Ancient Andalusian Aqueducts

We woke up to find our under-things clinging to the wrought iron balcony of the building across the street. Eighteen years old, and best friends for thirteen of those years, we graduated with a superiority complex knowing that while our peers fled to beer and beach week, we arrived in Spain with nothing but a backpack and a guidebook.

My friend knocked on their door and, in her broken Spanish, explained how our hand washed garments made their way off our makeshift clothesline and onto their balcony in the midnight Andalusian breeze. I watched from our window, crouching down and melting with deep humiliation reserved only for teenagers and jilted brides. She skipped back upstairs humming the sharps and flats that I knew meant "I told you so". I answered by eating a spoonful of peanut butter, the only familiar food I was able to find at the corner store that looked like a kid's lemonade stand.

Nerja, a sweet southern beach town gave us a much-needed break from the sensory overload of Madrid and Barcelona. As my friend deftly navigated subway maps, narrated the history of the Moors and translated tapas menus, we drifted into new roles of leader and follower. A few days with of sunbathing was more than a break from city life, it was a break from this new version of my best friend.

Yet, after only a few peaceful hours on the rocky Mediterranean beach it happened again. Looking for lunch, it only took five minutes with the baker and my friend was chatting with him about day trips, excursions from town and attractions we could check out. So instead of an afternoon siesta and a few more hours studying cliffs and waves, we played follow-the-leader on a hike up through the Siera de Tejeda foothills – dusty, sparse, looking like they had a patchy five o’clock shadow. I imagined the rest of my class, sipping vodka punch made in oversized lobster pots and sitting in hot tubs with a view of the boardwalk. My daydream evaporated when a massive turquoise pool came into view. As we made our way closer, my dearest tour guide explained that the baker told her about ancient abandoned aqueducts hidden beyond Nerja’s rocky horizon and thought I might like to go for a swim in a thousand year old granite hot tub.

As I spent the afternoon swimming and dozing with my best friend, I understood. Travel allows us to find hidden treasures tucked in glacier-carved landscapes…as well as in those who travel with us.