Letters: To Granada

Years ago, while learning about Mexican history and the Mexican revolution, I remember also learning about them: los gachipines, los conquistadores, los Españoles. There is no denying it - there would be no Mexican history without the coming and the conquest of the Spaniards. Or at least, there would not be a me as there is now. However, I had no real concept of this as a child, and the idea of the Spanish simply scared me and upset me. 

Why did they do that to us? 

When come on, child, which history isn't tainted by that same question? And without the Spanish conquest there would have been some other conquests, or some other revolutions or revolutionaries, or maybe not. Who knows? But that is not the point. The point is, I have never really been much of a fan of Spain. Not necessarily because they came and pillaged and plundered (trust me, I'm not bitter!), but simply because there was never a reason to be fascinated by it. 

And I am - if I were to follow my family tree and define myself through that - mostly Spaniard. But even that meant very little to me. Maybe it was because, culturally speaking, we are similar in many ways (I mean we speak the same language and all), that I was never really curious to learn more about them. I guess I never found them appealing or exotic. 

So why did we choose Spain to go and live there for a while?

Well, mostly to get out of Asia and to be in Europe. There were plenty of options but Spain offered the cheapest and arguably the most comfortable lifestyle (siestas? tapas anyone? sangria!?). I did not go to Spain expecting to fall in love with the country, or to be challenged really or to be surprised in any way. I went to Spain expecting to relax, to be comfortable and to save some money. So, we that in mind, we set ourselves up in the Moorish city of Granada, in South Spain. 


Now, for those who know me personally, already know how things ended up in Spain. But this is not about that - I do not want to write about why we left sooner than planned. I want to write about the things I've taken from our stay there. And I want to remind myself, once again about those little things that I am finding myself missing as I look back. 

Granada: 

We chose you because of the mountains, because of the mountains, because of the mountains. I didn't need any other reason to choose you - the mountains that was all. I saw you and I saw your mountains and read some of your history. And as it turns out - we chose you for so much more. We chose you because you did not seem Spanish at all at first sight: your streets are filled with bazaar style shops, North African restaurants and Moorish architecture. You seemed so exotic without trying too hard. And you are not a city that tries hard to do... well, much of anything. You simply are, and that is enough for anyone to fall in love at first sight. 

You are not the type to demand attention, but you're not the type to go unnoticed. With something like the Alhambra at your core and the Sierra Nevada at your back - how could you not inspire? 

You are the city of stray cats and gypsies. The city where the homeless are always accompanied by tail-wagging dogs, and where the hippies beg for wine and pot money. You lure the expats, the pensioners, the students and the dreamers. You take them all without judgement. You are the city of dancers, of guitar players, of flamenco, of street performers and street artists. 

The whole tapas thing - I never really got it. I mean, everyone raved about them constantly. "OMG, I love the tapas". And even when I would ask what the big deal about these tapas were and people would explain, I still couldn't comprehend how a side dish could be considered one of the Spain's lures. We tried some tapas in Barcelona, and as the waiter came and set the plate down, I had to ask myself "Is this it?" 

But you did them differently. It was a completely different thing, the whole tapas experience in Granada. It was an adventure really - all throughout the city, upon the hill of Albaicin and scattered along Elvira street, and even further out from the city; the search for the best tapas in Granada. From meat stew dishes, to pumpkin soups, from small paella plates, fried aubergine, burgers, kebabs, to endless surprising possibilities. How could anyone get tired of free food? The amount of weekends that we spent in search for new tapas and new restaurants never left us wanting or unsatisfied (well... except for the Raz Cafe... but when you had nothing else to compare it to, it really wasn't that bad). 

There were countless of evenings spent tunneling through the streets of Albaicin, hunting for cats, tapas, sunsets and stories. There at the top of the hill there is a park, and from there there's the view you are most famed for - the one that made us choose you. Stoners park, we appropriately named it. There were dogs there, and children playing badminton; there were groups of musicians and jugglers; on a warm day you could see some people bathing in the main fountain; there were poets and singers, plenty of guitars, and once we heard a trumpet; there were painters and writers. And before us all, the Alhambra embraced by the snowy Sierra Nevada. It was almost like a movie, so incredibly unreal. This was the place where everyone came to just be, to just enjoy the afternoon, the evening, or just life. Where no one cared about how they smelled or what they smelled of; where people felt free to do as they pleased. I had never really seen anything like that so shamelessly public. But why would happiness need to be shamed? 

You were not easy to love. But that was not because of you, I just couldn't understand; I was so used to being stressed and to expect stress. Mellow unnerved me and it made me feel like I wasn't doing what I was supposed to be doing. If there is something that years in the States and working in Asia has given to me, is the ingrained notion that life is supposed to be work; that unless there is progress of some sort, be it monetary or professional or what have you, then you are not living appropriately. Unaware, I thought a successful life meant stress. But that's not the way the Spaniards work. And that, in itself was stressful at first. 

But now I can say, wholeheartedly, that some of my most fulfilling experiences are thanks to Granada, and thanks to the Spaniards (I never in my life would have ever admitted to that, because viva la revolucion and all). And they were not necessarily the most exciting, no. They were simply those moments where I learned that I can find happiness in a park, and where I learned to rid myself completely and entirely of every single care in the world, if only for a little bit. Where I learned the value of a good siesta. Where I learned that life is not about successes or profits. 

It's about the mountains, and about the tapas, and about good people, and about good talks, and about moments of now, and nothing other than now. 

I do love you, Granada. Dearly. And all the cats.