Estoy cansada de subir tantas cuestas

24-25 mayo 2010: Granada, España

As so often seems to happen when I'm flying into a big city, I had trouble spotting Granada from the sky as we started our descent. Paris and Berlin had been impossible to miss, but every other city's airport is located just far enough out of the city center and I always seem to be on the wrong side of the plane so that I can't figure out where exactly the downtown area is. But the reason I couldn't find Granada was because it was barely there. The plane bumped down onto an empty landing strip and all I could see was countryside leading up to mountains. They brought stairs up to the plane and we walked down to the tarmac in a rush of warm evening air. Ours was literally the only plane there and after a stroll across the tarmac, passengers found their baggage on one of two baggage claim conveyers. I could hardly believe I'd found an airport smaller than Cork's.

The bus took us through some countryside, a brief snippet of suburbs and then into Granada. Most people got off at the first stop, apparently a main transportation center. The driver asked what stop the rest of us needed. I couldn't remember the name of the stop Liz had told me, but I said I thought it was the fourth one. The driver looked at me oddly. Eventually we got almost to city center and the driver informed us some roads were closed, so this was as far as he could go. He came to explain to me (in Spanish) and said we were at Fuente del Triunfo. The name rang a bell, so I told him this was fine and I thought it was the correct stop anyway (in Spanish). At the same time as I was getting up, I heard, "Caroline! Caroline!" And there was Liz, more tan than I remembered and laughing with giddy relief that I had arrived safely. She introduced me to her friend Luis and we walked to her host mom's apartment, stopping on the way for gelato (only a euro!). We dropped off my stuff and Liz introduced me to her host mom, Yolanda and her roommate from Delaware, Kristin. There was a discussion about what would be for dinner and then Liz, Luis, and I went back out to walk around the parque Federico Garcia Lorca, whic LIz particularly liked. We said hello to some stray cats and the ducks. There were some orange trees and I pointed them out with an excited exclamation. Luis looked at me questioningly and said, 'You don't have orange trees in the United States?' Liz and I laughed. 'No, we don't! Well, only in Florida.'

Supper was almost ready when we finally returned around 10pm, a little late for the evening meal – usually it was in the 9 o'clock hour, apparently. Yolanda served us tortillas and ensalada (salad). I don't know quite what I expected from tortillas, but what we got was thick, fried potato 'pancakes'. They were very filling and tasty.

Continuing in our tradition of late-night walks, Liz and I went out again after dinner. I'm not really sure where all we went, though we did go part-way up the hill that leads to Alhambra, but eventually we ended up sitting on a wall in a city park for a while, just talking. It was good to catch up. But then I was feeling about ready to fall asleep on my feet as it had been a long day, so we headed back home.

As I was drifting off, I could hear Yolanda finishing up the dishes because the way the apartment was arranged my window opened into a tiny room off the kitchen used for storage, recycling, and trash, whose windows in turn opened into a tiny courtyard like the one from the Barcelona hostel. The apartment was basically one long hallway that wrapped around half of the courtyard, inner rooms opening onto it and outer rooms with windows to the streets. Just more proof that the Spanish don't know how to build without open sections.

~~~

On Tuesday morning, Liz had to go to class to take her last final exam, so I intended to sleep in just a little bit and then go see the cathedral and meet her when she got out. But I slept in more than I meant to and then decided to check my bank account online since I finally could use the internet (on Liz's computer). And I discovered it was $80 in the negative. Whoops. So by the time I finished with the transfer money process and checking other vital internet things, Liz was probably on her way home. I chatted with Kristin, who had started the process of packing up the last four months of her Spanish life and was rather frustrated with the amount of room she did not have. Liz had some shopping to take care of, so she showed me around the city as we shopped for gifts, postcards, and a new dress for her.

The Moroccan stores (there was a whole section of them, separated by tiny alleys filled with goods for sale) were fairly inexpensive places to get all kinds of good things from clothing to jewelry to home decor. Everything was colourful and most things also glittered. Prices were often negotiable, though not to the same extent that they were in actual Moroccan markets, as Liz informed me. Walking from the main area of Moroccan stores to Plaza Nueva, we paused outside the Cathedral so I could look at it. On the way home, there was a spice market set up on one side of it. We walked all over the main city center and up some side streets. And when I say up, I mean up. The main city center is the only flat part of the city and it is a very small section. From there you can only go up. Across the river and up a huge hill to the Alhambra or any other direction and up only marginally less steep hills to old neighborhoods of winding streets and eventually out to the outskirts where houses cling to the hillsides, almost mountains. I later learned how to say 'hills' in Spanish: cuestas. Liz seemed to think that the hills were just as good for my health as tickling and so she made sure we climbed lots of them. 'Estoy cansada de subir tantas cuestas' means 'I'm tired of climbing so many hills!'

El almuerzo (literally: lunch) was at about 3pm. First course was a noodle soup and bread and the main course was pollo con verduras (chicken with vegetables). And we didn't really have time for dessert because my ticket for the Alhambra was for 5:30pm and we had to walk up that huge, steep hill to get there. But it would have been naranjas (oranges).

So we walked fast, pausing only for a drink from the fountain at the halfway mark up the hill and arrived hot and sweaty more or less on time. Liz got a ticket for the Generalife gardens and I went to wait in the line with everyone else who had 5:30 or 6pm tickets to get into the Palaces. At least Spanish heat is dry and so the temperature being in the 80s (F) didn't feel as terrible as it does right now in Baltimore (I swear I'm sweating just sitting here – with the fan on). Another point in Spain's favour is that the evenings last forever in spring and summer. From the time we left the house at quarter of 5, until we met up with some of Liz's friends for tapas around 8, the light was that of late afternoon to evening and finally around 9:30 it was completely set. That's why everyone eats so late and most people's days don't really start until 10am – because that's just the way the light of the day works there.

The line took a while and I stared out at the city below and the gardens around me while I waited. Then I walked into the Palaces Narizes, first built in 1238 and expanded upon for a few hundred years until the Muslims were kicked out once and for all in 1492. You must be tired by now of hearing me say that places were beautiful, but you must hear it once again and then you should just go to Europe yourself and come back and tell me all the beautiful things you saw that I didn't.

The first room I walked into was el Mexuar where rulers received petitioners; Yusef I listened to them on Mondays and Thursdays, Muhammad V picked 16 days out of each month for them. The floor and the lower portion of the walls were tiled, the upper portion of the walls and the pillars were carved, and the ceiling was covered in wood inlays. The floor was actually mostly brick with small coloured or decorated tiles interspersed, but the wall tiling was solid, brightly coloured tile, carefully set in geometrical patterns. The patterns were mimicked in the ceiling pattern of dark and light wood with gold inlay. The wall carvings are patterned more like Celtic knot designs, but more heavy on the vegetation imagery and arches. Running between the tile and the rest of the wall or outlining windows and doorways (and this was true throughout the palace) were cartouches and epigraphs with beautifully carved script (in arabic). Depending on the location, these might be quotes from the Koran or poems that either praise the beauty of the palace or explain its function. The tops of the pillars were a style I had never seen before. Picture the inside of a smooth dome ceiling. Now shrink it so it could fit in the palm of your hand and picture lots of these little domes all together.

Now put them on the top of a pillar and add some vestiges of blue paint. This style is called mocárabes (I don't know if there is a different English word) and is very common in Muslim architecture. In the rest of the palaces, this style was everywhere, especially in domed ceilings and, in the picture to the right, in a little niche in the corner of a courtyard. It is hard to capture in a photograph the three-dimensionality of the style, but this gives you some idea, anyway.

From this first impressive room, I moved on to a covered gallery that looked out over the city through arched openings in the wall. I would say window, but that implies something more formal and covered in glass, which is not at all the Muslim style of building. The walk through the palaces is guided by which doors are open and it is a good thing, too because if allowed to wander freely, I would have gotten lost by the second courtyard. You lose all sense of direction in there and even though every courtyard (or patio, as the Spanish titles name them) and even every domed room, audience chamber, or niche is clearly different from all the rest, it doesn't help your sense of direction that they each have doors on all sides. The only thing that helps is the rooms on the outside that look out over the city – there, at least, you know which direction you are facing. I suspect being constantly amazed and distracted by every wall does not help in the sense of direction.

There were tall, dim rooms covered in elaborate carvings that held symbolic significance in Islam alongside spacious patios arranged to feel open while being entirely enclosed. One of the most impressive of this kind was the Patio de Arrayanes (to the right) where the pond acts as a mirror and the levels of arches give a sense of larger space. At first glance, you don't notice all the detail, but the longer you look the more you see. The bold tile-work around the bottom, the detailed carving in the walls, the intricate woodwork on the doors, the delicate interlacing stonework of the arches... Even deeper in the palace is el Cuarto de los Leones (the room of the lions), commissioned in 1370 by Muhammad V, where there was construction going to to replace the fountain supported by seven lions (now in a museum) that gave the courtyard its name. A total of 124 columns surround it, each carved as lavishly as any wall. As I neared the exit of the palace, there was yet another courtyard, this one a lush little garden with orange trees shading the walkway around it. I first spotted it from above, through an arabic-style set of french doors before coming down and through another little courtyard to the garden courtyard. From there I went back out to meet Liz and explore the real gardens of the complex.

~~~

As I passed through each courtyard, I wondered if this was the one where Loreena McKennitt held her Alhambra concert, but I never did come across it. I think she played in the palace of Carlos V, which is connected to the Palaces Narizes, but somewhat separate and as I didn't want to keep Liz waiting forever, I skipped his palace. Loreena McKennit captures the spirit of the place very well in many of her songs and it was as clear to me as I'm sure it was to her that this was an area in which Celts once lived before they were pushed further and further north and west. In all of Granada there is a feeling of mixed cultures. I drag my knowledge and love of Celtic history with me wherever I go and cannot help but think as I travel in Spain that as Christianity was just beginning, the Celts were fighting to stay here and all throughout the Mediterranean. And I think of how they clung to their own ways even as Christians on that little island in the Atlantic and sent their religion back into Europe again with missionaries, for the Celts had an insatiable wanderlust. The influence of the Celts is all over and their monasteries appear in France and Germany. Little remains from their earliest days on the continent, but it is their Christianity that echoes now across the world stage. They re-taught the English Christianity and gave them their books which the English then took even further abroad, even to Spain. This country is where the Christians and Muslims fought for centuries, where the Jews survived, where all the manuscripts and architecture and beliefs collided and co-mingled. It's impossible for these cultures to co-exist (or even be in a nearly constant state of hostility) without influences being exchanged in all directions. When I started looking at Jewish, Christian and Muslim manuscripts, mostly from Spain and France this semester in World Art, I was constantly finding influences from one to the other and proof of the Celtic design sensibility working its way throughout Europe. In the Alhambra, the weight of Islamic rule is dominant, as it is throughout the city, and yet there are hints everywhere that point to its multicultural roots. I wish I could just put all of Loreena McKennit's CD liner notes in here, as she explores all of these intersections and even takes it to Asia minor, but instead I will just point you in her direction with these: a video composite from her Alhambra concert and her official website.

~~~

Before I actually found Liz, I took a detour through the Albayzín, the fortress and city part of Alhambra. As a whole, the Alhambra complex was built to be pretty much an independent, self-contained, self-sufficient mini city. The royalty lives in the palaces and enjoys good entertainment and lovely places of worship and the general working population required to support a royal family, plus military lived in the Albayzín. Now it is pretty much a ruin, but the foundations of barrios remain and the exterior walls, thick and solidly built into the hill, still stand strong, watchtowers intact.

Together, we explored the Generalife gardens. There were plenty of roses, but for the most part the gardens were filled with flowers and greenery that I couldn't name. It was well-tended, carefully organized in wide terraces set into the hill and maze-like paths, separated by low and tall bushes as well as avenues of palm trees. There was another building tucked away full of archways and tall windows and very few actually indoor rooms.

After we came back down the hill from the Alhambra, we set off to try to find Liz's friends. She led me through back streets, constantly twisting upwards until we came out at the Mirador, which means something like 'a place to look'. It was a plaza set into the hill directly across from the Alhambra's hill. It really was a great view. Beyond Alhambra, you could see the Sierra Nevadas. But Liz's friends were nowhere in sight. So we set off again, this time going down, down, down through the winding back streets, hoping to come out where we wanted. We followed a girl who looked like she knew where she was going and came out at Plaza Nueva, just where we needed to be. Liz led me to a little pub where we found her friends at last and ordered vino tinto and noodle tapas to start our dinner (it was a little after 8pm), which would consist of tapas at a variety of pubs throughout the city.

Tapas is a Spanish invention which has spread to exclusive restaurants in other parts of the world (including my own dear Chestertown). But in Spain it is a cheap way to get food and alcohol together and get to taste a lot of different foods, if you are particularly hungry or thirsty. You pay for the food and get a drink with it (and it doesn't have to be alcohol, but that's what most people go in for). I think at this first place we went to, it cost 2 euro. For a small plate of noodles (it was an Asian pub...) and wine. At the time, that was a little less than 3 American dollars. The next place we went, we ordered all together and shared the big platter of a variety of tapas, including shrimp toast thankfully with the heads cut off this time. Spain is a fan of seafood of all kinds and coastal cities particularly pride themselves on putting shrimp in just about everything, it seems to me. There was some debate after that as to where we would go next, and a large bottle of grocery store vino tinto was consumed in the streets as the debate continued. Everyone was quite comfortable with this as drinking in public places is not prohibited, and anyway, vino tinto is just about the weakest alcohol in existence. In the end, a Moroccan place was decided upon, tucked in the alleys not far from Liz's home. We stayed just long enough to get our drinks and food as it was very crowded at the low tables and stools were hard to come by. Because this was everyone's last night on the town, they were determined to fit in their favourite place: Poë (long 'o', long 'e'), run by an Englishman and his African-South American wife, and where English was the predominant language in conversation. There was also a bookshelf with English language books in the corner where we sat. It was crowded there, too, but the Englishman came over to talk to everyone and gave them each a free shot, it being their last night. Some of them bought hats or shirts with Poë emblazoned on them as remembrances. I had a very tasty frijoles (bean) tapas and the freshest-tasting peach juice I have ever had, recommended by the Englishman when I asked what kinds of juice he had (the vino tinto and long day had been making me too sleepy).

Spanish people stay out late. So late that it's early when they get home. Nightclubs and bars stay open until 4-6am usually, though on weeknights (Monday-Wednesday) social life is marginally quieter. It was about midnight when we left Poë, but that was still considered almost early, so although some people had gone home, the rest continued on. Even with all the tapas, Americans will still get a craving for pizza after enough alcohol (I don't know if that's what the Spanish crave, though the Irish were all about the pizza as well). So some of the group went on to a bar where shots were a euro for a basic shot and went up in 1 euro increments for stronger alcohol content or more complicated mixtures while the rest went to a pizza joint. Unfortunately, it was getting ready to close, so there were only a few slices left. Liz, Kristin, and I headed to home from there. We made sure Kristin got in okay, but then Liz and I went back out to a place nearby that made schwarma (a kind of a wrap/sandwich thing), as she wanted to get one last one before leaving and I was feeling hungry again. We sat on a bench on a corner near the apartment to eat it. I'd never had one before and I couldn't tell you anymore what was in it, but it absolutely hit the spot as a pre-bedtime meal.