Granada is the least "European" town I've seen in Europe. My course director expressed a haughty disdain for this town; he suggested I visit the Alhambra and get out; it's just small town with a bunch hippies. That's what he said. What I heard, however, was "perfect for backpacking."
I booked a hostel in the
Albayzín, the old Moorish quarter. It was right around the corner from a narrow North African market street. It was filled with the scent of incense and tea, the walkway made of mosaically-arranged stones, the shops filled with deep red and browns and the occasional bright hue, a mixture of rugs, fabric, and nicknacks. After resting from my long walk from the train station, I wandered around the Albayzin. Around every corner was an Old World corridor, a row of Moor-inspired houses, a centuries-old tree, brimming with sunlight and a history I could not fathom.
|
The market near my hostel. |
An interesting aside. My hostel offered a "Street Art Walking Tour." I jumped on this, as though this town was really fun to wander, a free tour can't hurt either. There were maybe 3 pieces of street are the whole way, though. The main event was the hippie who lived in a cave. Yes - Granada is a hilly place. And there is an entire neighborhood, Sacromonte, of caves. This hippie, who I will call Don Juan for the purposes of this blog and my perception of his former sexual prowess, showed us around his multi-room cave. We ended in the deepest, darkest, room of the cave, where he led us in a Buddhist chant and moment of silence.
|
Our hippie friend Don Juan. The green tarp is his garage. For his Ferrari. No joke. |
|
Street art imitating life |