Queen of Andalusia - Part 2

Queen of Andalusia - Part 1

As we were talking to the cop, a shopkeeper came up to us and pointed up to the woman on the balcony. About a minute a later middle-aged, blond woman came down and started talking to us in Spanish. We showed her the address we were looking for, and as she led us to the location (which was about a 3 minute walk from her house) we realized that she was the owner of the hostel we were staying at. On the way to the hostel she pointed to a church, to her eyes, and then said Mirador. I thought it was the name of the church, and that she was hinting that all we had to do is locate the church to find the hostel. But I later found out that I was wrong.

We finally reached Plaza Bardalome, a very small, cobble stone paved plaza, surrounded by beautiful homes that you can only find in Granada. She opened the door of the hostel, a place which had served as a home for a Muslim, Jewish, and Christian family, representing the rich diversity of Granada and a symbolic reminder of the religious tolerance that Granada was known for. Our room was small and dark, but that didn’t matter to me, I just wanted a place to crash at night. I wasn’t planning to spend much time in the hostel anyway, that is until I saw the stunning terrace. The house had a massive terrace, reimincent of the “asateeh” commonly found in Syrian homes. The terrace overlooked Albayzín, and offered a fantastic view of Alhambra set against a backdrop of snow covered mountain tops. In the house garden was an acadenya (loquat) tree, a fruit that I hadn’t seen in over 12 years, sparrows were flying left and right, and the "Mirador" church tower was almost within reach, to put it simply the sight was out of a post card. We were hungry and I was anxious to see the city. We went down to the valley that seperates the hill on top of which Alhambra sits from Albayzín. We took our time on the way down, once reaching Grand Via, I stopped by a small shop to buy a map and then continued on to find the first shawarma restaurant I could find. After eating we made our way back to the hostel to be greeted by our third travel partner who traveled separately from us on the way to Granada. It turned out he also got lost on the way, and ended finding his way to the same plaza where we saw the cop. A Spanish man invited him for a beer when he saw him aimlessly wandering through the streets.

I won't go into all of the details of the next few days since there are many. For two nights of the three we spent in Granada we spent it with 3 girls we met at the hostel. They were teaching English in a small village at the southern tip of Spain and were visiting Granada for a weekend getaway. We found out that Mirador meant "look-out point" in Spanish, and we ended up spending a bit of time mesmerizing over the stunning scenery as far as they eye could see. We walked through rundown alleys with great graffiti decorating the walls, some graffiti bearing the fingerprints of Banksi, who was rumoured to have visited Granada recently.

The major highlight of my short visit were seeing Alhambra. It's hard to describe one's feeling when you step into Alhambra, for me I think it was a mix of awe and sadness. To get to Alhambra I had gotten up earlier than I was hoping for you. I tried to wake up my two friends but after a few unsuccessful attempts, I packed some water in my backpack, a croissant and left the hostel in a hurry trying to beat the terrifying line-ups. I didn't know the bus schedule from Albayzín, so I opted to run down the steep, narrow alleys, making decisions on which path to take on the fly, focusing that I was moving in a downhill direction. The streets were quite and empty, every now and then I would get a glimpse of Alhambra, which looked even more elegant at the break of dawn. It was an experience I will never forget. When I got to the bottom of the hill, I ran towards the main plaza where I saw Alhambra buses waiting a day before. Sure enough I found the tiny bus that escorted the tourists on their pilgrimage towards Alhambra through the picturesque neighbourhoods. The streets were filled with party animals having just finished a busy night of clubbing at the break of dawn. The bus filled up quickly, and the red walls of Alhambra began to creep up closer and closer. The line-up wasn't as long as I thought, and it gave me an opportunity to meet with a Japanese girl, and a British guy who turned out to be a great company as we toured Alhambra together.

To say that Alhambra is an art piece is an understatement. If I had ever pictured heaven, it would look very similar to Alhambra. Nestled in on a hill, surrounded by lush gardens, and with water features running through the whole palace, one can't help but be in awe. No shortcuts were taken in building Alhambra. The best of best is all the King settled for, and that's what he got. I pictured the King overlooking his "Ghornata" as it is called in Arabic, from everyone of the gorgeous nooks decrated with Islamic arches and surrounded by painstakingly carved walls. How lucky of a king he was, I thought. Then, as I went into the The “Abencerrajes” Hall and the feeling of envy changed to a feeling of sorrow. Sorrow for the King, who in this very hall, handed over the keys of Granada after admitting defeat. How hard it must have been not only leaving a kingdom, but a place like this, I thought. After visiting the gardens of Generalife and the towers that form the silouhette of Alhambra we opted for a taste of home at a Lebanese restaurant in Albayzín. Kafta, kibbih, and dips filled the table, and what better way to wash it down than with the local summer drink 'tinto de verano.'

In the time lefts in Granada we attended a Flamenco performance in a very intimate Flamenco bar in Albayzín. We strolled through the streets, hit the shisha bars, and soaked up Alhambra beer. We spent the last day sitting on the terrace, quite, sad, and reflecting on a place that had touched us in a way that we didn't expect. We packed our bags and headed towards the train station for our overnight trip to Barcelona. We boarded the train and took one last look towards Granada through the small window of the sleeper room. I retired in my bunk and waited for the train to start moving towards our next destination, officially bringing our visit to an end.

San Bardalome... finally!

The terrace

One of the streets I ran down on the way to catch the bus to Alhambra (in the background)

One of the many nooks where the King would have spent some time

The gardens of Generalife

A gorgeous Flamenco dancer.. Ole indeed!