A Day in the Life

Our little house is smashed next to other little houses and separated from yet others by a narrow cobbled lane.  People set their laundry on the roof top terraces to dry in the sun, or else clothes drape from buildings as if Christo and Jeanne-Claude had paid a visit to Granada at the beginning of their career. From our rooftop you can see the Alhambra and hear the birds in the cypress trees and the flamenco singers from high above in Mirador San Nicolás.  Church bells ring at odd hours and for unpredictable lengths of time. Occasionally, a gentleman walks through the streets shouting out that he is ready to sharpen your knives.

After living in Granada for awhile, one young wag of our acquaintance insisted:  “It’s just really different in a lot of ways.  There’s so many ways it’s different it’s impossible to describe.  There are so many people and you never know if they’re local or actually a tourist. And it’s very hard to communicate because the people don’t know English and we don’t know that much Spanish, so it’s hard to communicate.  And you always walk everywhere.”


At the end of September, the annual fiesta in honor of the Albayzin’s patron San Miguel Archangel was held over a weekend.  We did not go to mass on Sunday or attend the flamenco performances that began at 10:30 p.m. in Plaza Larga each night, but we did go to the Foam Party at Placeta de Fátima.

At the end of October, some ex-pat families celebrated Halloween.  The kids trick or treated from ex-pat house to ex-pat house through the Albayzin, sort of like a progressive dinner.  The kids got candy and the adults got tapas and wine and beer.  A good deal for all.

Take home message:  Siempre hay ropa para lavar.


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