The Brilliant Idea

Why did we decide to go on holiday to Granada (Spain) in the middle of the summer? It’s not as if they did not warn us!

First, you ask your friends for an opinion, and then, of course, you think you know best, so you ignore their advice. And that’s exactly what we did.

Welcome to the Oven

So, off we went to Granada in July. It wasn’t just hot, it was scorching—40 degrees. We were also “fortunate” enough to experience a heatwave. Lucky us.
(Or not.)

Thankfully, we had a room with air conditioning. But I was not happy. What’s the point of going on holiday and sitting in your hotel room? This is not right. I’m not paying to sit here and admire the Alhambra from the window.

Operation Drag-the-Husband-Out

I tried everything to convince my husband to leave the cool room. Eventually, we drove to the nearest public car park to avoid walking. But in Granada, walking is unavoidable. There’s just too much to see.

And then we walked and sweated through the narrow streets like half-roasted pigs. Every 200 metres, we stopped in a bar to get a cool drink. Each time, they brought us a tapa (a small portion of food). Each drink meant a new tapa.

Despite the heat and my skin turning dangerously red, the drink + tapa game became rather fun.

Sweat and Regret

After a while, our red, tired legs, full bellies and bursting bladders refused to go any further. Finally, we returned to our holiday place.

“What’s the parking space number we’ve got?” my husband asked.

“I don’t know,” I said. (I wanted to say I don’t care, but I was too tired.)

“I’m pretty sure it’s 42!” he exclaimed.

“Why do you ask me then?” I huffed, feeling like a grumpy old wife who had been married for 50 years, doing my best not to pee myself.

The Enemy: A Tiny Smart Car

At last, we arrived at parking space number 42.

“See? I told you! I remember this door right at the back,” he said, obviously proud of himself.

There was just one little problem.

A little Smart car was already parked there — in our parking space!

How rude?!

“Why is this little thing parked here? I will push it out of our space,” said the man I married some years ago, clearly thinking he was born as Hulk (you know, the green muscle man — but thanks to the Spanish sun, my man was now more of a red man).

He sweated, pushed and pushed, and surprisingly, the little thing didn’t move.

Meanwhile, I was sitting in our car with my legs crossed, and I could see millions of stars. I was thinking to myself: if we don’t park now, I’ll either leave him here to fight the Smart or I’m really, really going to get wet pants.

What’s the number

Desperate, I stepped out of the car and looked around to see if there were any witnesses. At that moment, I saw it.

“It’s 45!” I shouted in disbelief.

I shouted again:

— “Stop! Stop! This is NOT our space!”

My husband froze.

He looked at the number.

Next, he looked at me.

Then, he looked at the little Smart car.

“Oh no…” he said slowly.

Very slowly.

Don’t laugh or else…

And then we laughed. A lot.

We laughed so much that we couldn’t breathe.

Suddenly, I felt it… the warm feeling on my legs… slowly going down… leaving my pants wet…

…and we laughed even more. There was no point in holding on anymore.

And that was it—the trip was unforgettable, not for the sights, but for the adventure, the mishaps, and the lesson for next time: sometimes, listening to advice is the real holiday win.

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