Granada, city of searchers
This is a love letter to a city and province that I deeply miss—and, an open invitation, to explore Granada and discover all it has to offer.
*Spanish version also available / Versión en español también disponible
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Granada is a veiled city. It is at once unknowable and inviting. In any one of its thousands of hidden corners might be hiding the cool, discrete little bar that no one—and everyone—knows about. Each narrow street could lead to a gorgeous vista—or, to nowhere at all.
Granada is a mix—no, better—a clash of cultures. The Spanish, the Moors, Romani people, and tourists have all called it ‘home’ at various points throughout its long history. Some found the life they were looking for and settled; others didn’t. Those that stayed did so for lack of a more suitable place—and, for the beauty of the city and its people. Each group remains equally proud and ashamed of its roots.
What secrets await in those streets? How will you find them? Who will reveal them to you? Are they even knowable to begin with?
Granada is the biggest small city in the world. Without pausing for a café or a pionono (a near-impossible task), one could traverse it from north-south in under an hour. You’d be a fool to try; there’s no reason to walk straight here. In order to make your arbitrary deadline, you would have to walk straight past the hundreds of joyous tapas bars and pubs packed with locals. You would have to ignore the random plaza that’s been converted into a temporary music venue. You would have to stampede over the swaths of old men who wander down the empty streets.
Those people—the barflies, the street artists, the ambling old men—those who allow themselves to explore—are much wiser than you are. They understand the secrets of their shadowed city. They know the secrets that lie beneath its surface. They are the ones who abide by their own rules; they are the true champions of Granada.
And so, as you march along and your hour passes, you must surrender. Permit yourself to explore.
To go for a walk in Granada is to discover a thousand new things. With each step something new reveals itself. You observe tiny details on your daily commute that remain unbeknownst to lazy eyes: The stones on this street get more slippery than others when it rains; The public transport official who always fines ticketless passengers only shows up after 5; The bread lady sells out quicker when it’s sunny. Time and a keen eye are all you need to discover those hidden secrets.
City of mirages: 1,000 sights. 1,000 distractions. 1,000 discoveries.
You learn to obey your nose. Mid-step you’ll encounter a smell so savory succulent that it makes you ask: What is that? To deny yourself such inevitable pleasures is heresy. Let your appetite lead you to that clandestine source of deliciousness; walk with your nose to the ground, like Sherlock Holmes tracking footprints.
What smells, you ask? Churros con chocolate, hot and ready to commence your day’s journey (or cap it); roasted chestnuts from a street-cart, the olor shielding you like a warm hug against the cold winds from the Sierra Nevada; and, perhaps most prominent of all, tapas, free-of-charge dishes that double as open invitations to meet someone new. The plates hit you at their own rhythm, as the drinks flow and the conversation thrives. Maybe a simple slice of jamón arrives, with olives or some bread. Then it’s on to sardines, grilled or fried, doused in lemon. Last is some braised meat in a pimentón-spiked almond sauce. Whatever it is, it’ll be delicious (and free). And then it's on to the next bar, the next bodega. On to the next splendor.
Another drink, another plate. (image cred Antonio Jose Sala)
Spanish migas: stewed-then-fried breadcrumbs, served with fresh produce and porcine products. Yum (fried sardines are my accompaniment of choice)
Your street companions are reflections of Granada and its history. They like you come from all over the world. What world they choose to explore might vary; from the tourist's perspective, Granada is but a small piece of a whole country, a land of fake paellas and desert flamenco artists to ingest all at once. But as far as Granadans or any of the city’s adopted children are concerned, the world is centered right there, underneath the mountains.
As you walk, it's easy to tell who’s who. The omission of certain consonants (an accent that's largely scoffed at by the rest of the country) is a tell-tale sign of a native granadino; the rhythm of their voices, the speed and ferocity and pride with which they speak is another clue. These traits distinguish Granadans from visitors to the city.
However, Granada is home to more than just one type of Granadan. Pay attention: there are many distinctions. Listen and you will hear them. Arabic floats in and out of the streets, particularly from the labyrinth called the Albaicín, the historic neighborhood that provides unexpecting passage to Al-Andalus (You should also familiarize yourself with the new community of ex-refugees from Syria and elsewhere who’ve adopted the city as their own). You'll hear Spanish from outside Andalusia: the singing jeísmo of an Argentine will hit you unexpectedly, or the rough voice of an Irish transplant. You’ll hear gitanos, native Romani citizens who often speak in their own dialect, a mystical code called caló. Find them in the renovated cave houses of the Sacromonte, where they host ornate dinners and flamenco extravaganzas.
El Granado Hostel is a good spot to stay and greet the city in a friendly manner (image cred Google Maps)
Granada and its people mix like oil and water. There is no harmony; each voice is an instrument, parts of a much larger symphony. Yet they are unified by one common characteristic: an eagerness to welcome. You are treated as more than a tourist with money to spend. Rather, you are welcomed as a foreign-born incognecente, someone who demands an intensive education on the magic of their city. Most Granadans are eager to show you inside their homes, as well as the secrets of their city. Just try to keep an empty stomach; Granadans seem to persist by feeding others.
As you explore and discover, you’ll create a list of homes-away-from-home to serve as your remote command. Perhaps it’ll include the school you're enrolling at, a haven where you can escape from the city's hysterical rhythm. Maybe it’s a hostel, a place where you can speak your home language and discuss whatever it is that you miss; family, friends, peanut butter.
You'll form a unique network of cafés; one for work, one for on-the-go, one for relaxation. You'll find one-stop shops that actually make running errands enjoyable; the spice bazaar, the fruit stand, the fresh-pasta shop that you will cherish long after you leave. You'll form nightlife itineraries, reliable paths to a good time, strings of bars that lead to pubs and end at the discoteca.
Regardless of what you find, they will become yours, in a sense. What’s more important is that you experience the joy that comes with discovering those places.
Granada is what you make of it. It is a city that demands exploration. It is impossible to know her entirely. It is a place where feelings of comfort and of being lost interchange. Don't be afraid to entertain such curiosities; fear is a part of the experience. If you let it squander you, then you will deny yourself the pleasure of Granada: discovery.
Being a sitting duck in this city of searchers can be fatal. But if you are willing to explore, to expand your knowledge and challenge your preconceptions, then you, my friend, will find yourself at home.
Keep an eye out. Keep your nose high. Open your ears. Allow yourself to discover Granada and its growing, sprawling culture. Fall in love with the city of searchers.
