victoria trott - travel writer and photographer

granada revisited

We were walking through the narrow, cobbled streets of the white-washed Albaicin up to Plaza San Miguel Bajo, a shady square with tables in the centre and our regular haunt for lunchtime patatas bravas and Alhambra beer. The air was saturated with the sweet smell of wisteria and the buzz of cicadas was all we could hear.

“What are you going to do when you graduate?” asked Maria.

“Write about places like this,” I replied.

Two months earlier, we’d arrived fresh-faced off the bus from Malaga eager to start a language course at the Universidad de Granada, part of our degree at Leeds University. It was my first time in Spain and I’d never spoken Spanish to a Spaniard before.

Fifteen years later and I am back in Granada bus station, although this time it’s moved out of town to a pristine building and I get a taxi rather than drag my case through the fume-choked streets. I give directions in passable castellano. The driver doesn’t drop consonants from the end of his words like the granadinos I remember.

Approaching Plaza Nueva, its concrete pavements flanked by cafes and souvenir shops, the bollards in the road lower for the taxi to pass – no private cars are allowed to enter the city centre between 8am and 10pm these days. An artist is drawing a pale-skinned woman and teenage girl while men in suits stand around talking quickly and animatedly, munching on bocadillos.

Just across the way on the corner of c/Elvira is Bodegas Castañeda, one of the city’s oldest bars and famed for its house speciality, calicasas – a drink made with a dash of, well, everything. Shabby chic has replaced spit and sawdust and I sit down and order a tasty tabla (platter of ham and Manchego cheese). Wincing, I think about the time a local friend, Arsenio, ordered me a tortilla sacromonte (omelette with chopped, fried lamb’s brains and testicles), named after the city’s gypsy quarter. I thought it tasted funny.

On the western side of Plaza Nueva is the Albaicin, the old Moorish district. I used to be able to wind my way through the maze-like streets of this UNESCO World Heritage Site, longing to look behind the doors of the carmenes (traditional Albaicin houses with flower-filled patios), without a thought. Now I am struggling to find the Mirador San Nicolas with a map. Favoured by tourists and photographers, this small, gravel-floored square provides a framed view of the legendary Alhambra palace set against the sugar-dusted peaks of the Sierra Nevada mountain range. I give up and book myself on an informative guided walking tour via the Tourist Office.

With my student card, entry to the rosy-hued Alhambra, one of the world’s finest examples of Moorish architecture, was free. I would sit in the peaceful paradise of the Generalife gardens, the summer residence of the Nasrid rulers, while doing my homework to a soundtrack of running water supplied by the many pools. Some tourists would occasionally wander by. Now I can’t even get a ticket – they get snapped up way in advance at busy periods. More than 2 million people visit each year and entry is restricted.

Someone tells me that I can get one if I book an excursion with GranaVision. The following day I am bussed up to the entrance from my hotel, which means I avoid the steep climb up the Cuesta de Gomerez from Plaza Nueva.

Along with about 40 other English-speakers, I am whisked through the site. First up is the 11th-century Alcazaba fortress, the earliest and most ruined part of the palace. We stop and take in the panoramic views over Granada and the Albaicin. Next, it’s on to the Palacio Carlos V, which couldn’t be more different. Started in 1526, the square, grey edifice hides an impressive circular courtyard. At our allotted time, we visit the Palacios Nazaries, built in the 14th-century by the Nasrids, where I admire the intricate carvings and tile-work.

After the tour, I take the opportunity to check out the Parador San Francisco, a four-star hotel in a 15th-century convent in the Alhambra’s grounds, which has always appealed. The afternoon sun means it is too hot to sit on the terrace. The service in the dark-wood, tapestry-heavy bar is slow, the table uncleared and my sandwich consists of processed ham and cheese lying limp between two slices of white cardboard. “Be careful what you wish for,” I think to myself.

My budget stretches as far as the ochre-fronted Hotel Reina Cristina, infamous for being the place from where writer Federico Garcia Lorca was seized and taken to his death during the Civil War. Nearby is Plaza de la Trinidad, a grey square with a fountain and several bars where we used to stand at the counter, shoulder to shoulder with old men, enjoying free tapas (deep-fried aubergine or fish) with our beer. Now the bars wouldn’t look out of place in Barcelona and pijos (‘yuppies’) have replaced the older generation. But the smell of tobacco and frying still lingers.

I walk past the cathedral and Capilla Real (Royal Chapel), the burial place of ‘The Catholic Kings’– Ferdinand and Isabella – who liberated Granada from the Moors in 1492. Cringing, I recall trying to dance sevillanas here on el Dia de la Cruz (Day of the Cross). The festival takes place on 3rd May and each neighbourhood is decked out with crosses made of flowers. For the locals, it’s another excuse to dress up in flamenco gear and party. Today, a group of female wedding guests keep up traditions in their shimmering ballgowns and cocktail dresses. A man in a dark suit lets off some ear-splitting fire-crackers to welcome the new Señor and Señora.

At Carrera del Darro 31, in the shadow of the Alhambra, is my favourite tourist attraction: the Baños Arabes, an intimate 11th-century Moorish bathhouse where light floods through star-shaped openings in the roof. Nowadays you can follow in the footsteps of Boabdil (the last King of the Moors) and his cohorts at its 21st-century equivalent, Aljibe, where I end my stay with an uplifting massage after taking the plunge in hot and cold pools.

The smell of wisteria still hangs sweet in Granada. The Moorish foundations still stand strong. But like us all, the city has evolved – for better and for worse. In spite of some disappointments, this time-worn, magical place remains an inspiration.

INFORMATION

TOURIST OFFICE

c/Santa Ana 2, www.turgranada.es, Tel: 00 34 958 247146

ALHAMBRA TICKETS

www.alhambra-patronato.es, Tel: 00 34 934 92375

ALHAMBRATOURS – GRANAVISION

www.visitargranada.com, Tel: 00 34 902 330002

PARADOR SAN FRANCISCO

http://www.paradores-spain.com/spain/pgranada.html

HOTEL REINA CRISTINA

c/Tablas 4, www.hotelreinacristina.com, Tel: 00 34 958 253211

ALJIBE BATHS