Alhambra

M. C. Escher called it “the most fertile source of inspiration from which I have ever drunk.”

Poet Francisco Icaza said of a blind man encountered near the Alhambra, “Give him alms, woman, for there is nothing in life as the sadness of being blind in Granada.”

I’m not a poet or much of a photographer. All I know is that the moment we stepped inside the Nasrid Palaces, I had a surreal sense of traveling both back into the past and far into the future. Geometry, rather than images, was being used to praise God.

It was brilliantly engineered for human comfort and delight; it also seemed organic, like it had been made by bees or grown from a seed.

We had almost missed our entry time that morning, and tickets have to be bought months in advance. Our GPS led us astray. After two hours spent lost in the Arabic quarter, with time rapidly dwindling, we parked our rented car illegally in a taxi zone and sprinted up the hillside (no mean feat for two mostly-sedentary office workers.) We made it with only three minutes to spare.

We were frazzled and frustrated, but the minute we were allowed to enter, despite the throng of fellow tourists, it all melted away.

It doesn’t seem like Islamic art has been given its due— but I don’t really know enough about art to have an opinion. I just know that so many shapes and lines in this 13th century palace felt jarringly “modern” to me, like an Art Deco skyscraper or a Hollywood depiction of a sleek, mathematically perfect spacecraft.

There are better photos and more eloquent descriptions aplenty— Alhambra has been stunning visitors for centuries. All I can say is what I did say, a few moments after we were ushered inside and I realized I was more than happy to let the car be towed if it meant not missing out on the privilege of touring this extraordinary site.

“This is a very special place.”