Chapter 3

Day 21, Córdoba. On Saturday I travelled 924 kilometres into a new unfamiliar world. The train took me through cloudy mountain tops and my old reliable travelling companion, the monstrous hangover, kept me good company for the best part of the journey. The landscape flattened but the clouds didn’t part until I got to down to Andalucía. I am spending a short while in a town which, sheltering from the heat,  looks in on itself and doesn’t easily reveal its secrets to a stranger. Looking the outside the houses of the old Jewish quarter appear impenetrable but if you´re lucky enough to be invited inside, you will find not only amazingly intoxicating wine but also intricately tiled beautiful patios, or inner courtyards, with a large orange tree in the middle, creating a natural shade against the elements. Which do get rather harsh here. They call it the frying pan of Spain for a reason. My Nordic physique isn´t used to it yet, so after some quick morning ventures outside, I have been spending the middle part of the day semi-horizontally positioned on the roof terrace of my hostel, semi-conscious, chatting with other travellers and drinking copious amounts of water and tea made from freshly picked mint while watching the heat rise from the rooftops. I have no idea what the Andalucians are like.

After several years of spending the majority of my time living and socialising mainly with men, I have been finding the recent couple of weeks of continuous female company interesting, even challenging. Sharing a flat with the firecracker of a lady in San Sebastian, and talking about very personal subjects with a stranger until the early hours of the morning was enlightening, safe and comfortable. Going to an incredible tacky Latin dance lesson and afterwards getting drunk with four other women was a new and an enjoyable experience. Sitting on the beach watching the sunset with this grown-up group of strong individuals, I realised that I had been missing that kind of contact. After coming to Córdoba and sleeping in the same room with four other females, while booking my accommodation for the next city, I made a firm decision to pay that little bit more to have my privacy back again. The communal salad we made was random and interesting and so were the experiences we shared. And surely I will have to the dorm thing again but for now, while I’m still quite far away from hitting the overdraft, I want to sleep when I want to sleep and most importantly, on my own.

Level of Spanish: revision and practice are in high demand. Once I separate myself from the English-speaking travellers, I plan to put into action what I’ve learned in these three weeks. Getting used to the accent in this part of the country will also take some time.  The northern sound became familiar and after a quick poll outside a bar on my last night in San Sebastian, I can state as a fact that 66 percent of Basque men think that slugs have tongues. Small ones, but tongues nevertheless.