Wanderlust

Granada, where I arrive by train on Monday, May 29, is the most Muslim part of Spain and is quite fascinating. My first day's trip to the tourist office gets me a brochure about a walking tour, which I take the next morning and which turns out to be well worth the 10€ fee for giving me a real sense of the historical development of the area. After the Muslim conquest of most of Spain in 711, Granada was the last part to be recovered by the Christians in what is called la Reconquista, in which a peace treaty was signed with the Muslim sultan on January 2, 1492. The Jews, despite having largely financed the Reconquista, were shortly after given the choice to convert or depart. Enraged that most of them departed, the Catholic Monarchs Ferdinand and Isabel had the Jewish quarter destroyed. The Muslims had more luck, since they were the rest of the population, but under Charles V the same order was given. A 40-year extension was negotiated because Charles V wanted to build a palace in the Alhambra and the Muslims had the money and the workforce. Then there was a period when Muslims were Christians outside their homes and Muslims inside, protected by the S-shaped space at the entrance; Philip II discovered this, forcing them to construct a straight hall and leave the door open.

Starting off from the plaza by the Ayuntamiento (city hall), the walking tour goes first to the Corral de Carbón, which originated as a 14th-century caravanserai, to lodge traveling merchants, their animals, and their merchandise, later used as an inn for coal dealers (giving it the name of Coal Yard), then a theater, now restored to its original three-story form with a tourist office and crafts shop at ground level. Then it's to the Alcaicería, originally the Muslim silk exchange, now a warren of tourist shops, leading to the large, rectangular (twice as large as in Muslim days, our guide explains) plaza called the Bib-Rambla, its large central fountain (statues of giants around the central monument) surrounded by flower stalls. From there we examine the exterior of the Cathedral and hear of its tortured, many-centuries history--an arquitect dying, plans lost, architectural fashions changing--and the Capilla Real (Royal Chapel), which Ferdinand and Isabel commissioned to house their tombs. Then it's off to explore a small part of the Abayzín, the old Muslim quarter on a hill opposite the Alhambra (learning that Muslim houses put all their adornment inside whereas Christian houses decorate the façade, Muslims had latrines whereas Christains threw the waste out the window to the street), noting that widespread renovation is underway. Then it's over to the Darro River, more like a creek, with its picturesque stone bridges, and down to the Plaza Nueva, a pleasant rectangular space with fountain and cafés (and my hotel), actually built in the 15th century, from which we note the moorish features (e.g., the tower like a minaret) of the Santa Ana Church.

Wednesday is my day to visit the Alhambra, an enormous complex of walls, palaces, towers, and gardens rising on a hill overlooking the city. Originally a Muslim structure, a 9th-century fortress turned into a fortress-palace complex in the 13th century, the Alhambra was expanded by successive Moslem rulers and then by the conquering Christians. I rush my breakfast and hurry to the bus that leaves from across the street, hoping to arrive well before the 8:30 opening and to be among the first of the 7,000 daily visitors. I lose precious moments trying to locate the line for people who have bought tickets in advance (I bought an all-purpose tourist pass my first day), noting that the line at the ticket window is blocks long (there is an announcement that there are 500 tickets remaining for the morning and 800 for the afternoon) and find myself behind about 30 people.

When the gate opens, I adopt my swiftest New York gait to arrive at the Palacio Navaríes, the gem of the Alhambra, before the masses. Then I am in the Patio de los Arrayanes (myrtles), a long rectangular pool, hedges and trees on either side, a 45-meter tower at the end rising above seven arches with delicate carved stucco, and can shoot photos with only a couple of others present. I have even better luck in the Patio de los Leones, a central fountain made up of 12 lions forming a circle facing outward, a shallow bowl resting on their backs, the sides of the patio an intricate clustering of arches and columns with more lacy stucco work above. Here there is no one but a woman watering the bushes, whom I ask about the fountain when I realize it isn't on, and it comes on a couple of minutes later, spouting from the bowl but not from the lions' mouths, as it originally did. (The lions are slated for restoration, I learn later.)

Then I spend the rest of three and a half hours going from one ohmygod reaction to another, traipsing through halls, remembering to look up at incredible ceilings, climbing up towers, descending into the various levels of the gardens, walking long distances. At the end I get to see a man making marquetry in a workshop and store across the street. My usual afternoon stroll doesn't happen because I am too wiped out.

Thursday, a cloudy, off-and-on-rainy day, is for reconfirming two plane reservations, going to the market (unremarkable), the Cathedral, and the Capilla Real. After the cathedrals in Toledo and Seville, Granada's is nothing special, except for the exuberant gilded carving around the organ pipes, the enormous illuminated choir books, and the huge gold-framed mirrors in the sacistry. At the Capilla Real, built to house the tombs of Isabel and Ferdinand (who died before it was finished), I run into the guide who led Tuesday´s walking tour and listen to her explain how the original intention was to have a simple Gothic structure but that Philip II, Isabel and Ferdinand's successor, was a fan of the baroque and had three elaborate wrought-iron screens and a couple of gold altarpieces installed. The prone marble statues of Isabel, Ferdinand, their daughter, and their son-in-law don't actually contain their remains, which are housed in simple lealther-covered coffins in a crypt below. The walls of the chapel bear a number of paintings, mostly Flemish.

It's clear enough for an afternoon stroll, during which I find myself in a tourist shop buying one of those little six-sided marquetry boxes I have been eyeing, which will end up on the coffee table not far from the wooden box from Havana.

Friday, a beautiful day, is for exploring the Albayzín, the old part of the city on a hill opposite the hill with the Alhambra--and for that reason offering marvelous views of the Alhambra from a mirador. To give me a general idea, I start out taking the microbus on its route through the Albayzín from and back to my plaza, then set off trying to follow a walking tour suggested by Lonely Planet. It frequently is more helpful to ask directions than to follow its instructions, because at midday it's hard to know which way is west and it can be hard to follow Callejón X when the streets are not marked. Here the stone-paved streets are mostly narrow and twisting and the houses are uniformly painted white, with red tile roofs and black iron balconies with multicolored flowers. There´s an arqueological museum, many plazas, and some churches, one with a minaret for its tower, and a couple of miradores.

For my evening paseo I go back to the beginning of the Albayzín to experience a tetería. I sit on a low cushioned stool at a six-sided marquetry table and order a tea from a huge selection, having no idea what it is, and dates. The tea comes in an imitation-silver pot with a little glass on a saucer with a spoon in it; the first glass is gentle, but the third hits hard, at least for someone who normally drinks green tea.

Saturday and Sunday are for visiting two monasteries and some churches, taking my first bus ride here for one of the monasteries.

Winding up my six-week trip to Spain, I feel that I should take out classified ads in the papers of all my destinations to thank the innumerable people who so kindly gave me directions, often going out of their way. I just wish their restaurants would learn to make lemonade, instead of foisting on me an oversweet lemon soda in a tiny 200 ml bottle and changing me 1.80€ (and leading me to switch to iced water). And that someone would explain the apparent contradiction between on the one hand I'm required either to don plastic gloves to handle fruit in the market or the supermarket or to let a clerk there do the handling and on the other hand I walk into a restaurant/bar and the floor is littered with cigarette butts and those dinky little napkins. Not meaning to end my reports on a peevish note--Spain has been fascinating and I'm really glad I came.

My transition to Mexico City, on Monday the 5th, involves a plane on Iberia to Madrid and another on Aeroméxico to Mexico City. If the first one arrives on time (ojalá), I will have three hours and 20 minutes to collect my luggage, get from Terminal 4 to Terminal 1, and check in. I spend a week in Mexico City (from which I will not write a report), getting 20 rolls of film developed and sorted, maybe having some enlargements made, shopping, and visiting my favorite haunts.