Alhambra rambler

March 17, 2012

WHEN it comes to culture, David’s not exactly a vulture. More like a canary, I’d say. A day in a city, rather than out in the countryside with his binoculars, is not something he’d choose.

But having been persuaded to stop off for a couple of nights in Granada, even he was pretty impressed by the Alhambra, and strolled round happily taking dozens of photos of architectural details. I, as expected, was blown away by the whole thing.

We fuelled up for a long day’s foot-slogging on proper English bacon from Morrison’s in Gibraltar, scrambled eggs and fried potatoes with HP sauce.

Our route across the city involved catching two buses. Confusion arose about where to change from one to the other, leading to a longish unplanned walk and a certain amount of stress on my part because we had pre-booked entrance tickets to the Nasrid Palaces. But we made it with time to spare.

One of many remarkable things about the whole afternoon was the absence of those ‘Don’t touch’ signs and ‘Keep off’ barriers that greet visitors to English Heritage properties, such as Stonehenge, back home.  Everyone – and it was very busy – wandered about at will. Only areas undergoing restoration were cordoned off. Goodness knows how the ancient floor tiles will survive many more years of trampling tourist hordes. David, having spent his working life considering these issues, could write a book about the balancing act between public access and conservation, but I've only got space to say I don't believe in being too purist about these things.


We splashed out 11 euros on a detailed guidebook and I don’t propose to repeat its contents here, but to let a few photos do the talking.  Despite the crowds, this was a place of great calm and delicate beauty, with its mirror pools, streams and fountains, and its cool, ordered, shady gardens.  

We lingered over the tremendous views from the watchtower of the Alcazaba, over the city, the Cathedral, and the snowy Sierra Nevada, with snatches of music floating up from the streets below.

But it was doggy dinner time, and we had to get back. Poor old Glen had been snoozing patiently all this time in the Hymer, parked under some trees on our surprisingly quiet and pleasant city centre campsite. He’ll have more fun at our next stop, on the coast near Valencia. We’re off early tomorrow.