Al Andaluz, March 31, Granada
Another rainy day…
Easter Monday has always been a day of rest in many Christian communities. Granada had its festivities, but the main industry is tourism. We had tickets for the Capilla Real de Granada, the Royal Chapel so we made it a quick breakfast and off we went in the rain. Yes, that pesky low down near Gibraltar was still pumping Atlantic water into the south of Spain.
The Royal Chapel is the burial site of the most Catholic Monarchs, Ferdinand, and Isabella. The couple are actually buried under the floor in a crypt, but their very elaborate monuments are in the chapel. The chapel decorations are a mix of stark Gothic or Romanesque and elaborate Baroque. Many later royals have curried favor with the people and the Catholic Church by paying for chapel and shrines in the Chapel. It was interesting and dry.
Dry became the watchword for the rest of the day. We wandered around for a bit as the heavy rain had let up. We found a nice place for café con leche and sat for a while. David had planned for us to take a cab to the Mirador de San Nicolás, a small parish church with a spectacular view of the Alhambra complex.
After enjoying the view from under David’s umbrella, we walked down the narrow-stepped street to find our restaurant. The Restaurante Carmen de Aben Humeya was created from two or three small homes built during the Moorish years of Granada. Yes, you read that correctly, prior to 1492. The patios are filled with flowers and covered with vines and shades to break the sun.
Of course, we ate inside because it rained continuously during our dinner. The food was excellent. (David has such good taste. I ate in so many extraordinary restaurants.) The view of the Alhambra complex is excellent, and the fog and mist make it all the more picturesque. When we had finished our after-dinner café, the comments from some of the other diners made it obvious that taxi cabs were getting scarce in the rain. We lingered a bit too long, and the kind waitress was unable to get any taxi company to answer the phone.
She asked David if we would mind riding the bus and he grinned. He told her his mother had not ridden a Spanish bus and it would be fine. She checked the schedule to ensure we would not have to wait long, gave David change for a Euro bill, and off we went. The climb was not bad since the rain had cleaned all the stone paved streets and stairs. We arrived at the bus stop to find others waiting. Within a few minutes, a small red bus slammed on its brakes, and we struggled to get all of us on the bus. Of course, no one got on until your change or your bus card was verified by the grumpy driver. As soon as the door was closed, he took off, throwing some of the riders into each other. David whispered to me that this was the regular practice in Spain. You got on the bus, you should know what to expect, and take care of yourself. We rode to the center of Granada and had a short walk back to our hotel.
We spent the evening drying our clothes and repacking. The train to Madrid was an early one. My adventure was almost over.
