The city was on the front lines of the battle between Muslims and Christians, changing hands several times. Known as "The City of Saints and Stones," Avila's turbulent past has settled into a sleepy, not overly touristy (or "touristic" as the Spanish would say). It's definitely not the most youthful or vibrant town (that's next, when we get to Salamanca), but if you like a walkable stone city, and you like walking on city walls that are nearly 1,000 years old, Avila is for you.
One Spanish writer, famed for penning El Alma Castellana (The Castilian Soul) called it "perhaps the most 16th century town in Spain." If you want to wake up the echoes, Avila has an alarm clock ready to ring for you.
(Editor's Note: Great analogy. Where did you steal it? Writer: Hey, I came up with it on my own!)
Now, let's talk about our "friend" the Hotel Clerk Jerk. (That's now his official name, as I had it changed in the official records. To save time, and keystrokes, I will refer to him as HCJ from here out.)
Anyhow, we had a nice drive from El Escorial to Avila, with mountains, plains, farms, cows, and plenty of open, winding road. But, to get to our hotel, we had to negotiate through one of nine city gates and through tiny little streets. We checked in, and got HCJ because he spoke English. At first we thought him nice, but he showed us multiple times that first impressions aren't always right. First, he gave me non-specific directions to the parking garage outside city walls. That wasn't a huge deal, but he definitely should have been clearer.
I eventually found the garage, after driving down some narrow walls, through another narrow gate, and then around the outside of the walls. It was all good, but it was weird -- there was no ticket for the paid parking lot (they filmed your license plate coming in, and then you entered the plate number when leaving).
I walked back through another gate in the city walls -- I was feeling better, having passed through three different gates in less than a half hour. I wound my way past a beautiful huge fountain, through narrow streets, happy with the city already. The hotel was located across the plaza from the Cathedral, so the setting was great. It was a former palace (the Spanish throw the word "palace" around a lot -- let's go with mansion) of a powerful Avila family, who often feuded with the family catty corner across the plaza. Both families built across from the cathedral so they could be closer to God.
The problem was that it was 80 degrees in Avila, which, in late April, is pretty unusual. At 3700 feet up, they aren't used to spring heatwaves. Carol ask him how to turn on the AC, and HCJ was so dismissive we thought he might actually be French. "We don't turn on the AC till summer. This is Avila," he mockingly replied to her. The website simply says they have AC, which implies, you know, that they have AC.
The room was 80 degrees so Carol asked for a fan to get air moving as the day cooled down. HCJ was even more incredulous -- repeating "This is Avila" as though it answered all concerned. Well, guess what, it wasn't cool out like he seemed to think. Our room was a hot box.
The coup de grace for HCJ with us was when I got back from dinner, it had cooled out, so I had a light long sleeve pullover on. But the room was still 80 degrees. I asked him another question (not about the heat), to which he offered very little help. But then he grabbed my pullover and triumphantly said, see, it is cool out! But just because it was 65 outside and still 80 degrees in the room did mean he was right.
We had four windows open, but the room didn't cool down till the next morning -- so it was pretty hot. And, because we had the windows open, we were woken up by all the drunks who passed through the square until 2am, shouting and singing.
I woke about 3am thinking about how rude and unhelpful he was, so I wrote two scathing reviews focused on him. One was on Expedia, so the hotel must have seen it right away the next day. When we got back to the room after our walking tour, there was a nice large platter of fruit (yeah, like we could be bought off with free fruit) and, lo and behold, a modern rotating fan. You know, the thing HCJ said they didn't have.
Anyhow, the heat wave had broken, the fruit was fresh and delicious. We loved the location of the hotel, and we never had to deal with HCJ again. The whole next day I wouldn't make eye contact with him. Carol reported that he was giving us side eye again. We were so tired from the night before that the drunk hooting and hollering didn't wake us but once or twice.
And, as it turns out, we CAN be bought off with free, fresh, and delicious fruit and a thoughtful note. I'm certain HCJ had nothing to do with any of it -- the free fruit, the fan, or the cooler weather.
(Editor's Note: To be fair Glen, MOST hotel clerks have nothing to do with the weather. Writer: Yeah, well, I just didn't want HCJ getting credit for anything he didn't deserve.)
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