Leaving Granada

The alarm woke us at an ungodly hour, but not before Karl's phone rang and received messages and emails throughout the night at a volume to suit his deafness on a building site. ie. the sound waves were so intense they pushed us out of our beds. This restlessness was further exacerbated by Karl rolling around all night, on our wooden plank and 44 gallon drum sounding bed. I kid you not, a really old spring mattress can deteriorate to such a point that rolling around sounds like a marching band.

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Karl had done some research and discovered it was a 40 minute drive to the airport. So. We left the apartment at 7am and walked through the silent streets, hopng to Dear God, there was a taxi at the rank. The buses hadn't started running yet. You can't book taxis in Granada, but in the absence of life on the streets, do they just sit around waiting for things to eventually happen? The answer is yes. But they are not your average driver. Ours stepped straight out of Fat Pizza. 

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Our drive to the airport revolved around some fully sick conversations on his mobile phone and a decent dose of Spanish techno. I was pumped for a 40 minute session of this, but we arrived at the airport in a swift 12 minutes. I don't think it was just his driving skills, I think Karl's research skills may have also had something to do with it. I was happy to have a leisurely breakfast whilst we waited, and watch Karl and Matisse pose for a series of Japanese tourist photographs. 

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We boarded the plane on the tarmac, with the Japanese tour group behind us. I tested out Mum and Imogen's favourite trick of taking a photo and watching everyone else copy. They usually photograph sticks or holes in the ground and watch people assume it must be something significant, but I wasn't that bold yet. Anyway, the following 10 people took this exact photo after we did. Note: I like to make Karl look into the sun, so he is wincing, but people think he is winking at me. So, all the other 'photographers' made their friends look into the sun too. Ha ha.

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We landed in Barcelona and traipsed through the airport to put our bags in storage and head into the city for one final day. Karl likes carrying Matisse on his shoulders, she likes it too, not just the view, but her constant meal of Karl's hair. Karl pretends that he doesn't like it, and tries to make her stop. BUT. I notice that everytime his hair is dirty, he puts her up there. Coincidence? I think not. 

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The airport signs are awkwardly close to Matisses head. Incidentally we happened to be standing right below one at the baggage carousel and when Karl lifted Matisse up, he almost decapitated her. It turns out the biggest "I told you so"  is actually achieved by not saying anything at all. Our last day in Barcelona was full of R&R, a supermercado feast and wandering the streets.