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| Blogging at the end of the day |
Sept 12, Tuesday
Instead of staying up late to write & post my blog entry from the day as usual, I turn out the light the instant I feel the least bit sleepy. And I win!! 8 1/2 hours. It's a whole new world when I wake up.
Finally feeling like myself again, I want to do a regular Bianca thing. I want to exercise. I know I've been walking my ass off, but I want mindless, music driven activity, not focused, where-am-I, legs-as-transportation.
I hike up the heart-stopping stairs from my place to Mirador San Nicolás and I catch the view of The Alhambra just a few minutes after dawn. WOW. I share the view with a dirty hippie couple having breakfast and a foursome of teenage French girls DEFINITELY making this their dusk instead of their dawn. It's magic.
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| Magic |
I remember thinking Cuesta del Rey Chico, which is the way I walked home yesterday from Alhambra, felt pretty steep going downhill. I hike up it and get to appreciate the beauty of the walk in the cool, brisk morning air instead of the stifling heat and I freak out. I'm hiking by a fortress that is from the mid-13th century LIKE IT'S NOTHING. Like it isn't mind-blowing how much this piece of history has witnessed, and even borne, and all like IT'S NO BIG DEAL.
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| I'm hiking. By a 13TH CENTURY FORTRESS. Still can't get over it. |
I cannot get over it. The Alhambra gets an average of 8,000 visitors per day. People have died there. Lots of people! People were born there. How many murderers have walked through my favorite Rosaleda garden? How many people were heartbroken, in love, grieving, broke, wishing they were someone else? And I'm just hiking around it, like it's not the most amazing thing that's ever happened to me.
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| I did it! I ate in the plaza! (Salmorejo & lamp stew, yum( |
After, I go home and take a two hour nap having obviously popped something in my brain.
Since I didn't finish my blog post yesterday, I'm not allowed to leave home until I finish. It's 330p before I head out for lunch. It's my last day in Granada and there are so many things I still want to try! I go to a locals' restaurant deep in the Albayzín called Casa Torquato.
Going out to eat is borderline painful for me under the best of circumstances because I'm shy and I hate eating out alone. Here in Granada, the restaurants bleed out onto the plazas and waiters run around like crazy. I can't figure out the system to sitting down, I don't want to bother the busy waiters, and every time I've asked the bartender if I can sit somewhere they look at me like I'm a moron and say yes, of course. Then I order from the bartender, sit down at the cafe tables that line the building instead of the pretty plaza tables, and force the bartender to wait on me. Bartenders don't like this or me.
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| This is the tame room |
I am determined to figure this out. I mean, I ALREADY have it figured out- I KNOW what the deal is: you sit and wave down a waiter for a menu, bark your order, yell for the check, pay and leave. But my social anxiety kicks in right around the time the restaurant comes into view, and this maims any Spanish I know and makes me need to ask permission for everything. So when I say I'm determined to figure this out, what I mean is, this time I'm gonna sit in the goddamn plaza and deal with the waiter like a local.
Instead, I ask the busy waiter if I can sit first. He looks at me like a moron and says yes, of course. And just like that, I'm sitting in the pretty plaza! A lamb stew tapa comes with my sangria and it's everything I dreamed real tapas would be. I order salmorejo, a thick gazpacho soup the restaurant is known for. The soup comes with jamón, thick pieces of salmon, and a healthy pour of olive oil. It's perfect for the hot day.
I feel like I should see a sight today so I head to a monastery. Why? Because Rick Steves mentioned it looks like whipped cream inside and it's got some especially gruesome paintings. It's outside the town center so I take a city bus. Next time I whine about wanting to get away from tourists, remind me to get on a city bus.
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| Martyrs are so nonchalant... art by Friar Juan Sanchez Cotan |
I fumble my way to the Monasterio de la Cartuja, but it's not entirely my fault. The monestary doesn't have a sign and lots of things have crosses on top of them here.
Inside, there are indeed some gruesome paintings! I love when religion gets gory, because it ain't all hymns and holy water. You've also got your martyrs, your Kirk Camerons, your zombies...
Also inside? The best church I've ever seen. It's a thousand times better than the Cathedral for its shameless, blinding, colorful, throw-it-all-at-the-wall-and-see-what-sticks (everything), decorative devotion. Words can't do it justice, so scroll for pics. PS, I'd forgotten about Steves' whipped cream reference until I was standing in the middle of the church, and sure enough... the interior could have been squirted from a can of whipped cream.
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| Whipped cream... I love this room. |
On my way home I get some fruit for the morning and of course begin to eat all of it on my walk home. I bite into a guava- it's pink inside! It's beautiful! I have to Instagram it! Where's my phone?!
I run back to the fruit stand which had been in the midst of closing when I bought my wares ten minutes before. Thank God it's still open. I look for my phone... I keep looking... MY PHONE IS ON ITS SIDE HIDING BETWEEN CRATES LIKE IT WANTS TO START A NEW LIFE AS A FRUIT VENDOR'S PHONE. I grab it, raise it in victory, and announce, "Mi telefono!". Customers murmur approval at my win. Stupid phone.
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| View from my window at dawn |
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| I didn't mention I went to the market today and SAW GIANT FISH HEADS, did I?? |
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| "Oh, I knew him... and he was funny." Seriously though, this is Saint Bruno. |
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| More whipped cream! I couldn't get enough of this room. |
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