Thanks to my friends!

My head felt like it was going to explode. I resorted to Claritin, which I haven't done for years. I think it was the cherry or plum blossoming among agaves and prickly pears all over the slopes of Sacromonte. They said it was touristy, and I guess the caves advertising dance schools, shows and restaurants all in one would be. But like other places that I've been duly warned about, it wasn't as bad as I was thinking. There seemed to be enough genuine flamenco activity there – a guy playing guitar in the middle of the day, in the cold wind, sitting on a bench in the cave interprative museum, cante coming from somewhere in the hills, and serious dancer schools in the vicinity. People lived there as well. The museum was thorough. It labelled every tree and plant in the garden, and had the caves presented as they would have been, if in use, with living quarters, blacksmith shops and so on, decorated as such.

The night before, we met Hiro and a Japanese friend of his who was learning English in Spain. I caught up with Hiro while his friend practiced her English with Sarah and Andrea. The three of us had had enormous bocadillos shortly before, and were spoiled for dinner, so Hiro took us to a bar where we had drinks, which in Granada, come with free tapas. Hiro tried valiantly to get us into the Pena de la Plateria, up the hill in the Jewish quarter, but it was a private party. They finally admitted that once all the members had been seated, they might let us in if there were space. I wouldn't have minded waiting as there was an enormous terrace looking across at the lights on the castle walls surrounding the Alhambra, under some dried up vines. It was a classy place inside too. But in the end we decided to have a drink elsewhere and then try to get into a second showing at a place we were actually allowed and encouraged to be.

The older singer, who chatted with the crowd before he started, reminded me of Jose Lara at the Kino, because of his age and his manner - a bit of a comic. The dancing was fine, but most interesting was the atmosphere, where various palmeros joined the stage at times, and two singers, one of whom danced a bulerias, appeared at the end. And when the show was over, the performers and these two guests carried on with more bulerias at the door. This was obviously for their own enjoyment and spontaneous, and in spite of tourists.

Granada is like Vancouver – the city itself isn't very special, but the nature around it, easily accessible a short walk from city centre, is spectacular. The Alhambra sits across a valley from most of the city, and behind it is a surprisingly enormous glacial white mountain. Looking across at the city from the Alhambra, it is pretty – white buildings with cypress and palms sticking up everywhere.

The Alhambra... what can I say. It's obvious why it is the biggest tourist attraction in all of Spain. Words and pictures can't describe it. There are several major parts but the big deal is the palace. I like the gardens too, higher up and with views past leafless persimmon trees, over the city. If you are curious, you'll have to go there yourself. I don't want to spoil it by attempting some kind of description.

Suffice it to say that I could have sat for hours in one place, in awe, but because of the number of visitors, they impose a “strict” time limit on your visit, with an appointment time given to you when you buy your ticket.

Granada was cold – almost as cold as Sevilla a couple of weeks ago, and Sevilla seemed balmy in comparison when we got back last night.

We started our time in Granada with a nerve wracking attempt to navigate it, despite the guidebook advising to park your car at the city limits and use any other form of transportation within. Sure enough, it was completely fruitless, and we eventually abandoned the car at a parking lot and took a taxi to our hostel. Aside from a great restaurant with lovely vegetable and fish raciones, the other most memorable experience would have to be the teteria. Sarah and I both said in unison “I want to come here all the time”, and both wished there were something like it in Vancouver. Very arabic, with cushions, cloth wall hangings, and mosque shaped ceramic tiles framing mirrors, it also had things like Moroccan tea in silver pots and a selection of somewhat exotic pastries – mine was date and almond cake, like a square, but in cake wedge shape.

Granada was the part of the trip that was planned a few weeks in advance, when Sarah first told me she and Andrea were coming. But I ended up joining them on the spur of the moment several days in advance. They got to Sevilla on the evening of the 4^th, and Gaetane and I went to meet them that night. We hung out in Sevilla Saturday and Sunday, and thanks to my friends, I ate some truly amazing Spanish food. The most memorable for me was what we had in Cordoba. All of us took the train there Monday, and saw the Mezquita, which was beautiful, for its red and white striped arches, but seemed extremely odd to me, with its melding of Christian statues and paintings within the Muslim building. The weirdest was the cathedral which is almost invisible amongst all the red and white arches, until you get to it in the middle of the giant courtyard/mosque thing. Anyways, the food we had there was unbelievable, the restaurant very elegant but comfortable, and the waiter the kind of career man that almost does not exist in Canada. Despite the atmosphere, he was friendly and told me what “duck” was in Spanish when I quacked. The wine was excellent, we got Gazpacho in the winter, served in wine glasses, to be drunk. We had salt cod, which was desalted and served raw/cured with oranges and onions, eggplant deepfried to perfection with honey glaze, among several other things.

I stayed in Sevilla Tuesday, said goodbye to Gaetane, and practiced. Wednesday morning I caught the train and met Andrea and Sarah in Cadiz. We went down the coast through Vejer de la Frontera, hung out in Zahara de los Atunes on a nearly deserted beach, after searching high and low for a washroom and peeing in the walled vacant lot where I went for a concert last summer with the gang from Jerez. We ended up that night in Tarifa, which was also a little dead. Africa was easily visible the next day over the turqoise water and white sand. It was windy, of course, and one lone guy was kite-surfing. We headed in land and this was probably my favorite part. Past Jimena de la Frontera, with a ruined castle on top, and nobody but us, we got into part of the mountains south of Olvera, that I'd never seen before. It was stunning. I had slowed us down leaving Jimena to wait for a lady in a tiny shop to total up people's purchases with a pencil and paper, and then got her to cut me a piece of cheese from a fresh wheel. It took her a lot of effort, and we had to help hold the cheese. That and some bread and head of lettuce too beautiful to resist, that came with me from Sevilla, had to tide us through, as we didn't get to Ronda till quite a bit later. Here is another one where I just put aside my camera. I refuse. Something this incredible must not be taken pictures of. Anyways, I already wrote about it.

The next day I herded them through the pueblos blancos. First to Zahara de la Sierra. Probably the most incredible one, it has unbelievable views past many prickly pears, over amazing coloured lake and hills. The town itself seems small, but was cute. Next Setenil, where we witnessed a midweek afternoon's activities while Sarah waited for a set menu that took forever, likely due to the garbage truck driver stopping in to hang out and probably eat, while he left his truck running in front. The three restaurants including the one we were at, are all very nice – meant for tourists, but this didn't seem to be a concern. There was a growing bunch of guys seated at the restaurant a few paces down the sloping and winding sidewalk, loudly mangling their words in a slangy sierra accent, calling out to each passing car, which always stopped for a minute before continuing around the one-car-only, one-way bend, and down the hill. We only had time for a quick viewing of the cave houses around the corner and a look down on the square where we ate lunch, which by that time had seemingly been turned into a loud discotheque, by the guy at the snack and newspaper stand opening up shop.

I took my friends to Olvera next and we walked to the top, and each had a chocolate pastry and cookie, from La Gloria, which we ate while walking back up the hill to the town hall, where we'd parked.

There, I've come full circle to Granada, which was where we reached that night.