~ W a y m a r k s ~: Tales of the Alhambra

“An abundant supply of water, brought from the mountains by old Moorish aqueducts, circulates throughout the palace, supplying its baths and fish-pools, sparkling in jets within its halls or murmuring in channels along the marble pavements. When it has paid its tribute to the royal pile and visited its gardens and pastures, it flows down the long avenue leading to the city, tinkling in rills, gushing in fountains and maintaining a perpetual verdure in those groves that embower and beautify the whole hill of the Alhambra.”

Climbing that “long avenue” on foot under the leafy, green shade of the tall trees and the dense thicket of shrubs on either side of the path, halfway up you come across a bronze statue whose patina of verdigris echoes its verdant surroundings. This statue is the likeness of the man who wrote those words – the American writer and diplomat, Washington Irving.

Perhaps best known as the author of Rip Van Winkle (1819) and The Legend of Sleepy Hollow (1820), Washington Irving lived for a time in 1828 in the ruined palace of the Alhambra. At the time he was researching and writing a history of Granada, but it was his word-sketches of his time at the Alhambra – which he later collated with retellings of various myths, stories and historic episodes in a book, Tales of the Alhambra (1832), that have best stood the test of time. The book is a classic in a lost genre of what we might characterise as ‘romantic history’ – part memoir, part travelogue, part history and even ethnography – Tales of the Alhambra is essentially a kaleidoscopic work which encapsulates everything about the Alhambra that so enchanted Irving. It is still hugely popular today, especially in Granada where it is available in the town’s many souvenir shops, translated into multiple different languages. It’s pages convey a wonderfully atmospheric sense of what it might have been like to live an idle life amidst the formerly-dilapidated old pile, haunting the towers, galleries and gardens; looking out across the town of Granada from its balconies and dreaming of the Moorish myths which still enchanted the place and which were clearly foremost in Irving’s mind. This is history as romantic reverie par excellence.

And rightly so, in many ways. I defy anyone who visits the Alhambra today not to be touched by the same sense of romanticism which enchanted Irving. It is perhaps all due to the combination of sun-scorched stone and pink terracotta, along with the lush greenery of the gardens, the beautiful, interlocking geometric patterns adorning the architecture, and the gorgeous tonal harmonies of its myriad polychrome tiles. Wandering through its cool arcades with their smooth white marble floors, besides the burbling water of the many fountains dotted throughout its ornate courtyards. Orange trees seemingly everywhere, along with the drowsy scent of its flower gardens gently pervading throughout. It is all so beguilingly beautiful.

I’d long wanted to visit Granada and the Alhambra in particular. I’ve been on many trips to many places previously in Spain, but this was my first trip that wasn’t for work. The Alhambra, which literally means ‘the red one’, was a combined palace and fortress – built on Roman foundations, it was constructed and embellished from the mid-13^th century onwards as the seat of the Nasrid Emirate of Granada (1248-1492). Contemporary Moorish poets described the Alhambra as “a pearl amidst emeralds” referring to the imposing white edifice emerging from the verdure of its hilltop eminence, surrounded by tall green trees. After a time, as a tributary of the Kingdom of Castile, diplomatic relations between the Nasrids and the Castilians broke down irreparably. The centuries long Spanish Christian ‘Reconquista’, which culminated in the late fifteenth century, eventually saw the Nasrid Muslim rulers expelled from Spain, pushing them back to the shores of North Africa. Muhammid XII, better known by Europeans as Boabdil, the last Sultan of Granada, reluctantly departed Spain in 1493, sailing south across the Mediterranean into exile in Morocco. The palace was then used for a time by the Christian Spanish monarchy, who added to its buildings before the site was eventually abandoned to the depredations of time and neglect, slowly becoming the picturesque ruin which Washington Irving seemingly stumbled upon in 1828.

Hall of the Abencerrajes - David Roberts

He was later followed by other romantic artists, such as the painters John Frederick Lewis and David Roberts, both perhaps now better remembered for their works depicting the ruins of Ancient Egypt and the Near East, yet it was here at the Alhambra that they each first encountered the exotic lure of the East. But it was this romantic, orientalising tendency which also lured them time and again to exaggerate and embellish their representations of these ruins of bygone Moorish glories. Roberts’ depictions characteristically diminish the scale of the people within his works, thereby elevating the dimensions of the Alhambra’s architecture to proportions more appropriate to the grandeur of European Gothic Cathedrals, perhaps in order to accentuate the suggested architectural and stylistic affinities between the two. Similarly, Irving’s writings tend to accentuate the picturesque by sparsely populating the Alhambra, reshaping the more likely reality around him in order to emphasise and embroider the solitary communion of his self-reflections with the fabric of the building and the forgotten layers of its past, giving his text a more intimate and individualistic sense of personal, almost clairvoyant connection. As he wrote to a friend at the time: “Here then, I am nestled in one of the most remarkable, romantic and delicious spots in the world. I breakfast in the Saloon of the Ambassadors, among the flowers and fountains of the Court of the Lions, and when I am not occupied with my pen I lounge with my book about these oriental apartments, or stroll about the courts, and gardens, and arcades, by day or night, with no one to interrupt me. It absolutely appears to me like a dream, or as if I am spell-bound in some fairy palace.” Each visitor it seems perceives the place through eyes acutely adjusted to his own ends.

Court of the Lions - engraving after David Roberts

Nowadays the Alhambra is the main tourist attraction in Granada and the reason many people are drawn to visit the town. We visited in early May when the weather was warm but not yet too hot. Staying at the foot of the Alhambra hill in a small courtyard house which had been converted from an old Moorish villa, we were given a room with a polished terracotta floor and a wonderful view overlooking the small stream, known as the River Darro, which runs down the side of the hill between the Alhambra, which towered overhead, and the similarly old and picturesque part of the town, known as Albaicín. Here you can happily spend hours wandering the winding cobbled streets admiring the architecture, finding wonderful, quiet hidden vistas giving beautiful views of the city and, of course, the Alhambra.

Granada Cathedral

Scholar's graffiti, Granada Cathedral

A couple of blocks further along, hidden in the labyrinthine backstreets of what was once the old Muslim Medina, is Granada’s Cathedral and the Royal Chapel, which contains the tombs of King Ferdinand II of Aragon and Queen Isabella I of Castile, whose marriage in 1469 effectively unified Spain. Ferdinand and Isabella are perhaps best remembered today for financing the first transatlantic voyage of Christopher Columbus in 1492. If you circumnavigate the Cathedral and Royal Chapel’s tall, imposing walls you will notice large faded red letters in certain places, often set high above your eyeline – these are old graffiti, said to be painted using bull’s blood; they were made by the scholars of Granada’s university in the sixteenth century to celebrate success in their exams.

The interior of the Cathedral is an impressive sight, not least for the sheer height of its large internal spaces, but also for its many architectural decorations, frescoes, and other works of art. The characteristic style of its Renaissance-era architecture, following classical Vitruvian principles in the Corinthian order, is a complete contrast to the Alhambra. Where the halls and galleries of the Alhambra achieve a pleasant balance of warmth and coolness, the grey smooth stone surfaces and small windows set far above the ground makes some parts of the Cathedral feel distinctly cold, dark and sepulchral. However, happily it can provide a welcome refuge from the fierce heat of the midday Spanish sun, but still beware – contemplating the divine too long in such surroundings can be apt to leave you feeling rather like a tiny frog trapped in well, unavoidably aware of your mortal insignificance whilst staring up at the unreachable divine light rippling far above your head.

Granada Cathedral

There is much to see at the Alhambra. Some of it is freely open to all and can be wandered into and around at leisure, but the main buildings and gardens require a ticket (which due to the high demand each day definitely needs to be booked well in advance of your arrival). We set aside a whole day to visit the main parts of the Alhambra, following the sage advice of a Spanish friend of mine in order to plan the best sequence in which to explore. Starting with the oldest part of the site, the Alcazaba, or Citadel, in the cool air of the morning. We’d booked our timed entry tickets for around noon to enter the Plaza de Nazaríes, the ‘Royal Complex’ – which includes the Court of the Myrtles, the Hall of the Ambassadors, the Court of the Lions, and the Hall of the Abencerrajes (named after a prominent Zasrid noble family, whom legend says were all assassinated in this hall). This took us a good couple of hours to explore, and meant we escaped the midday sun, leaving us with the remainder of the day to stroll at leisure through the palace gardens. Finally making our way up to the Generalife, the name derived from the Arabic ‘Jennat al Arif’, meaning the ‘Garden of Arif’, or the ‘Garden of the Architect’ in the drowsy warmth of late afternoon.

"Celinda!"

As Irving himself said, “How unworthy is my scribbling of the place.” It is hard to put into words the thoughts and feelings this wonderful old palace inspires (although Irving did a pretty damn good job of it in his famous book!), especially in the moments when the coach parties of tourists bustle out of your immediate vicinity and you are left in a peaceful moment of isolation before the next wave bustles in. Out in the gardens there’s a lot more room to circulate and find more tranquil and secluded spots in which to reflect and unhurriedly take it all in. The gardens were filled with a gorgeous array of flowering plants and orange trees in full fruit at the time we visited. At several places in the gardens (and around the town too) we came across the split skins of some of the oranges which it appeared people were clearly all too strongly tempted to taste – yet, watching the reactions of people actually doing this, and given the fact that most of the fruit was frequently left behind with the skins, it seemed to suggest that these oranges had a bitterness best reserved for making Seville marmalade! – Everywhere we wandered throughout the Alhambra’s grounds we could smell all around us the lovely scent of what we took to be orange blossom, given the number of orange trees; but, on our eventually tracking down its source to a small and unobtrusive looking white flower, a passing gardener who worked in the grounds of the Alhambra saw our delight in discovering the tiny blossoms and stopped to tell us the flower’s Spanish name, “Celinda!” – One day, we thought, we’d love to see if it might be possible to grow celinda (sweet mock-orange, Philadelphus coronarius L.) in our own garden in Japan – to bring back memories of the Alhambra on warm summer nights.

Manuel de Falla in his home on Alhambra Hill

Despite his faux personal misgivings, Washington Irving’s ‘unworthy scribblings’ have proved to be a lasting literary monument to the captivating charm of the Alhambra. Describing it as a unique folly to a bygone age of Moorish architectural magnificence: “Perhaps there never was a monument more characteristic of an age and people than the Alhambra; a rugged fortress without, a voluptuous palace within; war frowning from its battlements; poetry breathing throughout the fairy architecture of its halls.” His words still resonate strongly with today’s visitors, but there is a similar monument to the Alhambra in a different medium which was penned some eighty years later by the Spanish composer, Manuel de Falla in 1915. Nights in the Gardens of Spain is an evocative soundscape, which to my ear evokes the fluid sounds of shallow rills of water and old bronze-spouted fountains tinkling in the polished marble courtyards and the lush green gardens of the Alhambra. Falla first visited Granada in 1915 and was so taken by the place that he later moved there. Settling in a very simple house, just a short stroll from the entrance to the Generalife, where he lived from 1921 to 1939. His home has been preserved and can be visited today. Falla referred to this magical piece of music as ‘symphonic impressions.’ The gentle flutes, oboes and bassoons, and the softly plucked strings syncopate with the tinkling piano and rhythmic timpani in passages which are reminiscent of Sufi dances, a mystical kind of meditation famously performed by whirling dervishes, lending the music an exotic, orientalist air which in parts puts me in mind of snake charmers or the vintage classic Hollywood film, Casablanca (1942), starring Humphrey Bogart and Ingrid Bergman.

Manuel de Falla, second from left

Later on, the graphic artist M. C. Escher visited the Alhambra in 1936, shortly before the Spanish Civil War. He was greatly interested in the repeating geometric motifs which appear to be interlocked in patterns that repeat into infinity in the ornate coloured tiles and intricate plasterwork which decorate many of the palace’s finest rooms. These mathematical patterns in which lines simultaneously delineate both inside and outside spaces, blurring the transitions between the two to create mind-bending optical illusions can be found echoed in many of his best known drawings.

In many ways, since it was abandoned by the Moors, who presumably knew all its secrets, the Alhambra has become an illusion, the fascination of which continues to endure even to this day. Again, Washington Irving perhaps says it best: “The peculiar charm of this old dreamy palace is its power of calling up vague reveries and picturings of the past, and thus clothing naked realities with the illusions of the memory and the imagination.” Just as it was for Irving, so too I found myself falling utterly under the spell of the Alhambra. Reflecting upon the place now, I realise that all the elements of it – in terms of its architectural form, its garden design, and in terms of the inspiration it gave to both contemporary and later literary, artistic and musical tributes – the Alhambra appeals to the full range of my aesthetic inclinations. For me, its harmonies satisfy the self’s primary senses in terms of sight, scent, sound, textures – and even, perhaps more surprisingly, taste. One of the main reasons why I so enjoy travelling in Spain is its Mediterranean cuisine. All of the things I relish the most seem to be combined in Spanish tapas: cheese, olives, pimentos, white tuna fish, chorizo, and, of course, iberico ham. Riojas are one of my most favourite wines, but by far one of my best loved tipples is Spanish brandy. It’s made in the Jerez region of Andalusia, and the distillation techniques used to produce this brandy are said to have been passed down through the local generations from the Moors, who settled in Jerez de la Frontera, roughly 160 miles west of Granada, around 711. Spanish brandy gets its distinctive flavour, like burnt sugar or molasses, partly from the fact that it is matured in old sherry barrels. Hence the best way to end our day ambling around the Alhambra was to sit on the terrace of the Restaurante Especia, part of the idyllic Parador de Granada Hotel, overlooking the archaeological remains of the Turkish bath of the old Moorish palace, enjoying the scenic view of Sacromonte and Albaicín on the opposite hillside, whilst enjoying a very late lunch … drifting into an early dinner. Here I could easily empathise with the old Nasrid sultans and their bards, and happily believe that if heaven is indeed a paradise, that paradise is certainly echoed in the gentle, earthly breezes stirring the leafy green shade of the beautiful, sun-kissed gardens of old Spain.