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Chapter 7:

Granada to Madrid

By Kelsi

February 8^th, 2015

We woke early. The sun had lifted the lid on the night sky and the horizon was illuminated with the bright colors of morning.

We quickly gathered the few things that we hadn’t packed the night before (toothbrushes, maps, and the clothes we’d slept in), and placed Dana’s keys as instructed on the wooden shelf in the main room that we’d treated as Jeff’s bedroom. I paused. Once we closed the door, we wouldn’t be able to get back in. This thought made me both sad and anxious.

When we swung the door closed behind us, it hesitated on the unlevel doorframe, as if giving us a second chance. “Are you sure?” With a final quick pull from Jeff, it released with a loud and finalizing slam.

We tip-toed down the creaking stairs in the open spiral stairwell that always smelled like cats (we had yet to see one, by the way). And as we descended the few flights, we made sure to avoid the step with the large and jagged chip in its orange, terra-cotta edge; over our few days here we had subconsciously memorized its place in the mound of stairs – even in the darkness. The darkness made it seem like we were sneaking away like bandits in the middle of the night (8am)… at least it felt that way until we reached the front door.

We pulled. No budge.

We pushed. Nothing.

We looked at each other. What’s going on? When we first arrived at Dana’s, we couldn’t get in. And now that we were trying to leave, we couldn’t get out. It was a cosmic, Granada joke. But we were on a time schedule, and we definitely hadn’t planned for this.

We had never ventured lower than the entrance (there had not been a need), but I went down there to find another possible exit. Nope. Nothing but mops, spiderwebs, and thicker darkness.

When we first arrived and walked through this uncooperative front door, Dana had quickly dashed into another apartment right across from the main entrance in order to grab our keys. We believed this was where she was staying while we rented the space above. Jeff walked up the three steps to the split level second floor to knock and ask for help while I continued to uselessly jiggle the handle and inspect the lock (I’m so helpful).

A solid 15 seconds after he knocked, and as our spirits steadily deflated and we looked at each other with raised eyebrows, a young woman (who was definitely not Dana) cracked open the door and peeked through the dangling chain. Her hair in a wild black tangle and eyes dark with sleep silently (and clearly) admitted that we had woken her. “La puerta…” Jeff gestured to the door behind him and the woman’s face was gone. Half a moment later the front door buzzed and her eyes reappeared. When I successfully pulled the door open, she was gone again – only this time accompanied by the thud of her door and rattle of its chain.

Out we went. And down the empty, stone pathways we had become so accustomed to during our time here.

As sad as I was to be leaving this historically-rich and deeply-charismatic city, I was also energized by the next challenge before us: Madrid.

Chapter 7:

We walked down Zafra to Plaza Nueva one last time, the square mostly vacant, and began our much-practiced trek to the train station. It took about as long as we had expected, even with our strange door hang-up.

Our walk was a quiet one. It was a Saturday, so most people were tucked away in their homes preparing breakfast or still fast asleep… unless, of course, they were at the Granada train station.

When we were here earlier in the week to arrange our tickets, the station had been almost completely deserted, but what had once been an open space was now filled and buzzing like a hive.

It was difficult to tell (or hear) if the swarm was for our train or not, so we asked an employee in a neon vest where we should go. We learned that only a single train came in at a time here, so this mass of people was also headed northward towards Madrid.

As we waited in line, Jeff filled out our mandatory travel sheet from EuRail and soon we were seated in the correct seats (and eventually the correct train car… oops).

As we got situated I realized this was the first time I’d been on a train in going on five years.

Jeff almost immediately dove into his Tolkien book, while I flipped through my journal to the next blank page. As the train began moving, I took advantage of the window seat and watched Granada slowly fade away.

Chapter 7:

As we traveled, I wrote.

I wrote, reminisced, and reflected on all of the things we had seen so far, and how our destinations were getting bigger and bigger…

Nerja was a perfect place for us to begin. It was a quiet, relaxing town where we could get used to this new country… and literally get our feet wet in Andalucía with the Mediterranean Sea.

And though our entrance into Granada was a rocky one, we both left with a fondness for the city and its ancient dust now swirled in our lungs.

Both of these places had become a part of us. Absorbed into our bodies and now winding around our veins like the tree roots speeding by the smudged windows of the train.

© 2026 Kelsi

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