Granada

A poem

My recent post about Madrid got me thinking about that long-ago trip through Spain. Perhaps the most beautiful city we visited was Granada, with its intoxicating mix of Spanish culture and Moorish influences. I remember the plates of tapas that came free with the beer, the Aladdin’s Cave-like shops stuffed with souvenirs shipped over from Morocco, the cave-houses on the hills in Sacromonte.

It was an idyllic place, surrounded by nature, the sort of city in which you could slow down and see yourself settling. It didn’t have the big-city hustle and bustle of Barcelona or Madrid; most people came to see the Palace of the Alhambra, then moved on.

And yet there was also something sinister about the place.