Granada on my mind

One of our team's weekend trips was to Granada. This bus ride (I don't know why I keep telling you guys about all the bus rides) was about six hours, but it was through some of the most stunning Spanish countryside I've seen yet. Most of the landscape was either olive or orange trees, and with the sweeping grey-blue skies, it was like being transported into a Hemingway novel.

Joren took these photos from the window seat of a moving bus. I just wanted to say that for the record so you all know how good a photographer he is.

Granada's Cathedral was remarkable. They'd spent a lot of money on restoration, so her walls gleamed and you could see the beautiful patterns on the ceilings and domes. This is unlike Sevilla's Cathedral, which had ropes of netting to catch the crumbling ceiling plaster and dark with centuries of smudged candle smoke.

Funny story. Granada's church no longer allowed true candles to be burned because of the smoke damage, so they'd set up electric candle stands for prayer. Also, like many churches, there was a donation required for the candles. Being that these were electric however, when you put your ten euro cent coin into the slot it automatically lit up a candle for you. Jor and I put in twenty cents and blessed two electric prayers for our family. Then Rachel walked up and wanted to electrically pray as well. Instead of a centavo however, she dropped in a whole Euro. Suddenly two entire rows of electric candles swept to life and lit us up like christmas lights. Rachel has a large family though, and I'm sure they each appreciated their individual electric prayers.

Jor, Rach and I spent the morning touring the church and then Joren took off on his own adventures in the city while Rachel and I went shopping. This is his memory:

And this is mine!

Later we walked through the church holding Ferdinand and Isabella's tomb and accoutrements. It was surprisingly simple. Unlike the British crown jewels and displays of wealth, the Spanish rulers were austere.

Around three pm, during a drizzle, we stopped in a bar for some tapas and beer. Granada continues the custom of serving free tapas with your order of a beer, so we took full advantage of it. Sevilla serves lots of tapas also, but they don't come free with your drink. Still, a plate usually only costs about one euro fifty, so it's not like you're breaking the bank.

P.S. - Did you notice the ham legs hanging from the bar top?

Later on in that evening we walked through old Granada in the rain.

Rach and I wore our new purchases. Mine is a Zara jacket, Rach bought some true Hunter Wellies!

On Joren's earlier walk, he had noticed a tapas bar that looked promising. We went there for dinner and I can promise you, "free" food is great! At least, the first round of it.

Usually the bar offers just one or two variations of tapas with your beer, but this bar had nine different plates. The first round, pictured here, was great. Some sort of beef stew and a paella thing and a veggie seafood vinagrette salad. But I guess these tapas places don't really expect you to eat there for dinner, so by round three, they'd moved us to the folk food - organs and fried anchovies and bottom of the barrel beef stew. I didn't touch the organs, but Jor and Rach somehow convinced themselves it was good and they finished the plate, halfway through the conversation shifted from "oh wow! a heart, yum!" to "eh, this is maybe a little more rubbery than I originally thought" to finally "I think that iron taste is going to be a problem later."

After dinner, we all needed to walk off the organs and sardines, so we decided to take a bus up the hills and go to the gypsy caves we'd heard so much about. Again, funny story, in a way. Also, potential death killed story.

So, The Gypsy Caves, otherwise known as the Caves of Sacromonte. We asked for directions from a couple of people, including our bartender at dinner. His advice was the most helpful, but sadly, I was in "MRM casual travel mode" when he rattled off the directions. Sometimes I just tune out and expect the other travelers to pick up the slack. So when Joren saw a bus swinging down the street and he jumped on it, I jumped on too, without thinking. But, as is often the case, about ten minutes into the bus ride up to the hills, I reverted from casual traveler to "MRM in alpha travel mode." My subconscious kicked in and I realized that the bartender had told us to get on bus 31. We'd jumped on bus 32. (In Jor's defense, the bartender has said both numbers a few times, but had sort of settled on 31 as the correct bus.)

But by this point, we were in the hills. On a one way street. In the dark and rain. I'm not sure who made the second impulsive decision to get off the bus at the next stop (probably me, I can be a rash traveler when in alpha), but happily there was one open bar. We'd already eaten fifteen pounds of tapas, half in organs, but here was another round.

We spoke to this bartender here who informed us that yes, we'd taken the wrong bus and no, there wasn't an easy way to get to Sacromonte from here, since all the streets were one way. But, we could walk!

The bartender gave us these directions. "Walk down this street till you get to the end. At the wall, turn right, then walk downhill for a bit. Sacromonte will be on your left." Let me just reassure you, we made it. And yes, his directions were true (not like in Guatemala where the default direction is "go straight, and then, aaeeiiiii" with an ambiguous veering motion of the hand or head.) But there is Nothing straight about Granadan hills, nor is there anything like a "right" turn. So, it's sort of a miracle, but we found the caves.

The Sacromonte caves were a bit of a tourist trap, honestly. Jor and I had been to a few flamenco shows in Sevilla because many of our friends were studying it. These shows were in tiny cafes, overheated bars and cost a few Euro. You sat on wooden chairs, or you squeezed into corners with thirty other people. The Sacromonte flamenco show was expensive, and the one we got into was crowded with twenty-year olds on an exchange program. They all ordered cokes, and giggled at the outfits, and singing and sexuality. But, for all that, the show was good and the dancing was remarkable. And watching a flamenco show in a cave is pretty cool.

After the show, Rach and I went to find Joren who'd decided not to attend as he wanted to explore the caves. This was probably not a great idea, but I'll let Jor tell that story. We found him pretty quickly in a bar cave a few doors down. One more beer (no tapas this time) and we celebrated our good decision making skills and retaining our life!