In August when the days were well over 100F (40C) and the nights were not much cooler, I was in southern Spain to follow the first week of the Vuelta. Before catching an overnight bus to Madrid to then fly on to Canada at 6 a.m. the next morning, I visited Alhambra on my last afternoon. To say that I was not in the mood to play tourist is an understatement. After an adrenaline filled week, I was overheated, overexcited, overtired, and pretty much over Alhambra before I even got there. But I had already purchased my reserved ticket online a couple of months earlier and figured I may as well see what all the fuss was about.
Now a UNESCO World Heritage site, Alhambra is a palace and fort that, since its original construction in the 9th century, fell into a pattern of use, decay, and revival over the following centuries.
The grounds were pretty but didn't really make me slow down too much.
That is, until I spent 20 minutes in a lengthy queue, clutching my timed entry ticket, to go in the main complex.
I had taken no more than two steps in when I gasped.
I'm not an especially tactile person, but I just wanted to close my eyes and let my fingers run over the intricate carvings that climbed the exquisite walls.
I love the keyhole doorways.
The coolness of the rooms alleviated my heat induced crankiness.
Zooming out.
Zooming in.
Where different patterns and textures met, it felt surprisingly unchaotic and completely natural, like the sea meeting land.
Stained glass window.
Tiled floor.
The sunlight filtered in dramatically.
With a newfound bounce in my step, I eagerly explored the rest of the grounds, even pausing at the places I'd sped by on my way in.
Just think how much I'd have loved it if I hadn't walked in with a crappy mood!