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Published: April 2nd 2007
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Welcome to Granada
(btw, the blue sky means this photo was taken during my first trip to Granada). Or maybe even: The Youthful, Urban, European Alger of Spain
I departed Córdoba Monday morning (well, afternoon, really, but this is Spain and I was on vacation) under perfect blue skies and fluffy clouds and caught a bus for Granada. I'd been to Granada already, in early March, but was sick and bad things kept happening and I ended up focusing all my energy on trying to keep it from being The Trip From Hell. And in the end it wasn't, but anyone who's ever been to Granada knows that it deserves better than that. My friend Chelsea, who is from Oregon and is my sole link to Northwest culture out here in the wilderness, was going to be in Granada with a couple of her friends from home and I decided to crash her party and see if I could give Granada a second chance.
The bus ride from Córdoba to Granada is absolutely beautiful, on backroads through fields of olives and rolling hills (which were green, because of all the rain, yay). Literally the minute I switched to the city bus to go downtown from the bus station, it started POURING. There was even thunder. It was ridiculous.
Welcome to Alana v. Granada: Round II.
It turns out that I'd worked so hard to salvage my first Granada trip that when I found myself back there I had absolutely no desire to do anything except venture out of my hostel two or three times a day for ice cream. This isn't actually as bad as it sounds because my hostel was amazing (it was called Almohada, which means "pillow" in Spanish--THAT'S how great it was), and there was this great ice cream place that was actually the thing that salvaged the first trip (I think a scoop of spicy chocolate and a scoop of orange gelato in a waffle cone can pretty much salvage anything) and was the real motive for my coming back to Granada. There were some pretty dark times in Granada (most notably the one where I got on here in an internet cafe and wrote a whole rant about rain and misery in Córdoba and then called a friend at home to tell her how much I hate traveling and life in general), but Granada really is great, and, haha, so are traveling and life in general. So here are the highlights of an
Dreadlocks.
They're actually one of the more attractive of the fashionable Spanish hairstyles, so don't laugh too hard. amazing city and two trips that turned out to not be so bad after all:
The ice cream. Seriously. Even in the rain. Even in the hail. Even at night when the temperature dropped. You have never seen ice cream like this, or in so many flavors. It's sort of like Italian gelato, only I'm pretty sure it's actually better.
Hostal Almohada, at least, was exactly what I wanted it to be. It's little and just a little funky in a
Let's Go: Spain and Portugal-approved kind of way, and pretty equally split between Swiss families and 20-something French women traveling alone. The best part was it had a kitchen that was actually usable and a common room where I didn't feel weird about sitting with a cup of tea and my Norton Anthology reading John Keats' last, poetic, TB-riddled letters (seriously the most beautiful thing I've ever read....luckily Chelsea called me not long after and we went Out). I don't get to cook in my homestay in Madrid, so getting to eat what I want (pasta and salad, essentially) was a big deal. Even when the pushy Spanish vendors at the market insisted that I wanted to buy
a kilo of mushrooms, I was still excited about this. And anyway, when Spanish people start getting pushy, you, weak American, have already lost and you might as well just hand them your wallet. It went something like this:
Me: "Y hongos."
them:"un kilo."
me: "no, no quiero un kilo de hongos."
them: "Pero están en oferta--2€/kilo. ¡Quieres un kilo de hongos!"
me: "no, no quiero un kilo de hongos...no puedo comer un kilo de hongos"
them: "¡Quieres un kilo de hongos! ¡Están de oferta!"
(bags up a kilo of mushrooms while his sneaky wife slips in 6 cloves of garlic). Granda history. It was the last Moorish stronghold in Spain. Ferdinand and Isabella, "The Catholic Kings" didn't dislodge them until 1492 (that was a big year for Spain).
The Alhambra. Duh. Look at the pictures. And, I don't know, you're sort of obligated to like it, anyway, even if it wasn't incredible to look at.
The Arab Baths. Another great thing that survived the Reconquest. Actually, it's a spa, but a spa was just about the greatest thing that could have happened to me both times I was in Granada. 7 pools in different shapes and
depths in temperatures ranging from Really Hot to Puget Soundesque, and everything in between. And you just go around dipping yourself into all of them, and when you've become so relaxed that you can barely keep your head above water and all the pools are feeling the same anyway, you haul yourself out and drink sweet arab tea in the "resting room".
Granada hippies. I love Granada hippies. They are by far the most enthusiastic hippies I have ever seen in my life, and, given my background, I really feel like this is saying something. They live in caves in the hills outside of town, sit in bongo-drum circles on city steps with a communal basket of bread in the middle (seriously, I saw this), get high overlooking the Alhambra, and then dance all night in reggae clubs where dreadlocks and hiking boots are practically required to get past the bouncers. They're just so cute. They really think they invented it all. But you at least have to admire their dedication. Granada is the Berkeley of Europe.
Granada nightlife Really. I don't think we would have gotten into that club if both of the natives we were with didn't have
dreadlocks AND hiking boots on. There's a pretty great jazz scene, too.
The restaurant guy. I went to this restaurant in the Albazin, the Arab/sale of Eastern-Influenced stuff to tourists neighborhood, completely by accident and only because I was having a bad night. It ended up fixing everything. The place had about 7 tables, and the owner spoke 6 languages perfectly. And since it was the tourist area, he had people speaking a different language at almost every table. I ended up staying for about an hour and a half just to watch him run around between English, French, German and Spanish (and when he found out that the Spanish family was from Catalonia, he jumped right over to Catalán, the regional language). He'd size people up as they came through the door and try to greet them in their language. He usually got it right. The place was so small, I ended up sitting with a nice French couple, and the owner came over and talked to us for a long time, and even told us his life story, but he was speaking French at that point, so I missed out.
Semana Santa processions. These processions happen every night
during Easter week. They make these huge elaborate floats with Mary and Jesus and candles, and then men carry them through the streets, followed by a marching band and kids waving incense and big candles. Granada's were really pretty low-key, I found myself standing there being flooded with fond memories of Blanchard's old Poop Parade. The real fervor (and the non-dying camera battery) was in Cádiz, so I'll save my stories for then.
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aunt mila and uncle paul
non-member comment
hello
Hi Alana -We are sure glad that you are feeling better now and can actually enjoy your trip! Uncle Paul wants you to send a couple of those ice cream/gelato cones. We will pass on the mushrooms, though! Ha! Hope the rest of your trip is enjoyable! Love Aunt Mila and Uncle Paul