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SOLTIMES DECEMBER 2012
25
THE SPAINIAC | El Albaicín | Candice Parsons It was 42 degrees. On a hill, which my map indicated as somewhere above Cuesta de Chapiz, I’d found a bench under a leafy tree to lie back and rest my legs on. As I stared into the hazy and faded blue sky, the thick layer of heat from the scorching Spanish sun seeped through the branches above, wafting down on to me. I was sure I’d severely sprained or inflamed a muscle in my left ankle hours ago, but had continued exploring whilst the injury exacerbated. The el-cheapo Primark summer sandals I’d brought were not suited for this cobblestoned wonderland. A maze of narrow winding streets lined with homes of secluded gardens and white-washed walls hung with ivies and bougainvilleas, made up the spectacular panorama view of the Albaicín below me. I’d lost myself down there; walking, wandering and exploring up and down countless steep hills and paths for around six hours straight, yet still felt I hadn’t covered all there was to see in this ancient enchanting neighbourhood. At this point, I was fathoming the reality of soon having to face the long, twisty maze again with an injured ankle, and hobble my way back down to Gran Via de Colόn - a main road of central Granada (I soon after discovered a shuttle bus that took me down for one euro). Translating to ‘quarter of the falconers’, whilst historians prefer ‘quarter of the people of Baeza’, Albaicín was the old Moorish quarter of Granada during the thirteenth century. After eight centuries of Moorish occupation here, only few medieval Arabic houses, mosques and baths remain intact. Various Christian churches and relics within the district, divulge the struggle Andalucía faced during its Islam to Christianity transition. Today, the Albaicín is a UNESCO World Heritage site along with the Alhambra. Dizzy, dehydrated and famished; I hadn’t eaten since
8AM and it was now almost 5PM. My stomach felt like it was eating itself, and I’d left my bottle of water back at the famous Mirador San Nicolás viewpoint. It was siesta and everything was closed, so I couldn’t find any food or drink to buy around this area either. I was alone in Spain and not a living soul was in sight on this hill. I sunk deep into thought, absorbing exactly where I was in this beautiful and insane world, and felt an incredible sense of thrill, fortuity and happiness to be right there where I was in Spain, on that bench in Granada. I recalled on the rows of little markets I’d seen that morning whilst meandering my way up the steep hill that led into the Albaicín. With various delicacies, teas, trinkets, and clothes being sold amongst the sweet fumes of flavoured shisha and other Arabic sweets and street food, I took great pleasure in seeing the familiar resemblance of the traditional ‘souks’ (markets) that I’d often walked through during my visit to Morocco. It was admirable to see such raw culture still alive and appreciated in this once religiously conflicted city of southern Spain. Perhaps the lack of food and water together with the heat and pain from my ankle had caused a slight delirium. Nevertheless, it’s not often we stop and take the time to appreciate where we actually are or what we have personally achieved for ourselves, and whether slightly delirious or not, this is what I was doing. I lay in complete tranquillity, whilst the sounds of soft breeze, birds chirping and children playing in the distant Albaicín and Sacromonte neighbourhoods surrounded as a background melody to my thoughts. Indeed a description that sounds too surreal to have been true, but also felt as such too. Candice Parsons is a writer and avid Spain and Spanish culture lover from Melbourne, Australia: follow her on Twitter @MiLlamoCandi