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On every camino, there is the Etapa Reina, the jewel stage of the route. Though I’m not walking, there’s no doubt that the Alhambra is just that.

We took a little bus up at about 9, and got right in. Six and a half hours later we were on our way out, walking back to town on the shady pedestrian path with babbling water never far away. I had brought some fruit and yoghurt in my bag, but as we were eating breakfast in a cafe, the grandma brought out some freshly made empanadas. Tuna with sun-dried tomatoes. I brought two along and we found a beautiful (if not totally legal) picnic spot in the gardens.

There are four separate sections and to enter each one you have to show your passport. At the entrance to the Generalife (summer palace), I witnessed Spanish bureaucracy at its finest. Two young people, from Hungary I think, got up to the gate. Each one has a passport and a ticket in hand. But oh no, the bureaucrat says— both tickets say “Ella Blabla” but only one of the passports has that name. Ella spoke up —I guess I put my name on both tickets when I bought them online, but you can see that the passport numbers correspond to the two of us. Oh but I’m sorry, says the guard, this is impossible. So after a few minutes back and forth, finally the guard calls his superior and explains the whole thing two or three times with much emotion and consternation. The line gets longer and longer. Finally, just as we always knew would happen, the guard waves his arm in a huge arc and says—pasen Uds. I love Spain!

Rather than describe the many incredibly beautiful rooms, patios, and gardens, I’ll just add some pictures. And a popular refrain — Give alms to the beggar, sir, for there is no pain worse than being blind in Granada.Læs mere