Last weekend I was fortunate to visit the Palace of Alhambra. Once the jewel of a thriving Islamic-state – a center for politics, education, and commerce – the Alhambra now sits quietly atop the youthful town of Granada.
Visitors on my tour were taken first to the once Moorish quarter, Albayzín. Home to the San Nicolas church and the Great Mosque of Granada, the tour guide describes the relationship of these two house of worship as amicable and collaborative – having even performed a shared event together the night prior.

Of course it was the narrow, sloping streets which I found most charming. Each street beckoned discovery of a new artist shop, church or, much to my delight, a pastelería.




For tourists, the Albayzín is best loved for its views: with the Alhambra in the backdrop and the old town below, the town holds a viewpoint unparalleled in Granada.

After lunch we arrived at the Alhambra. Pictures do not do justice to its majesty. If only I could turn back time to an be a student in the gardens of the Alhambra, learning the classics, algebra and astronomy; if only I could listen to the soft murmuring of water brought upstream to cool and quench the inhabitants of the palace; if only I could witness the many kaleidoscopes created in each room as light danced through colored glass. Instead, I was but one of the 8000 tourists who visit this site each day.




As my bus pulled out of the complex that evening, I left Alhambra longing to return one day. Perhaps when ink flows as freely as the water in the fountains; when debates vibrate resoundingly against plush curtains in incense-scented rooms. Perhaps in a different lifetime.
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