Monday, August 21st: I think it's that way

We packed up our things once-again and left the Korean-run Pension VeraCruz. A Pension is something between a 1-star hotel and a hostal (basically anything goes). We didn't think twice about stealing their filthy stained towels, we had to think twice about touching them.

We loaded everything back into our little rent-a-cart and went to the bazaar to haggle prices. This puts Angelina in a fierce mood. The gullible Minnesotan however never knows better and trusts they're surely cutting me a deal. I was told to go wait outside;-)

Angelina emerges successful; arms quivering from all the booty won in the bout. This booty will be making it's way to Minnesota soon.

We ate strange-looking Morroccan food last night...not feeling so well...we'd better just get on the road to Cordoba.

The trip reminded me of the game Oregon Trail. We bartered for goods. The overloaded hatchback had a hard time making it up some hills and we thought we'd have to purge weight. Little Timmy (me) caught yellow fever and had to be buried by the trailside. Or so I hoped. Aches and fever set in as I tried to maneuver the manual transmission through the mountainous 2-lane road.

From this manmade precipice within the Alhambra it doens't appear that it would be too hard to get out of this small city. Unfortunately Spain didn't adapt to the automobile well. Any town you enter you must expect to get lost. There are no street signs. If you do see one, chances are the street has multiple names anyway. There are no straight roads, no grid, no rationality. There are plenty of law-less roundabouts which are like running a gauntlet. Like Homer says, "How do I get off this thing?" I never really figured it out, just closed my eyes and crossed my fingers.

It took an hour to get out of this town.