Day 7
Well, on Monday morning the party was over. Everyone was understandably kind of lazy. It was my last full day, though, so I at least wanted to go and do something, whatever it was. While we had a brunch of leftovers, I got a text from Lise, asking a question about sandwiches. I thought she was asking something referring to her train trip the following day, but it quickly became clear that she was actually on the train. I started to calculating in my head. I thought that we were meeting up in Barcelona the next day, but apparently I had made a mistake. I didn’t let on though. She asked, “did you forget I was coming today?” “No, no, I was just kidding, can’t wait to see you!”
So suddenly, I had to quickly pack up my stuff and move! I had about two hours before I had to catch the bus in Besalu. It wasn’t soon enough to panic, but it did make for quicker goodbyes than I expected. I said goodbye to Antimo. He was staying back as his pregnant wife was having some medical issues and he was stressfully waiting for phone calls and test results. Meanwhile, Jonathan grabbed a few beers and made us shotgun one together before leaving. It was probably the first time I’d done that since we’d done it once in Nepal. It was actually easier and more enjoyable than I had remembered.
Blai and Jonathan gave me a very nice send off in Besalu and I was headed back to Barcelona by bus. I would have just enough time to check into the hostel, get a shower, stop at a market for some food, and get to the train station to pick up Lise. The hostel was maybe a 40 minute walk from where the bus dropped me off. Halfway there, I stopped into a grocery store, but on my way out, I turned the wrong way and walked almost all the way back to where I’d started. This set me back a lot of time, effectively robbing me of the chance to get a shower. I’d really wanted to show up looking nice for Lise, and not smelling like a week of campfire, but that just wasn’t gonna happen. She texted me, asking if we could have a beer when she got in. I bought a few at a store, unsure if we’d be able to find a place near the hostel to have a drink.
So when she got in, we just went to a park near the station and caught up over a beer for a bit. Then we headed back to the hostel to catch a bit of sleep before our early morning train ride.
Day 8
After a very early rise (5AM?) and a pretty nice train ride from the top to the bottom of Spain, we arrived in Granada in the early afternoon. It was warmer and sunnier than where we had come from, and that is part of what we were traveling south for. It was a pretty long walk through the hilly town to get to our airbnb. The room was basic, but the location was incredible. We were high up on a hill, near the Gitano (Roma (Gypsy)) neighborhood of Sacromonte and we could see the Alhambra as soon we stepped out of our door. The neighborhood was filled with narrow, winding streets that snaked around the hilly vistas.
We dropped our things and just started walking. We didn’t make a plan, just decided to go down whichever street looked interesting. We quickly found ourselves in the aforementioned Gitano neighborhood of Sacromonte. We didn’t really know much about this, but we did remember seeing Anthony Bourdain attend a Gitano flamenco concert in a cave once. Well, we quickly started noticing advertisements for flamenco shows. At some point, as we were taking in the views, a woman with long, black hair, wearing a long, red dress with black polka dots, sauntered past us. We were like, did she just walk out of a different time? Maybe stepped off a movie set? Or she was an apparition based on our collective stereotypes of the exotic southern Spain. She was the archetype of a Spanish Gitana flamenco dancer. In fact she was probably one of the local performers and maybe she just moseys around as a kind of walking advertisement for the flamenco shows. Anyway, the neighborhood was calm, rustic and beautiful. We didn’t know it at the time, but this was one of the most important neighborhoods for the Gitanos. It is believed that the origin of the neighborhood as a troglodyte community (meaning living in caves) is that it became a safe refuge for Jews and Muslims after the Spanish crown retook Granada from the Moors. The Jews and Muslims lived among the itinerant Gitanos outside the walled city. This is also the neighborhood where, they say, Flamenco originated. At least that’s what they tell tourists. I think it’s kind of a foolish thing to try to define the starting point of a style of music that so clearly has influence from basically all over Europe and Asia. Flamenco music and dance is like a snowball that rolled and rolled just gathering up bits and pieces of everything along the way. But what we know as Flamenco today can definitely be pinned down to Andalusia, this southernmost region of Spain.
After our walk, we took a little siesta, then decided to head to town for the evening. We walked to the main road that followed the Darro River towards the center.The cobbletone promenade took us past ancient buildings, views of the Alhambra above us and a series bridges that cross the Darro from our Albaicin neighborhood to the neighborhoods at the base of the Alhambra. As we got closer to the center, it got more and more touristy. We entered a series of narrow streets lined on both sides with shops all selling the same kind of mass-produced handicraft that was supposed to make you feel like you were in a north African souk, if you’d never been to north Africa. They sold the kind of vaguely exotic colorful and baggy clothing that they probably sell to tourists from Marrakesh to Istanbul to Varanasi. There were also plenty of Moroccan restaurants and tea shops where the staff might as well have been wearing Aladdin costumes. I mean, I can’t really hate the hustle. The north African immigrants really did a good job of exploiting the history of their former empire in Spain. I wondered, though, did the other tourists think that like, this neighborhood with its mint tea and incense was a remnant of Moorish rule that just seemed to stick around intact for over five hundred years? We continued toward the center, which was also full of narrow streets and alleys. Yes, Granada was touristy, but it managed to avoid feeling like it wasn’t also a real town at the same time. The old town of Panama City, for example, was developed so much with tourism in mind, and is so cut off from the rest of the city, that it just feels more like a Disneyland version of a Caribbean colony than a normal, modern city.
Eventually we found ourselves sitting at a bar on the edge of Trinidad Plaza. We ordered small beers and they came with our first free tapa: a little tiny thumb-length hot dog with some chips in the shape of shoestring fries. It was super cute. There is a lot of lore around the history of tapas in Spain, but one think for sure is that the concept of a free snack being served with a drink originated in the south. These days, while tapas are served all over Spain, the tradition of free tapas has basically disappeared outside of this region, and only in Granada is it still common. Part of the game is the understanding that the tapas will get bigger or better with each drink you order, encouraging people to stick around instead of bar hopping. After our cute little hot dog, our second tapa was a plate of shrimp, a big step up. I’m such a sucker for a free treat. Getting a little bonus snack was just the most fun thing I could imagine.
We walked about more around the center, looking into shop windows and peering into parks. We stopped for a vermouth at a place called Dancing Coffee Shop. It was a weird name and the place didn’t look great, but it had an open table outside and that had become hard to find at this hour. While we sipped our vermouth we were served a tapa. It was some kind of tiny pizza that probably made a journey from the freezer to the toaster oven before making it to our table. It was bad, and after the shrimp tapa, I was kind of disappointed, but I was still happy for the free treat.
We walked back home that evening on a side street parallel to the main road that we had used to get to the center. This was actually way better as there was almost no foot traffic, and occasional old street lamps gently illuminated the ancient walls and buildings on either side of us, giving that atmosphere that allowed you to imagine that you had traveled hundreds of years back in time. Except for, you know, the lamps were electric and every once in a while a car would trundle down the cobbles, barely squeezing through the tight spaces.
That night I had trouble sleeping. We lived in a quiet neighborhood, without nearby bars or restaurants, but there was so much noise coming from buses picking up and dropping off the tourists going to Flamenco shows in the nearby caves. There were also a surprising number of pedestrians loudly passing by at all hours of the night. It was weird because it was a Tuesday and I didn’t notice this the next two nights. Or I slept through it.
Day 9
Today was Alhambra day. Unfortunately for us, tickets to enter must be obtained well in advance and by the time we had planned our trip, there were none available. That is, unless you go through some expensive tour company, which we weren’t going to do. On the plus side, though, a lot of the area that the Alhambra sits on is open to the general public. So we got up a bit earlier than normal and went to see what we could see. It was a short walk from our door to the Cuesta de los Chinos, which I learned did not mean the ridge of the Chinese, but here, for some reason “chino” means small stones. So we followed this stone path up to the main area of the Alhambra. It didn’t seem too touristy until we got to the top of the path and started to see the hordes, the tour buses, the overpriced bottled water. I hadn’t even realized you could take buses right up to the entrance. Some fortifications. It was a bit confusing trying to figure out which parts we could see and which we couldn’t. On paper, the list of things we could see for free was long, and the sites you had to have tickets to enter was only like three things. It turns out, though, that, obviously, the free stuff really wasn’t the best stuff. We looked for a map at the information desk, but the woman there told us that there were no papers maps and that we would have to use the qr code to download the map. So instead, we just took a picture of the paper map at the info desk. I know it’s probably good to save paper, but I’m gonna die on this hill of rejecting the obligation to have a smartphone + data plan at all times in order to exist in the world. I might actually die on the hill, when the ER doctors ask me to scan a qr code so they can see if I’m insured before they bother to remove the car parts embedded in my abdomen. Anyway, it was good we arrived when we did. It wasn’t too crowded, but an hour later, the place was inundated.
So, we checked out the Palace of Carlos V, an out of character addition commissioned by King Carlos in the 16th century, not long after the Moorish rulers had been kicked out of Andalucia. The palace was left unfinished for hundreds of years, only to be completed in 1927. Today it contained two museums, which were free for EU citizens, so, bonus for me!
"Hey! You guys. Have you seen this lamb?"
We were able to wander the few streets and some outdoor gardens in the Alhambra complex, and even entered a pretty cool bath house. But the main palaces of the sultans of Andalucia remained off limits. In one of the three free museums, I noticed some guy touching one of the objects and was pretty shocked. Minutes later, I saw guard scolding a German woman for touching another object. I was pretty shocked by the boldness of these monument manipulators, these relic rubbers, these curio caressers. Then, on our way back down the Cuesta de los Chinos, we veered off the path to look over a ledge the dropped about 10 feet, where a pathway led to a large gate. All of a sudden I heard someone yelling. I ignored it at first, but I heard it get louder. I turned around and saw a security guard on a motorcycle coming toward me, yelling at me to not cross the barrier. I was confused. He approached me and scolded me for crossing the chain. I turned around and saw that there was a chain on the ground. It was supposed to be keeping people away from the ledge, but instead of being at knee height, it was broken and just sat there on the ground. He asked if I spoke Spanish and I said yeah and that I hadn’t seen it. He warned me that there’s kids around and they could follow me and fall off. Ok, right. Thanks sir. Bye. (maybe get your barrier fixed though).
We went back to the room for a midday siesta before heading back out. We explored another part of our neighborhood which was a bit higher up and had several lookout points. This part of the neighborhood was really beautiful. All winding narrow streets where ancient walled homes concealed lush gardens. The views of the Alhambra and the hills surrounding it were incredible, but of course, at the large lookout point, it was loaded with tourists. We stuck around for a bit, though, just to get some sun. Then we headed back down the hill towards the center. We engaged in a bit of sight-seeing, checking out a Moorish-era granary, then the Cathedral. We had been there the night before, but it had closed minutes earlier. There was also a chapel next door that held the remains of King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella. Unfortunately, when we got there, we found out that it was like $6 to get in. It was pretty surprising to have to pay to get into a church. I understood for seeing the tombs of royalty, but even just to enter the Cathedral required a ticket (which we would have to purchase on a smartphone). We passed.
After getting some fruit and snacks at a grocery store, we walked through some parks, including a cute little botanical garden that had all sorts of cool plants to look at. For an early dinner, late snack, we stopped in at this little bocadilleria, or sandwich shop, called Aliatar. It was the kind of simple place that I love. Just a few stools at a bar, one employee, decades old decor with cheap and basic food. The list of cold and hot sandwiches was long, so we sipped a beer while we decided. Lise got a mussels sandwich and a “Flamenquin”. A flamenquin is kind of like cousin to the cordon bleu. It is a pork loin wrapped in ham, filled with cheese, rolled up and battered and fried. And this place just puts that on bread with a big glug of their homemade mayo. We lingered as we ordered vermouth, but most people, many regulars, really just popped in, ate a quick bite and left. We probably should have just camped out there for the rest of our time in Granada, but unfortunately we had more exploration to do. We walked over to an old school bodega (tends to mean a wine shop or casual wine bar) that I’d read about. It was supposed to be the kind of aging locals, but as we got close it looked absolutely loaded with hungry tourists. It wasn’t at all what we were looking for so we pressed on. The next place we tried had no more room. Eventually we found a little outdoor table outside of a typical looking bar/restaurant. We ordered beers and got a little tapa. This is where we had our first “leftover” tapa. Basically some tapas are just small portions of dishes that the restaurant needs to get rid of. This time it was a mix of sausage and potatoes. It was ok. A bit heavy. But free. After that, we meandered back toward our neighborhood, stopping at a restaurant in a plaza for a final beer. The place was a little fancier and more touristy than we usually go for, but it was sitting right below the magnificently illuminated Alhambra, so the view was worth it. We also got a slightly fancier tapa, a little toast with lox on it. It was a decent way to end the evening.
Day 10
In the morning, we intended to walk up to the lookout points in the nearby neighborhood of Sacromonte. It was on the edge of town, so while it was populated, it didn’t feel oppressively dense. The dry hills reminiscent of southern California were just a stone’s throw away. We tried to follow the roads to the lookouts using Google Maps, but we kept getting blocked by private gates. I was confused as several of these lookout points appeared accessible on the map, but we couldn’t reach any of them. One of them was actually on the grounds of a museum, so we would have had to pay to get to it. We gave up and went to a nearby museum about Gitana women and the history Flamenco in this neighborhood. It was a small museum inside some caves and it had a kind of homemade feel to it, like it was a community or school project. It was charming, though, and we learnt some things.
After kind of failing on getting good views, we went down to visit a “carmen” next to our home. A carmen is a type of walled house that contains lush gardens. The word carmen comes from the Arabic word for garden. This carmen was owned by the University of Granada and was partially open to the public for visits. The garden were nice. There were some fountains and nice views. Next we headed back up to the lookout that we had been to the day before. Lise really wanted to get some sun, so that seemed like a reliable spot to accomplish it. There was a little square with a good handful of tourists, a few trinket sellers and a couple of guys with guitars doing covers of Gypsy King songs. We laid down on the concrete ledge that borders the square and just let the sun warm us up. With every minute that passed, more and more tourists arrived. It grew louder and more chaotic. Two of the men selling jewelry and souvenirs suddenly packed up and ran away. Two police officers on motorcycles arrived a couple of minutes later. When the crowds of tourists completely inundated the square, we decided to walk down the hill toward the town. In this walk through the tightly woven network of narrow streets we started to notice signs in people’s windows protesting mass tourism. Part of the problem was airbnb, which we were guilty of using. It’s extremely rare to stay in a place that is just someone’s second home or a spare apartment. It’s always a property that someone bought with the intent of renting it out, usually along with several other units in the neighborhood. Or a single large apartment has been converted into several small studios. This creates a lot of pressure on the housing market of local people and drives up prices. I do feel guilty for being a part of this problem, but at the same time, the cities should be doing more to regulate this market. Unfortunately, everyone with the money and influence on local politics are the people profiting off the city’s tourism and they have no interest in anything that will reduce the accessibility to tourists.
When we got towards the bottom of the hill, closer to the center, we made an effort to stay on side streets. It can be very easy to just unintentionally follow the paths that everyone else does and end up walking AGAIN along the street packed with tourists and souvenir shops. I’m not always sure what causes that, but sometimes it’s just the way a neighborhood is designed. This time we managed to stay one some really narrow side streets and walked for a long time without seeing almost anyone. It was one of the nicest walks we had and there were so many little hidden details and surprises along the way.
When we got to town we stopped at a tiny ham and cured meat shop. It was really just a counter you could walk up to on the edge of a square. I had been wanting to try a “Jamon de Trevelez”, made in the nearby Sierra Nevada mountains, but they didn’t have any. Instead I got some Cured Bellota sausage and we ordered a plate of Iberico ham and cheese that came with a couple small beers. We stood at the tiny table next to the shop as we savored our ham.
With the evening snacking underway, we went back to the tavern that we had been to the evening before for a vermouth and another one of their leftovers tapas. This time it was migas (which in Spain is a couscous-like dish of fried breadcrumbs) with some sausage and fried green pepper. At the next table a couple of middle-aged white Spanish people were sitting with a half-black French guy in his early 20’s. They were interesting to watch. The young guy, who spoke Spanish pretty well, was telling them the story of fight that he got in, or assault that he was a victim of, and that was how he’d chipped his front tooth. I could not figure out what their relationship was. They seemed like they were from such different worlds, so I wondered what led them to having drinks together at a small cafe in Granada. At some point the two older folks put something like a raisin over their front tooth and they took a group photo with all of them looking like they had also chipped their front teeth. Our second vermouth came with some leftover salmon tartare on toast.
Next, we returned to a place we had tried to go to the night before and managed to get an outdoor table in a little alleyway. They had a house vermouth and “Granada ham” tapa special, so we got that. I hadn’t heard of “granada ham” and I was curious. In hindsight, I think we got played. We were each served a little roll with a slice of cooked (not cured) ham with a few chips on the side. It looked like we ordered off the kids menu. There’s no such thing as “Granada ham” in the same way there is “prosciutto di Parma” or “Jambon de Bayonne”. What’s more, a group of Spanish guys (with one Italian guy), came and sat at the table next to us. The tapas they were served looked a lot more like what I was expecting. It was cured ham on toast. I listened as they explained to the Italian guy, who spoke Spanish, how tapas work. The window of the restaurant was full of those stickers showing that it was recommended by this and that. A lot of them were from a French guide book and sure enough, most of the customers we saw coming in and out of this place were French. We ordered a few more small dishes, like stuffed mushrooms and croquettes. The food here was pretty good, but I was still miffed about the “Granada ham” thing.
On the way home, we took a wrong turn and it took foreeeever to get back. When we did we prepared our bags for the following morning’s departure.
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