Get thee to the Monastery!

In October 2008, my husband went to Granada on a travel writing weekend.  I went along for the ride, and explored on my own. Three days in Granada is rather more than most casual visitors allow, but I found plenty to fill my time.  

Friday 

View from the Alhambra

Arrive at Hotel Casa del Capitel Nazari – a sixteenth–century mansion with lots of courtyards.  It can only be entered by pressing a bell outside and waiting for someone to open the door.  Our room seems rather dark (dark wood ceiling and shuttered windows) and there isn’t much storage space, but at least the walls are a homely yellow.  The hotel is in the Albaicin district – very picturesque, but the narrow streets are not closed to traffic, so walking up the road involves taking one’s life in one’s hands (one side are houses, shops and restaurants opening directly onto the street, and on the other is a low parapet and a drop into the gorge.  It’s the sort of place where you might see a hit and run attempt in a film.

We meet the rest of the participants of the travel writing weekend for dinner at Rabo de Tube on Paseo de los Tristes. Nicholas, a long-haired TEFL teacher, remarks that he has “too many parakeets” in his garden in Richmond.  How is it possible to have too many?  Though he adds that they gang up on the blackbirds like a sort of avian mafia.

Saturday 

I wander around the renaissance and baroque part of the city, where the Cathedral and Capilla Real are located.  There are helpful plaques describing interesting buildings in Spanish and English. 

After a while, I head up the hill towards the Alhambra.  The walk takes me through a wooded area, with conkers underfoot. When I finally locate the ticket office, the automatic machine accepts my card, despite statements to the contrary on my booking confirmation.  I notice some pomegranate trees. Pomegranates, the symbols of Granada, are everywhere – even the pavement bollards are stylised pomegranates. I start my visit at the Generalife, which is crowded. I'm impressed by the size of the cockscomb plants, (celosia cristata) which are several feet high, not like the little pot plants my dad used to grow. The idea of a running water handrail is intriguing, but don’t think it is very practical. 

Then I enter the Palace of Charles V, and visit the (free) Alhambra Museum inside. There is a display relating to the restoration of the lions from the Courtyard of the Lions in the Nasrid palace. According to the display panel, figurative art flourished in Al-Andalus from the  Umayyad period and Caliphate to the Nasrid dynasty, when objects and living beings were commonly represented in private houses and palaces. The fountain in the Courtyard of the Lions has required constant repair, the first having taken place in the sixteenth century. The current restoration has allegedly revealed more realism in the sculpture, a more stylised, svelte figure, technical sophistication and detailed sculpting, especially in the paws and belly fur.  I looked closely at the paws and belly fur, but I couldn’t make out that much detail myself.

After a refreshment break, I visit the Alcazaba or old citadel and climb the Torre de la Vela (Watchtower) from which there is an excellent view of the city and the cathedral.  

Finally I enter the Nasrid Palace, which is the highlight of the Alhambra.  It is very beautiful, but crowded, despite the timed ticket entry. A grey cat prowled around one of the courtyards as if he owned the place. Perhaps he did.

On my way out, I pass the travel writing group who are on their way in.  I leave them to it, and go for a late lunch.

After a siesta, I join the travel writing group back for a book reading by Chris Stewart. The moral appears to be, if not ‘make it up’ at least ‘embellish and modify’.  

Later, we all go to Mirador de Morayma in the Albaicin for a formal dinner.  The point of this restaurant is supposed to be the view – Morayma was the wife of the last Nasrid King, Boabdil, and this is said to be the location of the house where she was exiled, spending her time looking out at the palace of the Alhambra.  But our group is seated in an inside room, so we do not get the benefit.  The food is OK, though the vegetarian sitting on my left is not impressed by the lack of choice, and someone else is disappointed with her fish.  I choose a cold soup of garlic and almonds which is ‘interesting’, but I wouldn’t have it again, followed by meatballs with potatoes.   The meal is on Spanish time, so we don’t sit down until about half nine, and finish after midnight.  I am not the only one with a stomach on English time who finds this a bit hard going. 

Sunday

I walk round by the cathedral first thing and notice beer glasses lying around, also a strong smell of urine and general litter, but the street cleaners are about. I decide to come back when they have finished, and return to the Albaicin to visit the Archaeological Museum, housed in a sixteenth-century mansion. The exhibits range from the Paleolithic to Moorish periods. Although the descriptions of exhibits are in Spanish only (beyond my elementary level), there are excellent explanatory drawings which make everything clear.

I stroll around the Albaicin for a while, trying to avoid treading in the dog poo which decorates the pavements and eventually wander back down to the Cathedral area to visit the the Capilla Real (Royal Chapel).  It contains the tombs of the Catholic Monarchs, Ferdinand and Isabella and their daughter Joanna the Mad and her husband Phillip the Fair. It is surprisingly light inside because of the white marble.  It is possible to go down to the crypt to see the lead caskets containing the actual remains, but I am more interested in the small museum containing amongst other things Isabella’s crown and sceptre, and Ferdinand’s robes, as well as works of art from Isabella’s collection.

Later, I  come across a brass band, wearing uniforms with purple trim, lounging around outside the main Post Office. I have obviously just missed their performance. I walk along Acera del Darro and come across a market of stamps, coins and postcards.  At the fountain I find tables where women are sitting around making lace, and stalls selling patterns and bobbins. Mickey Mouse is going around selling balloons to children.

Back in Plaza Bib Rambla there is another Mickey Mouse with balloons, and also Winnie the Pooh. I  am intrigued by a children’s roundabout, which is powered by a man sitting on a sort of bicycle contraption. The ‘horses’ are made of old tyres (they aren’t all horses – there is at least one dragon or dinosaur).  

We skip the group arrangements for dinner, and do the tourist thing in Plaza Bib Rambla at Restaurant Manolo. We manage to sit down to eat before 8.00 p.m.  I have sopa picadillo (chicken, bacon  and egg – it has an odd, animal flavour like wet donkey), pork loin skewer (Gordon Ramsay would not have approved of the presentation, but it was very tender) and home made crème caramel (‘flan’). 

Monday 

I visit the monastery of San Jerónimo. The monastery was founded by the Catholic Monarchs and handed over to the Hieronymite order. In 1523 the Duchess of Sesa obtained the main chapel to use as a family vault and she commissioned architects to give the Gothic structure a makeover to bring it into the Renaissance style.  Inside is a cloister filled with citrus trees (orange, lemon and lime) edged with jasmine.  The sweet, cloying scent is almost  overpowering. 

Monastery of San Jeronimo

Walking anti-clockwise round the cloister, I come to the refectory, which is simply furnished with wooden benches, whitewashed walls and wooden ceiling.  The chapter house and sacristy are in a similar simple style, with some religious paintings and statues. Finally I come, with a shock, to the main church. This is a total contrast, with deep ceiling relief, painted walls and ceiling and gilded altarpiece and a recording of baroque music playing.  I have the place virtually to myself.

When I can drag myself away, I  visit the Cathedral.  The space inside is huge, and remarkably light and airy, massive white columns with some gold detail. There is no prohibition on photography, so it is full of snapping tourists, but fortunately it is large enough for them to be spread out and not ruin the atmosphere.  There is also a small museum displaying vestments and gold and silver chalices.  

I encounter another of the travel writing group's hangers-on at a cafe, so join him for coffee, and rave to him about the monastery of  San Jerónimo until he decides to go and see for himself. Later I walk back to the Albaicin to meet Neil at the end of the travel writing weekend.  He is talking to another participant, who asks if I have seen her husband. "Yes, I just sent him to the monastery" was probably not the answer she was expecting.

The travel writing weekend was organised by Travellers' Tales.