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Published: December 10th 2017
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We wake up in Granada. Today we have our appointment to visit the Alhambra, which is this big Moorish must-see-in-Southern-Spain deal. It’s the structure behind us in yesterday’s selfie. Our hotel feeds us a meager repast… in the present… to hold us for the future. Then we ready-up and head out.
The walk up to the Alhambra is truly lovely. Once we clear the gate at the top of the narrow Euro-lane, we are surrounded by beautiful trees wearing fall colors and probably a little confusion, given it’s winter. The walls of the fortress/palace/gardens rise beside us. We emerge at the visiting site, it’s theme park time. It’s not overwhelmingly crowded, but (and we expect to hit this little observation a few more times), the Spanish are really shitty pedestrians! They just don’t tune in to their space. It’s weird and it’s universal. By count only one person has said excuse me for cutting us off and we’re pretty sure it was some French guy who was only saying it because he assumed that being courteous was the proper way to be rude in Spain. The buildings are, like, totally old buildings. We wander, we avoid, we narrowly miss people
and see the free areas before our 1:00 (13:00 if you’ve already made the switch mentally for just for this blog) gate time. Then we arm ourselves with the audio tour and line up with the other 1:00s who are waiting to enter the Nasrid palace.
Okay, we’re in. Elaborate plaster work, and tall domed rooms with elaborate plaster work and other once opulent rooms with, you know. Okay, look, we had the cajones to say it about the Taj Mahal and we’ll say it again; this is not worth coming all the way to a city for. Of course, that’s relative and many people may find themselves enriched by this experience and may even feel deep in their bones the spirit of the ancient Nasrids, but we didn’t happen to observe any history kvellers. However, the central courtyard areas were well-populated with kitty cats who scampered around charming snacks out of tourists. Gypsy cats!
Our menu del dia of the day (that’s right bilinguals, that means “menu of the day of the day”), was Moroccan food served in a little oasis on one of the windy streets. The meal was fine, but the hummus was like none
we had ever tasted. If this is what we should expect in Morocco, then start heating the bread!
Back at the room Steve climbs onto the bed fully (scarf, coat, shoes…) dressed and uncharacteristically, naps. But not for long because there is more to eat out there. With no need for preparations, we hit the street for tapas. We drop into a perfect place and eat perfect tapas and drink perfect beer and wine. Those who know Julie surely know of her love of octopus? Well, tonight she is sticking her fork into heaven. And finally we feel the spirit of the Nasrids, because everyone around us is plastered.
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