After what was possibly the longest que in the history of train travel (we waited for nearly two hours just to get our number called to purchase tickets) David and I (with much help and translation from Debbie) charted our course for the next few weeks.

Our first stop was Cordoba. Really this stop was just supposed to be a brief change over of trains but we decided to spend the day there on Lucas’ advice. You see, David and I were in the habit about going on about how pretty the Spanish girls are and spoke with excitement about seeing the southern Spanish girls who we heard were the most beautiful of them all. Lucas in turn told us, emphatically and with fervor in his soul, that no, the most beautiful girls in Spain were in Cordoba, a town that had little else to offer. We were skeptical that this town we’d never heard of would be worth a frivolous stop, but the way he spoke of it so confidently convinced us to go do some sight seeing there.

(yes we really are that shallow)

And I’ll say it now, Lucas was very right. The town wasn’t much of anything, but the sheer concentration of downright gorgeous women was uncanny. Every minute an angel would pass you by. It’s as if the streets were a runway and every pedestrian was a model. And it was here, in a town chock-full of beauty, that I saw, without exaggeration, the most beautiful creature that ever walked the earth. Her dark Catalan features, her natural grace, and her warm demeanor, and her perfect smile… She would stick in my memory for some time despite the fact that she was just some random girl on the street. I fully believe that it is only here, in this town and amongst a woman such as this, that over-the-top poetry could be recited with actual relevance and without being cheesy: Beauty crowds me till I die, beauty, mercy have on me! But if I expire today, let it be in sight of thee.

After a long day of walking, we boarded the train and sent Lucas a postcard thanking him for convincing us to stop.

A few hours later and two hours of wandering around Granada lost, and we found our hostel. The door person was the least friendly Polish girl (in a long line of stereotypically unfriendly people) but we got a room to ourselves, a private bathroom, and air-conditioning, all unheard of for cheap hostel stays! We celebrated this freedom with the sangria I had bought for the train ride and some other random grocery store dinner items.

The next day we wandered about in this beautiful town in the foothills of Sierra Nevada mountains. We didn’t really have a set plan for what to see, but we knew that if here we had to at lest visit the the Moorish jewel of Spain: the Alhambra. Getting there however was a bit more complicated then we anticipated. Sure we could have hopped on a bus or taxi but trying to save pennies we decided to walk.

2 hours later we are at the top of a large foot hill, hot, tired, dehydrated, and arguing about how we missed the road leading to the palace(that we can see on an opposite hill). David, with feet still blistered, was particularly frustrated and I didn’t help this by finding the situation very humorous. I mean how do you miss a giant, well-signed, palace on top of a hill? The more I laughed the more angry he became.

 

I decided that I was done walking and would hop on one of the many busses that had been passing us by. I talked to a helpful man waiting at one stop and he said I’d have to get on the bus and wait for it to do nearly a full loop, backtracking a long way before making any real progress. I explained this to David who no longer wanted anything to do with my navigational skills. He said he’d find his own way. “Seriously man, the bus is just here, it’s only 1.50… just get on” I reasoned, but he had already set off back down the mountain. He was confident he would get there before me.

An hour of hard walking later and David arrived sweaty, sore, hot, and tired. He had endured much to get there but at last he arrived and he looked around in prideful pleasure to not see me. “I beat him” he thought, but just as the words were uttered his heart sank, and he I saw me in the ticket line ahead of him, looking considerably more fresh (after sitting comfortably on an air-cooled bus for the last hour) and in-line chatting with a cute Australian girl. (I befriended Cookie on the bus, she was lost and didn’t speak Spanish but was headed to the same place so I told her I’d tell her when it was our stop.) David joined us in line mouthing a friendly: “I hate you.” And then we bought tickets and went through the gates.

After less than two minutes of looking around all the days troubles and frustrations were pushed aside and replaced by the expansive grander of the Alhambra. Our first views were of the Generalife (”architect’s garden”), a work of art with stone mosaic grounds, immaculately arranged hedges, orange trees, beds of flowers, and fountains. Water seemed to be a common design theme and flows freely through the entire palace, in luxurious  fountains, down staircases, along canals. The truly amazing bit though was the Alcazar which was the original fortress built within the Alhambra walls and the Palacio Nazaries where the Sultans and then the ruthless Spanish royal family lived. Mosaics cover every wall, mirror pools reflect the grounds, and courtyards splashed with trees and fountains are visible from all the rooms . It is everything you could imagined it to be and at the same time you can’t even begin to imagine how beautiful and intricate the hand carved tessellations and patterns that adorn every wall are. The Alhambra is an ultimate piece of beauty and history down to every last ornate detail. No wonder it is commonly called the 8th wonder of the world.

We left in awe only to stumble into the nearby Albayzin, the old Moorish quarter of cobbled and mosaic streets, filled with wine and coffee drinkers and flamenco guitar players. And despite David being yelled at (and probably cursed) by a begging gypsy, we decidedly had a damn good day.