This is the third in a series about my November 2023 trip to Spain. See my November 26 post about architect Antoni Gaudí and an apartment building he designed called La Pedrera; and my December 28 post about a day out from Barcelona exploring sights related to artist Salvador Dalí.
By Betty Gordon
© 2024 text and photos. All rights reserved.
In spite of some sort of defect in my inner compass, one of my favorite things to do while traveling is to just … wander. I generally have a starting point in mind, and a destination, but getting there by the most direct route is rarely the point.
I love to duck around corners into narrow streets, and let them take me where they may. Often I find interesting shops showcasing local artists, or a small cafe for a snack or meal. Sometimes I meet a dead end and have to retrace my steps. And before I start, I make sure to have a map, though that doesn’t stop me from not being where I thought I was. (This is not the same thing as being lost.)
In my research for my trip to Spain, I knew that the Albayzín (sometimes spelled Albaicín) area of Granada was made for this kind exploration, and I checked that it was safe for a solo traveler (Rick Steves’ Spain guidebook says it’s generally OK at night also, but to be alert for the usual problems of pickpockets, etc.). It’s the city’s old Moorish quarter, though as everywhere else, population turnover has changed the languages heard over the centuries.
What remains are twisty lanes, tight corners, grand views and, during the day, a sense of isolation from the rest of Granada below, because once you have committed to a ramble around the Albayzín and its environs, everything else seems to fall away.
I had also read “Granada: A Pomegranate in the Hand of God” (Counterpoint, 2015) by Steven Nightingale, an American who lives with his family part of the year in the Albayzín. He covers a range of topics, delving into history, poetry, politics, religion, mathematics and more, all while espousing the simple joys of his surroundings. (I should note that some of these sections do go on and on and on.)
If you begin your upward stroll by midmorning, the streets will be clear of get-the-kids-to-school traffic and you can proceed unencumbered. I recommend walking, but you can get a taxi or minibus. My routes up and down differed entirely. Be alert; some streets are so narrow that a passing minibus chased me up on the curb several times and had me plastering myself against the side of a building to get out of the way. Driving a rental car isn’t a good idea because there simply isn’t a lot of parking available.
My starting point was near Plaza Nueva, in the city central, and I was headed for an overlook of the Alhambra, the famed Hispanic-Muslim fortress, which is the reason most people trek to Granada in the first place. Specifically, I was looking for mirador (viewpoint) de San Nicolás.
I think I may have started on Calle de Elvira, but I was so busy taking photos of the stone mosaics on the street and looking at the colorful carpets slung over railings above, that I’m not sure which street I was on. But no matter, I was ascending, and that was the important part.
The higher I got, the prettier the views became, looking out over stone- or red clay-tiled roofs, and in the distance, the snow-capped peaks of the Sierra Nevada mountains. At some points, I could see through decorative iron gates into well-tended gardens or open spaces, where definite clues, such as children’s toys and bikes, indicated that families lived here. I definitely was away from the tourist areas.
Some rows of two-story whitewashed buildings featured sturdy trees, heavy with bright red pomegranates, known for their somewhat bitter, tightly seeded fruit that, these days, are touted for antioxidant properties. Granada is the Spanish word for pomegranate, and its bulbous shape is widely used in decorations around town.
Other white walls had thick green vines cascading over the side, growing beside papery purple bougainvillea. On one particular street, half-S swirls made a repeating pattern in the pavement.
I particularly liked the blue-and-white painted tiles revealing street names, even if they weren’t written on my inadequate map (after my walk I got a more precise one). But again, no matter. It was a sunny, cool fall Wednesday and I was doing exactly what I had planned.
In general, I was heading north, but I went farther in that direction than I had intended, before finally arriving at a spot that corresponded to my map — the Palacio Dar Al-Horra, across from the Santa Isabel Convent. The palace dates to the 15th century and was named for Aixa la-Horra, mother of the last Muslim ruler of Granada, Boabdil.
At the top of the square is the street Pilar Seco, and I followed that to Camino Nuevo San Nicolás slightly to the east — so I knew I was on track for the viewpoint. And suddenly, I was there … as was a small crowd milling about.
Several men were sitting on the wall, playing guitars and singing, or clapping. Another guy was drumming the beat on a box while perched on it. And one brave sneaker-clad fellow looked like he was trying to pull off some dance steps. People listened attentively, some moving forward to drop a few coins in the open guitar cases on the ground.
Most people were attired in trousers or jeans, with light jackets, but as part of the cultural mix there was a bespectacled woman, in a full-length black abaya, sitting between two dark-bearded men.
What makes this a famous spot is that the Alhambra, the former home of the last Islamic kingdom in Spain, is the backdrop in the middle distance. In its heyday, about 1,000 people lived on the Alhambra grounds, serving three palaces and other buildings. Fortifications included a wall of about 1.5 miles long and 30 towers. Known then and today for its colorful ceramic tile work, decorative Arabic calligraphy, scalloped archways, gardens and abundant water features, thousands of visitors tour the Alhambra daily.
Directly across the square from the entertainers was Iglesia de San Nicolás, a church that dates to the 16th century, that, like many religious buildings in Spain, had once been a mosque. This simple floor plan has just one nave and one tower, which could be mistaken for an Islamic minaret. Visitors are welcome, but its opening hours are limited. (in Spanish: https://iglesiasannicolasgranada.com)
Within steps of the church and viewpoint is the Grand Mosque of Granada, opened in summer 2003, and funded by local Muslims and Islamic Arab nations. Visitors can stroll the peaceful gardens and grounds, and are welcome inside. The overall website does not look like it has been updated for several years, though it seems prayer times during Ramadan are current. It may be best to send an inquiry if you wish to attend services (www.mezquitadegranada.com).
Replicating the expulsion of the Jewish population during the years of the Spanish Inquisition, Moors (African Muslims) were also banned from the country (lastly from Granada in 1492), as monarchs Ferdinand II and Isabel consolidated political and religious power, known as the Reconquista, to create a Catholic nation-state.
Today, about 2 million Muslims call Spain home, my guidebook says. According to the World Jewish Congress, fewer than 70,000 Jews reside in the nation of more than 47 million. Before being expelled, the Jewish population of about 350,000 was well-integrated into social and cultural life. Once the “Alhambra Decree” was in place, their only options were to convert to Catholicism (known as Conversos, or New Christians; Muslims were known as Moriscos), go into exile or face a death sentence.
By now I had been walking for about three hours and the streets were sloping downward (cuesta means slope; see next paragraph). I passed more very well-kept buildings, and several that had what looked to be decorative plates fastened to the second-floor exterior and dozens of potted plants extending all the way to the roof’s railings.
My intention was to head toward the Darro River and follow it southward back to Plaza Nueva.
But I got sidetracked by the buildings where Cuesta del Chapiz intersects Camino Sacromonte, marking a location that belonged to prominent families dating to more than 500 years ago.
Technically speaking, I had crossed into Sacromonte, historically the home of Granada’s Roma community. The “entrance” is marked by a statue of Chorrohumo (or Chorrojumo), whose real name was Mariano Fernandez (birthdate unknown-died 1906). He described himself as “King of the Gypsies” and was noted for helping to settle disputes among the clans. He also delighted in giving tours of the area and telling stories about the Alhambra.
But back to the buildings: For 2 euros, I went inside the Casas del Chapiz. Turns out that as early as the 14th century, some of this was the property of two related families: Hernán López el Feri and Lorenzo el Chapiz, both Moriscos. The larger house features a rectangular courtyard lined with arch-topped marble columns and a decorative narrow pool in the center. The shorter sides of the multistoried buildings were the living quarters. The second house’s semi-enclosed courtyard is more squarish and smaller.
The buildings were confiscated during the reign of Philip II (1556-98; he of the defeated Spanish Armanda) and fell into disrepair in the intervening centuries. Historical black and white photos on display somewhat tell the later story, and a short film from 2013 fills in other details, such as that the restoration in the early 20th century was led by Alhambra curator and architectural specialist Leopoldo Torres Balbás.
He was faced with crumbling walls, rotten woodwork and general damage done by people and donkeys that had lived there in the 18th and 19th centuries, as captured in an oil painting, “Courtyard, Casa del Chapiz,” done by American artist John Singer Sargent in 1912-13 (https://www.nga.gov/features/slideshows/sargent-spain.html#slide_1.)
The grounds out back once again give an expansive view of the Alhambra, but they are lovely in their own right: manicured bushes, a variety of citrus trees (including lemon), gravel walkways and a few benches where you can stop and enjoy it all.
Since 1932, the buildings have belonged to the government, and currently they house a school of Arabic studies, not open to the public. A lab of art and archaeology opened in 2007 to research the Andalusian period with a concentration on 16th to 19th century manuscripts.
Following Cuesta del Chapiz almost to the end, I turned right onto Carrera del Rio Darro, which is a lovely downhill stroll with lots of restaurants, shops and historic hotel properties. Many of the buildings have been restored, or are in the process of being so. The cobblestone street and sidewalk show the wear of a multitude of feet over the years.
Continuing on Rio Darro brought me to Plaza St. Ana, another spot popular with buskers. (This is quite near Iglesia de San Gil Y Santa Ana, a 16th-century church where a mosque once stood. The bright tile work on the bell tower is particularly eye-catching.) The male and female dancers here were in more traditional flamenco attire, he with a black jacket and black pants and she in a beige lacy top and long black fringed skirt. To amplify the pounding of their steps, they had put a wooden panel on top of the concrete.
And then finally back to Plaza Nueva. Some maps show a specific Albayzín route, and some guidebooks give street-by-street directions. All that is helpful, of course, but use those as suggestions and make the walk your own.
thejourneytaken 