Granada, I'm falling under your spell.........

................
And if you could speak, what a fascinating tale you would tell.
Of an age the world has long forgotten.
Of an age that weaves a silent magic in Granada today.

Wednesday 13/10/10


I slept poorly again but fell into a heavy sleep about 5am. We took the Metro to Gran Via, Madrid's elegant shopping neighbourhood and browsed. Fernie tried on a gorgeous leather jacket sort of like the ones I've seen those sexy Italian male models wearing. It was only 100 Euro but he said it was too formal for our casual lifestyle. He looked so good in it – very Spanish, sort of like Julio Iglesias (I'd say Enrique Iglesias but let's face it we're more in Julio's generation).


Montaditos, a variety of little sandwiches in crusty bread with vino and cerveza – all for 8 Euro. Who says that Europe is expensive? Well certainly Spain isn't.


The hotel stored our luggage for us and we picked it all up for our train at 5pm We dragged the luggage half a mile down the cobblestone road to the station. Thankfully, we packed light because I still puffed and sweated along the way.


Point of interest: our hotel which was billed as a 4 star had no shampoo, conditioner, not even a shower cap. We don't usually book 4 star – we're 3 star kind of people, enjoying the 3 star ambience – but we bid with Priceline and got a great price, cheaper than a 3 star. It's not a big deal and I'm sure if we asked, they'd have given us some supplies, but I'm surprised.


It was a 4 ½ hour journey to Granada on the AVE train – whisper smooth. I love train travel. If only they made airplanes like trains with seats in twos, so comfortable with the novel way that they recline – without the back of the seat moving. That way the person behind is not crushed and the large tray is fully useable. The views of the passing scene out the window are the bonus.


We arrived in Granada at 9:30pm and just missed a torrential rain storm. We rattled and clattered our suitcases along a maze of dark and wet cobblestone lanes. It was only 1/3 of a mile but seemed longer because we were dragging the weight. The Abadia Hotel, a 3 star, is in an ancient red tile-roofed abode, on a narrow lane in north centro Granada. It's a hippie style hostal with the aroma of incense and pot leeching across the courtyard and wafting down the hallways. Kitschy décor greeted us with plastic flowers strewn across the bed and a Moorish archway on the wall above the bed. Very clean, loaded with shampoos and other essentials, our room also had a kettle (YEAH!) and a fridge. It was much better than the austere uniformity of our Madrid hotel.




A mere 6 miles – 10 km on our aching feet today – they're thanking us for the rest.

Thursday 14/10/10


Granada is such an easy town to maneuver on foot. The cathedral and the central plazas are only a ten minute walk from our hotel. The Alhambra, on the other hand, while only a mile or so away is up curvy, steep, narrow streets – steep being the buzz word here. But there's a mini-bus up there, thank goodness, I'd booked and paid for tickets for the Alhambra before we left home because I'd read that they sell out most days. The day we were there they were sold out. They only let 6,600 people in a day on a timed basis to keep it from being overcrowded.



The Alhambra is one of those 'must see before you die' places, a vast complex of early Muslim beginnings, taken over by the Christians (what's new?) when they claimed Spain in the eleventh century. It's an odd mix of the elaborately detailed and filigreed Moorish and more geometric Roman design.


The beautiful Nazaries Palace with so many water features built by a Sultan for, I suppose, his favourite of the harem, has been lovingly restored and upkept. I read in my guidebook that the harem seldom ventured outside and only into one of the courtyards. They were virtually kept prisoner their whole lives.



Charles V (AKA Carlos) built his own place – known as Charles V palace – duh! Very Roman and lacking the romance of the Nazaries,.



Then of course, there's the more well-known part, the Alcazaba, the Red Fort. That's the fortifying castle that is pictured so widely from where those early folk defended their riches and lifestyle. They've tried to keep the Generalife Gardens much as they were in the first century and they're lush and gorgeous.



The bus ride back down into the city was like a ride with James Bond, the streets hardly wide enough to fit the bus. We careened wildly through the twists and turns, pedestrians flattening themselves against the walls. “How would you like to drive Maggie here?” I asked F, who merely rolled his eyes in response.



The Granada barrio of Sacromonte, is high on the hillside adjacent to the Alhambra. It's the home of the Roma – the gypsies. Only the main roads through, and there aren't many, are named so it's impossible to find an address. Thievery is expected so we ventured out with only twenty or thirty Euro in our pockets. Caves from centuries back now house flamenco shows and tourist shops. We never made it that far as it was dark and creepy as we walked up.


Instead we walked over to the area of Plaza Nueva which has a vibrant atmosphere with the locals taking to the streets each evening; even the old folk. I envy their society. There's a fair-sized Arabic population in Granada. I suppose they're the descendants of the Muslims/Moors who lived here before the Roman Christians took over Spain.


A fairly easy day – 7 miles – 11 km

Friday 15/10/10


Grabbed a quick breakfast in our local cafe where they make toast out of crusty bread, saturate it with butter and slather it with peach 'mermalada. 'Oh, my clogging arteries' but delish. And, in Andulucia, the orange juice is freshly squeezed – we couldn't get enough of it. The waiter remembered us and what we ordered from yesterday and with his smattering of English, gave us a bit of a Spanish lesson. We learned never to say 'jam' because it will be taken for 'jamon' – ham. Instead use ''marmelada'.


The girl at reception in our hotel spkke perfect English with an English accent. I asked her where she was from and she said 'here – I was born in Spain but my parents are English and they sent me for English lessons. That's where I got the accent'. But when she switched to Spanish, her accent changed too.


Next stop – Sevilla! Our train left at 11:30am and in 3 hours we arrived in Seville. Rolling hills dotted with olive trees, sleepy villages, crumbling white stucco farmhouses, houses on the tippy-top of hills. There was not a field or a hillside that wasn't covered with olive trees. No wonder, they give you olives gratis in all the bars. It seems that there's no wild uncultivated land in Spain.


As we got closer to Seville, the olive groves became fewer and cattle grazed on the brown barren landscape. But Sevilla itself is an oasis of green, tall palm trees swaying in the breeze. It's not much further south than Granada but it was much warmer about 25 degrees C.



Hotel Dona Maria, in an old palace sits beside a much more grandiose, monstrous palace and adjacent to the biggest Gothic cathedral in Spain which looms a lofty presence across the square. Its in Santa Cruz barrio, the centre of old Sevilla. Sidewalk cafe/bars proliferate lining the streets all around the area and there was a constant buzz of happy conversation. We splurged a bit on Hotel Dona Maria at 100 Euros but everything is over priced in Sevilla anyway – it's very touristy – sort of a Spanish Disneyworld., We had a huge ornate room with all appurtenances and big soft comfy beds. Coincidence – our room was numbered 123 and the cab we took to the station was also 123. Is that a lucky omen?


Vino and a couple of tapas and we went off exploring. A long black Rolls Royce limo pulled into the plaza outsid the cathedral and scores of people congregated all dressed up in their fineries. It was Friday and it was a wedding party – the first of many that we ran into over the next two days. October must be wedding month. The tall bride wore a traditionally styled white dress and her glossy black hair was pulled back severely into a bun – very flamenco-ish. She and her shorter husband posed for photos and all the tourists snapped happily too at a perceived bit of authentic Spanish culture.


The river was only a short walk away – ten minutes and the Plaza del Toro loomed its ugly head. No more needs to be said about that barbaric ritual. Dark descended and the lights shimmered in the murky water of the Rio. There just happened to be a geocache outside the huge concert hall so there's our Sevilla geocache done.




Not so much walking today – about 5 miles / 8 km total.

Saturday 16/10/10



How I hate these early starts. We were up at 6:15, took a taxi to the station for our day trip to Cordoba., It was hardly daybreak as our train left at 8:20am and a dense but shallow of fog enshrouded the farmlands. Every so often, the sun would break through casting an amber glow – is that from smog? Because it sure reminded me of India which is the smoggiest country we've ever visited. It's much greener along this route; now orange groves are plentiful – no more olives.


Can't help but people watch on trains. A young guy boarded, English, traveling with two girls – all with gigantic backpacks. His long hair was wild and crazy. As he sat on the train, he worked at it with his fingers into more organized dreadlocks taming the ones that stuck straight up on top of his head. I didn't realize that 'the look' took time......


Old town Cordoba within thick fortifying walls has a distinctly Arab aura. You enter as if into a souk. A maze of lanes made my GPS invaluable even though it was jumpy trying to stayed locked onto the satellites. We had a funny breakfast – typically Spanish in a tiny plaza, accompanied by a Spanish guitar. Long baguette rolls, split and toasted with sides of chopped Iberico ham, spicy sausage, pate and olive oil. It was pretty good.


The gypsies are really aggravating in Cordoba. Strangely, with Granada's large population of Roma, we weren't bothered.


Cordoba is famous for its mosque turned Christian cathedral, Alcazar, synagogue and Roman bridge. Once again, it was very touristy with the horses and carriages and souvenir stores. But the atmosphere on the back streets is delightful. Fernie found sardinas tapas finally – he's been looking for a week. When we asked why nobody was serving them, we were told 'they're too smelly'.


Wandering back to the station by an alternate route at the end of the day, we stumbled unexpectedly upon many archaeological sites of Roman ruins – an anachronism situated beside a convenience store or a gas station.


The major department store in Spain is El Corte Ingles with an outlet in each city. They always have a Supermercado so when we passed one on the way to the station, we loaded up on supplies – wine, water, grapes and bananas.

The train back to Sevilla left at 6:45 and we were beat – we snoozed all the 1 ¼ hours back. Seems we've become Spanish in our habits now. We ventured out for dinner at 9:30pm and had a salty but delicious paella with a pitcher of sangria. The sangria is so much better than any I've ever tasted in North America. When I get home, I'm going to investigate what the secret ingredient is and see if I can emulate the Spanish version of sangria.

11 miles / 18 km – feels like more by the state of our bodies.




Sunday 17/10/10

It was so wonderful to sleep in – no train to catch. But at 9:30am the streets were still dead as we went on search of a good place for 'desayunos'. The square in front of our hotel and the cathedral is usually humming with activity but Sunday, the locals sleep late, I guess. I'm not sure when they go to mass.




The usual tourist spots had to be visited – the cathedral, the Alcazar; and on a general walk we discovered the most massive plaza one could imagine – the Plaza Espana. I think the Bellagio and the Venetian in Las Vegas used it as a template. I know they're supposed to be Italian, but there's a crossover here - the Roman influence, I guess. Canals, arching tiled bridges, fountain, towers – it's glorious.



When we arrived, they were setting up chairs and a dais and an orchestra was warming up for what we perceived would be a concert. Hordes of well-dressed Sevillians – after church probably – wandered and mingled and found their seats. We stood up on a raised balcony looking over the plaza and waited. Would it be Placido Domingo? “Don't be ridiculous” said Fernie, but I can hope, can't I! Finally, across the vast terrace, a platoon of bodies surged chanting and waving red flags and placards. They were following the 'star'; I was a bit disappointed that there was no vocalist; instead it was Juan Jesus, some sort of politician I guess and the horde were either for or against him. Such emotion! That's the Latin way. I never figured out why they needed a full orchestra. Poor guys, in black suits & 25 degrees C and they were only there to play the national anthem. By the gist of the placards, it seems that the hecklers are not in favour of the privatization of the waterworks – there's probably more to it but with our limited Spanish........


Being Sunday, there were several markets along the way including a 'coin & stamp collectors mercadillo' and another larger market of many nations. We bought nothing – nada. I remember the day when we bought so much stuff we needed an extra suitcase to cart it all home. Now we're at the age that we're shedding possessions and nobody wants tshirts anymore.


I won't talk about food today other than to say we had the best tapas ever and they were mostly vegetarian.


The sounds of Spanish guitar are all pervasive in the streets of Sevilla and occasionally we'd hear an accordion, the sound of which seem unusually suited to the Spanish tunes.


Flamenco, mostly put on for the non-Spanish tourists, can be very expensive – 70 Euro each with dinner and drink at one establishment. But we found a hint in our Frommer's book to go to the Cultural Centre which happens to be very hard to find – on a little lane with few signs. We booked tickets for 15 Euros each.

The venue was a small square courtyard with chairs around three sides of a slightly raised wooden platform. The only complaint I have is that the chairs were the type they use in church auditoriums - those small metal, folding and stackable ones. After an hour and a half, our bums were numb. Small balconies and tangled vines adorned the sheer walls. The performance started with a Spanish guitar player and a singer – two very handsome young men;, the guitarist was blonde which was surprising.


The acoustics were wonderful in this tight little space, the tones echoing off the walls as the singer wailed his plaintive song, accompanied by the nimble fingered Montoya-like guitarist. A raven-haired, lithe-figured woman who was not that young appeared in a red and white traditional dress. She stepped onto the platform and danced, writhing and gesticulating quite erotically. She was followed by a young male dancer who stomped his way into everyone's hearts – he got a standing ovation. A great show and other than our numb behinds, we were elated.

We had dinner before the performance, Canadian style – early and so we dragged our tired bodies straight back to the hotel after and fell into bed.


11+ miles 18 km today