MOONINSPAIN

March 1st marked the 21st heavenly birthday of a woman who buried her golden hair in my heart and wrapped her painted fingernails tightly around my wrist. In Granada she was known as Carmen del Hostal Colonial. Anyone who lived in or frequented the center of Granada for the fifty years before 2004 knew Carmen. Carmen ran El Hostal Colonial which was on Calle Joaquin Costa near Plaza Nueva. On this street you will also find the historic Hotel Inglaterra from the 1920’s designed by local architect Angel Casas, the Hotel Anacapri (a Rick Steves hotel) and one of my favorite bars in Granada, Bodegas La Mancha. Hostal Colonial became my home for many years after a desperate apartment hunt during my second year in Granada led me to ring the small black doorbell on the street level of this Hostal. A window on the first floor suddenly swung open and a tiny woman with a cigarette dangling from her fingers screamed down, “ESTÁ COMPLETO” with a voice that echoed of a life that had not been fair to it. Lucky for me, I thought fast on my feet. Just before the window was slammed shut I shouted the name NICOLE, a friend who had lived here the year before. A few seconds later I was buzzed in and walked up the old marble steps that would lead me to not just a room, but to a second family. 

It was mid-august the day I rang that bell and the Hostal Colonial was still functioning as an accommodation for the summer season travelers. Those old steps were witness to a non-stop parade of backpackers trying to communicate with Carmen using charades, or with the help of one of us now semi-permanent residents as interpreters. The “fichas” had to be filled out with each traveler’s passport or DNI information, and Carmen had a closet in the second dining room filled with boxes of these fichas, should the police come round to inquire. Carmen was convinced that a young man who had recently stayed in the Hostal was definitely part of ETA, the Basque separatist organization that was at one of its most intense periods in the 90’s. She was also convinced that the adorable young blonde who had stayed here in 1968 was definitely Bill Clinton who recently claimed the sunset over the Alhambra to be the most beautiful in the world. Both of these could be entirely possible. Carmen knew what she was talking about! Life in the Hostal Colonial during summer months was entertaining to say the very least. But once the main travel season came to a close, all the rooms were filled with students who would stay for a semester or two. A few of us stayed much longer, becoming permanent residents. The amusement of the Hostal did not end after summer, because living in a home that is run by an eccentric upper middle age woman and is filled with multi-national students is non-stop chaos. This was like the United Nations with too many hormones, bedroom doors swinging in all directions, and a dining room table that resembled The Tonight Show with Carmen as the hostess. I was one who stayed as a permanent resident. But the names of the semi-permanent students that come to mind are Luigi, Chiara, Simone, and Gessica from Italy. Chris from the U.S.. Morton from Denmark. Johanna and Eva from Holland. Sophie and Mia from Sweden. Carmen, Mariola, Charo, Sven, Andrea, Laura, Tony…just to name a few. A few of us turned into a permanent family and they continue to be my closest anchors in Granada and Spain. Then we have Carmen, otherwise known to those closest to her as La Vieja. Her nickname, LaVieja, did not come about because Carmen was elderly. We had another Carmen. She was one of the other permanent young residents like myself and it was easy to confuse them when managing phone calls, etc. Thus, young Carmen and old Carmen. Also, La Vieja, like most Spanish women during these times, had lived more than one should. She was Vieja in her soul, not age. Carmen was born in the town of Santa Fe, just outside of Granada. Santa Fe is historically important because it is the town where the Catholic Moncarchs set up camp in the 15th century. Here they were pressured the last Moorish King in the entire history of the Iberian Peninsula, Boabdil, to hand over the keys to the city of Granada and the Alhambra. Carmen was proud of being from Santa Fe, as even today it is a beautiful town to visit. One day, not long after I moved in, Carmen and I took the local bus to her birth town and she gave me a heartfelt tour of the town and church where, may years later, we would celebrate her funeral mass. I skipped morning classes often just to enjoy conversations with Carmen and listen to her stories about life. Some days her friend Fica would come to help with the washing and ironing of sheets and towels. Carmen paid Fica for her work but it was their friendship that held them together like glue. Carmen was from a fairly well off family who on the outside was Nationalist (sided with Franco during the civil war), and Fica was a gypsy from the Albaicín quarter. Fica’s son lived in the small apartment on our rooftop terrace. After time I learned the significance and fragility that wove their relationships of trust to become unbreakable. 

Carmen never married. If you read the history of unmarried women during the years of Franco’s dictatorship, you can understand a small bit of what her life was like. Unmarried women were required to follow a moral code that was strictly vigilated by the Catholic Church, government and usually, their families. Even when society and laws began to change in the 1960’s, the mentality of most people was still to put shame on a woman who arrived to a certain age without a husband and children to verify her value as a citizen or good Catholic. A dear friend of Carmen, Italian born Cecilia, was the owner of the Hostal and also the famous Los Italianos ice-cream shop. Carmen was paid by the family to run the Hostal and this arrangement allowed for it to eventually become like her home where she was free to live as she so chose.The contact with millions of international travelers and students opened Carmen to worlds that she would never have the chance to visit physically. Her smile and laughter seeped into the heart of every single traveler or student that was blessed to set foot in La Colonial. They left her with stories of their home countries, different foods, beautiful accents, and a feeling of family that filled an empty spot in her heart. She offered them a place to stay in the heart of Granada and a unique experience that they would never forget. 

Carmen listened to all of our heartaches and love betrayals with the most understanding ears. She knew heartbreak more than any of us ever would. The love of her life was a doctor at the public hospital in Granada. They never married and he came and went as he pleased for many years. Carmen would take me to the places where he used to wine and dine her. Her nostalgia and tears were enough for me to understand how deeply she had loved during those years. She gave herself and lived in bliss until the day that the doorbell never rang. Her love had disappeared, just like the wind blew away the ash from her cigarettes. In turn shared her love with us, those who were lucky enough to ring that black doorbell in search of a room. Carmen confided in few people about the story of her life. Her friend Fica was one of those people who guarded Carmen’s secret like valuable gold. In turn, Carmen rented the rooftop apartment to Fica’s son whose sexual orientation was not fully accepted by society during many years. They protected each other inside the walls of La Colonial. Carmen turned her broken heart into hours of laughter sharing stories while smoking hashish laced joints at the dining room table. Carmen never smoked the joints but she would inhale whenever someone lit one near her. Saying, “ay, ay ay que bien huele.” It smells so good. Carmen and I did so much together. She had vertigo and did not like to go out alone. We would walk hooked by the elbows to the bank, to go shopping, or to take the bus up to the Alhambra Palace Hotel (one of her heart memories) to have a glass of wine. She used to tell me, “somos silla y mesa”. We are just like a table and chair. The memories of our time together are engraved in every fiber of my being. 

We also loved to eat together. Carmen was a great cook and she shared her food with me often. She made the best croquetas that I have tasted to this day! We also had many nights when we did not feel like cooking at all. Carmen would send me down the street to La Mancha to grab our dinner on those nights that we were feeling too lazy to cook. I would push through the crowds to order our usual. Carmen always wanted a bocadillo1 with jamón Serrano y roquefort. And I would annoy the men in white shirts and black ties by asking for something ¨”strange” in their eyes. Back then it was difficult to order something that wasn’t on the menus. But, since I lived with Carmen they put up with me and would prepare my bocadillo con queso, tomato y lechuga. Both me and my sandwich were very odd to them back then. We would also get a liter of Jumilla wine to go. I remember paying 115 pesetas for the wine. That was less than a dollar during those years.For many years now when I go into La Mancha I am always greeted with warmth and good memories. The older gentlemen still remember me and they still remember Carmen, of course. So do many of the fixed customers who spend time drinking Vermouth or a Palo Cortado (a variety of sherry) at the beautiful wooden bar. Everyone knew Carmen from el Hostal Colonial.I stayed at La Colonial until the very end when Carmen broke a hip and was forced to move to Málaga to live with her brother and sister in law. This was the day that La Colonial closed for good. The owners of Los Italianos turned the building into brand new apartments for their children. This was not just the closing of an Hostal but the end of an era built by love and laughter. I will never forget that freezing cold March 1st, two years later, when we celebrated your funeral mass and buried you in Santa Fe as the snow fell softly around our feet. We were all there for you; your family, your adopted daughters and son. You gave us more than we could have ever dreamed. 

I still sleep at the Hotel Anacapri (next door to La Colonial) when I am working with my Rick Steves’ groups. It does not matter how many years have gone by, Carmen’s voice still rings out of that window of the first floor. Even when I am not working, we stop frequently in La Mancha when we take a nice walk up into the Albaicín or Sacromonte. We love to have a bocadillo and a wine or vermouth. I channel Carmen when ordering my bocadillo. Usually we stick to our favourite bocadillo made with thinly sliced grilled beef, roquefort cheese and a couple of guindillas (pickled spicy peppers). But, one weekend back in 2021 when we were filming one of my Youtube videos we went out on a limb and got a plate of Torreznos from Soria ( a town in Castilla Y León). Torreznos is not a food that I consume often. I can probably count the amount of times I have eaten them on one hand. I knew Carmen would approve us enjoying these fatty treats at La Mancha. Carmen lives forever in the streets near Plaza Nueva. I can hear her laughter, her voice and her wisdom that she continues to share with me from up above.