A Rocky Start

The Uber driver barely looks at us—he utters a stiff “hola” as the trunk pops open like an afterthought. He hastily tosses our bags in the back, no small talk. Just a slam of the trunk and the hum of the engine as we pull away from the train station in Granada.

One hand on the wheel, the other gripping his phone, he steers through the streets while talking loudly in Spanish to someone on the line. A second phone is mounted to his dash, displaying the Uber directions, but he barely glances at it. I watch our dot inch forward on the map, following the route toward Albaicín, one of the oldest neighborhoods in Granada where our airbnb awaits.

Despite the slow pace, every jolt rattles through the car, the shocks seemingly useless against the relentless cobblestones. My teeth clench as we lurch over what feels like a set of stairs, the uneven surface turning even a gentle incline into an ordeal.

At least the streets here are wider than the harrowing, death-trap alleys of Sevilla.

Jeremy and I relax slightly, speaking in hushed voices as we take in our first glimpses of whitewashed buildings with terracotta roofs. We pass small cafés, bazaars overflowing with textiles and leather goods, the city humming with life.

Then Jeremy shifts beside me. His voice is low, careful. "He's not following the directions."

My stomach tightens. I flick my gaze between the Uber GPS and my phone. Rerouting… rerouting… rerouting. Every turn ignored. We aren’t getting closer. We’re moving away. My heart beats faster in my chest.

Did I enter the wrong address?

I double-check the Airbnb details. No. It’s right.

In my broken Spanish, I ask the driver why he isn’t following the Uber directions.

He waves a hand dismissively, his voice clipped and rapid, as if annoyed I even questioned him. Something about the directions being wrong. Something about a friend guiding him instead. Or at least, I think that’s what he said. I’m not sure, and that uncertainty gnaws at me. Jeremy and I exchange nervous glances.

The city falls away behind us as we climb higher and higher. Normally, I’d soak in the view, but all I see is how far we’ve strayed from where we’re supposed to be. The streets below are a tangled maze, and we’re lost somewhere above them.

The driver stops. He gestures vaguely down a narrow, twisting street. “Es abajo allá.” It’s down there.

Before I can even protest, he starts tallying up the tip—a charge not included in Uber’s fare due to Spanish law.

He yanks our bags from the trunk, setting them down with a heavy thud onto the jagged cobblestones. Then, without another word, he disappears, his car bouncing away over the uneven stones, leaving us completely disoriented.

We pull off to the side of the road and review the map. Jeremy mutters a curse under his breath. We’re a full kilometer away from our Airbnb. Anger bubbles up on his face and adds an edge to his voice as he sets a course on his phone to navigate to our true destination.

The only thing we can do now is walk.

Jeremy heaves his heavy duffel over his shoulder and gets started before i’m ready. I hang my head and drag my suitcase behind me in silence, its wheels clattering so loudly over the ancient cobblestones that it echoes down the narrow street.

The streets of Albaicín aren’t just cobbled—they’re centuries old, their stones embedded on their sides rather than their faces, creating a uniquely uneven, brutal surface to walk on.

Five minutes in, my arm screams in protest from the constant vibrations, my suitcase rattling like a broken shopping cart. I’m hot, exhausted, and ready to drop my bags when we finally reach our Airbnb.

We step into the vacant, dimly lit lobby, searching for any sign of life. After everything it took to get here, my frame slumps in relief—only to find no one waiting for us. I tap a small bell sitting on a table and wait for a response. Nothing. I call up the stairs, my voice echoing through the multi-story atrium, assuming the maid is cleaning somewhere inside. Silence. Frustration twists in my chest. Our host had promised someone would be here. But there’s no one. Just us, stranded in the stillness, waiting for an answer that wasn’t coming.

I slump onto my suitcase, frustration boiling as I stare at my phone, waiting for a response from our host. A small fountain trickles nearby, the sound mocking my impatience.

Nothing. No response.

We have no choice but to either wait or find some place to stash our luggage.

I quickly locate a luggage storage 5 blocks away and I nearly cry at the thought of rolling my bag another meter over this cursed stone. Instead, I carry my luggage down the hill, switching arms every few minutes. Jeremy sees me struggling and offers to help, but I refuse until we get to almost the very bottom.

Finally, inside the luggage shop, our luck turns. The staff is kind, the fee is cheap, and with our hands finally free, we make a new plan: find a pub, get a drink, and wait it out.

We stumble upon one just a block away and, despite the crowd, manage to snag a table. A round of drinks. A plate of French fries and meatballs. Slowly, our moods begin to soften.

And then—finally—our host replies.

We can check in whenever we’re ready.

Relief washes over me. Then, as the bill arrives, a final surprise: $12 for everything.

Turns out, the tapas were free—a Spanish tradition when you order alcohol.

Jeremy and I exchange looks, a laugh bubbling up between us. After the day we’ve had, this feels like a win.

A room with a view
We walk back through the neighborhood, past markets and souvenir shops that spill out into narrow alleys, forming a bazaar like atmosphere. Textiles, leather goods, ornate dresses, and pomagranate sculptures adorn every wall, every inch of exposed vertical space.

We arrive and Eduardo, our host, greets us coming down the stairs with tools in his hands and dirt on his clothes. “Can you wait just a few minutes more? I need to fix something”. He asks.

“Sure,” we reply, and sit down on the couch in the lobby.

We wait for five minutes until Eduardo finally comes back. He motions for us to follow and leads us up a narrow staircase, the wooden steps creaking beneath our feet. When we reach the second floor, and the door to our suite is already open.

The hallway stretches before us ending at the bathroom. To the right, double doors open to our apartment. It’s small but cozy. A little couch and a well-worn armchair sit in the center of the room, as if waiting for us to take a seat. To the left, the kitchen, with tiled flooring and open shelves, and to the right, a Queen-sized bed—modern and comfortable looking, inviting and ready.

Eduardo leads me to the bathroom, already shaking his head. "Of course," I think, barely able to suppress a tired laugh.

He points at the shower door track, explaining—half in Spanish, half in English—that the previous tenant broke it earlier this morning. Apparently, he’s been trying to fix himself but hasn’t gotten anywhere. At this point, I’m too tired to feel annoyed. It’s almost comical how everything has gone wrong today.

Of course the shower doesn’t work. Why wouldn’t it?

Jeremy and I exchange a look. I don’t have the energy to process it anymore. I just want to relax.

Eduardo, sensing our exhaustion, quickly hands me a key to the suite next door. "You can shower there in the morning," he says. "Someone will come fix your door first thing."

I nod, barely hearing him. “Thank you,” I mutter, attempting my best smile as he exits. As soon as the door clicks shut behind him, I let out a long sigh. Jeremy makes for the bathroom, as I drop my bags.

I walk over to the window just as the golden hour begins, casting a warm, molten glow. Across the way, the sun turns the façade of a building into a fiery orange. Moments later, the light creeps across the hillside and spills over the Alhambra, turning its ancient walls a deep, dusky rose. A bell tolls in the distance, its sound hanging in the warm evening air, while birds swirl in dark silhouettes against the sky.

Totally worth it, I think to myself. Everything was for this view. To watch the colors shift across the rooftops and watch the shadows deepen.