Granada, Spain. Last week. 1,000 degrees centigrade. 800 degrees in the shade and about a cool 15 in the masterfully built, heartbreakingly beautiful palace that me and several hundred of my closest friends went to visit and tour in the midday Spanish (though some would argue Moorish) sun.
Unlike some of the other Euro Disney sights I visited in Spain, the Alhambra only lets in a limited number of people per day, even per section of the day. So sure, there's a crowd, but unlike every last Gaudi site I saw, I found myself with a few moments to myself every now and then to take a more quiet look around.
Yes, it was beautiful. Yes, there were exquisite carvings everywhere. Yup, tile work was lovely. The water, though, the water features were the bomb! The sound of water, the water itself, it followed you everywhere - down the stairs, across the room, into the gardens and across the grounds. If I ever have an estate I figure I should have money to burn, and so then, I will have some of that sweet Alhambra water following me through my privileged day.
At a certain point in your walk through the palace, you decide to sit down. And then maybe you refill your water bottle. And then you think, "Fuck it. I don't care what Generalife is. It's too damn hot. I'm going back to my ho(s)tel." That is what the gentleman in the second photo thought just a few minutes before we sat in quiet regard just a few feet* away from each other, waiting for the air conditioned bus to arrive.
(* .90 meters)
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