Hotel Regina Cristina, Grenada, 18th September 1996
The figures framed by the restaurant windows at breakfast carried umbrellas against a fine drizzle. It wasn’t cold and, undeterred, we set out to walk up hill to the Albaicin on the north side of the River Darro (originally named after the Roman word for gold, aurus), which runs through the City.
The guide book calls the walk ‘a hard slog’ and suggests using a taxi or the number 12 bus. Well, it’s not light stroll, but unless you are aged, infirm, or overweight (or sadly all three) it’s hardly so difficult that a vehicle is necessary. And certainly you would miss much of the interest and fascination of neighbourhood, notable for its historic monuments and medieval plan of narrow streets and alleys largely dating back to the Nasrid period (13th to 15th Centuries). It was declared a World Heritage Site in 1994.
It has not succumbed to too much prettification – fewer heavy hands with the geraniums and painted tiles – and feels lived in, functional, not a museum piece. If the bars are slowly taking over in attractive spots like the Place Larga, they don’t as yet intrude, though there must be a risk that they will. However the very difficulty of access – coaches could be kept out easily (if they can get in at all) – may restrain the tourist hordes.
We sat for an hour on the Mirador de San Nicholas looking down on the roofs and trees of Grenada spread below, and across to the Alhambra rising on the far side and the distant snow topped Sierra Nevada. As we lingered the cloud broke up, grey giving way to billowing white and patches of blue, which sent island of light drifting across the vega and lighting up the towers of the Alhambra. Taxis arrived to disgorge their occupants for an essential photo opportunity and a leisure stroll back down. Four sisters in Christ, heirs to the Christian Reconquista, contemplated the Moorish heritage in silence.