Granada (November 2021)

Friday

My first views of Granada (which I keep misspelling as Grandad) are through an unassuming stretch of Mercadonas and Lidls until I reach the Gran Vía, where yellow leaves have scattered themselves on the street (my friend Julia later says that this reminds of her New York). I find the hostel and meet Rowena in the foyer, sweaty and a bit flustered. After a freshen up (and meeting my hostel roommates - a Mexico City native called Armando, a physicist from Bologna, and two US exchange students who are aggressively tindering) a group of us head out to dinner. After a wee stroll along Calle Elvira we end up in Meson Andaluz, where I order Patatas a lo Pobre: a traditional Andalusian stack of fried potatoes and peppers topped with an egg, which translates as "Poor Man's Potatoes". I'm guessing that there are many variations on this dish, but the version that I was served evidently didn't steer away from tradition. An oily mound of potatoes and a fried egg appeared in front of me, which I really enjoyed. 

Saturday

Rowena and I arise early and wander through Granada's empty streets in search of breakfast. Spaniards, so it seems, work on a different body clock to British people. On this Saturday morning in one of Spain's most celebrated cities the streets are near deserted. On a side street we find a small locals cafe with no customers. I order a tostada con tomate, and Rowena churros and chocolate. The bar is lined with framed photographs, bottles, and various knick-knacks. It feels like the kind of place that you can only stumble across, and not intentionally find. 

We stroll across the river towards the Zaidin neighbourhood, where there's a Sunday flea market that our friend Alice has told us about the night before. Stretching down a long street, there are rows and rows of almost identical stalls. Each table boasts mounds of rejects from the Zara warehouse, bedding sets, secondhand jumpers, and further along fresh fruits and veg; tiny aubergines alongside tomatoes the size of dinner plates. The market seems neverending and by the time Alice and her flatmate arrive, we are exhausted and in need of a tapa. We find a spot nearby where top up on an Alhambra beer and some free tapas; a large bocadillo filled with a fried egg, cheese, tomato and mayo. Granada is one of the few cities left in Spain where you can get free tapas, although usually it's not in the form of a large sandwich. 

We wind our way back to the city centre via tram, stopping at a vintage shop on the way. Granada reminds me of Bristol in a lot of ways. It's a small city, close to nature, big student populus, multicultural, more of an alternative scene. 

Coincidentally my neighbour Julia is also in Granada the same weekend. She's at a bar in the centre for a flamenco show. It isn't the "flamenco" show we were expecting; three Andalusians singing and playing cajon and guitar, but the music and atmosphere more than makes up for it. We try to join in the Andalusians dancing in circles and winding their wrists but our innate Anglo-Saxon inability to dance soon catches up with us. 

Julia studied abroad in Granada so knows the city well. She leads me through the winding cobbled alleys up to Granada's famous viewpoint over the Alhambra. The palace is lit up and shines over the city. Despite the cold, there are people drinking, sitting, listening to music, also looking out over the city.

Sunday

After another quiet tostada breakfast, Rowena and I walk up to the same viewpoint. Today the air feels fresh and there are a couple of buskers playing some flamenco tunes. We carry on through the Albaicin; the white winding neighbourhood. Its strangely easy how quickly we manage to leave the city and end up in the middle of nature. With a deep valley to our right and white houses and churches on our left, we follow the road out of the city centre and into Sacromonte, a neighbourhood where people apparently live in caves where there are night-time flamenco shows (which are often only word of mouth). We pass a house covered in ceramics and plants which asks for a donation for every photo taken. I dutifully put the last of my loose change into the pot after snapping. 

After an amble back to the city and some tapas, Rowena heads for her BlaBlaCar whilst I wander around some more. I go in the cathedral just before it shuts and sit amongst worshippers and other tourists. I'm not religious but I enjoy the humbling effect of a cathedral. They always feel like spaces for reflection.

As I wander back to the hostel I wonder who my new roommates will be, the aggressive tinderers having departed. When I do arrive back it is none other than another friend from Bristol, Domi! She has been doing Workaways in Spain and just so happens to be in Granada at the same time, in the same hostel, in the same room. We laugh and shrug about this coincidence and go out for vegan tapas with two of her other Workaway friends.

Monday

I decide to dedicate my final morning to the Alhambra, which I've been told deserves at least a few hours to visit. With little knowledge of Islamic or Spanish medieval history, I feel a little overwhelmed by this huge complex of buildings and gardens which looms over the city. However, with the assistance of an audioguide (which I thoroughly recommend) I learn a wee bit about this architectural titan. There are several parts to the Alhambra, and although it was started in 1238 by the Nasrids, a Muslim dynasty in Al-Andalus, in the 14th century (after the Reconquista) it became the Royal Court of Ferdinand and Isabella (responsible for funding Columbus's "expedition", need I say more). It strikes me how well-preserved it all is, despite centuries of changing hands and disrepair. There are palaces, barracks, a hammam, gardens and waterworks, not to mention a renaissance palace built by Charles V which wanes in comparison to the intricate Islamic architecture surrounding it.

Islamic architecture and art contains a lot of symmetry, such as the pool pictured below, designed to reflect and create the illusion of something bigger.

After a solid 2.5 hours in the Alhambra, I decide that I have definitely got my money's worth and that its time to sample some Andalusian churros. I sit in a plaza and order coffee, churros and chocolate sauce. The churros here are thick and spongey. The chocolate is gloopy. Writing this now in March it is milder, but Granada in December is bitingly cold and calls for this kind of hearty refreshment. Domi and her friend Lotte briefly join me before we we have another wonder around the Albaicin, where we find a sunny corner and snack on some fruit. I head back out along the stretch of Mercadonas and Lidls to catch my BlaBlaCar home.