I often find myself horrified by the holes in my own memory. I am astounded by Beth’s ability to remember the full names of her classmates in sixth grade, while I struggle to remember friends from my freshman dorm at Stanford. Beth jokes that I have replaced that information with the complete rules to hundreds of games, information that I seem to have no trouble finding a place to lodge in my head. I make this point because my memories of Granada and the Alhambra are something of a reflection of my memory in general. I last visited the spectacular palace when I was a senior in high school and living in Barcelona. While I remember almost nothing of the town of Granada or the rest of the week long trip to southern Spain with my school, I still have vivid memories of walking into the first main patio, The Court of the Myrtles, in the Nasrid Palaces in the Alhambra. I was awestruck by the refined beauty and livability of the palace. It was so different than any of the Catholic cathedrals or castles that I had visited, and it just made so much more sense to me. In the simplest sense, I had never really understood, on a personal/visceral level, the Cathedrals I had visited, but I thoroughly understood why a King or Caliph would build this palace. Rather than make me feel small and fearful, the Court of the Myrtles put me at peace, lifting me up. Moreover, that visit at seventeen shifted my understanding of the Spanish history I had been learning. Here I saw a clear reason that it took 781 years to push Muslim rule out of Spain; most of the Spanish did not really want the change. Much of southern Spain had adapted to and adopted the lifestyle of the Caliphate. This culture put poetry on the walls of rooms...what a spectacular idea!
Given my spotty memory, I was curious what I would find in Granada on our visit this past weekend. I still sort of imagined the Alhambra floating in the middle of nowhere, as it does in my memory. However, it really only took the taxi ride from the train station (albeit a train station with no trains) to the Alhambra to fall in love with the city. Home to one of the country’s primary universities, and best medical school, the city is vibrant with Spanish life, tourism, and academia. The mix is evident throughout the streets. There is a palpable vein of alternative/artistic/gypsy/eclectic coexisting alongside the smartly dressed Spaniards...all being photographed by large tour groups. Since we were only spending a single night in Granada, as we try to maximize Maya’s time in school, we decided to stay in the Parador de San Francisco, which is a state run hotel that is in an old monastery inside the walls of the Alhambra itself. While our room, itself, was nothing special, the setting and sense of history was sort of mindblowing. After checking in, we stopped in a beautiful courtyard between the reception desk and our room and read the information placard on the wall. The room at the far end of the patio had been the original burial site of Queen Isabella...yes, the Queen who sent Christopher Columbus on his explorations. She had asked to be buried in the monastery until Ferdinand died, at which point her remains were moved to the Royal Chapel in Granada to lie next to his. All the same, I was pretty amazed that we would be sleeping just a few doors down from Isabella’s, almost, final resting place. And out our room’s window was a pristine view of the Generalife Palace, the summer palace of the Caliph.
On our first afternoon in Granada we walked down from the Parador and up to the Mirador, a small square on a hill opposite the Alhambra, to look at the full glory of the Palace on the hill. We had a glass of wine and watched tourists flow into the square to take photos and wait for sunset. Despite all of the flamenco shows advertised throughout town, it was pretty clear that photographing the Alhambra at sunset is likely the most popular show in town. Both the people watching and the Palace watching made for a delightful backdrop for a snack and a glass of wine. When we returned to the Parador, Maya and I went for a jog around the parts of the Alhambra we could access in the evening. This, for me, was one of the huge highlights to staying within the walls of the Palace. We really couldn’t get into any of the gardens, but is was pretty cool to jog around with almost no one else around, a true rarity in such a tourist draw. Beth was right in the middle of reading a novel about Isabella’s daughter Juana, and she couldn’t pull herself away. Pretty mind bending to read the story of Juana next to her mother’s orginal grave site.
I was curious in the morning how Maya would respond to the Alhambra. She has done a nice job of putting up with Cathedrals and museums, but she has not been entranced or mystified or awed. However, the Alhambra had just that effect on her. Just one room into the Nasrid palaces, she was hooked. Her response reminded me enormously of my own response twenty-six years ago. She immediately said that she thought it was amazing and that she liked it so much more than the cathedrals. I am probably making this up, but it almost felt like she was much more relaxed and attentive as we toured the palaces. She even took Beth’s phone so that she could take her own photographs; she was particularly interested in the complexity of the designs on the walls. I have no notion how her tour through the Alhambra will influence her understanding of our country’s current view of Muslims and Muslim culture, but I have to imagine that it will have some lasting influence...It certainly has for me. I was struck by how accurate my memories of the Court of the Myrtles were. It was exactly as perfect as I had remembered it - and just as awe inspiring. This time I think I understood more of my feeling about the juxtaposition between the Cathedrals and the Alhambra. The Cathedrals feature so many images of agony and pain, while the palaces in the Alhambra seem designed to create a sense of peace and balance. It is one of the few places I have ever found myself driven to take photographs. Usually I feel like “the postcard will have a better image anyway,” but in the Alhambra I just kept taking more pictures. And, it was not even spring yet...the gardens will be unbelieveable. I think we will likely return in April.
After a long morning in the Alhambra, and a quick tour of the Royal Chapel (Maya not excited about that one), we looked for a place to get calories into Maya - one of our big challenges on this trip. With some aid from the handy-dandy internet, we headed to the Bodega Castaneda, a traditional tapas bar and restaurant in the center of the city. Granada is one of the few towns that still holds to old tapas tradition. In these bars, you order a drink and the tapas are free. You have a drink and a snack. Anyway, we did not brave the bar, which was full of locals at 1:00, early for lunch on a sunday, but not too early for a beer and tapas. The small pedestrian street outside had ten tables, all of which were empty which is often a turnoff, but we found a waiter and asked if we could sit and eat. The answer was an enthusiastic yes, and the decision ended up being a glorious one. Without a menu we ordered a tabla de Castaneda and a dish recommended by the waiter; we didn’t really know what or how much we were getting, but Maya was hungry and they brought us a bottle of wine, so.... As we sat there, two men carried in a massive pan/pot of a steaming rice and chicken dish, each holding a handle. A minute later, the waiter came out with a plate of the rice for Maya, saying that it was on the house. Maya declared that she could just eat that dish, which I agree was a perfect Spanish lunch already. However, we had really just begun the glory of Sunday lunch. The Tabla was a tray with seven different tapas, from bacon and tomato toasts to roast pork with peppers. The extra dish was essentially the perfect breakfast - potatoes, fried eggs, cubes of jamon, and cooked sausages...wow! By the time that we were well into the tabla….and the rioja...we noticed that not only were the other outside tables full, there were ten or fifteen people anxiously waiting to sit. We understood why so many people wanted to eat there - it was delicious- but we couldn’t help basking in the meal. When we asked the waiter about dessert, he responded that they had gin and tonic, and when we asked about coffee, he repeated that they had gin and tonic. We liked the answer. The lunch was pretty perfect.
By the time we got back to Sevilla, it felt like we had been away for a week, though we were gone for less than 36 hours. I could not help but think about how unlikely such a trip would be at home - of course there is nothing like the Alhambra to see - but we would rarely consider the 150 mile trip for just one night. Yet, the trip did not seem too rushed. Yes, there is much more to see, but what a glorious way to spend the weekend. I do think the ability to hop on a train really helps - nice to read and relax on the journey. Seems like having a car would make this sort of trip easier, but it really doesn’t. I doubt that we will be able to embrace the spirit of this sort of weekend trip when we get home, but it is worth a shot.
This entry’s special section: The Tides of Maya
I know that I have probably rambled enough already, but I thought I would include a little snapshot of Maya’s feelings, or apparent feelings, about her school week here. She seems to dread Monday morning. A new school in a new language really does collect most of Maya’s anxieties into one setting, and the thought of a week of school weighs on her. This Monday she also had the added anxiety of a class presentation on California (due Friday) looming. On Monday mornings, Maya asks how much longer we have to stay, says she misses her friends, her school, and her dog. She still goes to school willingly, but she must be working to master her own fears and anxieties in order to do so. By the end of the school day on Monday, Maya appears happy and untraumatized. Everyone is remarkably nice to her, as far as I can tell. As the week goes on, Maya seems to gradually brighten about the experience; I think she would still rather be at Peninsula School, but she gets up more happily and more cheekily every morning of the week. By Friday, she is full of spit and vinegar...but on Monday morning the cycle begins again.
