Granada

Oranges, in the gardens. Last time we were here, we got
ticked off by a Dutch guy, for trying to pick one.
We behaved this time.

We got up, had breakfast (good) and went straight out of the hotel to the Alhambra. It’s only about 7 minutes’ walk, and we had booked the necessary timed tickets from home.

The time we had for the Nasrid palace part, which is strictly limited on numbers, was 11.30 a.m. , so we went off to the Generalife and its gardens.

The Generalife, from the Mirador. Note snow on Sierra Nevada

We have been to the Alhambra once before, with our three sons, one February half term. We did remember quite a bit, but it was a very different experience in February, as opposed to June. The water in all the fountains was turned off and it was bitterly, bone chillingly, cold. The wind was blowing from the Sierra Nevada, which of course were completely covered in snow – there are patches left even in June- and as the whole place is built to be shady and attract breezes for coolness in the summer, it was a rather miserable experience. Although there were hardly any other tourists, whereas today there were enough to slightly take the edge off the experience. Still, we were seeing the palace as it was built to be seen, and it’s utterly gorgeous in the heat. 

You would imagine that the conquering Catholic Monarchs would have taken over the place. I could certainly entertain the idea of spending the summer reclining on cushions in those beautiful garden rooms, listening to the sound of trickling water, and probably an oudh, and drinking sherbet. I am assuming that sherbet as in 1001 Nights is not at all like a sherbet dibdab, which is actually my only acquaintance with sherbet of any kind. But that generation of Catholics still seem to have equated dirt and discomfort with holiness.

Detail of the plasterwork and columns in the Lion Court

The gardens are very well cared for, although of course not authentic.  There are lots of plants which would have been unknown to the fourteenth century, even though some, at least, date back to the Alhambra’s glory days. Everything is green and scented with lime blossom, thyme, oleander and cypress. It's just gorgeous.

There are millions of swifts, zooming around, and sparrows. The swifts are glorious but apparently a bit of a problem, because though everyone loves them and they eat flying insects, so are Good, they nest in the plasterwork, which is Bad. 

Swift, popping its head out of the plasterwork

There is a plan to persuade them to move to the Carlos V palace roof. It wasn’t explained what might happen to them if they refuse to cooperate.

The Nasrid palace is even more gorgeous and the plasterwork is amazing. There are traces of colour left here and there, mostly an azure blue. I’m inclined to think that the whole thing painted would have been quite overpowering, but everything you can see is in such exquisite taste that I think it must have looked good.

The Lion fountain. It's now surrounded by glaring white marble, but was  a
garden, with myrtles and other scented plants.

Quite a lot of colour left here. The lower bit is tiles, of course.

The alcazaba is pretty ruined, but the gates, particularly the Justice Gate, are very interesting, using all sorts of defensive techniques of sharp turns, dead ends etc.

Alcazaba, from the Mirador

The Charles V palace would be impressive if it wasn’t so horribly out of place. It’s all set up for open air concerts;  Granada is having a festival, sadly after we’ve left.

After  seeing all this, we were knackered and it was very hot. There was a French couple with a very young baby, who was very miserable, and I couldn’t help feeling they shouldn’t have brought her out. Much to my surprise Phil remarked on it first – he was worried about the baby, too. It’s probably that delusion that a child shouldn’t cramp your style.  The French seem particularly prone to it in my opinion.

It’s weird that you can usually identify peoples’ nationalities so quickly. There was a group of about ten middle aged men in Malaga. Noting that one was black, one was Asian, and one had red hair, it was clear to me that they had to be English, and yes, they were.

Anyway, we went back to the hotel where they did a good buffet lunch, with gazpacho and lots of salads as well as paella. Then we had a siesta, and after a bit I had a swim.

About half past six we went down the hill into the old town. It  was a lovely walk, heavily wooded,scented, with more trickling streams and masses of acanthus, which looks wonderful in big clumps. Tho old town is charming. We could look down on it from the Alhambra, and it is Arabic style, with very narrow streets and riads – they may have big renaissance doors, but the plan is still the open courtyard with rooms opening off. 

The old town

The old town

We climbed all the way up to the Mirador, where the views across to the Alhambra and the Sierra Nevada are spectacular, and there are interesting views across the flat fertile plain.

Us, on the Mirador

We people watched, too. There were weddings, stag and hen parties, and rather to our surprise quite a lot of inebriated young Spanish men. It  is Saturday night. I do hope it isn't British tourists who have made public drunkenness acceptable. 

Then a taxi home – pretty tired by now.