2023 was a hideous year on the whole. It was a year of endings and bereavements. Mum died in October and her sister died a fortnight later. At Christmas, my French landlady died, then one of my students died on Christmas Day. I played for my Aunt’s funeral, and for my student’s celebration of life. It was an upsetting and traumatic time and a lot to process in 2 months. At the start of 2024 I knew I needed to escape the Winter blues and the recurring negative thoughts quite urgently. I found playing the harp really torturous. I felt paralysed, unable to do much more than practice the bare minimum. There was no pleasure, no expression, no emotion. I stared into space a lot. I was numb. It was horrible. It was grief in one of its many guises.
I knew where I wanted to go and after scouring the internet every evening for a week, I had booked my flights and accommodation.
I’ve had a soft spot for Spain since I went on a very short orchestral tour there in 2015 which involved a night in a hotel in Madrid, then a rehearsal and a concert in Valencia before taking the flight back to Blighty before I got a chance to say ¡Hola! I got a taste for Spanish life (even the coffee at the motorway services was great) and longed to return. I daydreamed over images of the Alhambra and Punto Nuevo and they were top of my bucket list.
I flew to Malaga where I had a 4 hour wait for a train to Granada. It was warm and sunny so I found an appropriate spot and soaked up the healing rays of sunshine. The inner greyness started to dissipate. It’s hard to feel miserable when you’re at a train station surrounded by orange trees. I was in no rush and had been in holiday mode from the moment I boarded the plane.
I had to change at Antequera where I had a 2 hour wait for the connection to Granada. Public transport was preferable to hiring a car. We arrived early at Antequera and I asked if it was where I was meant to change. No, it was the next Antequera – Santa Ana which was actually 10 minutes away. Good job I didn’t get off at the first one. When we arrived at the Antequera, the train door wouldn’t open. Panic! It eventually did and I was deposited in what I can only describe as Crewe station with no personality. A huge interchange, there was nothing there except some seating and toilets, and grumpy stern station staff. No newsagents, no cafe, nada. I found the exit and more sunshine.
It’s all about the journey, not the destination but I was relieved to finally arrive in Granada at 5pm. I fully expected the Alhambra to be the first thing I saw in its much anticipated splendour but, to my dismay, it was nowhere to be seen! I got to my accommodation and felt reassured – the studio flat was lovely, airy, open and bright:
and the views from both sides were just what I needed:
I’d been up since 1am for my flight and wasn’t in the mood for eating out so I got some basic food from the local shop and had a simple supper in the flat. I had tickets booked for the Alhambra the next day. I slept like a baby.
I stayed in the Albaicín, a historic quarter located above the hustle and bustle of central Granada. The flat was nestled in a busy but surprisingly quiet pedestrian zone. Being perched on top of a hill meant an easy descent into the centre and a blast of cardio to get back home. I didn’t need to worry about exercise. After breakfast I explored the area, popping into peaceful parks and anyplace else which piqued my curiosity on the way downtown.
Then I saw it, at last:
It was imposing and much more impressive than I’d imagined. I couldn’t wait to get up there.
The Alhambra thoroughly surpassed my expectations. I hadn’t looked at too many photos as I wanted to experience it afresh with my own eyes. I couldn’t get over the scale of the site or the detail. Everywhere I looked there were intricate designs and unexpected surprises:
Then there were the gardens:
I walked a lot that day. There were benches and seating dotted around where I could rest awhile and regain a sense of peace.
There was a lot to take in and I would have definitely returned for a full day, pausing longer to admire the intricacy of the architecture and the elaborate patterns.
I enjoyed a surprisingly good coffee from the kiosk in front of the Alcazaba. I was served a small perfectly formed cafe con leche and asked if I wanted anything else. I thought for a moment and said 2 new feet in my best Spanish. The barista laughed. Bereavement caused me to go inwards, losing the more outgoing and daring aspects of my nature, as well as my sense of humour. If I was in an extrovert mood, I was able to engage with the locals, and at least attempt to cobble together some words and Duolingo phrases.
The next day I headed into the city centre to see the other major landmark in Granada – the Cathedral. It was immense, a huge sprawling edifice:
It was an interesting visit and I’m glad I saw it, but nothing could compete with the sensory feast which had sated me the previous day. I paid a quick visit to the tourist office on my way to the centre to ask if there were any concerts or plays on while I was there, as well as asking for information about the cathedral. The assistant’s eyes lit up. She gushed about the Royal Chapel which was in a separate building. The way she described it was compelling. She said it was a spiritual experience.
It could have gone one of two ways – delight or disappointment and I’m afraid my verdict was the latter. I think it’s the way she sold it to me but her description conjured up divine images of golden light and rainbows in my mind. Along with paintings, artefacts and sculptures, there was a crypt down a flight of stairs bearing 5 small safely guarded coffins. I’m not sure what I expected but that wasn’t it. I was still under the spell cast by the magic of the Alhambra, and I’d seen my unfair share of coffins.
As you can see, the weather was perfect. That’s the other thing about Spain, there’s so much light, and grey days don’t last long. It wasn’t too busy either. I don’t think I would have enjoyed it as much in the oppressive heat of summer with hordes of tourists.
By day 3 I had started to relax properly and the internal chatter/list making had slowed down and was getting quieter. I felt moments of peace. That’s my ideal holiday – when I’m able to shelve my worries.
I didn’t go to Spain to grieve or with the intention of processing recent events. I went to escape and forget about everything, to draw a line under that chapter. It worked.
Despite having lived in France and South Africa, I’m not particularly well travelled. I used to drive a lot for work, so I enjoyed staying at home when I had time off. Holidays weren’t really a priority. Then I had a brilliant 5 night break in Malaga 2 Christmases ago which gave me confidence to explore just a bit beyond my comfort zone (2 destinations, train logistics) and it’s given me a boost. I did manage it all and with no mishaps. Everything went smoothly. It was an opportunity to gain closure on last year’s losses and anguish and I feel much better since I got back. I feel stronger and definitely more independent. Most importantly, my holiday has shifted my grief to a more manageable level. I’m already planning my next trips.
Meanwhile, onwards to Ronda…
Rare Bit Blogging 