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| the alhambra |
Though we spent only 1 more night in Seville, I felt the closure I needed so desperately when I had left the first time, was finally in my grasp. Still though, we were emotionally stuck and it took us hours to leave and say goodbye all over again.
People always say I can be cold in emotional situations, that I laugh when I should cry, that I make jokes when I should wimper. Maybe they're right, I guess I've never been to a funeral I didn't start laughing at, I've never heard bad news and not still had the stray sarcastic thought run through my mind. Maybe it's terrible, cold, insensitive but I just can't turn it off. Call it a defense mechanism, a way to never be completely devastated. Whatever it is, it works and for most of those around me, they too find the comfort in my ability to laugh in almost any situation.
So off to Granada, I honestly don't remember much of the journey, if we changed trains or if anything of note even happened. In my memory it just seemed like we were suddenly there, checking into the Oasis sister hostel. It was nice, but of course nothing in comparison to Sevilla. We attempted a nap but gave up and darted out to see the markets and get some tapas. Granada was a maze of alleys lined with incense, metallic trinkets, jewelry and art. A step closer to Morocco than anywhere else we'd been. It's a strangely diverse place, with every corner standing firm for a different nationality and language. Though the heavy Morrocan influence seems to overpower almost everything. The architecture is equally diverse and it appears as if almost every culture and era once had their way with this place. The most impressive of all the architecture left behind was left by the Moors and is Granada's most famous attraction. I have never experienced such a work of architecture as I did with the Alhambra. It is described as having perfect symmetry, where the water runs through the palace in flawless synergy with the land. It is a truly indescribably beautiful and picturesque place. I feel as if my words can do it no justice, my pictures capturing only a fraction of its allure and artistry. We spent an entire day there, waking up at some ungodly hour in the morning to beat the line we had heard so much of. Only a certain number of tickets are sold per day to a certain section of the palace, the part that is obviously the highlight of the Alhambra. These tickets sell out everyday, without fail, even though there are thousands. The only reason we left the complex is because we were so hungry and they provided only food that induced thoughts of a trailer park birthday party costing under 10$. So starving and sick of each other, we caught a taxi back to town having him slam the breaks when we saw the reliable and fast burger king sign on a passing street.
Just the night before we had to check into a new hostel, and as we walked out a familiar guy going in said hey! It took us a moment to realize where we knew each other from but as soon as it clicked we laughed in shock of this small world. We had met in Amsterdam and sunk the boat in the canal together! So we hung out a lot, staying in the same hostel. We also met some Greeks who really solidified the closure to our journey. I love the Greeks. This couple was so outrageous and fun, they kept us laughing, eating, drinking. As the Greeks do best. They told us of how they broke into the Alhambra at night by climbing over a wall. Here we have a master piece of fortitude, a national monument and they just climb over a wall. Leave it to the Greeks.
We heard about a walking tour that shows Granada's famous street art, the gypsy caves and the best view of the Alhambra, so we signed up and set out hiking up the steep hills in the worst of the mid-day sun. The street art was amazing, plastering entire sections of the city's alleys. The views were breathtaking, even those where the Alhambra was out of sight, where the Sierra Nevada rose in the distance. The guide told us of how "granada" actually mean pomegranate. After pointing this out it becomes apparent how every little nook and cranny, sign and post is made up of a pomergranate design. Though, my favorite part of the tour was the cave house. This cave was modern in comparison to most, having internet, cable, and electricity in a 5 room cave with 2 rooms as bedrooms. The man who lived there, Mali, told us how he must white wash the inside every 2 years and though he is capable of making the cave larger by excavating further, he has to be aware of his nearby neighbors. The cave is the perfect temperature in summer of winter, regulating itself just as the earths soil does. It smelled nothing of must, dirt or stale air. Instead, it smelled of a monestary burning incense. It smelled what I imagined the best of India to smell like, of meditation and awareness, of forgiveness and solitude. There was something about this little old man that took an emotional hold on me from the moment I met him and as he showed us around his truly humble abode, I broke down in tears, so touch by his words and energy. He told us of his loved and lost, of his exciting life, with stories of long journeys on bicycles. He told us how the world is our responsibility now, how we must clean up the mess of the generations before. His every word was in an effort to inspire us and for me at least, I forever changed just by being in his presence.
After the tour we ventured off to do some more market shopping. Fran was desperate to meet the gypsy's and had an unfortunately idealized view of them, which I knew would be dashed quickly and without mercy. The gypsies want nothing to do with passing tourists unless they're making money off them. In Granada in particular they are known to be nasty and even more money hungry than most others are thought to be. I'm not saying that all gypsies are that, but let's face facts and accept that they will likely not accept someone who doesn't speak any Spanish, practice the same religion or look remotely poor. I tried to explain this to her so she would not be so eager to put herself in the path of any gypsies, but it was to no avail. We were walking along and an old gypsy woman walked up to us with twigs and flowers of lavender in her hands. Her wrinkles creased deep into her face as she squinted into the afternoon sun. Her eyes barely visible with the weight of her brow drooping not her eyelids. She walked with a limp, waving her hands about and mumbling randomly in praise. She grabbed Francesca before I could say anything and as she spoke Fran listened intently, trying to pick up every word as she drew a cross n her forehead, telling her of the good things to come and how important our friendship was. At this point she had me by the wrist also, forcing Fran and I to hug, pressing sticks of lavender into our palms and closing them grasped around the dry flowers. She then told us we each had to pay her 10 euro for the blessing which, we just didn't have. We tried to give her back the lavender and and apologize but she angered in seconds and before I could turn away she slapped me across the face and cursed us. Hahahaha. Needless to say, that was the end of Francesca's obsession with the gypsies.
In light of our now cursed existence and our dwindling time in Spain, we booked a massage at the Arab baths, thinking we deserved some pampering and meditation. I arrived looking forward to once again being topless, however, I too had idealistic notions of Arab harem baths soaked in oil and freedom. When I inquired they informed me that I must wear a bathing suit top. The irritation lasted only a moment until we passed thru the doors leading to the baths. The ceiling arched in frilled moorish design, stretching down in perfect perspective. There was an atmosphere reminiscent of a movie set. The exact environment my ideological harem was set in. There were 3 pools, cold, warm and hot. I wandered between them aimlessly, relinquishing myself to my senses in an attempt to feel as much of the experience as I could. When I was finally called in for the massage, it seemed pointless in my already relaxed state. The massage was not the best, but that didn't lessen the experience at all and after Fran and I stayed for another hour meditating, stretching and drinking what is probably the best tea I've ever had in my life. A perfect combination of honey and mint in a revitalizing heat that oddly, leaves one feeling cool.
Our last night in Granada was spent with the Greeks, discussing all the worlds politics as if the 5 of us could change it all ourselves. Enough alcohol from a 1 euro strictly shot bar can make anyone feel invincible, even politically. Fran and I packed our things and parted our ways as I headed to one airport and she headed to another.
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