Granada steels the show

Granada Steels the Show-

There is one question that rings out like a nails on a chalkboard, piercing the ears of every traveler; “So which is your favorite place?” With frequent practice you can learn how to sidestep a direct response like any good politician. Mine always sounded like this; “uh oh I don’t know that’s a tough one derr… I guess I have different favorites for different things, like New Zealand for its nature, Nepal for hiking, Malaysia for beaches, Tanzania for wildlife etc etc.” This response effectively gives people enough info both satisfy the question as well as help them understand it’s impossible to answer. And it’s better than the easy alternative; “Don’t ask me stupid questions.”

There is really no place I DON’T cherish. Every single village, town, city and country is special. As contrived as I know that sounds it really is true. Ok, when I was in Varanasi, India it was 122 degrees Fahrenheit, 98% humidity, smelled unbelievably rancid and I saw 3 dead bodies my first 2 days. I’d be completely full of shit (and mentally unstable) if I pretended to say I “enjoyed” that, but as far as my journey is concerned there has not been 1 place more eye opening. For that reason Varanasi, and places similar, will always be a sacred memories and valued experiences. Many times this appreciation of somewhere only occurs in hindsight and rarely do I come across a place that while there I find myself questioning where it ranks in my favorite cities/countries list. An immediate affinity and knee jerk love affair. Granada, Spain is one of those places. But let’s backtrack a bit to how we got there.

From Ireland our first stop back in mainland Europe was Madrid. In Madrid’s defense it’s a live and vibrant city full of interesting history, beautiful architecture and eclectic street performers, but after coming from the warm embrace of Ireland the could shoulder of Madrid could hardly be ignored. I gave Ireland my nod for the most friendly country and the people of Spain were on the fast track of being the biggest dicks. If you follow my posts you know I enjoy giving the French a hard time, but my experience in France wasn’t bad at all. The thing I kept hearing about the French is exactly what turned out to hold true for the Spaniards in Madrid. If you can’t speak their language to hell with you. USUALLY in most countries as long as you give it an attempt, even if you’re fumbling and mumbling, people will appreciate it and treat you kinder because of it. I’m WAY far removed from being able to say I speak Spanish, but growing up in Vegas, plus my mandatory/completely worthless 1 year of foreign language in high school, I speak it ever so slightly better than any other second language and at least well enough to give a formal introduction and ask for someones pardon before switching to English. This didn’t seem to make one difference at all. I couldn’t count the amount of times after giving the “hola, buenos tardes, mi Español no es bueno, habla usted inglies”? And in return I was responded to with a raised voice entirely in Spanish, or an eye roll, or head shake in disgust and even one guy that just walked away. Waiters will slam down plates and bartenders will serve you a drink without even looking at you. If you don’t speak Spanish it’s fu*k you and the horse you rode in on. A few pleasant encounters we had were at the Restaurante Botín which prominently displays a Guinness Book of World Records certificate in the window designating it the worlds oldest restaurant (chalk that up) and at a bar called Gran Café de Madrid where, perhaps not coincidentally, the friendly bartender was not Spanish, but Romanian. After closing down that place he took us around to a few local spots. The ending of that night turned out to be the icing on Madrid’s bitter cake when my travel companion was a victim of an attempted pickpocket. A combined 23 months of consecutive travel between us and the first ever occurrence of the like. Fortunately in his inebriated state he was still lucid enough to sniff out the funk of a random hug from a stranger and grabbed the guys hand reaching into his back pocket before sending him running away with rib kick.

In Seville (Sevilla) things took a turn for the better. The locals were nicer, but the hostel we ended up in was the main turning point. Owned by 4 young English guys in their mid 20’s whom I applauded for their entrepreneurial efforts. I felt compelled and a few times grabbed their attention by volunteering a few easy to implement revenue generating ideas, to which they were receptive an thankful. It was a friendly place with a homey feel and welcoming rooftop terrace where you can easily meet other travelers. Before even settling into our room we had a few new wolf pack members. We delved into the tapas scene and had a few nights out on the town. Sevilla is a beautiful old city and the heart of Spain’s flamenco culture. We attended a flamenco show that was paired with what claimed to be the worlds only flamenco museum (although we saw one 3 days later in Granada). The museum highlighting the flamenco origins was interesting and the intense performance was, well, intense.

Two of Sevilla’s most notable landmarks are the Cathedral de Sevilla and the Alcazar. The cathedral, which is the largest gothic church in the world, and houses the tomb of Christopher Columbus, was extremely grand and well worth the visit. The Alcazar on the other hand couldn’t have been more disappointing. Just a few of old buildings of little significance to the non historian. Both of us, The Dolpin and I, have been templed and monumented out for some time now and should have known to quit while we were ahead after the cathedral. The following day we parted ways with the friends we met at the hostel, wished continued success to the young businessmen and jumped on the bus headed for Granada.

Granada!… For starters the food. Everyone knows Spain is famous for its tapas. What you may NOT know is that the tradition of tapas originated as something given out complimentary with a drink order. All over Spain you could go to a bar and get free food just by drinking (win). Granada is one of the last places that still does this universally at every pub in the city. Chicken skewers, ham panini, calamari, beef sliders, shrimp cocktail, pork bruschetta, you name it, except you CANNOT call it, they just surprise you with whatever is being made at the time. It’s like Christmas with every drink order… Then there is La Alhambra. This was described to us as similar to the Alcazar in Sevilla, which we could have done without. Because of that we had no burning desire to see this one and came dangerously close to skipping it, but since everyone we spoke to insisted on it, we woke up early one morning to check it out. If you’re like me you’ve never even heard of La Alhambra. This place is absolutely unbelievable. Literally the most impressive building complex I’ve ever seen putting the Taj Mahal to shame.

Originally a 13th century fortified Moorish palace that was the final muslim stronghold in Europe until being captured by King Ferdinand and Queen Isabel in 1492. (The gold that was commandeered from La Alhambra helped fund Christopher Columbus’s expedition). The Arabic influence is still everywhere in the city making for the cultural mix that gives it it’s charm. In areas the narrow cobblestone alleys built for horse and carriage are lined with Arabic handicraft stores, hookah cafés and middle eastern restaurants that blend seamlessly with western hostels, Christian bookstores and Catholic Churches. The city is flanked by the Andalusian Sierra Nevada mountain range in one direction and the Mediterranean Sea in the other. Within these Andalusian hills, cave homes built into the mountainside can be seen all over and are mostly occupied by gypsy immigrants who live in small communities off the social grid. Gypsies are a huge part of Spain’s history. In fact the word flamenco translates to “of the Flanders”, as in “a dance in the way of the Flanders” (Flemish gypsy immigrants). For centuries Granada has been a place for wayward travelers to hang their hats and I can only assume many share stories similar to the one we heard from an English tapas restaurant owner; “My wife and I came down to Spain to visit some friends of ours in Valencia. We made it as far as Granada where we were supposed stay only 3 days… That was 11 years ago”. It’s the X factor, the je ne sais quoi, the intangible quality that just makes somewhere special and Granda has it. It will be one of the places that brings a smile to my face when looking back on my travels.

Bob