Today was the day, the Alhambra. At breakfast, I shared my excitement with Pa. He didn’t respond at first but then, somewhat sheepishly, asked if he might stay behind. Travel, at least our kind of travel, had left him fatigued. “I’m in need of some rest,” he said. “Of course,” I told him, promising to provide a full report.
The Alhambra, being the once in a lifetime experience that it is, requires planning. Watching a good YouTube or two. Reading Mr. Irving’s Tales From Al Hambra. And getting a ticket in advance. The entirety of the Alhambra is worthy of one’s complete attention, but the Nasrid Palaces especially so. The timed entry is for the Nasrid. To be late is to forfeit your right to entry. So I purchased my ticket for 1PM, arriving at the entrance to the overall complex shortly after 10:00. I wanted plenty of time to prepare.
Wandering about, looking, lost in my thoughts, I found myself with my grandchildren, some years from now. It was a holiday and all seven had made it. Gathered around, the questions begIn. A hand goes up. It could have been any of the seven, as they’re all good students.
“Papa, tell us about traveling. About Portugal and Spain. About the Alhambra.” And so I do.
I tell them that many books have been written about it, the most famous by Mr. Irving. Of course they all know of him having read Rip Van Winkle.
“To visit the Alhambra,” I explain, “is to visit one of the most famous monuments of Islamic architecture. Some say, the most famous. Work was begun in 1238 by the Nasrid ruler who founded the Emirate of Granada. It took two centuries to complete. Built on the hill that overlooks Granada, it was designed to be a heaven on earth.”
No questions, so I go on.
“Even before entering, you know it’s a special place. Your pace slows, yet your heart races. There is a trembling, a quickening. You imagine yourself in the minds of the great Islamic architects, and you imagine their vision.”
The room becomes quiet.
“To walk the Alhambra is to meditate. One step, then the next. Not too fast, not too slow. You must walk, and see.
The white of the snow behind.
The yellow of the flowers ahead.
You must feel the breeze on your cheeks,
and the path beneath your feet.
And then, looking wide, you will see a slice of the monument itself,
and a vista.
After a while, you slowly begin to focus.
On the entrances and the exits.
The stairs, up and down.
Where stone meets wood.
And light meets shadow.”
A hand goes up. It’s Grace. “But Papa, tell us about the Nasrid Palaces.”
“You will think that you’re prepared,” I tell her, “but you won’t be. Nothing can really prepare you for what awaits.”
“Like what,” quizzed Oliver. “I want to know what it’s like inside.”
I tell him that words are inadequate, that only pictures would suffice. So I ask Liam to get my iPad as the others draw closer.
Page after slowly turned page we walk through that heaven on earth.
“But what about the ceilings?” asks Charlotte. You know I like to look up.”
And we find them.
“And water,” says Lorelei. “Can we swim there?”
“There are pools,” I tell her.
“But I don’t think they allow swimming.”
“Are there designs, Papa?” asks Nora. “You know how much I like to draw.”
And we find them too.
On and on we go, right through dinner. Finally, Freddie speaks up. “Papa, I like the Alhambra a lot, but won’t I be really tired?”
“Of course you will, Freddie. And your feet will be sore. But if you walk just a while longer, you will come upon an orange grove,
where you can lay in the cool. And while you rest, you can pick an orange
and taste it, and you will find that it’s good. And after you’ve rested, you will begin the walk back down to Granada, recalling all that you saw at the Alhambra. And you will wonder, what is Heaven anyway?”
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