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
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| 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.
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| 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.
