapping off the road with yellow caution tape. We had seen some protests in Seville, one for the conflict in Isreal and another by some sort of bank union. They didn’t seem too dangerous, though the police presence in riot gear indicated it could get rowdy. My wife and I were in Hong Kong during the peak of those protests- so it wasn’t too concerning to us, but what we heard and saw now seemed serious, and our imaginations went wild. Flashbacks of tear gas and general panic spurred to life. Hong Kong got a little dicey towards the end of our stay, and we almost didn’t make it out. We were worried it was happening again. Soon, more police were zipping around on motorcycles, and crowds were forming. We started checking the internet and breathed a sigh of relief. Unbennounced to us, our journey to the city corresponded with the Generali Malaga, an annual marathon of 10,000+ runners, and our apartment happened to be right on the route.

Now, I never really understood the appeal of watching a marathon, and we both weren’t interested in wasting our precious time in Malaga watching thousands of people in obvious agony as they struggled through the 43.2-kilometer run. We had a city to explore. Still, it added energy, and the corresponding food stalls and vendors made for entertaining experiences, allowing us to do some late Christmas shopping and purchase local delicacies for our dinner. But that was for later. The day was sunny and warm, and we would capitalize on the nice weather by exploring the palace and castle. At 5.50 Euros for admission to both sites, it is the best deal we have found in Europe, and I highly recommend it. The complexes are extensive and varied, with great history, and the views of the city, harbor, ocean, and surrounding mountains from the many walls and towers are unparalleled. The flowers were still in bloom, and the parrots and other birds were vocal as they pecked at the fruit of the pomegranate trees.

As we entered the palace complex hand-in-hand, all was right with the world. We were there early and had the palace mostly to ourselves with the marathon going on. Excited, we hopped onto the first wall that led up to a tower and its obviously phenomenal view of the cathedral. Everything changed in an instant. In true sitcom fashion, my wife said something like, “Be careful.” I turned back to say not to worry, and when I turned around to go up the steps again- WAM! I hit my head on the low arch of the tower. My mouth flooded with a metallic tang- not a good sign when hitting your head.

My wife instantly knew something was wrong from the hallow melon clunk alone, but when I turned and removed my hat, she freaked out. What I thought was sweat flowing down my brow was, in fact, blood, and lots of it. There are a lot of blood vessels in your scalp, and even a little wound bleeds profusely. I put my hand to my head, and it came away covered. I didn’t know how bad it was, but from the shock of the impact, the blood, and my distraught wife, I was concerned. I instantly felt nauseous, and my world began to spin. I applied pressure with some tissues and sat against the wall before I fell. I asked my wife to take a picture of the wound, fearing I had scalped myself. Luckily, it wasn’t as bad as I thought- about an inch-long gash at my hairline and a sizeable swelling egg. It was a solid hit, probably the worst in my life, but my reaction was more psychological than a medical emergency. I probably would have shaken it off and moved on if I was alone, but my wife’s response freaked me out. I tried to calm her while also taking a breath myself.

My heart rate slowed, and so did the bleeding. After a minute or two, it stopped to an ooze. Of course, we had forgotten our little first aid kit in the room, but I had an old bandaid in my wallet. It was in rough shape, but luckily, it was one of the good Chinese ones we always pick up while in the country, soaked with antiseptic. The bandaid did the trick with the help of my hat’s compression, and we continued our day, though we were much more careful of our steps. Us Tirrells are tall and have big heads, so we’re no novices to head wounds, but this one was a doozy and caused me some discomfort for the next few days. Luckily, all those blood vessels mean that head wounds also heal quickly, and it is barely noticeable now- so much for a battle scar and the accompanying bragging rights.

I wish I could say that was the end of my health issues on this trip. I don’t know if it was the shock of the head wound or the general exertion of our journey (we didn’t sleep well those days either), but my throat began to get scratchy the very next day. At first, it felt like a sinus infection. Considering the pace of our travel, the changing environments, and all the people we were interacting with (Spain was surprisingly busy), I wasn’t surprised I felt a bit run down. However, it kept getting worse until my throat hurt so much I could barely swallow. It felt like strep, which is not a conclusion you want to reach when you are in a different country and out of your health insurance coverage area. In Malaga, I soldiered on and tried not to let it ruin our time. I didn’t let my wife know how crappy I felt or that I was running a low fever, as I didn’t want her to worry. We finished our time in Malaga, realizing we had probably found where we would retire, and returned to Madrid for our last three days.

The first day in Madrid was tough. I woke up unable to speak and could no longer keep my crappy state secret from my wife. Luckily, the pain was subsiding, especially during the day (it came back at night), so I knew I was on the mend, but my complete inability to speak was still concerning. The infection had spread to my larynx. I never had laryngitis before, but you learn quickly the importance of verbal communication. I wasn’t just hoarse. I couldn’t speak- at all. My wife doesn’t know a word of Spanish. I wouldn’t say mine is good, but I know enough to get by. My voice was now out for the count, which made things difficult. But what was worse was that we were traveling in a new and strange place. I couldn’t call her over if I saw something neat or if we got separated in a crowd. Worse, I couldn’t call for help if I were in trouble or tell my wife to watch out if a car was barreling down a narrow ally, as they often do in Europe (made worse by the prevalence of silent electric vehicles). It was an uncomfortable place to be.

Between the two of us, we managed to communicate my problem to a pharmacist, and she gave me some medicine, which seemed to help soothe my throat- though my voice is still in rough shape. Anyway, we carried on and explored Madrid. It had only been a year since we had been in the city, and it was like we had never left. Everything was still fresh in our minds, and because we knew our way around, we covered a lot of ground in those three days- seeing all we had seen before and many key attractions we missed. Madrid is a huge city, and it would probably take a week more to see everything, but we were happy with our progress. Our conclusions remained the same. Madrid is a large, diverse, and gritty city. It’s a nice place to visit, but not a place we would ever want to live.

Well, that was our vacation. We had some bumps, but it added to the adventure and, more importantly, the memories. If it were all sunshine and tapas, it would fade- but juxtaposed against banana maniacs, head wounds, and illness, it will be with us forever. Ultimately, it solidified what we had suspected the first time we visited Spain. Someday, it would be our home. The world is mercurial, and who knows if our best-laid plans will happen, but for now, it gives us a dream and something to look forward to.

Cheers!