EARLIER THAT DAY, we drove along the Mediterranean, through Malaga (patting myself on the back here) to Nerja. I'd been there a few years ago with my brother but we missed the tapas area. Rina's friend, Rena (no typo...) lives there and led us to the small avenues lined with rocks and shops to see the many tapas bars all lined up like dominos. My first real tapas hop. Three tapas bars, a walk along the square and back into El Carro after a sweet visit. I now have a friend in Nerja! Irish, red hair and a sense of humor to knock my socks off.
YESTERDAY (Thursday), El Carro had done his best with the GPS installed into his brain... but the rat holes of Granada were indecipherable. But we didn't realize it until AFTER I'd driven down narrow streets not made for a car and a pedestrian at once. GPS directed us into one-way streets, twisted and snarled with traffic and tourists holding cameras, all blithely unaware of the white-knuckled woman behind El Carro's steering wheel. The map showed our Airbnb apartment directly along a large street, but the catacombs of winding streets kept us driving in circles. When we saw a line of taxis, I pulled behind one, Rina got out and asked the taxi driver for directions. As I watched them chatter in Spanish (thank goodness she is fluent!) the only thing I could think of was getting off the road. When she began to explain the directions, I suggested we pay the taxi driver to lead us there. And she agreed. AMEN.
We were off and running. When I couldn't get through a narrow street, the driver waited for us. When he turned into the maze of streets, I followed. When he put on his blinker toward a stone wall (I couldn't see the tiny street at all), I said, "Oh my God." And then prayed around the corner, jumped a curb or two and dodged more pedestrians. When finally, he led us to the parking garage, I was limp. When I saw the deep, dark incline into the garage, I turned to jelly. But Rina kept telling me all was well and I trudged poor El Carro on...down three layers of parking and then she guided me into the stall. When I got out, my legs wobbled and I wanted to kiss the cement floor.
The sweet Spaniard's taxi waited for us, he loaded us up and drove about three minutes to our apartment on a street paralleling the Alhambra high above us. The stone half-wall was about 10" on the right and about two feet on the left of the taxi where we sat. If I'd had a rosary, I would have worn the shine off the beads. But we made it to Granada, found the (rustic) apartment and applauded our arrival close to the Alhambra. The location was splendid. And then we looked for wine. One calmed me down and I laughed when Rina needed two. She'd looked so calm...(smile).
We counted the hours until our 10:00 p.m. Flamenco Expectáculo show in the Sacromente District --- where the gypsies danced flamenco in the caves.
And I wasn't disappointed for a minute. The women's dresses were flared similar to féria finery and their flamenco shoes reminded me I still didn't have mine. The cave area was white washed with dangling pots and utensils alongside photos of past flamenco dancers over the years. Music began to permeate through the small area and rose in tandem with my heartbeat. The metal on the toes and heels of the shoes made its own music like a duet in poetry. Fiery looks, whipping sharp movements and a blend of hooded sexiness drew everyone in like a moth to flame. My heart was beating so loudly. I wondered if Rina could hear it thumping, as the gypsy music took me to another place where no worries exist. And I knew Rina felt the same.
And then the guitarist's fingers flew across his flamenco guitar faster and faster. When the beautiful flamenco dancer sat down, a man stood up to take her place with feet tapping so fast it was a blur. His cockiness caught everyone's attention as he swirled, beat his feet against the floor and twisted his body in perfect time to the music. When a singer began his chanting song and the dancer snapped his feet across the floor an inch at a time, I nearly swooned.
Yes, the flamenco dancers tell a story that time hasn't diminished in the telling. The bright red dress seemed on fire as the woman's white mantilla, held in her dark hair with a tall comb, whispered against the floor. Her fingers reached for the ceiling and dipped downward in time with the music as if pulled by an invisible thread. She lifted the hem of her dress to move her flamenco-shoe-clad feet without the distraction of its ruffles to slow her down. Rat-a-tat against the floor, toe, heel, toe, heel. I didn't want to blink. The cave throbbed with emotion and caught us all on fire.
When I walked outside into the dark clear night afterward, the enchantment lingered. I was the flamenco dancer, I wore the red dress, my hair was its youthful dark again and I had a rose in my hair. Ah, the magic followed us all the way from the Sacromonte hills to our apartment again. As I fell asleep, I thought again about my missing flamenco shoes. I think my friend, R, is right. Maybe Dorothy did take them back to Kansas...
TODAY (Friday) we walked the streets of Granada, past the Plaza del Carmen and into a café for a traditional Spanish breakfast, a toasted roll slathered with ibérico jamón (ham) spread, a café con leche and a glass of fresh-squeezed zuma de naranja (orange juice) -- all for 2,60 euros. Afterward, we found a bus to take us to the Alhambra to scout out the place for our tour on Saturday afternoon. We also met our friend, Nancy, from home who was on a tour of the Alhambra with her son, Matt. Sangría, conversation, laughter and a few hugs later we toasted to Chat, Chew and Chocolate's Granada Chapter (smiling again)... You ladies in Casa Grande will appreciate this.
When it was time for la comida (lunch), we remained at the La Mimbra Restaurant near the Alhambra, where a pergola covered the massive courtyard and dripped with grapevines and ivy. As usual here in Spain, we had a leisurely lunch as if we and the staff had all the time in the world without the rush of moving on. However, Nancy and Matt were driving on to Valencia...and we planned some street walking again.
The Alhambra is high above the city where the narrow, cobblestone streets loop in a serpentine twist at a sharp incline. We'd taken the bus up, but we wanted to walk down again. The air was filled with small, white tufts of a cotton-like substance so thick we had to cover our faces with our scarves. Half way down the mountain, the air cleared again leaving us mildly surprised and glad of it. The huge stones comprising the outer walls of the Alhambra followed us downward, linked us with tall trees, fresh spring water falls and creeks that rippled across rocks. It was music to our ears.
Rina saw a man leaning out of an upstairs window and they chatted about his drying pimientos (peppers) after he'd laughed at her taking photos around her at the base of the walkway. He agreed to pose for her photo and then waved adios as we wove our way down the winding Cuesta del Rey Chico.
After a brief rest, Rina led me to three tapas bars she'd found on lonelyplanet.com for the locals and I followed like a little lamb. This girl knows her way around Spain and I'm in learning mode. There were outside tapas bars along all the small (narrow) lanes where I swore cars could not find and yet we heard the engines, jumped to plaster ourselves along the walls to let them by us and then walked some more. It is an amazing adventure with surprises in every corner. The lanes led upward into a haze of uncertainty, around corners where I found photo spots to linger and tapas bars as Rina promised.
And there are so many shops! Tea shops, ice cream and pastry shops. Clothing and souvenir shops. Motor bikes, buses, taxis, pedestrians all sharing the narrow streets where we have to jump up onto sidewalks (if they are available) to avoid being smashed against the stone walls of the buildings beside us. And we took photos of everything.
TOMORROW (Saturday) I will finally tour the Alhambra, inside the ancient stone walls where history seeks a foothold in every tourist's memory, including mine. Rina is anxious to show me all the corners and stone walls. It will be a day of exploration and wonder once again. And then maybe a trip into the "rat holes" high up into the mountain above us to find the magic of Granada away from the tourists haunts and into the real world of the city.
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