Why I Always Use a Seatbelt on The Bus

 
Taking the bus is extremely common in Spain. It's one of the cheapest forms of transportation for vacations, or when working in a pueblo while living in a bigger city. Sure, there's Blablacar, which I used to use when travelling but now I try to avoid it. I'll explain why, but first, a question: when you take the bus, do you buckle up?
  I ask because several days per week, I take the bus from Jaén to a pueblo 20 minutes down the highway. And I seem to be the only one who buckles up. For as long as I can remember, I've always done it. I recall two years ago that a woman boarded my bus and placed her toddler in the seat next to me and sat in the seat across the aisle. In Spanish, I asked the child, "Do you want your seatbelt?" to which she nodded no. Minutes into the trip, the bus braked suddenly, and the mom threw her arm across to try to hold her daughter in her seat, but several seconds too late. The braking was too sudden for anyone to react quickly enough. Only after that incident did she buckle up her child. The bus filled with the sounds of clicks, as other travellers did the same.
  Last Christmas, a seatbelt saved my life. I was in an extremely serious highway accident, in which the car I was in flipped several times across the road. During the flipping, the extremely large suitcases that were beside me in the backseat, with almost all of the items in the car, went flying out the windows. All of the glass was smashed, of course. When the car came to a stop, it was sitting on its roof and we were suspended upside-down by our seatbelts. Myself and the driver were extremely lucky; we crawled out with hardly any physical injuries. But our friend, who was sitting in front of me, died. Everytime I think about that night, I realize how lucky I was. 'What ifs' play across my mind, such as "What if I'd unclicked my belt, for just a second? For example, to remove my coat?" I recall times when I was young, removing my belt so I could crawl into the backseat and grab a snack or CDs, while speeding along the highway. So foolish.
  Having had healing and enough time, I'm now able to sit in the work carpool without feeling anxious during the 20-minute highway journey. I'm still cautious though, and haven't used Blablacar since the accident. A friend told me that years ago, the car he was in broke down, and when the Blablacar passengers asked the driver to call a tow truck, he said, "I don't have insurance." Although I pay more and spend more time taking the trains and buses, I prefer that to the risk of unskilled / uninsured drivers.
  I hope my story reminds people to use seatbelts, even when it's not the norm, such as on buses. It's a stupidly simple action, but it can change your life.

Lisbon: an Architectural Wonder

I fell in love a couple of weeks ago. She's older, but with lots of character. Sweet, too.

I'm referring to Lisbon. I literally couldn't walk one block without coming across an amazing facade of a building, or a cool store, or a museum, or... there was way too much to see in only a few days. With the sweetness, I'm referring to the amazing Portuguese desserts. I've said it before: Spain is lacking in baked goods. Portugal rules.

San Geronimo

After my last visit to Portugal, I decided to learn a few words before arriving. I'm not sure if it's because my Spanish fluency is extremely high, but I could slightly understand what the Lisbon people were saying to each other. Their level of English and Spanish is high too, so speaking wasn't too difficult.

Mercado da Ribeira, with 30 food stalls

When I left my hostel, which was located in a neighborhood so sketchy [Intendente] that a policeman told me it problematic, it would take me forever to meet my friends because I had to stop constantly and admire something: a building, pastry display, a cute Portuguese man... taking the symbolic tram once in a while helped me manage the hills and daytime heat. At night, it was so cool I had to put on pants and a sweater.

Fado in the street

Things I discovered:

• bring your student card. My residency visa states I'm a student, and it garnered me half-price admission to museums and monuments.
• Compare prices. During a hot climb to the castle of Sao Jorge, I popped into a fancy cafe called Belmonte for a juice. I almost paid 2E, but I didn't have change, so I waited until I'd bought my castle ticket and popped into Cafe Sao Jorge, where a juice cost 1.20E. F*** you, Belmonte.
• Don't wear heels or shoes with a slippery sole. There wasn't a single piece of sidewalk in Lisbon that wasn't covered in dangerous, neck-breaking tiles. After a few close calls, I wore my ugly, but safe, suede boots.
• If you thought Spain's eating and store schedules are weird, wait until you get to Lisbon: the stores open early but shut early, as in 8 p.m. Some monuments close at 6 p.m. Kitchens close at 11 p.m.

There were so many places I didn't see, that I've already started planning my next trip to see my lover; Lisbon, te quiero, y nos vemos pronto.

How Water Almost Washed Out Córdoba

For the past three weeks, due to a broken washing machine, I have washed clothes by hand. My landlord doesn't understand the need to wash sweaty clothing during a summer of daily temperatures hitting 40 – 50 degrees Celsius, so his search for a replacement has been slow, to say the least. When technicians finally came to fix the old one, I felt relieved, until there was a problem cutting the water. Due to my favorite friend, Mr. Language Barrier, I didn't understand what was involved in turning off the water to my flat. The techs very quickly, in Spanish, said “Youneedtogetaplumberorsomeonewithakeytoturnitoffdownstairsinthewaterroom.” I had no idea what they were talking about, as I'd never done it before. They left, water dripping under the sink where they'd disconnected the water hose. “But I'm leaving for Córdoba in a few hours,” I said.

“Have a nice trip,” said the tech, and he slammed the front door closed.

I called my landlord, who was not in town. He very quickly, in Spanish, said “Youneedtogetthekeytoopenthewaterroomdownstairsandturnoffthewatertoyourflat.” This key, which I didn't have, involved knocking on several neighbours' doors, finding no one home, and having to walk all the way to one neighbour's workplace in order to get her key. “When are you leaving for Córdoba?” my landlord asked, as I huffed back to my flat.

“At 1 p.m.”

“It's only 11:30 a.m., there's plenty of time,” he assured me. Uh, do you know what country we're living in? I thought. 1.5 hours is NOT enough time to deal with this problem.

Sure enough, I was right. By the time I struggled to turn off the water, waited for my landlord's relative to come and try to turn off the water as well, and cleaned up the mess from the leak in my flat, I had missed my window for the Blablacar. I ended up having to settle for a bus 3 hours later. I called my travel buddy and begged him to meet me for a mandatory alcoholic drink.

As the wine settled into my veins and relaxed me, I excitedly looked forward to forgetting the catastrophic morning and hearing great music at the Guitar Festival of Córdoba. The concert of the night: Chicuelo, Santiago Lara, and Alfredo Lagos. Three absolutely talented guitarists. It was a mesmerizing evening, watching their fingers fly over the strings.

We stayed at the very comfortable, centrally-located Hotel González overnight, and made the most of the next day: a visit to the Mezquita, a climb up the Cathedral tower, an indulgent visit to a microbrewery, and a fabulous meal of salmorejo Cordobese and THE BEST CROQUETAS I've ever eaten, at Casa Pepe. We survived the intense heat by walking in the shade, always having a granizado or cold water in hand, and popping into every air-conditioned shop that was open on a Sunday.

Córdoba's antique centre requires, at minimum, a full day. Every turn you make, you stumble across a unique restaurant, or shop, or historic site. This was my third visit and I realized that there were still more hidden spots that I had no time to see. I'll be visiting Córdoba again, hopefully this time without a flood.

How Almería Beats Jaén

I'd been to Almería before, back in 2005 when I came to Spain for my first European vacation. I stayed at an eco-village and had one of the most wonderful experiences of my life. The Spanish bug bit me and lo and behold, I returned eight years later.

For this past May long weekend, I switched to a beachy vacation with good friends from Madrid. We met in our hotel in the city center, located in a cute barrio full of shops and fantastic restaurants. Every day, we got up early and caught a bus to the coast. San José was our first stop. The beach in the village was small, but a co-worker was kind enough to give us a lift in the afternoon to Genovese and Monsul, where a famous scene from Indiana Jones, featuring Sean Connery, was shot. It's said that Spielberg actually stayed at one of the hotels in San José. The village was very cute and had lovely restaurants. If you want a tranquil vacation, this is a good place to stay.

The next day, we got up again bright and early to go to Cabo de Gata. We arrived to find miles of beach, and insane wind. Within an hour though, it died down and we were free to enjoy scorching sun and cooling water, in what felt like a very private setting. There's so much space that people go off into their own corners and it feels like there's no one around. We "kept busy" by collecting shells, swimming, and sleeping.

At night, we hit nearby restaurants and tapas-hopped. Sorry Jaén, but Almería's got you beat. Drinks cost slightly more, but the quality of the seafood-rich tapas were amazing. Muy buenas pintas.

Our vacation was so relaxing and fantastic, that already we have started talking about coming back to do it all over again.