The beauties of Andalucía

Recently I re-read my earliest diaries. I was still living on the remote farmstead of my childhood, attending secondary school in Pazin and dreaming of visiting Andalucía and Greece. Many decades – and countries – later, I still have not fulfilled that dream. When my sister suggested a tour of Andalucía for our February half-term meetup, I jumped at the occasion. A few days later it was all planned and reserved; the flights, out to Málaga and return from Seville, the hotels (total of four), and the tickets for Alhambra. Everything else can be booked on the spot.


Málaga

We leave Stansted around nine in the morning and land in Málaga shortly after midday. Apart from the occasional screaming of hyped kids, the flight is calm and uneventful. Málaga greets us with a reasonably hot (around 18 degrees) and bright day and we shed a layer of our clothes. We get to the centre by train but once there we get a bit lost trying to find our hotel, Soho boutique Urban hotel.
After a stern briefing by my almost-teenager who “doesn’t want it to become a school trip”, we agree to take it easy. We amble around charming and sunny streets breathing in the smells, sounds and views of the historical centre and the cathedral. In Santa Coffee we stop for an afternoon snack. My young companion orders a pancake with Nutella and freshly squeezed Seville Orange juice and I get a double espresso of Costa Rican origin (the waiter gave me the choice between that one and the Brazilian) and two sandwich biscuits, the local speciality alfajor, with coconut and dulce de leche; extremely sugary and extremely delicious.

Here I throw in a bit of art education into our taking-it-easy afternoon, and we head to the Museum of Picasso. The museum offers a chronological insight into the creative chronology of one of the biggest artists of all times, from early portraits of women’s faces or busts to the final works with his unique signature, created shortly before his death.
By the time we finish, the town is waking up from the mandatory siesta and the bars and tabernas are getting ready for the evening stampede. The air is impregnated with smells of freshly cut jamón serrano. The sun is blinding to our eyes and pleasing to our English skins. We stroll to the port and after a quick photo session by the colourful cube of the Pompidou, we crave nutrition. Restaurant Plaza offers an extensive menu and a heated terrace, a perfect combination for watching the sunset over the harbour. I order tapas portions of fried fish, anchovies, octopus and Russian salads and a large glass of vino tinto, while my young travelling partner opts for lasagne.


Next morning, we head to the highly recommended Casa Aranda for coffee and churros y chocolate. The café is situated in a narrow street and packed with scores of tourists with backpacks or suitcases, locals with grocery bags, street buskers and beggars. A very popular spot in Málaga, no doubt. After our caffeine and chocolate fix, we are ready for sightseeing. We have two items on our tourist menu: the Alcazaba and the Castillo de Gibralfaro, both monuments from Al-Andalus times. I thought we can do them at once or one after the other. Instead, our tour turns into two rather long and exhausting climbing trips up adjoining hills. My recommendation: do not attempt to visit both in a day, even if young, fit and energetic.
The Alcazaba of Málaga is a well-preserved fortified complex with walkable walls, viewpoints at various levels, internal palaces, and exotic plants galore. We truly enjoyed it. However, by the time we reach the top of the castle, we are rather exhausted, and we can only sit on the wall, have a cold drink and stare across the port at the sea and the far horizon.




Granada
Our train for Granada leaves from Estación de Tren Málaga-María Zambrano at 3.50 PM. In no time we are sliding through a hilly green landscape decorated with a thousand olive trees and randomly scattered white farms. There are times when the only thing our eyes can see are infinite olive groves. The journey takes just over an hour and is smooth and pleasant. The train station of Granada is on the outskirts of town, and it takes us a while to find and reach our hotel, Plaza Nueva. To get there we walk through back streets lined with Moroccan, Lebanese, and Syrian restaurants that are emanating smells of harissa and cinnamon. The hotel is open but there is no one at the reception. We wait. We wait. A German couple joins us in the lobby. They need to collect their luggage. We wait together. Eventually the receptionist appears and sees us to a room with charmingly old-fashioned furniture. We have just enough energy for a stroll through the evening lights of Granada. In a bakery we buy savoury (cheese and ham) and sweet pastries (pastel cordobés), go to corner shop for a beer and a juice and return to our room.



In the morning of our third day in Andalucía, we have a rather delicate issue to solve. The non-worn-in Converse shoes look perfect but are not (yet) ready for epic walking sessions and are a source of immense frustration and bad moods for my almost-teenager. But first to breakfast, of course. In the Cafetería Alhambra overlooking Plaza de Bib-Rambla and the Neptune statue of the Fuente de los Gigantones we order our usual: churros y chocolate, and a double espresso. Even tastier than the ones in Málaga.
After a few tiendas on a search for zapatos deportivos we eventually find a pair of comfortable and reasonably priced trainers that my almost-teenager is happy to wear. At least during this holiday… The clouds of stroppiness have lifted, and we walk towards the meeting point for the highlight of the day and most possibly of the whole holidays – the majestic Alhambra complex.
Google Maps takes us down the scenic cobbled street by the brook. We take our time and plenty of photos. However, Google forgot to update that this path to the main entrance of the Alhambra is closed because of forestry work, and now we need to take a rather long detour. We rush back to the Plaza Nueva and flag a taxi. And am I glad we did it – the road is steep, bendy and much longer than it appears on the map.

Our guide is Manu, a secondary school history teacher with a flair for entertaining. He starts with a linguistic lesson. The name Alhambra derives from Arabic al-hamra, the red house, from the reddish colour of the outer walls). Generalife means garden of paradise in Arabic (Jannat al-Arif) and it was built as a summer residence with the sole purpose of allowing the sultan and his family to relax and have fun. Alcazaba (al-qasbah) is an urban fortress and medina a walled city. From linguistics, we move onto history. The only historical information I remember is that it was built between the 13th and 14th century by the founder of the Nasrid dynasty. Here I switch off from the educational and move into the sensory sphere of the tour. The Nasrid palace, the final stop of our tour, is one of the most amazing places I have ever seen. Every carving, every door and every design has a meaning. The seven arches at the entrance represent planets and days of the week and the carefully designed dome the endlessness of the sky above us.
The tour gives an insight into the geographical, historical, religious and royal context of the place. It is long, intense and expensive. And – well worth it.



With one hour to spare before heading to the train station for our train to Córdoba, we stop in the pizzeria at Plaza Nueva. My pizza gets delayed, then forgotten and eventually cancelled and my lunch consists of two triangles pinched from my child’s Margarita. And a quick double espresso in the station café.
We arrive to Cordoba with the first lights of evening. Our hotel, Eurostars Conquistador, is facing the main attraction in the city, the Mosque-Cathedral of Córdoba. This is the most luxurious hotel of our trip. And the most affordable. I guess, Córdoba is not as popular a destination as its famous neighbours. In the small restaurant up the road the two of us sit at bar stools, order a selection of tapas – Spanish omelette, Ensopado Córdoba style, sheep cheese and Ensalada Russa – a peach juice and a glass of vino tinto. The night is warm and pleasant and while my almost-teenager reads her book, I watch people going by, sip my vino and wait for my sis to arrive.





Córdoba
The three of us wake up to a bright and sunny, but also rather chilly morning. We find Café Roma not far from the Roman Temples. Coffee is not the tastiest but the pastries, gigantic pain au chocolates called here Napolitana de chocolate and pastel cordobés, are. Even after the second taste, I am at a loss about the filling of the pastel cordobés. Some kind of sugary citrus paste, I guess.
Now we are off to see the famous sight of Córdoba – the Mosque-Cathedral. Even from the outside the place is breathtakingly majestic. The queues are longish, both in front of the ticket booths and the entrance. There are scores of school kids. In fact, I am very impressed by how many groups of Spanish school kids we encounter during these few days. I point it out to my almost-teenager; in case she would like to join one of them. Absolutely not. We stroll through the vast place and take photos with a variety of shades of lights and attempt to achieve the infinity effect with endless rows of arches. The walls are decorated either with sacral insignia of Islam or Christianity and together they form a unique piece of sacred art as well a historical testimony to the colourful past of this region. Even the youngest member of our trio finds it interesting. She loves the stained glass windows and the play of light they create on the floor.



From the Mosque-Cathedral we walk towards the Guadalquivir river and across the Roman bridge. The day is rather windy and not many people are strolling over the bridge or simply enjoying the view of the city where Romans, Visigoths and Muslims all left a significant imprint. We return to the old town across Puente de Miraflores and wander the maze of narrow streets, peek into hidden patios, glance at façades of churches and eventually stop in Taberna Regina for a late lunch. We sit on the terrace in the shade of orange trees overburdened with large fruits. Tapas of fried aubergines in honey sauce, patatas bravas, pork stew, chicken skewers and fried calamari rings take long to arrive, and – adopting the Spanish approach of tómalo con calma –we also take time to munch through it all.
The few hours before the nightfall, we walk around the shopping district and the department store El Corte Inglés. We find nothing of interest. On a random market stall, the youngest member insists on buying a T-Shirt (Spider man) and a couple of badges (of the Arctic Monkeys and some Manga Volleyball team).
Now we are ready to give our feet a rest and call it a day.



Seville
The coach for Seville leaves at nine in the morning. The seats are spacious and comfortable, there are only two stops (one been a city called Ecija and other I do not remember) and we reach Seville in two hours and five minutes. Contrary to optimistic expectations and the forecast, we are greeted with grey clouds, unpleasant wind, and rather low temperatures. That evening, on the Spanish 24H news channel we learn about the storm that has lashed the Andalusian coast with its tail reaching as far inland as Seville.



Waiting for our room to be ready, we stroll around Las Setas, a gigantic sculpture resembling a white spider. It hosts a fruit, vegetable and meat market in its underbelly and view terraces on the top.
Hotel Baco has only two stars but a central location. Our only window overlooks a narrow internal courtyard and a normal shaped person can hardly fit in the bathtub. Apart from that, the place is quite alright as it was nearly impossible to find a reasonably priced hotel during the weekend of the Marathon of Seville. Of course, we knew nothing of the marathon when organising this trip.



Down narrow maze-like streets we reach the Cathedral and then continue to one of the most famous monuments of Seville – Plaza de España. This is no doubt the most spectacular square any of us has visited. It is not a typical square – if we think of squares as meeting points between streets arriving from different directions – but rather a promenade, a playground and a romantic place with a canal and bridges. It would make a perfect home for a Disney heroine. Flamenco dancers are performing in front of the central entrance and to the side of one of the towers, a lone musician is singing opera arias. We arrive to the soundtrack of Nessun dorma and depart followed by rather appropriate lyrics of Con te partirò.
Not far from the Plaza we stop in a tavern called Alberto and order paellas and beers. Food is OKish. And so is the price. And while large scores of locals and tourists head out for a night of drinking, partying and dancing, we head back to our hotel.



The sun is out on Saturday morning and Seville is getting ready for tomorrow’s marathon. Tourists and locals are mingling, horses and carriages are squeezing through masses of pedestrians and scooters and bikes are whizzing by. It all adds to a vibrant and dynamic atmosphere. The queues are long both for the Cathedral and the Real Alcázar and between the two, we decide for the later. One needs to leave something for a future visit… We spend an hour in the queue and the first available tickets are a few hours later. There is plenty of time to walk across the bridge Puente de Triana and visit the Market of the same name (Mercado Triana). Fish restaurants inside the market are emanating irresistible smells of grilled prawns or fried squid rings and I am happy to stop and eat. According to my companions, it is extremely early for lunch, and I am pulled away and redirected to a café by the river. The two of us with the UK address are struggling in the strong sunshine while our Italy-based travelling companion is thoroughly enjoying it. In order to accommodate our sun tolerance levels, we look for a table that is half in the shade and half in the sun.



After a couple of hours spent in the Moorish rooms, the maze and gardens of the Real Alcázar, we are tired and peckish. In the Calle Adriano there seems to be a vast party connecting all the bars, cafés and restaurants that line the street. We find a table outside the Bar Jaime Alpresa, sit down, eat tapas, drink beer and enjoy looking at people living la vida loca.
On the way to the hotel, we buy a few souvenirs and take a detour to the Santa Justa train station. My sis needs to find out where from are the buses for airport departing during the marathon closures for her afternoon flight. The two of us are leaving in the middle of the night and have already booked a taxi. By the time the runners take over the streets of the Andalucian capital, we will be landing on the cold tarmac of Stansted.
“Did you enjoy our holiday?” I ask my young companion.
“It was better than I thought…”
I take that as a compliment.



NOTE: GENERALIFE This is not the standard interpretation; the first word ‘janna’ can mean ‘garden’ or ‘paradise’, but the second word – if it is in fact correct, – has various meanings, giving ‘garden of the expert’, ‘garden of the architect’ etc as possibilities. (A. Woode)