[2nd-5th October 2023]

The high-speed AVE train brings us southwest from Toledo to our second stop, Granada in the province of Andalucia.  I have been here on my own with work in 2010, and we came here as a family with the kids back in 2003, on a day trip from Ronda.

The AVE train is comfortable as well as fast, though our airline style seats seem to not be properly locked in place, as they intermittently threaten to swivel us round through 180 degrees, a feature which no doubt allows for reconfiguration of the seating, though presumably this is normally intentional!  A somewhat superior airline style lunch is part of the deal, as are drinks of all sorts, and as many as you feel like.

A taxi whisks us up from the station to our lovely apartment.  The district however makes our apartment in the Siracusa Ultras’ gang territory in Ortigia (back in 2019) seem positively salubrious.  Narrow streets have every surface festooned with graffiti and dog owners are clearly not in the habit of scooping the poop.

Once inside, the apartment is a minimalist contrast to the Moorish style in Toledo – white walls and exposed concrete beams and columns, with two bedrooms, and swish shower room each.  It has a good lift and the building seems to be very secure.  It turns out that the district appears to be in the process of changing character with a number of good bars and restaurants close by and quite a few gay and trans folk in evidence.

On our first full day in Granada we are booked into a slot to visit the famous Alhambra Palace and the Generalife Gardens.  We’ve made relatively short visits to the Alhambra’s Nasrid Palaces previously, but neither of us has made it up the hill to the Generalife.  The temperature is in the low 30s and so we pace ourselves accordingly.

Despite the fact that it is a glorious day, and the site is inevitably very busy, the various Moorish courtyards and rooms of the Palace retain their serene appeal, with water cleverly used as a visual attraction and as a means of ameliorating the heat of the day.  The views of the Albaicin and Sacromonte barrios of the city are stunning, as is the vista of the Alhambra, the city of Granada and the distant Sierra Nevada mountains from the lovely gardens of the Generalife.

The whole experience is tiring but hugely rewarding.  It feels like our first visit to the Alhambra, as we’ve been able to take the time to pick the areas we want to see and to visit them properly, with the capacity to absorb the unique ambience of the place.

We take our time, and it’s four hours later that we head for the exit and a conveniently available taxi. After a suitable siesta, dinner is in one of the nearby bars – large volumes at reasonable prices seem to be the order of the day!  A morcilla (black pudding) tower laced with egg, raisins and pine nuts certainly beats a slice in a full Scottish breakfast!

We round the day off with a couple of enormous negronis in a small and quirky bar on the way back to the apartment.  We are drawn in by a poster from the original Trainspotting movie on the door of the gents’ toilet.  The bar owner tells us it’s there because he has a moustache like Begbie’s, though there the personal resemblance ends, as he is a friendly and gentle soul!

We are getting used to seeing large numbers of police armed with sub machine guns wherever we go in the city.  Outside tourist attractions such as the Cathedral, Basilica and Royal Tombs, at virtually every second corner on the Gran Via (Granada’s equivalent of Princes Street) and even in the narrow streets of our own shabby district. 

One evening we are eating outdoors at a small bar a few minutes’ walk from the apartment, when it appears that an unoccupied white car has been left in an unusual spot.  It is immediately surrounded by police who are photographing it, checking under the chassis, and phoning in details of the vehicle.

We begin to recognise that secret service personnel are also much in evidence – they are the ones in dark suits that have telltale bulges in unexpected places.  We eventually learn that the reason for this high level of security is that the European Congress of Ministers is meeting (UK not included, obviously) in Granada.  High on the agenda is the application by the Ukraine to join the EU, so the level of nervousness is understandable.

We visit a few of the best-known tourist sites within walking distance of our apartment.  The level of opulence inside Granada’s Cathedral,  the Basilica San Juan de Dios, and the Royal Tombs of King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella boast more statues, fine paintings and gilt (and no doubt guilt) than you can shake a stick at.  The interiors are undoubtedly super grand and highly impressive as dedications to the greatness of God, but for me they are bordering on the obscenely grandiose.

We almost suffer the ignominy of being thrown out of the Royal Tombs.  The entrance foyer and every room are festooned with exhortations banning photos and video.  I forget and snap a pic, even drawing attention to the fact as the camera flash is on.  An officious attendant comes up and tells me off severely.  I apologise profusely, as I genuinely just forgot.  Fiona starts laughing.  He is visibly incensed and is on the point of chucking us out. I try to explain that my wife is laughing at me not at him (not true), and we have to be on our best behaviour for the rest of the visit.

We have for many years wanted to go to see flamenco in the gypsy caves of Sacromonte, opposite the floodlit Alhambra.  As a thank you for some practical help with their new flat, Sean and Claire have very kindly gifted us tickets to a show in the Cueva la Rocio high up in the Sacromonte barrio, where a taxi delivers us about 20 minutes before the show starts.

Earlier in the day we had stopped by the local Maese Pio restaurant to book a table for the evening, during which process Fiona had been attacked by a tiny yappy dog, much to the hilarity of all the patrons sitting in the square having lunch.

That evening, despite the fact that we have just bolted down huge portions of Maese Pio’s monkfish and prawn paella before leaving in the taxi, the excellent Granadan tradition of serving free tapas with a drink is preserved at Cueva la Rocio, and so we are brought delicious chicken wings before the 10:00pm show – it would have been rude not to eat them.

We are first there, and so positioned at a barrel table right outside the entrance door to the long narrow cave, so we get the best seats in the house, right beside the tiny stage.  I’m sitting on the chair next to one of the female dancers, so close we can smell them.  Despite the fact that they do four shows a night, the (three female and one male) dancers actually smell very nice.

A single guitarist provides the music with percussion via a single cajon (box drum) and ace hand clapping and footwork.  The performers look like they are having a good time, with lots of (perhaps obscene?) jokes passing between them.  They have to enjoy the performance before that feeling – duende – can pass to the audience. 

The men look quite relaxed and fairly clean cut, whilst the three female dancers are the epitome of what you might imagine gypsy dancers would look like.  Their faces convey a deep hardness and they look as though life has not been an easy ride for them and each would have interesting stories to tell.  An hour passes in a flash.

All the staff of the establishment are very friendly, polite, and helpful.  This is not somewhere it would be wise to start a fight, however. 

Perhaps the Cuevas are now more touristy than they used to be, but we have fulfilled a long-held ambition to visit them and thoroughly enjoyed the experience. 

We spill out onto the steeply winding streets of Sacromonte, and most of the audience gets onto small buses to return to central Granada.  We are left wandering in the street, with a fabulous view of the floodlit Alhambra to one side, and the foreboding streets of the barrio rising above us to the other side. A very large dog comes hurtling down the hill towards us, but it has been spooked by other dogs barking behind high walls and happily it pays us no attention.

Also happily, the last bus from Sacromonte to Centro for the evening appears miraculously around the corner.  As we get on, the driver declines to let us pay the fare, so we descend through the Albaicin quarter as the only passengers and return to the police-infested Gran Via, from where it’s just a short walk home.

We do some limited wandering in the University district on our final full day, as it is still unseasonably hot.  We decide to have dinner outside a small bar which has been recommended by the apartment’s owner.

Octopus flavoured with paprika is a new one on me, but it is delicious.  The food here does play second fiddle to the wine, however.  The wine menu contains a mind-boggling array of mostly Spanish wines by the glass, and Fiona seems to be intent on trying as many of them as possible.  Guided by the owner we imbibe a few too many, then stop off again at the Trainspotting bar before bed. We awake to pack and vacate the apartment, and head down to the station for a full day’s travelling via Sevilla to Jerez de la Frontera, fully regretting last evening’s excesses.

My dozen favourite images from our stay in Granada are included in the gallery below. Click on a thumbnail to see a bigger image. If you’re using a mobile phone, turn your screen sideways to see the bigger image to best effect.

Image Gallery