San San

It’s always a pleasure to see that you’re not the only one suffering from the night before. Half of the hostel (the less sensible half) were left in a zombie-like state. Not only that, but I was in dire need of some food, with the kitchen only providing free fruit, biscuits and what I later found out was corn, and not massive peanuts.

A solo trip to the old city is always interesting. Most of it is right beside the beach and the rest is nestled along streets with similarities to Barcelona or Genoa. The crème de la crème is the street with the church, where we congregated every night, enjoying the mild night time weather under the amber lights that illuminated the street.

I bought some pasta, as well as a couple of beers and a bottle of wine to share.  Despite planning to go home at some point, I decided against. There was a big hill, and I wanted to climb it.

Up on the north-west part of the city is the castle, peaking out among the forest that surrounds it. At the top, there is a statue rising above the rest on the top of the castle. It’s certainly unmissable. You start the walk up on a stone staircase and disappear into the trees. It emerges you for a while, before the scenes of the sea bring the place back to life. There you see a view like nothing by the seaside. The sandy beach encircles the left side, with the sea filling out the horizon. In between is the other half of the sea enclosure where the hills are as rocky as the ones I was standing on. Acting almost as a buffer between the opposing hills lies an island with narrow but tall as the spiky cliffs gives the tiny spot a fierce look.


The castle itself is rather insignificant. It’s a lovely place to visit, but don’t expect anything too excessive. It’s a modest place, despite the huge statue that is perched on top of it. Then the rain came down and extinguished my chances of enjoying the castle for an extended period of time. The walk back down is even better. There are multiple ways to get back into the city, including a windy path through the trees, sheltering me from the hard-hitting showers. Returning drenched to the hostel in a wet vest and shorts, some of the group were already having a beer under the canopy.

The group always gets bigger by the time it gets to seven or eight o’clock, but at this point, it was colossal. Some people splintered off into their own sub-groups while newbies joined and shuffled the chairs over to create a proper circle. One of the newbies we met was Scott from New Zealand, who was travelling with a mate of his, but she was out exploring the city at the time, but we would meet her later. Emily, from Australia (another one), had one of the funniest introductions. She had been drinking Sangria all day because a family saw her eating by herself and asked if she wanted to join them and kept buying her drinks. Because of the Sangria, her voice was hoarse as someone quipped she sounded like Batman. After speaking to me, she told me that she studied in Glasgow on exchange which was great to hear (apart from the part where she told me she studied at Glasgow University, Caley boy for life) and we just talked about the best and worst parts of the city. Including the Garage. No one likes the Garage. Or for that matter, Kushion.


As with every night, there was a revisit to the steps. The crowd was so big, we could’ve filled out a full eleven-a-side football match. In such a large group, you find yourself finding out more about everyone. Matt for example is a huge fan of British sitcoms like Toast of London and the IT Crowd. Daniel is a huge fan of The Clash. So many people there watch Hot Ones. Lots in common. Slowly throughout the night, people left before it was just myself and Dylan, a Canadian that joined us that day. Like the majority of the time that we stayed here, we walked around in the heavy rain and retreated. I had one more day left in what is an amazing place.


Groceries: 6.50 euros (bread, chorizo, water, 2 beers, wine)
Breakfast: Apple, biscuits, water. Lunch and Dinner: Chorizo and Tomato Pasta.

June 27


Author: Michael Houston

Freelance journalist. Love all things film, sport, music and wrasslin. Multimedia Journalism graduate from Glasgow Caledonian University.

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