Granada is an ancient city. Back in the olden days when the Moors had conquered (what we now know as) Spain, Granada was the largest and most important city on the European continent. In the Middle Ages, and on through the 16th century or so, the giant fortress/palace compound known as the Alhambra, the red fortress in Arabic, was built to guard the strategically important city. It was there, in 1492, that King Ferdinand and Queen Isabel agreed to support Christopher Columbus’s journey to find a new route to the Indes. Today the Alhambra is a UNESCO World Heritage Site and is considered one of the best examples of ancient Islamic architecture.
The Islamic influence is still noticeable throughout the city, although perhaps most notably in the souvenir shops, which sell almost the same exact assortment of items I saw on display in Marrakech, except without all the haggling. Many of these shops are located in a section of town known as the Albayzin, the old Islamic quarter, another remnant of the rich Islamic ancestry and yet another UNESCO World Heritage Site.
I left Madrid early on Sunday morning, arriving in Granada in the early afternoon after a surprisingly comfortable 5 hour bus ride, most of which I spent ironically listening to the in-bus entertainment – an amazingly complete collection of the best worst English language soft rock songs ever. I found the center of town easily and headed up onto the hillside in search of a place to stay the night. This area of town is known as El Realjo, the old Jewish quarter, and much like the Albayzin across the street, it is a series of narrow, steep, twisting streets and staircases. There are wonderful views at just about every intersection and taking a moment to take them in is a great excuse to catch your breath.
I found my hostel, the cheapest one I could find online, the somewhat ominously named “Funky Hostel”. If you’re really Funky, do you have to name your hostel that? It was fine, though. Actually it was pretty nice, although I was paying a pretty steep (in my mind anyway) 16 euros a night. After throwing my stuff on my bed and changing into a fresh t-shirt (I had definitely found the sun), I struck out right away to explore the city. I was kind of annoyed to have to buy a map (why no free tourist map?) but it turned out to be a very good investment.
First I wandered down a road that runs along the River Darro, which separates the Alhambra’s hill from the Albayzin, at the bottom of the ravine, before walking back into the more modern part of town. There I had a look at the Cathedral, which might be very beautiful if it hadn’t been almost completely blocked in my other old beautiful buildings over the years. Because of this encroachment, the best view of the Cathedral was really from above, not from the narrow corridors leading back to its heavy wooden doors. I also found a small-scale souq, or covered market, which specialized in more Islamic-inspired collectibles for the tourist crowd. Next I walked down Calle Elvira, a happenin’ street on the edge of the Albayzin with many bars and restaurants, where I stopped to have a glass of sangria and a few free tapas. Thankfully the people of Granada still believe in the wonder that is free tapas, unlike many of their Madrileño counterparts.
Soon afterward it started raining (yeah, for real) so I retreated to the hostel, where I sat around awkwardly for an hour until it was time for the hostel’s special 5 euro meal. This was probably the worst part about traveling alone – the awkward what-do-I-do-alone-in-a-hostel feeling. Thankfully it was soon over and I headed up for what I hoped would be a social dinner so I could make some new friends. I did find a few people, most notably an Australian gentleman, Eraj, who was on a three month tour of Europe and Western Africa to celebrate his retirement and recent 60th birthday and a South Korean woman, Minh, who was self-admittedly going through a midlife crisis (it is apparently quite the crisis to be 30 and unmarried in South Korea), as well as a rather obnoxious French Canadian who was mercifully leaving the following morning.
Dinner itself was less than spectacular, a “traditional” potato and cabbage soup, and I think I could have done much more with 5 euros each, but what are you gonna do? Also somewhat annoying was their “no outside beverages” rule, which seems idiotic in a hostel, where people are only staying because they want to save money. What was great was the view from the roof of the hostel, which overlooked much of the new city as well as the Cathedral, and provided an excellent view of the sunset.
After some bonding with my fellow hostelers and a little too much information about Eraj’s new girlfriend back in Australia (oh wow, yes, that is fascinating that you “get it on like a couple of 18 year olds”, I’m so happy for you… But I did just meet you, so I think I’ll head to bed now…) a few of us decided to wake up bright and early in order to stand in line for Alhambra tickets. They often sell out and we wanted to be sure to get in.
The line WAS rather daunting when we arrived, but luckily we were among the first to discover the automated credit card machines and ended up having enough time to spare before the gates opened to grab a coffee and a croissant from the little café. This may be something of a tangent, but this seems like the perfect opportunity to reflect on the multitasking abilities of the Spanish, particularly those that work in a service-related field. As a general rule, they are incapable of it. For example, a women in line in front of me accidentally spilled her coffee. Instead of continuing to take orders and make coffee while waiting for their coworker to mop up the mess, the entire workforce had to take a small five minute break to examine and discuss this major event, completely oblivious to the huge line forming. If they were serving other Spaniards this would have been most unremarkable but the mostly foreign population was just unable to understand why a little spilled coffee should halt the entire operation. The Spanish are rarely, if ever, in a hurry to do anything.
Finally, coffee and chocolate croissant in hand, we made our way down to the first palace of many. Now, I don’t normally go in for old buildings, especially churches. Generally speaking, I find them rather stuffy and static, especially when, like the Alhambra, they are crawling with tourists and lack furniture or any other suggestions of human life. And at 13 euros, I thought the price was rather steep. That said, I thought the place was very beautiful, but mostly awe-inspiring. The precision with which these palaces were crafted is just amazing, especially considering that we’re talking about something built 900 or 1000 years ago. It’s all very… mathematical. There are detailed mosaics throughout the main palace, the Palace of the Nasrids, made up of green, blue, yellow, and red tiles. As I learned from part of a private tour I accidentally stole (one of the women was NOT at all happy about that), those colors represented the land, the sky, the sun and, most importantly, blood to the Moors.
The use of water throughout the complex was also quite impressive, especially considering the desert-like climate. A complex series of aqueducts provided the palaces with water for fountains, pools, and indoor water-filled trenches that acted as a kind of ancient air conditioning.
The rest of the Alhambra consists of the Alcazaba, the fortress on the westernmost point of the complex, facing out over the city in order to watch for invaders, and two more modern palaces. I’m not actually sure how many palaces there were, probably more than I realize, because many of them were interconnected, so it’s hard to be sure. As far as I could tell, there were three distinct palace-like structures, the Palace of the Nasrids, which I already mentioned, the adjoining Palace of Charles V, built much later and distinctively featuring a bull ring, and the Generalife, the Nasrids’ “country estate” which is located up the hill from the other palaces.
Funnily enough, after doing some reading up on the history of the Alhambra, it turns out that it never served very effectively as a fortress. It was weakly fortified and the Alcazaba apparently had to be rebuilt at least once. I find this pretty ironic. It certainly looks menacing. Even back when the Moorish Nasrid dynasty ruled from the Alhambra, the idea of the Alhambra as any kind of fortress had largely been abandoned in favor of converting it into a self-contained palatial city.
My favorite part of the whole place were the wonderful views, the beautiful blooming gardens and the omnipresent water features. As a rule, the architecture was impressive and in many cases seemed more modern than it actually is. For example, when visiting the Generalife we were almost disappointed that it didn’t look old enough, joking “oh this is only 300 or 400 years old, what a bore”, when in fact it was built around 1300. I think in large part the almost Spartan architecture and very much alive gardens helped to make the palaces seem much more contemporary.
After we had seen it all and had that ubiquitously inexpensive Turkish delight known as doner kebab for lunch, I set off to see the Albayzin (as well as the Alhambra from the Albayzin), hitting as many “panoramic view” indicators on my map as possible. I retraced my steps along the river from the previous afternoon before turning left up a steep mountain. This part was less than ideal, and since it was quite warm I started wondering if maybe I should have taken the bus after all, just to spare my fellow travelers, but once I got to the top the major climbing was over and I was free to mosey up and down along what must have been the ridge.
First I headed to Sancromonte, an area traditionally populated by cave-dwelling gypsies. There I got my first view of the Alhambra from across the valley and it was just amazing. I also did find some gypsy caves and, although I never found the fabled museum, I did find a gypsy cave hotel with pictures of the rooms posted on the front gate, so I suppose I can claim I’ve seen them from the inside too.
I continued from the Sancromonte back into the Albayzin with its tiny twisting streets. It is really amazing what people will try to drive a car through. And fast! By the time I reached the next vista, at the Mirador (cross, shrine) San Cristobal, the last bits of lingering fog had finally burned off and the view was amazing. I could see the Alhambra peeking over the old city walls and then all of Granada spread out before me with countryside in the distance.
I made my way back inside the walls and down to the Mirador San Nicolas, which provided the classic postcard view of the Alhambra. What a nice place to sit and have a little break, even if there are tour groups crawling all over the place. When I managed to tear myself away, I continued my loop, passing through the western edge of the Albayzin, past some truly magnificent graffiti (or should I say murals?) and down to the Gate of Triumph, which looked like a fairly normal gate/arch in the city walls (if such a thing can be “normal”), leading in to nowhere spectacular within the Albayzin, but I’m sure it has a history, even if I don’t know it. I then followed the main street, Gran Via, back to where I started, where I rewarded myself with a nice ice cream cone.
I spent the rest of the day doing some souvenir shopping before heading back to the hostel to do some relaxing on the roof. Dinner was about 4 times more crowded than the night before, so much so that they ran out of food before even half of the people had been served. I lucked out and got some food, I think because they misinterpreted my rooftop sitting as waiting for dinner. At least it was good and the company was lively. After dinner and another lovely sunset Eraj decided to go on a two hour excursion to some “hot springs”. This sounded dubious to me, at best, and definitely not worth the 10 euros. Everyone else decided to go to bed, but I was not content to spend another night in bed by 11, so I headed back out.
I wasn’t really sure where I was going until I remembered the beautiful postcards of the Alhambra at night, so I headed back up to one of the vista points to have a look at it at night. The albayzin was very quiet, even relatively early at night, and most places in Granada seem to shut their doors by 9 or 10, so walking was very peaceful. On another tangent, I never feel unsafe walking in Spain at night, it’s a remarkably safe country. Or at least it seems to be, I don’t actually know the statistics. The Spanish have a remarkably high standard for what makes a part of town “shady”, I have never been very impressed with any of their rough areas of town. I think perhaps Spanish criminals are too laid back for violent crimes.
Anyway, apparently I was not the only one with my idea to see the Alhambra at night and my quiet contemplation was occasionally interrupted by huge tour groups of English, Russian and French tourists, but in between these visits, when they would swarm around me and my bench as if I wasn’t even there, the view was amazing. Eventually I headed back to the hostel, stopping for a drink in the plaza because apparently people who run hostels are incapable of having change.
I slept in until 9:30 the next morning, having thoroughly tired myself out with so much walking the day before. Figuring I had missed the 10:00 bus back to Madrid, I went up to the roof for some toast and coffee before heading out to the bus station. I’m glad I did, because I got to hear all about the “hot springs”. Apparently the swimmers were driven out into the middle of an olive orchard, where a dirt pit was filled with warm-ish water, heavy on the iron and, to a lesser degree, sulfur, that was pouring out from a PVC pipe. Where was this mysterious warm water coming from? Some kind of chemical waste perhaps? Factory runoff? Who knows! What a delightful sounding adventure…
Finally, after one last stroll around town and trip to the grocery store, I said goodbye to my new friends and headed to the bus station. Unfortunately all the buses were full until 3 p.m., Spanish buses do a good business, and after having a look at the suburban wasteland that surrounded the bus station, I caught the bus back into town for a farewell falafel, and then it was adios for real.
The bus ride was nice, the musical selection being a much higher-brow blues collection this time. Looking out the windows, it’s easy to see why Spain is such an important producer of olive oil. The hills are completely covered with olive trees as far as the eye can see… Lovely.
Back in Madrid, it’s still raining…
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