Granada

This is another catch-up post. The text was written not long after we left Granada when it was still reasonably fresh. The pictures, of which there are many, took longer. It should appear in the correct sequence, and subscribers should get notice it's here. (Fingers crossed as I click the Publish button.)

Ines, our landlady in Valencia, had agreed to let us leave a little later than the usual check-out time. We in fact got out about 10:30, and walked, with all our luggage, the five blocks to Angel Guimera subway station. There’s an elevator there down to the ticket machines, and then escalators to the platform levels, so it wasn’t too bad. We waited about seven minutes for a train and were all, thankfully, able to sit for the 20-minute ride out to the airport. We had a very straightforward, if long, time getting our car from Avis, a small Fiat SUV that just barely fit all our luggage. We will drive it all the way to Lisbon.

The drive to Granada was long, but on very good divided highways, and the weather was fabulous. We stopped once at a service centre for a bathroom break and picnic lunch in the parking lot. The scenery was interesting. I hadn’t realized southern Spain was quite so mountainous. We were constantly going up and down. Our ears were popping. Near the end, we were astonished to find ourselves driving across a high plain toward snow-capped mountains. These weren’t hills with remnants of snow left over from winter. It looked like permanent snow, or ice, cover. I think the mountains we were looking at were the Sierra Nevadas, which loom over Granada.

Granada is nothing like I imagined. First, there are the mountains above it. And the town itself is fairly hilly too. Our apartment was in the Albaicin, a very old section of narrow, winding streets at the top of a hill, overlooking the Alhambra. The landlord’s recommendation was to park in one of the public parking lots in the modern city, and take a cab up the hill to the apartment. That’s what we did, sort of. Miss TomTom navigated us to one of the recommended parking lots, which was very convenient to the highway. I called Jamie, the onsite manager, from a little cafe near the parking lot. He urged us to take a cab if we had luggage. Being cheap, we decided to try walking anyway. We got so far, then the walking became impossible, with steep grades and cobbled streets. So we hailed a cab, which took us the rest of the way.

The apartment was great, if a little rustic, in a very old building, next to a small church. Our unit was one of four for rent to tourists (there are two others on the ground floor, one of them Jamie’s, the other occupied by a young fellow who appeared to be helping Jamie.) Ours was up a couple of flights. It had everything we needed, including two bedrooms, one with a rather silly Jacuzzi bathtub that I’m sure no one has used in ages. It looked excruciatingly uncomfortable. The Hoots had that room. There was a lovely terrace on the roof, with an obstructed view of the Alhambra and the Sierra Nevadas beyond.

Jamie is a 30-something Brit who has been in Spain for eight years, he told us. He has an accent that sounded like London to me, although he’s actually from Coventry. But it's London (or Coventry) with strong Spanish intonations. He told us English people sometimes mistake him for Spanish and compliment him on his English. I almost made the same mistake. His name on the front door buzzer system is Jaime, the Spanish form, which increases the confusion.

View from our bedroom window

Tourist shop in Placa Nuevo - one of a gazillion in the neighbourhood

We arrived before dark and settled in, then walked down the hill through a very touristy shopping area. Dozens of restaurants and shops selling souvenirs and other junk spill out onto the narrow, alley-like streets. There was barely room to get by. Our agenda was threefold: pick up our Alhambra tickets at the ticket office in the old town, shop for breakfast basics and have a dinner out. We achieved all three, eventually. There was a line-up at the ticket office, it took us awhile to find the very small tienda – no more Mercadona supermarkets for us. Our restaurant choice was a mistake: a place in the middle of the tourist mess, selling middle Eastern food. It was authentic in so far as it was run by Muslims (no alcohol – horrors!) The food was only okay – falafel to start, followed by chicken tangine, none of it very flavourful. It at least wasn’t terribly expensive.

Pretending we're enjoying ourselves at cheesy Middle Eastern restaurant/tourist trap

The next morning – cold but sunny – we got up very early and hiked down the hill the way we had gone the night before, then up the hill on the other side of the river valley to Alhambra. 

Alhambra battlements in morning light with town in background

Our timed tickets got us into the site at 8:30 a.m. The signposting was poor and we weren’t sure where we were supposed to be going. Keep in mind this is a UNESCO World Heritage site. Jamie had given us directions that bypassed the main entrance and ticket booths – since we theoretically already had our tickets. After a fairly arduous climb, especially arduous for Karen with her wonky knees, we finally found the entrance to the Nasrid Palaces, one of the principal attractions, and the place where the tickets were timed. We arrived well before 8:30.

When the ticket taker finally came out to where we were lined up and looked at our tickets, she explained none too kindly in Spanish, with a few words of English thrown in, that Pat’s and Ralph’s and my tickets were not right. Because they were seniors/pensioners tickets, we had to go all the way over to the main entrance – 15 to 20 minutes away – and verify that we qualified for the discounted price. So basically there had been no point in picking up the tickets the night before. We were very concerned we would miss our entry time slot. We practically ran all the way. Karen stayed behind.

Alhambra, Nasrid Palaces - a teaser

When we got to the ticket office, a security guard let us jump the queue. As it turned out, we did not qualify for the discounted price, because we’re not European Union passport holders. We saw something to this effect at the website, after we'd booked the tickets, but it was ambiguous, and we assumed we would be able to pay any supplement wherever we entered. But given this is a UNESCO World Heritage site, presumably partly funded by an international organization to which Canada pays dues, why did we not qualify for the discount anyway? We had to fork over an extra 5€ each. As it turned out, our tickets let us enter any time up to 9:30, so we made it back to the Nasrid Palaces in plenty of time.

View of Granada from Nasrid Palaces

That’s the end of the negatives. The rest is off-the-charts positive. Alhambra is fantastic, one of the most interesting and beautiful historical sites I’ve seen, and I've seen a few. We did visit the Moorish palace at Seville when we were there six years ago, and it’s pretty impressive, but nothing compared to this.

Nasrid Palaces

The site, originally a Roman fortification, was built on by the Spanish Moors in 889, then forgotten, until it was seriously developed in the 1300s. It eventually became the royal palace of Yusuf I, Sultan of Granada, in the mid-1300s. Moorish Spain was mostly reconquered by Christian princes in the late 1200s, but Granada held out until 1492. (Date sound familiar?) 

Part of an inscription of a poem carved in plaster around a courtyard

Nasrid Palaces

The Nasrid Palaces is the most awesome part of the site, a series of linked rooms, courtyards, reflecting pools. Despite the hoards of tourists overrunning the place (yes, even at this time of year), it was easy to imagine how tranquil these spaces would be for the royals who inhabited them.

Intricately carved coffered plaster ceiling

Nasrid Palaces, garden courtyard

After the maze-like medieval Moorish Nasrid Palaces, the calm classical beauty of the Palace of Charles V, a massive Renaissance structure built on the grounds in the 16th century, comes as a very cool contrast. The fabulous circular courtyard and arcaded mezzanine inside are a photographer's dream. 

Alhambra, Charles V Palace

The Charles V Palace also houses the Alhambra art gallery. After much debate, we decided not to go in. They wanted a paltry fee because we were non-EU citizens. At this point, we were feeling a little battered by and resentful about discriminatory pricing, and declined. Ralph did later try to pass for Dutch, but as he wasn't wearing his wooden shoes, the attendant didn't believe him.

Alhambra, Charles V Palace

The military defenses, a series of towers and crenelated curtain walls affording awesome views across the city and the mountains beyond, were another highlight, among many. 

Alhambra military defenses - impregnable

And then there were the gardens. It was all a little too much. 

Alhambra gardens: tired tourists

Alhambra, royal gardens

We ended up spending almost five hours there, and didn’t by any means see everything – or probably do justice to what we did see. I think I beat my personal record for most pictures taken in one day: close to 200 - hence the large number shown here. We headed back to our apartment by a slightly different route down the hill from Alhambra. 

Off-duty belly dancer mugging for the tourists

We had a lovely picnic lunch on our rooftop terrace. It was warm and sunny by this time. The views out towards the Alhambra and the mountains, obstructed as they are, were wonderful. We were revived, or thought we were.

Lunch on the rooftop terrace

View of Alhambra and Sierra Nevadas from our rooftop terrace

About 3:30, we set out again to do a recommended walk along the river that runs under Alhambra through the lower edge of Albaicin. We got about a quarter of the way along the route and decided it was just too crazy busy. The city was jammed with tourists. It was a Saturday evening. The young were out in force – this is a university town and a backpackers’ mecca. They were lounging on the bridges and ambling along the river, drinking in the pubs, enjoying the buskers along the way, (including, as it happens, some very good performers.) 

So we cut back up through the less tourist-y parts of the Albaicin, heading back to our apartment. The reviving effects of our lunch break had evaporated and we realized we were completely knackered.

Ralph and I left Pat and Karen near the apartment to make their own way home, and headed down to the car park to retrieve Karen’s bathroom kit, which she had left in her big suitcase in the car. We walked fast, mostly in a direct route, found the car park, retrieved the bathroom kit and walked back, stopping in at a small supermarket for beer and meat for dinner. 

By the time we got back and fought our way through the Saturday night crowd on the shopping street a few blocks below our apartment, we were exhausted. We also got back too late for the highly-recommended view of Alhambra from Mirador San Nicolas in the rays of the setting sun. It would have been another ten-minute walk up the hill anyway and nobody had energy left. So we spent the evening in.

Granada, Albaicin: our street

Granada, Albaicin: night scenes (it's a big furry dog)

We had permission from Jamie to leave whenever we wanted the next day. He had nobody coming in to take our unit until later in the week. We got out at about 10:30 and walked up through the Albaicin to the Mirador. It is indeed a fabulous view of Alhambra and the mountains beyond, but it was already, at this early hour on a Sunday, packed with tourists and local church goers. We enjoyed the view, even if it was a bit hazy, then wandered around the hilltop. There isn’t a lot else to see. We did spot quite a few restaurants that would have been far preferable to the mediocre place we went to the first night.

Panoramic view of Alhambra from Mirador San Nicolas, atop Albaicin (click to enlarge)

Back at the apartment, we did our final packing. We had asked Jamie to call a cab for us at 12:30. A few minutes before, we went out on the street, but it was almost a half hour before the guy showed up, cursing about some traffic jam he’d been stuck in. It was a very expensive cab ride. Apparently if you order a cab – or maybe only if you order a cab to come up to Albaicin – they start the meter when they set out to pick you up. The final fare was over 16€. I hope we weren’t ripped off, but it felt like it. He drove us right into the parking garage. On the plus side, we did save a little on the parking because we got a weekend rate: 32€ instead of 40€.

So ended Granada.

Yes, We’re Still Alive

A long hiatus from blogging. The reason: Hoots (i.e. Ralph Lutes and Pat Hoad, now Pat Hoad-Lutes: collectively, Hoots. They are too.) They arrived for a two-week visit on March 9, and we've been going about a million miles an hour ever since. 

First, the last Monday and Tuesday we spent on our own in Valencia, March 7 and 8.

It had been cooler, and was rainy one of those day. The mascletas, the daytime fireworks, were still going every day at 2 p.m. in City Hall Square, turning the centre topsy-turvy. Police block the streets off around the square, in about a six block radius, starting at noon. Crowds begin forming not long after. By 1 p.m., a full hour before the six-minute show begins, they’re lined a few people deep around the place where they let off the fireworks. Then everybody streams out of the square again at 2:15 when it’s all over, further snarling traffic. It’s absolute madness, but the Valencianos love it.

Near City Hall Square: some of the prettiest building fronts in the centre - very posh apartments

On the Monday, we walked over to Russafa to see if anything new was happening with Fallas preparations, and there was. Yeehaw! The heavily plastic-wrapped pieces of fallases – failures as Karen has taken to calling them, because that’s how the machine translations of the word (mis)interpret it – have appeared at Sueca and Literati Azorin and Cuba and Literati Azorin. 

Plastic wrapped Fallas figure, part of Amstel-sponsored tableau, awaiting assembly on Calle Literati Azorin

One appears to be sponsored by Amstel, the other by the Spanish beer maker Mahou: dueling fallases, one block apart. Both are among the biggest and most professionally done in the city. Think: multi-storey-high, three dimensional cartoon tableaus. On the basis of the wrapped pieces, it was difficult to guess what the tableaus would be about, although the Amstel fallas appears to have a circus theme. There is a large (unassembled) tiger figure – headless body and separate head.

Wrapped Fallas figure awaiting assembly in Mahou tableau, Calle Literati Azorin

We did go one of the two days – Monday or Tuesday, can’t remember which – on a second long walk around the city in search of other fallases, but only found one, in pieces and, again, heavily plastic-wrapped against prying eyes. Lots of beer tents going up in squares, though, and around both gate towers.

Traffic barriers stacked near Russafa market in preparation for closing streets for Fallas festivities - La Fallera is a brand of Valencian rice, the stuff they use for paella, and major sponsor of the festival

On Tuesday, we went back to Russafa to shop the market and went down Literati Azorin again to see the progress on the dueling fallases. They were well into unwrapping and assembling the Amstel tableau. The main figure is a pretty young woman in a fairy-tale frock (vaguely 18th century style) with lilac-coloured hair and a top hat. A lady circus ring master, perhaps?

Main figure in Amstel Fallas on Calle Literati Azorin

Artist buffing paint job on head of Genie (that will eventually be seen sprouting from the ringmistress's top hat

When we came along, they were just getting ready to add the top part of her top hat, lowering it into place using a huge construction crane. They had web belts around the piece. It seemed to be taking them quite awhile to get it balanced to their satisfaction on the hook of the crane, so we walked down and had a look at the other fallas, the one apparently sponsored by Mahou, on the next corner.

One of the central figures in Mahou fallas on Calle Literati Azorin

It appears to be about a fairy tale ball, with cartoon-y female figures. They are all making moon eyes, presumably at some man or men, although there are, as yet, no appropriate male figures in the tableau. Unless it's the foppish figure below, which seems unlikely. One is a middle-aged woman with mouth open, tongue out (tonsils visible), hearts in her eyes and decolletage lowered to expose nipples. Typically crude Fallas fare.

They weren’t as far along as the Amstel tableau and weren’t doing any interesting work on it, so we wandered back to the first one, and arrived just in time to watch the lowering of the top hat. They had a cherry picker with a couple of guys in it to guide the thing into place. There was also a guy on the ground holding on to a rope attached to the new piece. When they got the cherry picker up to the top, one of the guys climbed into the bottom part of the top hat to guide the new piece into place. We’re still not sure how he got out, probably climbed back up the wooden framing inside and out the top. We didn’t stick around to see. When we left, he’d disappeared completely inside the fallas. It was fun to watch.

New lights have been turned on on our street, and it appears there will be a fallas just a block down from us, but there’s no sign of anything there yet.

The Hoots Do Valencia

Wednesday was Hoots arrival day. It dawned cool-ish and a bit grey. They were coming in on the train from Barcelona a little after 11 – to Joaquin Sorolla station, the recently-built overflow facility a few blocks from the lovely old Estacion Norte. Joaquin Sorolla is where the high-speed Ave trains stop. It reminds me of a sterile cow barn. It’s too bad they couldn’t have come in to Estacion Norte, which is not only more interesting architecturally – a Modernista gem – but also in a much nicer part of the city.

We walked up St. Vincent Martir and got there in plenty of time. It’s about a 15-minute walk. It turned out the train was 15 minutes late. When it did finally come in, they were naturally the last off. We were beginning to think they might have missed it. 

The Hoots seemed in fine form. Pat was suffering a bit with a hack-y cough, but still had lots of energy. We gave them an hour or so to refresh themselves and admire the apartment – theirs in Barcelona, in the Bari Gotic, the old medieval quarter, had apparently been a disaster, about which they were still quite irate. Then we headed out on a walk through the centre, including City Hall Square. It was of course in an uproar in preparation for the daily mascletas. That meant the streets were blocked off, though, so we could stand in the middle of the road and admire the square and its architecture.

City Hall square facing towards Placa Reina - crowds gathering for mascletas

We took them into the Mercado Centrale, with which Pat seemed duly impressed (Ralph had seen it in 2012 when he came and visited us here.) Our plan had been to include a visit to La Lonja de la Seda, the beautiful Renaissance-era silk exchange across the street, but we were a little later getting there than anticipated, and it was already closed for lunch. So we just headed over into Carmen and up to Torre del Quart to the restaurant we’d selected, one we knew from past visits.

Mercado Centrale: fishmonger - Karen won't go in this part of the market, but Pat, who doesn't care for fish and seafood either, seemed fascinated

It’s called La Pizca de Sal. We went to it many times in 2011 for a dish I loved, a kind of casserole with french fries, smothered in aioli, baked cheese and bacon. Very sinful. (This was pre-lactose avoidance days.) When we went back in 2012, they still had a dish with the same name, but it had changed beyond recognition, and was awful. Anyway, the restaurant is still there, with the same name, but appears to be under new management. It’s gone a bit – emphasis on a bit – upscale, and has less the feel of a family run business and more that of a professionally run restaurant.

La Pizca de Sal dining room

We went for the menu del dia lunch. It was 11.90€: starter, main, one drink, bread, dessert. I had a very tasty paella with pork pieces for starter, a quarter roast chicken with potato and carrot as my segundo – I think everybody had that – and a superb apple flan. The others had some chocolate concoction for dessert.

Torre Serrano from Turia Gardens

After lunch, we wandered down into the Turia Gardens and walked around, past the Torre Serrano. Not far along our route, I realized my camera battery was out of juice – this is a feature of the new camera: the battery doesn’t last as long as the old one – so I went up to street level, grabbed a Valenbisi bike and tore home to get a fresh battery, then tore back to the river to meet them at the Pont Mar, to which they had walked in the meantime. We walked home together up one of the Avenidas and vegged out for awhile at the apartment.

Rainbow over Turia Gardens

Later in the evening, despite aching legs and sore back (me), we set out again to look at the fallas statues in Russafa. They were brilliantly floodlit. We arrived just in time to see the cherry-picker-riding workmen, who must now be working desperately to get their tableaus completed by the planta on March 15, pack up for the evening. 

Dueling fallases on Calle Literati Azorin

Activity along Literati Azorin is ramping up: more churro stands, lights on on Sueca (probably for testing), lots of people out gawking. Fallas fever. On the walk back to the apartment, we stopped at a churro stand in a square just the other side of St. Vincent Martir from our apartment. There were big plastic-wrapped pieces for another fallas in the square, which we would see partially constructed the next night. What was left of the rest of the evening spent snacking and nattering back at the ranch.

Testing Fallas lights on Calle Sueca

The next day, Thursday, the Hoots' only full day in Valencia, we had planned bike riding. It wasn’t that promising a day – cloudy and cool again – but we finally set out a little before noon, by which time it was brightening a little. We walked down Avenida de Marques del Turia, thinking the bike rental place we were aiming for was at the end of it where it crosses the Turia. Wrong avenida. So we walked along the ring road to the correct one, at the Queens Bridge (where the winged demons are). Pat and Ralph rented their bikes from a charming little girl who looked about 12, but must have been much older, and spoke very good English, but in a little-girl voice. She offered us Valencian oranges from a crate at the door. Strange.

Flowering tree in Turia Gardens near City of Arts and Sciences

Karen and I walked and the Hoots rode their newly rented bikes down into the City of Arts and Sciences, which starts near there. By this time, there was some sun. They rode around while we walked through, admiring the always impressive views. We met near the Science Museum, separated again, and Karen and I walked up out of the river bed to the El Corte Ingles Valenbisi station and grabbed bikes. We met up with them there, and we all set off down to the beach together.

Palau de las Artes in City of Arts and Sciences

We rode all along the beach front from Hotel Neptune to the boundary with Alboraya. It was relatively dead this day – not surprising given the weather and time of week. Karen and I ditched our bikes there and we walked through to the restaurants just on the other side in Alboraya to see if any might be appropriate for lunch. None was, so we walked on to the big fancy restaurants in the condo communities. They looked dead and too poncey. Next plan: walk through Cabanyal and find a place there. We did the walk, but didn’t find anything remotely appropriate.

Typical tile-fronted Cabanyal house

Fallas statue near Armoury in Cabanyal

Plan C was to ride to the church square across Avenida del Puerto from our 2011 apartment, to a restaurant we knew from eating there with Shelley one time. It had been sunny for a while, but there was a coolish offshore breeze blowing. We sat down at a table on the terrace in the sun, but within minutes, it was mostly in shade, and a little chilly for sitting outside. We persevered.

Ralph at chilly outdoor restaurant with rental bikes in background 

The menu looked okay: 8.50€ for primero, segundo, bebida, postres, pan. The one slight problem was that I misunderstood the waiter’s explanation of a paella-like dish called arroz banda, which Karen and I both ordered based on that interpretation. I thought he said it had chicken and rabbit, and it might have, but it also had quite a bit of seafood. I was able to eat around it, Karen felt the whole dish tasted of seafood and wouldn’t touch it. Too bad. The food was basic but tasty. We all had a chicken dish – sort of stew-y – and a chocolate dessert.

Pat and Karen at chilly restaurant

We rode from there to the Turia and went around as far as the big Nuevo Centro shopping mall, where we cut down Gran Via de Ferran el Catòlic towards the apartment. Pat and Karen walked from the Angel Guimera subway stop and I took Pat’s rental bike with Ralph back to the rental place. The same girl was there, cheerful and friendly as ever. She gave us a all key rings in the shape of bicycles and offered us more oranges. Ralph and I picked up Valenbisi bikes (I had Karen’s card as well as my own) and we rode back to the apartment. We snacked and vegged and complained of feeling like old cripples (or I did), then went out again later in the evening anyway.

We walked first to the square where we bought churros the night before. The fallas construction was well underway, with some very amusing figures, now unveiled. (See pic above.) Lots of gawkers. Then we wandered on over to Russafa again, via the centre. Karen and I can’t seem to keep away from the place (Russafa, that is). 

Bullring by night - note bullfight banners. The bullfights started the day after we left

The main figure at the Amstel planta has grown some new appendages – a genie coming out of her hat, and a monkey on the genie’s shoulder. There is also a swimmer hanging off to the side – difficult to see how he’s secured – and a sleeping woman who looks like a magician’s assistant about to be sawn in half. What does it all mean? Who knows?

Last views of Amstel fallas - with fireworks just visible in background on last one

The Mahou fallas didn’t look that much further along than it had been the night before. We regretfully set off for home, knowing this would be our last glimpse of these fabulous tableaus – which would all, of course, be burned at the Crema the next weekend. We walked back through the bullring-Estacion Norte area, where we stopped for more churros. At this stand, right in front of the station, they made us fresh churros – as they had the night before – even though there were some already made. They put them in a paper bag and then sprinkle with coarse-ground white sugar. MmmmMmm!

Last view of Mahou fallas on Calle Literati Azorin

Churro chef - our churros are the loops on the left

The rest of the evening back at the apartment was given over to packing and preparing for our departure the next morning.