It's our last night in Granada. Some of the other backpackers who came for a holiday and just never left here have been trying to convince us to stay. Bindi is seriously considering ditching Barcelona to come back to Granada to hang out for a few months. I don't blame her.
I'm sitting in the kitchen. Bindi is chopping vegetables uniformly with Davis (head chef) and Ivan (sous chef). (I think that makes her the dish pig?) I've got my iPod plugged in to the stereo. We're talking about Rushmore because the song that's on right now is from the movie. We've all been telling our favourite Seinfeld episodes. Life is good.
This morning, as we were sitting in the sun waiting for our time to enter the Alahmbra, Bindi shed a tear over how happy she is. It may have had something to do with the fact that she got about three hours' sleep last night, and could have possibly still been drunk at the time. Oh no. Or the fact that we had waited til our last day, when extremelty hungover, to see the one sight there is to see in Granada. No, I don't so. It's just that it's been a fun week. We can't tell you why, exactly. We met an older Canadian couple in the queue at the Alahmbra who recognised our accents and were telling us how their daughter lived in Melbourne. They were surprised we'd been here almost a week and asked what we'd done. When we enthusiastically answered we'd been on a great graffiti tour, they politely smiled and ended the conversation. Is that really the only thing we've done here?
You and I know otherwise.
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