The Alhambra in Photos

Looming over Granada from a lushly forested hill is the Alhambra, the famous walled fortress that is the reason most people come to the area in the first place. It consists of several independent structures: the Alcazaba (actual fortress), Cristian V's palace, Generalfe palace and gardens, and the Nasrid Palaces. 

There isn't much to say about it that hasn't already been said about the intricate Islamic architecture, the magnificent views and majestic gardens. Once you set foot within the compound it quickly becomes obvious why it was a candidate for the Wonders of the World. The highest praise I can give is that it's one of the few places that "you have to go to" that was actually worth it; I stayed for nearly five hours and loved every moment of it.

Generalife Palace

Water Stairway

View of Granada from Alcazaba

Cristian V's Palace

Nasrid Palaces

Nasrid Palaces

Nasrid Palaces

Nasrid Palaces

Nasrid Palaces

Tapas, Tapas Everywhere

Granada has three significant historical districts, explained my host when I arrived Friday afternoon, that form a bit of an L-shape around the Alhambra. Our apartment was in Realejo, the Jewish quarter. To the northwest was Albaicin, the Muslim neighborhood, and connecting the two like a joint was el Centro, the Catholic area, which today is just a shopping district crowded around the cathedral that contains the tombs of some Spanish monarchs - among them Ferdinand and Isabel.  

My host got quite excited when describing the commune of Sacromonte, a sort of extension of Albaicin, because that's where the gypsies took refuge after being driven out of the city proper. Actually, I'm not entirely sure that he was talking about gypsies on account of his thick Italian accent. The word he used sounded like it could be "hippies," except that the way he enunciated the first syllable made me imagine it began with the letter "g." Anyways, they - whoever these people were - carved caves into the mountain and invented flamenco music.

The following morning I set out to explore Sacromonte and Albaicin, which my host had deemed to have priority over the other neighborhoods. From his enthusiasm and wild gesticulations in relating the history of Sacromonte, I was expecting to see something bizarre and exotic, maybe like that TV show "Swamp People" except on land. Instead, I couldn't help but feel a bit let down when I found a little hilltop community that looked like it could have been transplanted from Greece - whitewashed walls, blue trim, cobblestone terraces. Pretty, but nothing like the savage cave-dwellers I had in mind.

Sacromonte up close.

Albaicin, however, did not disappoint. Imagine the impossible maze that Ellen Page's character draws in Inception, plopped on a steep hill and with ancient and unevenly cobbled "streets" (some are barely wide enough for a car to pass) that alternately make you trip and slip.  Each time I attempted to navigate using the map on my iPhone, it was as though Google was placing my blue dot at random, constantly jumping around even when I myself hadn't moved an inch. The fun was in discovering all the hidden shops, restaurants, and scenic view points - as long as I could see the Alhambra, I vaguely knew which way I was going.

Now, any account of Granada would be remiss in not mentioning the food, because legend has it that it's where tapas came from. But what are tapas? For the longest time I thought it was something fancy and exclusive, because of the swanky tapas bar that I often drove past at home to get downtown. Turns out the origins are much more modest.

At Bodegas Castañeda (not to be confused with Antigua Castañeda, which I read isn't as good).

Way back in the day bars gave out slices of bread to cover your beer and prevent fleas from landing in it. So, now, tapa is just a general term for a small plate of food to be consumed with a drink - like an aperitif. Granada is one of the few - possibly only - places where tapas are still given out for free with your beverage. Generally you'll pay, say 1-2€ for a beer, and shortly after the waiter will come out with the food.

But although they're free, not all tapas are equal. At best I've received a decent portion of paella; at worst a sandwich featuring an unidentifiable cut of meat whose pink coloring rubbed off on the bread in a most unappetizing manner. My advice: steer clear of any place advertising FREE TAPAS as they're more inclined to offer sub-par fare to tourists.

*** 

3 places to go for tapas: 

- Bar los diamantes, Plaza Nueva, 13. They specialize in sea food so expect a plate of calamari, clams, or something similar. 

- Bodegas Castañeda, Calle de Almireceros, 1. Traditional bar with excellent service - this is where you can get paella. 

- Plaza Campo del Principe. One side of the plaza is lined with restaurants featuring nearly identical menus. The food isn't amazing but it's a nice atmosphere to sit and snack while you wait for dinnertime to roll around. (Spaniards tend to eat late - even by European standards - so except for touristy restaurants, kitchens won't be fully up and running until 8:30pm or possibly later). 

Wining in the South of Spain

Everything in Córdoba's histocal center is within easy walking distance, meaning that: a) it's pretty much impossible to get truly lost, but that b) you can cover all the points of interest in a day - maybe a day and a half if you do as the locals do and partake in the afternoon siesta. Faced with the prospect of spending my last full day tromping around the same old streets, lovely as they are, I decided I'd be better off heading somewhere else. My hostel highlighted several possible daytrips, but naturally I chose the one labeled "wine tasting."

Nearby Montilla, just an hour's bus ride away, is the sort of place that a Google search does not yield satisfactory step-by-step instructions of how to get there and lengthy discussions of what to do once you've arrived; where even while walking on one of the main streets, in breaks between buildings you catch glimpses of rolling hills of vineyards that supply all the wineries (or bodegas, as they're called here); where when you enter said bodega, the lady in the tienda will ask you if you speak English, shortly followed by, "Sorry, tours are only in Spanish." (I think it goes without saying that, additionally, in this sort of setting you can wander about as you please feeling reasonably sure that you are the only colored person within city limits. I did meet a friendly South African couple during the tasting, but they were white). 

With seven years' worth of Spanish buried beneath French, tucked away in the crevices of my brain alongside trig and mitosis and all those other things you learn in school but almost never use in real life, I wasn't too worried about the tour not being in English. Not so much because they taught us about wine in AP Spanish, but, I mean, once you've toured one winery you've pretty much toured them all. The process remains essentially the same and the only thing that's different is the tasting. Or so I thought when I purchased my ticket at the Bodega Alvear.

But, as it turned out, they do things a little differently in the south of Spain. Whereas at most of the other wineries I've been to - in Napa Valley, Portugal and France - wines are differentiated by the type of grape they contain. Here? They can make 5 wildly different wines using just one: the white Pedro Ximénez variety. I don't know how this feat is accomplished; it was all in Spanish.

If you go: Pick your bodega wisely, as by the time you finish the tour and tasting, everything shuts down for the siesta and, unlike most other businesses, the bodegas won't reopen later. Maybe this is just a summer thing because July is low season; I'm not sure because Google wouldn't tell me. 

Converging Legacies in Córdoba

To paraphrase a new friend I made at my hostel in Córdoba, a lot of how you experience a new city comes down to chance - the people who you end up spending time with, whether your visit coincides with a local event, whether you lose or have anything stolen, etc. I had high expectations for Barcelona, but didn't like it as much as I thought I would. Valencia, on the other hand, I loved even though the only reason it was on my itinerary at all is that I once read it was the birthplace of paella.  

So, Córdoba: former seat of the Roman Empire, once the most populous city in the world during the time of the Islamic caliphate, and now one of the largest historical districts to be preserved as a UNESCO site. Arguably almost everyone here is a tourist (except for the people who run the shops, hotels, restaurants, etc.), which is one of the reasons I disliked Barcelona, but somehow they're much more diffuse; whereas trying to force me way through Park Guell or down La Rambla was enough to make me want to turn around and retreat to my apartment, nothing in Córdoba is ever crowded. Then again, coming here at this time of year requires a certain level of dedication as afternoon temperatures, without fail, exceed 100F and barely fall during the night. But, still, the vibe is a lot more chill. When I eat out I can leave my bag on the empty chair next to me and not worry about it getting snatched.  

From my limited understanding of the region's history, everyone wanted to live here at some point or another - the Romans, the Moors, the Jews and the Castilans. There is lasting evidence of each of these groups (e.g. the Roman bridge and other ruins, one of Spain's only three - yes, three - synagogues...), but the most outstanding vestiges of the past belong, without a doubt, to the Moors, thanks to the Mosque-Cathedral and Alcázar of the Christian Monarchs.

Returning to that relationship between chance and travel, a few things that made Córdoba special despite me - again - having no preconceptions or plans beforehand: free outdoor film screenings almost every night, extremely cheap (or free) tapas that come with equally cheap drinks, and befriending a girl from California with whom I had great conversations (over said drinks and tapas - no, really, how great are tapas??) about cultural differences between Europe and the US, and how much we both miss the Bay Area. 

Below, some glimpses of the historical center. The rest on Flickr. 

Museums, Markets & Football

Even if you're not particularly an art person, it's worth checking out Madrid's museums because they're free (or at least during certain times; generally the last couple hours before closing). The cavernous galleries are the perfect escape from the scorching heat (except for the part where you have to stand outside in the sun; bring a bottle of water), and because the trifecta of art museums are all quite close to one another, well, there's no excuse not to hit up at least two of them. 

The Reina Sofia houses the modern art collection in a sleek building that is aesthetically pleasing but a practical pain in the ass. (I gave up trying to reach the top floor because I couldn't find an elevator that would take me and there was nary a staircase in sight). But it has the distinction of owning Picasso's Guernica, which is a must-see. Guernica is essentially the Mona Lisa of the Reina Sofia, but better because the painting is so large that you can still see it even when the gallery is packed with people. 

El Prado has all the hoity-toity classical stuff, if you're into that sort of thing.  I'm a fan of Goya, myself, but after endless wandering everything sort of started to look the same so I called it quits and left after about an hour. The real treasure, in my opinion, is the Thyssen, which as a former private collection has quite the eclectic mix of artists and styles - essentially a little bit from every major artistic movement from classic to modern with everything in between. 

Sangria on tap.

Two of my friends told me I had to visit the Mercado San Miguel, which I did. Several times. Located right by Plaza Mayor, this vintage industrial building is a market in the same way that Chelsea Market in NYC or the Ferry Building in San Francisco are also "markets." By which I mean that they're less about fresh produce sold by the farmer/butcher/fisherman's family and more up on trendy artisanal pre-made or cooked-to-order dishes. It's not a bad thing, per se, but very bougie. 

Because touching the venus fly-trap is everyone's first instinct?

El Rastro, just a couple streets over from where I stayed in La Latina, was a whole other experience. Every Sunday, it takes over the neighborhood and becomes a giant, sprawling open-air flea market. For the most part vendors are hawking standard items like clothing, jewelry, antiques, and artwork, but I did see a plant stall featuring venus fly-traps. 

Since I managed to refrain from spending much - or any, really - money at these places, I decided to reward myself on the last day with a tour of Real Madrid's stadium. But here the story takes a little tragic turn. Earlier in the afternoon I had dropped my camera while readjusting (wide angle lens are heavy, so I periodically switch which shoulder I have it slung over). It wasn't from a very great height, so at the time I just checked to make sure it could still turn on. (It did). But when I pulled it out later to take a picture of the soccer pitch from above, all I could see through the viewfinder were little broken bits of whatever it is that makes the camera body work. So...iPhone photos ahead. 

The tour leads you up, down, and all around the stadium with I suppose the major highlights being the trophy room (some serious metal in there; kinda reminded me of Hogwarts), sideline (you can sit where the players do during games) and changing room. 

Sports fans already know this but Real Madrid has an incredibly rich history and reputation. There's also seems to be a strong sense of national pride as almost all the players are Spanish (as compared to the English premiere league teams that are predominantly comprised of internationals). Definitely worth it if you're a football fan, and maybe even if you're not - I'm glad I went!

A Walk Through Almodóvar's Madrid

Towards the end of my sophomore year in college I took a class exclusively dedicated to the works of Spanish film director Pedro Almodóvar. Twice a week we met over the course of the quarter: once to watch one of his films, and again to discuss it in the context of the assigned reading. Some of the texts were easier to digest than others; some were in English, some in Spanish; and some, despite repeated readings for other classes, I still never quite understood (Laura Mulvey's "Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema," anyone?). But to this day, The Cinema of Pedro Almodóvar remains one of my favorite classes ever, and was a decisive factor when it came time to select a major. (Famously, I made a pros and con chart to choose between English, Film Studies, Anthropology and Environmental Science; in the end I went with anthro but minored in film).

I don't know if it's exactly fair to call Almodóvar my favorite director, but thanks to that course I have seen almost all of his films and quite like most of them. (There are other filmmakers that I greatly admire, but I don't feel that I've seen enough of their work to know whether the appreciation of their style exceeds the few examples that I am familiar with). Almodóvar's specialty is in creating stories that are endearingly kitschy and visually vibrant with characters that are real, though often not entirely realistic. Watching his films, which he writes himself, it often feels as though they take place in a parallel universe. Sexuality (and, inevitably, sex) is one of his most prevalent themes, and the director definitely has some, er, unique takes on it (see: Matador and La piel que habito). 

Thus far in his career Almodóvar has only worked in his home country, with a penchant for setting his films in the capital, incorporating well-known landmarks and places that played a role in his youth. Put simply, Almodóvar is to Madrid as Woody Allen is to New York. So between siestas, tapas, and hitting up all the requisite sites and monuments, I decided to track down some of the filming locations.

1. Telefónico building. Gran Vía, 28. Visible from the rooftop of Pepa's (Carmen Maura) building in Mujeres al borde de un ataque de nervios (Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown). A nod to the director's past employment when he first came to Madrid.
2. Plaza Mayor.  Where Ángel (Juan Echanove) dances one evening in La flor de mi secreto (Flower of My Secret).
3. UGT office, formerly the Convent of Santa Maria Magdalena. Calle Hortaleza, 88. The convent where Entre Tinieblas (Dark Habits) takes place. 
4. Círculo de Bellas Artes. Calle Alcalá, 42. Where Andrea (Victoria Abril) and Nicholas (Peter Coyote) can be spotted in Kika.
5. Cine Doré. Calle de Santa Isabel, 3. Benigno (Javier Cámara) watches a film here, in Hable con ella (Talk to Her), on one of his free evenings, which influences him to do something very crucial in the story... 
6. Calle Conde Duque. Tina (Maura) gets hosed down on this street in a memorable scene from La ley del deseo (Law of Desire). 
7. Cementario de la Almudena. Liberto (Victor Plaza) visits this cemetery in Carne trémula (Live Flesh). Of course the more iconic resting place shot by Almodóvar would be the Cementario Montjuic that appears in Todo sobre mi madre  (All About My Mother), but that's in Barcelona and, naturally, I didn't think of it while I was there. Oops! 

As big a fan as I am, I'd be lying if I said I discovered and recognized these all on my own. So, credit goes to: Trip+,  I Need Spain, and Todo Almodóvar.

And in case you have thus far been deprived of his excellent films, I would recommend starting with Todo sobre mi madre, Volver, Hable con ella, Mujeres al borde de un ataque de nervios, and Abrazos rotos.  

Madrid, First Impressions

"Watch out - Madrid is really hot!"

So cautioned some fellow travelers I met in Valencia who were doing their tour of Spain in the opposite direction as I. (They were heading off to Barcelona next, whereas I had just come from there). Sure enough, when I disembarked my train at 5pm, it did feel warmer and vaguely sticky - no doubt because the city lacks that pleasant sea breeze. I pulled out my phone and opened the weather app. Mid-80s - not too bad. And then I realized it was still set to Valencia.

Changing the setting to Madrid, I was displeased to see daily highs of 100 and above for the rest of the week. I toyed with the idea of switching the temperature to celsius, finding double digits less offensive than triple digits, but in the end I knew there was nothing to be done other than embrace the fact that I would be sweaty and stinky for the next few days.

The expansive Plaza Mayor.

While trying to capture some nice shots of Plaza Mayor (tricky even with a wide-angle lens to give you some idea of the vastness) I unexpectedly  ran into a guy I had met on a walking tour in Valencia. Seeing as it was his last day in Madrid and he'd already been to all the sites he'd wanted to visit, he was game to tag along with me for the afternoon. First stop: Mamá Framboise.

Before I left Paris I encouraged my more well-traveled friends to give me tips on where to go. One, a chef, told me I must visit her former workplace - a whimsical French pâtisserie just a bit north of Gran Via towards Salamanca. For just 3€ each, I sampled a chocolate raspberry tart and my friend a chocolate eclair. Delicious. (Just to compare: one individual size cake at the pastry shop I interned at will set you back at least 6€). She had also given me the name of her chef, but unfortunately when I asked for him I was told he had recently left. Too bad - I would have loved to peak inside the kitchen.

I wanted to try everything.

Next stop: Santiago Bernabéu Stadium, better known as the home of Real Madrid. I'm generally apathetic when it comes to sports, but in the realm of soccer I do harbor some small appreciation for the players - well, a few of them anyways. (Google image search Cristiano Ronaldo and you'll see what I mean). Tours were a bit pricier than we felt compelled to pay, so instead we took some photos outside.

We got there just as a kids' soccer camp was heading in. Almost all of them were wearing Ronaldo jerseys.

My friend had previously mentioned a museum for the blind so, with curiosity bolstered by the prospect of free admission, we set off to find it. The description in the provided literature stated that there were two main goals: to provide a tactile space where the blind could feel the art, and to promote the work of visually impaired artists. It's an admirable mission, no doubt, but in instances where the art is, say, framed behind glass I'm not sure how well it succeeds. Still, as far as museums go it's quite a unique concept.