Scenery seen through
A glass, it seems, is not so
Nice as when on bikes.
An early start put us at the ferry terminal for sunrise. It was too damn hot to sleep in our pension room, anyway; even with the windows open to catch the breeze and all the sheets and covers thrown at our feet, it was blistering. Morocco tried its best to wring all our dirhams out of us before we left--the man at who pointed us where to wait with our bikes demanded a tip for his services (his job, I might add), the man who served us tea tried to shortchange us... anyway, we were all relieved to get on the boat and head back towards a culture we understand better.
The area of Spain containing Tarifa is known as Costa Brava, and there are kite- and windsurfing competitions and schools all year round. The waves whip up into a choppy foam, which lends itself well to these sorts of activities. It does not, however, lend itself well to biking. Due to the sail-like qualities of our panniers, we actually wound up walking our bikes up some of the hills towards the wind turbines dutifully spinning at the top. It was a long, excessively difficult climb out of Tarifa, and even the last few kilometres downhill into Algeciras were not easy; we couldn't even coast for the blusteriness.
It was a relief to finish. Although it was quite a short (distance-wise) ride, it was actually one of our most difficult biking days. Not quite at the level of the Pyrenees crossing, but...
In Algeciras, we headed straight to the local bus station. Thus far, we've had more luck on busses than on trains with our bikes, but that wasn't the case here. The woman at the bus counter informed us that all the busses heading towards Granada were booked full, and that there probably wouldn't be room for our bikes if we managed to get tickets, anyway. Unhelpful.
The train station was better. We got a train heading to Granada which was faster, cheaper, and roomier than the bus. Plus, the train wound up into the mountains behind Algeciras, instead of taking the coastal highway. Mo' scenery = mo' betta.
We ate a circular lunch (after encountering a large, donut-shaped bread we decided that everything we ate at lunch should match it in that amusing quality), attempted to catch up on writing blog posts (I promise we get around to writing these things!!), and hopped on the train to Granada. It was a really gorgeous 5-hour ride that passed areas we were surprised to see settled. Life takes hold in the strangest places.
Javier met us at the train station in Granada and led us to his parents' house nearby. We found an acceptable hostel and checked in, then the four of us went out for beer and tapas. The thing about tapas: in Spain, they come with the drinks. Free. You don't need to go to a "tapas bar" and pay 3€ for a tiny plate of tiny food. And the tapas are good: the local favourite is jamón serrano, which is ham that has been salt-cured and buried and never cooked, served with fresh melon. It's quite a treat, and totally not available in the US due to its obvious non-adherence to health and safety regulations.
It was a good day, all except for that biking bit. AND I AM SUPER EXCITED ABOUT SEEING THE ALHAMBRA TOMORROW DID I MENTION THAT.