First Impressions of Granada

The first thing I noticed stepping off the bus to Granada were the orange trees. They line nearly every street, gold-green leaves drooping with saffron fruit. Along with orange trees, you’re likely to encounter palms, pink flower bushels, and brambles of half-dead roses.

It hasn’t stopped raining a day since I arrived. The locals all tell me Andalusia’s usually a dryer climate, so I guess I brought the bad weather with me. I always liked the rain, though; there’s no more soothing sound in the world than the pattering against my dorm window, hitting the cobbled courtyard floor beyond. Drops of rain kiss my hair as I pass under store awnings each day. The storm’s been coming down so thick, I once nearly slipped walking down the incline of a rain-slicked hill.

That’s another thing I’m trying to get used to—the hills. Granada’s nestled within the Sierra Nevada, and from every terrace and window you can see the snowy mountain-peaks beyond. It’s a strict departure from the Ohio flatlands I’ve known for sixteen years. The varying altitude allows the streets to curve in such beautiful, incongruous ways. If you peer into an alley, you might even see a towering staircase connecting one road to another.

One way in which Spain differs from Ohio is that on any street, at any time of day, you’re likely to encounter people walking, sipping coffee under their umbrellas, or stopping to greet a friend with a peck on each cheek. Compared to the U.S., Spanish culture is very socially-oriented. People linger for hours over cups of tea and strands of gossip. The daily siesta, which occurs from two to 5 P.M. each day, also allows the residents to take a break from work and come together for a couple hours. Meanwhile, in the U.S., we’re often lucky if our schedules line up for a lunch date every odd week.

My dormitory is situated just on the edge of Calle Elvira, a central thread through Albaicín, Granada’s historic Moorish neighborhood. Traces of Albaicín’s Islamic roots endure today. Each day, on the walk to class, I’m greeted by the nostalgic sound of salaam and old Arabic music. One time I even wandered into a shop just because I heard Amr Diab’s “Ana Ayesh” permeating from inside, a song I’ve heard a thousand times in Egyptian taxi cabs. Vendors stand outside storefronts, selling imitation gold jewelry, silk clothing, Arab lanterns, and Free Palestine totes. The city’s Arab roots run deep. Since coming to Granada, I honestly think I’ve spoken more Arabic than Spanish. I can’t help it; after a long day of stuttering through Spanish, it’s such a relief to be able to order shawarma in a tongue I’m more familiar with.

So far, I’ve been absolutely enchanted by Granada. Even in nonstop rain, it’s exactly like I dreamed it would be—winding cobblestone streets full of music, dancing, and the scent of ripe oranges. Despite its layered history, Granada remains young at heart thanks to the vibrant student population.