Siestas and Survival in Spain

In an effort to assimilate in Granada, I took a Spanish siesta this afternoon. My little bed at the Hostel Los Montes was the only place for me at that hour. Sleep eluded me again last night as I excitedly awaited a visit to La Alhambra, the gorgeous Moorish palace. It far exceeded my expectations. Ferdinand and Isabella lived there for a number of years and left the structures created by Muslims largely intact. (Speaking of Ferdinand and Isabella, I wish they were still reigning. Perhaps they could fund my explorations as well.) Jewish and Christian works are also prominent: it was touching to see these religions existing in tandem. The beauty of the three sections (Generalife, Alcabaza, Nasrid Palace) was captivating. Everyone needs to see the beautiful mosaics and intricate carvings in person someday.

It has been ten days since I left the U.K. and English as the primary language. Gestures, broken French and Spanish have proven to be effective. However, I've noticed this dichotomy emerging. In one sense, I feel open to everything - my heart on my sleeve as never before. I've wandered around Granada, blissed out and happy. The sunrise has never been more beautiful. However, in another sense, I feel my instincts for self-protection and survival increasing. Two similar situations prompted me to be vigilant in a way that's necessary, but unpleasant. As I waited in the Madrid train station, a seemingly nice old man had a 'conversation' about my trip 'el monde' (around the world) and around spain. He walked me to my train and helped me put my rucksack on the high shelf. Then, he stayed and stayed. I repeatedly thanked him and said 'adios.' He kissed me on each cheek several times (as Europeans do, which I adore). However, it did not feel appropriate when he went for my mouth a few times. No one has ever seen me squirm so much! I asked him to leave, which he did only when the announcement about the train's departure came. I wanted to believe that he was just a generous old man, but it was difficult given the circumstances. The following day, I went into a little shop to look at postcards and I think the owner asked me out. He said to meet him at his shop at 8:30 that night and he would be my friend in Granada. This man (my age) only kissed my cheeks, but there was no chance of my return. I could not tell if they were both friendly, infatuated or perverse. An openness to new experiences is not always a good thing. Clearly, not a second of this trip has been dull.