Lost and Found in Granada
7:22 pm. A hum of motorcycles wanes off in the distance. Below lies the city of Granada bathed in the diffuse light of a setting sun. Your view is only impeded by the Sierra Nevada - mountains, not pale ale - and the limits of your imagination. A bottle of cheap Rioja makes its way cheerfully through the group perched in front of the gypsy caves on the Sacromonte Hill. Few words are spoken as to not disrupt the natural splendor transpiring before our eyes.
It is quite easy to find yourself lost in Granada. 7:26 pm. The sun ducks behind a terribly inconsiderate cumulonimbus. A small break in the clouds allow a column of light to pierce through the sky. The rays are made solid by the collective smoke of the small fires dotting the valley. White buildings capped with scales of red tile are bathed in the types of sepia tones that make photographers hard.
Cut to the year 711 A.D. Islamic invaders make their way across the Straits of Gibraltar with designs of colonizing Europe. They settle for the Iberian peninsula. The fertile valley at the foot of the Sierra Nevada becomes the center of their European empire.
Return to the present. I understand why they stayed here. The days in Granada are long and bathed with sunshine. Nights are cool. The view afforded by every step you take burns an indelible image of beauty in your most appreciative retina. The foreground is lush with lavender flowers and wild rosemary. A middle ground is formed by the ornate Alhambra complex sprawling down the hillside paying homage to the city´s Moorish past. Distant mountains provide the background in this naturally occurring masterpiece.
Washington Irving came here to visit in 1829 and became lost in Granada. He stayed long enough to let the secret out with his Tales of the Alahambra. Now the city has become a haven for Flamenco guitarists, artists, writers, paragliders, photographers, and anyone else in search of adventure. I now understand that one does not become lost in Granada, yet found there.
It is quite easy to find yourself lost in Granada. 7:26 pm. The sun ducks behind a terribly inconsiderate cumulonimbus. A small break in the clouds allow a column of light to pierce through the sky. The rays are made solid by the collective smoke of the small fires dotting the valley. White buildings capped with scales of red tile are bathed in the types of sepia tones that make photographers hard.
Cut to the year 711 A.D. Islamic invaders make their way across the Straits of Gibraltar with designs of colonizing Europe. They settle for the Iberian peninsula. The fertile valley at the foot of the Sierra Nevada becomes the center of their European empire.
Return to the present. I understand why they stayed here. The days in Granada are long and bathed with sunshine. Nights are cool. The view afforded by every step you take burns an indelible image of beauty in your most appreciative retina. The foreground is lush with lavender flowers and wild rosemary. A middle ground is formed by the ornate Alhambra complex sprawling down the hillside paying homage to the city´s Moorish past. Distant mountains provide the background in this naturally occurring masterpiece.
Washington Irving came here to visit in 1829 and became lost in Granada. He stayed long enough to let the secret out with his Tales of the Alahambra. Now the city has become a haven for Flamenco guitarists, artists, writers, paragliders, photographers, and anyone else in search of adventure. I now understand that one does not become lost in Granada, yet found there.
posted by Yonder Vittles at 11:06 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home