To make the most of a battlefield, find a great storyteller (Touring Salamanca and Vitoria)

If you marry a soldier with a passion for military history, you accept the fact that holidays may include battlefield tours. Our spectacular cross-country Spanish road trip was not born of a desire to experience the variety of the country's interior. We did it because a certain Arthur Wellesley once criss-crossed this landscape fighting the Peninsular Wars on the way to becoming Duke of Wellington and beating Napoleon at Waterloo.

Battlefield tourism isn't nearly as trying for the trailing spouse as you might imagine. The places that once hosted horrific slaughter have a strange tendency to evolve into beautiful, and profoundly peaceful, spots. If you're lucky enough to have a great storyteller to show you around, battlefields are the setting for thrilling tales of conflict, heroism, triumph and tragedy, played out with intense human emotion.

The quality of your experience will vary with the storytelling abilities of your guide. My grasp, and appreciation, of the Battle of Salamanca is now profound thanks to Raúl Bellido. Should you ever be interested enough to spend four hours climbing hills and rambling through an enormous valley due south of the Spanish university town, he’s your man. We had less luck with our guide in Vitoria, who was great on the overall area but clearly not a specialist on military history and the nuances of that particular battle.

What made Raúl so special? He started with a context-setting explanation of the politics of the time and what factors led up to the conflict on the 22nd of July, 1812. He took us to the critical points on the battlefield in order, giving us a timeframe at each spot so we were always conscious of where and when we were in the unfurling story. He had the keys to the small battlefield museum in Arapiles (the village that the Spaniards use to name the battle.) Raúl works here as a volunteer so brought us in for a private visit when everything was locked up tight. Checking out the dioramas, uniforms and other collections here at the mid-way point was a great way to consolidate what we'd learned thus far, and was also a brilliantly-planned bathroom break in a day otherwise spent in the open air.


We ended our tour with a moderately-challenging hike up to the top of the highest point of the action, the Grand Arapile, where there’s a monument and an incredible view.

Raúl ended the story with a vivid description of the final hours of the conflict, brought to life by the difficult terrain. My husband believes the landscape is the real point of a battlefield tour: maps, and even videos, don't give you the true picture of how hills, valleys and rivers factor into the action. At Salamanca it's obvious, especially when you're driving from one key point to another and see the way whole parts of the landscape disappear from certain vantage points. Wellington used the hills as camouflage in a giant game of hide and seek to gain his victory.

On the magnificent hilltop, Raúl finished with a true storyteller's flare, outlining the denouement before giving us a summary and his argument for why this was one of the most significant battles in European history. (The tipping point in the power struggle that led to Waterloo and the post-Napoleonic world.)


While you could do this trail on your own, downloading a map and driving to key points on the battlefield, it would be a lot harder without a guide. The roads up to the key spots with information points were generally farm tracks with little signage. There's no clear guidance on the museum's web site of when it's open. We never would have found, or even thought to look for, the wonderful battle murals and monument to the Duke of Wellington in Arapiles village.


What you could do without a guide is simply enjoy the fabulous landscape. The enormous valley ringed with hills is all protected as a historic site, and though roads go through it the traffic is light. There are lots of cyclists and hikers here simply enjoying the great outdoors. Packing a picnic and hiking up either of the Arapile hills, or going to the more easily accessible viewpoint at the little stone church called the Ermita de Nuestra Señora de la Peña, would make for a pleasant day out.


The battlefield at Vitoria is much harder to wrap your head around, with our without a guide. If Salamanca was Wellington's tipping point, Vitoria 11 months later was where he wrapped things up and delivered the death blow that pushed the French out of Spain. But the scale here is vast. The valley in Salamanca is perhaps 5 miles across, and has been kept completely pastoral. Vitoria ranged across the vast plan of Álava, encompassing more than 1000 square miles including armies climbing up and over mountain passes to get to the battle. Key points at Salamanca were perhaps 5 minutes apart by car. At Vitoria they were more than 20. Vitoria was more of a series of conflicts happening in the same general area across a day, culminating in the city itself, rather than just one storyline. It would be hard to get a a continuous narrative across even if you were a brilliant storyteller with flawless English and a military historian’s obsession with the battle. Sadly, our guide here wasn’t quite up to any of those, though he made a valiant effort. (He was much better when it came to showing us around the city itself, which I’ll cover in a later article.)

Without the context and the story, my attention was drifting as we spent the morning driving between a series of very attractive bridges. The story of the day seemed to be about various skirmishes to get across them, but I lost interest and just appreciated the scenery.


There was a hill to climb up, but the viewpoint it offers is less clear and the vistas are more of highways and industrial estates than of romantically rolling grassland. (The battle might not have left much of an impression on me, but the tidy industrial prosperity of the Álava plain had a big impact, brimming with modern factories and industrial complexes from which delivery vehicles glide to and fro on impressive highways. This is the capital of the Basque Country, the most prosperous region in Spain, and it’s obvious.)

Things started to make more sense in Vitoria itself, where the upper floor of the Álava Armory Museum is almost entirely dedicated to the battle. Here there are several dioramas, including a huge one that shows the whole valley as it was in 1813, with buttons you can hit to trigger lights that show you who went where, when. There’s no English signage but the Google translate app that works from photos of text does a good job. A ten minute’s stroll away, on the main town square, you’ll find a striking monument to the battle.

Ironically, the monument for the 1813 conflict wasn’t installed and dedicated until 1917. The centenary of the battle sparked a local realisation that they really should do something to mark what had become the most famous event in their history. The result, therefore, is far more exuberant and cluttered than anything that might have gone up immediately after the event. It ascends in four busy tiers. First, a level of life-sized stone sculptures showing the impact of the battle and its aftermath on the locals. Then a level of bronze sculptures … which also looked life-sized but may have been even bigger … involved in the conflict with Wellington astride his horse at the centre. Then comes a quiet bit; a stubby obelisk naming the battle. Then we’re back to bronze, with a massive allegorical figure of victory waving a flag while the British Lion at her feet prepares to eviscerate the prostrate, screaming French eagle in his paws. The artists involved clearly felt far enough away from the reality of the battle to take plenty of license. Wellington’s profile lacks his distinctive hooked nose and is more heroically handsome than his portraits, while my husband had fun picking out all sorts of issues with uniforms and military detail. But it you’re not bothered by those things, it’s a visually striking memorial set in a beautiful environment.

My husband found both days worth his time, but I could have happily skipped the battlefield parts of Vitoria and spent more time in the city centre. And even after being on site, my favourite Battle of Vitoria-related experience will remain visiting Apsely House in London, where artistic treasures from the abandoned French baggage train are displayed. (Not war booty but a gift to Wellington from a grateful Spanish king for his restoration.). While my husband wouldn’t have given up his trek around the plain of Álava, he too agreed that the day with Raúl was better by far. Storytelling wins this battle.

In Cordoba, the Middle Ages still burn brightly

Like Grenada, Cordoba has hitched its tourism wagon to the star of the glories of medieval, multi-cultural, Islamic Spain. That story reached its romantic end in Grenada, but it started here, and Cordoba was the capital of a sprawling empire for centuries. It also fell to the Christians earlier ... 1236 ... and the re-conquerors did everything in their power to obliterate memories of the past. Fortunately, they weren't completely successful and Cordoba's city centre is now a Unesco World Heritage Site thanks to the remarkable layering of its Roman, Islamic, Jewish and Christian legacies.

The place to start, as every travel article will tell you, is at the great mosque-turned-cathedral. It deserves its superlatives. On par with the Great Mosque of Damascus when it was built, it is arguably far more beautiful with its striped, double-horseshoe arches stretching to seeming infinity. And you're unlikely to get to Damascus any time soon, so best enjoy this one. The Christians turned it into a church after the re-conquest. Naturally. They ripped out the centre and injected their own architecture. Unfortunately. But they couldn't bear to tear down the whole thing, so the forest of columns surrounds the Christian bit like a giant ante-chamber. Thankfully. Remember that scene in Alien where a monster erupts from one of the character's stomachs? The horror and mismatch is pretty much the same here. Even the Emperor Charles V, who signed off the building project, is said to have been horrified by what he'd done once he'd seen it.

Cordoba's cathedral is much like Grenada's Alhambra: the star site, with tickets selling out in advance and thick crowds sapping magic from the whole experience. Fortunately, the fact that it's still a functioning church means they can't be as draconian with admissions policies here. Get up early and be there for the 8:30 am free admission, then stay for mass at 9:30 to get the best from the place. You'll be sailing out on a cloud of inspiration as the tourists trudge in for the first official visits of the day. You will still find several hundred people gathered at each door by 8:15, but these initial numbers are swallowed by the vast scale of the building, leaving you to enjoy some quiet moments of contemplation. Head immediately for the mihrab (the prayer niche indicating the direction to Mecca) at the back, slightly to the right, as this is where the crowds pile up to admire the most intricate of the Islamic decoration (uncovered after years of camouflage). Then wander to admire the interplay of Islamic arches with Christian chapels. Mass is a full bells-and-whistles, one-step-away-from-the-Vatican affair: there were 11 celebrants on the high altar and a full choir my morning despite a lack of high holy days. Anyone raised Catholic will slip into the vibe even if they don't know Spanish. Even heathens will enjoy the "show" for which this building is just one great stage set. Sitting inside the inserted Christian section you realise it's actually quite a lovely building on its own; it just suffers from its impossible circumstances.

Now walk across the Roman bridge ... an impressive site in its own right ... to the Calahorra Tower at Living Museum of Al-Andalus. At €4.50 for admission, including an informative audio guide and access to the roof where you'll get one of the best views imaginable of the whole city, this place is a bargain. And that's before you start exploring the displays, which mix artefacts with dioramas and animatronics to tell the story of Cordoba's golden age and the mix of Muslims, Jews and Christians that enjoyed it. There's a scale model of the mosque here that shows what it was like before the insertion of the Christian church, cleverly juxtaposed with a window so you can look over the river to the real thing. Even more magical is the room that presents a model city peopled by figures all made by local potters. It's enchanting.
its far end, where you'll find the

Our other star attraction inside the walls was the equestrian and flamenco show in the royal stables. Yup. Horses and dancers. Why not? The beautiful Lipizzan horses you probably associate with Austria started here, when the Hapsburg kings of Spain based their breeding programme for the perfect knightly steed in Cordoba. The tradition continues. The Spanish have a national passion for dressage. And the people of this region take flamenco seriously. Why not combine them? Most of the acts are the horses performing on their own, in the performance ring within their dignified stables. (Pay extra for a premium seat and you get in 20 minutes early to explore the yard and see the horses in their stalls before the show.) This, frankly, would be magical enough. But when a flamenco dancer comes out and does her stuff, with an exquisitely-trained stallion prancing around her in partnership, it's one of the most bizarre ... and totally jaw-dropping ... things I've ever seen. Worth every penny of the remarkably modest €15 general admission ticket, but make sure you check dates and book in advance; performances are not daily and audience numbers are fairly small.

I suspect the Cordoba synagogue, one of the oldest in Europe and a tiny jewel in the Mudejar architectural tradition, would also have been a favourite had it been open. It is, however, closed for a multi-year renovation. This is the most picturesque part of town to wander, so you won't be disappointed to head in that direction anyway. Just down the little lane from the synagogue is the Zoco de Artesanos, a warren of craft galleries spread across several courtyards with proper artisanal work including jewellery, leather goods and pottery. In the same lane there's a man who makes medieval stringed instruments with exquisite inlaid woodwork. There's a great deal of tat on sale throughout Cordoba, so this little stretch is a real find.

Another highlight is the Palacio de Viana, which I wrote about in this previous entry.

About the only thing that disappointed us in Cordoba ... other than the shoulder-to-shoulder crowds ... Alcazar. Southern Spain practices a cheerful caveat emptor: it's hard to find tourist site's official websites, when you do there's very little information on them about what you're actually going to see, and once inside the signage and staffing is often terrible. Thus it most certainly is with this castle, a brooding hulk on the edge of the historic district and once home to the dreaded Spanish Inquisition. Only one room is furnished (with representative pieces to give a sense of where Columbus presented his plans to Ferdinand and Isabella) and there's nothing special about the interior architecture. There's a narrow scramble up stairs to some ramparts with an average view (the one from the Calhorra Tower is much better) and a sign limiting numbers to 20 at a time. Everyone ignores that, however, making both ascent and descent uncomfortable and the whole experience a frightening fire hazard. The main reason to go inside is a fine set of Roman mosaics in the main hall which tell the story of the powerful, leisured class that ran things here in antiquity. What you're actually paying to see is gardens: a series of formal and informal rooms, shady courtyards and sun-drenched parterres, with plenty of water features and statuary. They pale in comparison to Grenada's Generalife, but they're a pleasant place for a walk.
was the

While most of Cordoba's sites are within easy walking distance of the cathedral, you'll need a car for one of its most intriguing attractions. Medina Azahara is a sprawling ruined city spreading up a hillside about a 15-minute drive out of town. Built by the first Umayyad Caliph of Cordoba as his palace and administrative centre in the late 10th century, it was an opulent, legendary court for just 70 years before civil war triggered its abandonment and looting for building materials. Modern excavations didn't begin until 1911 and 90% of the place is still to be unearthed. Cordoba clearly has its eyes on Unesco World Heritage status, however, and has poured money into an impressive modern museum at the foot of the hill. It's essential, in fact, to spend time here if you want to make sense of the ruins. Without the excellent models and animated tours of the palace in its heyday, it's quite a stretch to see much impressive about the abundance of waist-height walls that remain on the hillside.

This is yet another place let down by Spanish attractions' failure to master digital communications. You probably won't find the official website in standard searches; instead you'll be led to believe the only way to get in is to take the one English-speaking bus tour a day which may already be sold out. Ignore this, especially if you have a car. (You can take public buses out here, too.) The museum, car park and archeological park are all vast enough to accommodate plenty of visitors. Entry to the museum is free for European union members; you need to pick up a ticket there that allows you in to the excavations above.

Do not miss this step, as you can NOT get a ticket at the Medina itself. You need to leave your car next to the museum and take a bus up the hill to the site. Once there you'll find stunning views, a few reconstructed archways to give you a sense of past grandeur and plenty of old foundations to emphasise how big the place once was. Looking down on the ruins of the mosque currently being excavated, you realise it would have given its sister building in Cordoba a run for its money. Approach the site with caution, however. You'll be scrambling over wildly uneven pavements, climbing a lot of steps and site management does not bother to tell you what is or is not open. I got all the way to the bottom to discover that the star site of the place, Abd ar-Rahman's reception hall, was closed. And then, of course, had to climb back up to the bus drop-off point to catch a ride back down to the museum. If you're ambivalent about ruins, a quick nose around the museum will probably satisfy you.

WHERE WE STAYED
The winding, narrow nature of Cordoba's streets makes a car a nuisance, and the medieval city itself is the main attraction. Thus it seemed logical to make this our holiday accommodation splurge so we could be in the heart of the old town. We stayed at the NH Collection Amistad, a 108-room hotel spread across two 17th century mansions facing each other across a square in what was once the Jewish quarter. It's hard to imagine a better location; minutes on foot from the cathedral, Alcazar or the square that's the heart of the modern town and a stone's throw from copious restaurant choices. For €250 a night, and another €22 per night for parking, we were somewhat disappointed.

Positives: We had a great room in the secondary building, overlooking the square, plenty of space, excellent soundproofing; our building had a charming roof terrace with small plunge pool, there's a larger courtyard pool in the main building; excellent concierges gave us valuable advice on restaurants and avoiding crowds; they have a phenomenal breakfast spread and a solid restaurant for other meals; there's a series of charming courtyards to relax with a drink and get away from the crowds outside.

However: my husband thought the bed was uncomfortably hard (I was too exhausted from sightseeing to notice) and the staff's command of English was generally far below where it should have been at a 4-star catering to international tourists (the front desk people didn't really understand when I tried to explain that my wallet had been stolen and didn't really react, much less express comfort or try to help). Most significantly, the place had a taint of corporate hotel about it I didn't like. The ground floor of our building was clearly being used as a muster point for a walking tour company and the covered courtyard dining area ... made much of in their promotional materials ... felt more like a conference centre circa 1990 than a dignified, elegant space. For 20% less, we wouldn't have noticed, but this is in the price range where we start getting very picky. I kept walking by La Llave de la Juderia, the nearby hotel I'd try to book but couldn't get into, and peering into their courtyards with envy. Photos suggest that this offers more of the boutique hotel vibe we prefer, but it also sells out much further in advance. Note for next time...

Cordoba’s festivals are a gardener's delight, but prepare for crowds

Being in Cordoba for the back-to-back celebration of its two biggest festivals is a Dickensian proposition: the best of times, the worst of times.

On the positive side, the city is decked out in its floral best. The Cruces de Mayo (May Crosses) sees religious fraternities compete to decorate crosses with flowers, while Los Patios de Cordoba has private buildings opening their lush interior gardens for the public to snoop. It's like the National Garden Scheme and the Chelsea Flower Show rolled into one. It's a properly local time to get a sense of the place: the overwhelming majority of the accents I heard were Spanish. And the good times keep rolling. First communion for Roman Catholic children is on or around 1 May, filling the streets with adorable little girls dressed as miniature brides and boys in their best jackets and ties. It's likely you might encounter a procession carrying a statue of the Virgin Mary with a brass band following behind. The whole place is a party.

With the merriment, of course, comes crowds. We're talking Disney-World-at-Christmas, London-tube-at-rush-hour, body-to-body crowds. And because these are Spaniards, there will be no orderly waiting. Watch out for the grandmothers. They may look benign, but they are professional queue bargers who will have a sharp elbow in the small of your back the moment you try to block their incursion. Every sunny al-fresco table is taken, every charming restaurant packed. And, of course, with crowds come pickpockets. I am a savvy traveller who hadn't been robbed in 30+ years of exploring Europe. A wily Cordoban lifted my wallet within 20 minutes of our first foray onto the streets.

My bottom line: if you're a keen gardener, it's a wonderful time to come ... you just need to develop strategies to cope with the crowds. If flowers aren't your thing, I suspect there are far better times to enjoy Cordoba's delights.

From a horticultural perspective, the crosses are a less impressive festival. Once you've seen a few, they start to look much the same. Each display uses the same size and shape of cross; many cover theirs in red roses or carnations. White with blue or lavender was a secondary favourite. Creativity comes from the floral displays around the crosses ... mostly pots of pelargoniums with a few branching out to a variety of plants and the occasional water feature. The most impressive made use of nearby architecture to deliver a wall of flower pots.

It quickly became obvious, however, that this is less about the flowers and more a progressive drinking party. Every fraternity gets sponsors, sets up a beer tent, has a particular tapa (snack) for purchase and sometimes has a band. Locals were having a fabulous time. We felt a bit surplus to requirements. I was undeniably in a rotten mood after the theft and an hour spent on the phone cancelling debit and credit cards, on top of another stress-inducing hour earlier in the day creeping a car through gridlocked traffic and crowds of pedestrians to reach our hotel's garage. I'd be willing to give the Crosses another try when better prepared both mentally and physically.

The patios were a different story. I was in gardeners' heaven.

Houses in Cordoba follow a model started by the Romans and continued by the Arabs: rooms are arranged around courtyards that provide private garden space and almost always have a water feature; long ago to capture a precious resource, today for pleasure. Brightly-coloured tiles often line the walls up to waist height. Arrays of flower pots affixed to the walls and paving of black-and-white cobbles set in various designs are recurring features. Cordobans, the general wisdom goes, are passionately proud and seriously competitive when it comes to these patios. Once a year they open them for charity. Admission is free but there are collections for owners' favourite causes. Plus prizes, people's favourites and plenty of local press coverage. From framed prizes and articles in many gardens it was clear that some owners opened year after year and had accumulated plenty of accolades. This year there were five "routes" with more than 60 gardens open to the public. (Maps are freely available from hotels, tourist information centres and all participating gardens.) Navigating can be a bit challenging; Cordoba's twisting, narrow lanes quickly sap your sense of direction. Fortunately enough locals are doing the routes that you can usually just follow other people with maps.

Here, I found the variety lacking in the crosses. Some patios were tiny, hardly more than light wells between several apartments. Others were grand processions of interlinked spaces. One joined a church, the priests' house and offices, with a baroque chapel between gardens. Some were white-walled sun-traps with arrays of potted pelargoniums and cascading bougainvillea, others bosky dells of ferns, hostas and mosses. Many had clear themes that presumably reflected their owners' passions: new age crystals and American Indian dream catchers; bullfighting; flamenco; tools of historic crafts. Several complemented the gurgling of water with the trills of caged songbirds; a few had impressive sound systems. One was even a doll's house courtyard produced in magnificent detail ... grains of rice for the patterned cobbles, tiny bits of rolled paper for the flowers ... in the front room of an artisan's workshop and gallery. Patio owners were usually on hand to talk details, but Spanish was a requirement to get into any horticultural specifics.

Once again, the trick with the patios was to get away from the most obvious tourist hot spots. Patios in the Alcazar Viejo district needed a wait of more than half an hour per property to get a peek. That's right next to major tourist attractions. I didn't bother. instead, I walked a mile to the furthest-flung and heavily residential Santa Marina and San Lorenzo districts, where I explored 18 different gardens during the 11 am - 2 pm morning opening and only queued once. (As with much of Spain, the Patios close for a long lunch break and re-open for an evening session.

If you're not in Cordoba during the festival, you can get a sense of the patio tradition at the Palacio de

Viana. This ancient aristocratic home has grown over the centuries, acquiring neighbouring buildings until it sprawls over the equivalent of several city blocks and encompasses 12 different courtyards. Like the patios in the festival, these display a wide range of styles from intimate domestic spaces to water gardens, orangeries and maze-like spreads of hedged parterres. Each has signs that explain the theme, design and planting of the patio in both Spanish and English. It' obvious that the current owners cherish and continue family history, as several of the courtyards feature either new schemes or significant renovations.

There's a two-tiered price structure; less for just the gardens and more for a full ticket that includes a house tour as well. My time was too short for both, but enticing glimpses into some rooms assured me that without all those other patios to see, I would have happily explored the interiors, too.

If you do plan to head to Cordoba for these festivals, always in late April and early May, book your hotel early. By January there was already very limited availability for any lodging in the historic district.

Local food tour unlocks secrets of Granada's regional cuisine

As a general rule, the more popular a tourist destination becomes, the harder it is to find authentic local cuisine there. Tourist restaurants default to a generic national menu that satisfies the lowest common expectations, giving little insight into regional traditions. Turning to Trip Advisor rarely helps: its mass-market rating algorithms mean you're just as likely to find a coffee shop with great WiFi or a pile-em-high-sell-em-cheap buffet in the top-rated restaurants as a true culinary discovery.

Granada fit solidly into this model on a first wander through town. Menus all seemed to offer the standard array of dishes you'd find at any Spanish restaurant anywhere in the world; our first lunch of deeply average croquetas, fried squid and salad would have been just as good at our local La Tasca. I'd hoped for a unique melange of Arab and European similar to what you get in Sicilian cuisine, but on first glance the Islamic past's influence seemed limited to 27 Moroccan restaurants. I love Moroccan cuisine, but these are places run by immigrants who've parachuted in to take advantage of the cultural zeitgeist, not anything Granadan. 

The fusion is there, you just have to work hard to find it. There's a distinct willingness to mix sweet with savoury, a unique smoky bread, a love of flaky pastry, cinnamon popping up in unexpected places. And there are plenty of local specialties: goats' cheese (these mountains are made for it), the distinctive Jamón de Trevélez, blood sausage, a fondness for sherry. There are two routes to plug quickly into this food culture. Follow the recommendations of respected travel writers, or sign up for a food-focused tour with a local company. 

The first (thank you, Conde Nast Traveller) gave us Mirador de Morayma for our most exquisitely atmospheric evening. With great food, too. Devour Tours mixed history with stops in three local bars before sitting down to dinner, all with expert commentary on the food and drink. Finally, to give some credit to Trip Advisor, by our last night we knew what we were looking for and used their revues to find our way to one of our best meals of the trip at La Vinoteca.

Mirador de Morayma
Hiking up to this spot on the crest of the Albaicin's hill may not work off all the calories you're bound to consume, but you'll certainly be ready for some sustenance. Your efforts will be rewarded with an exceptional view: the Alhambra spreads from one edge of your visual horizon to another, as if it were built as one enormous folly to enliven the terraced gardens here. The restaurant is located in what's known locally as a carmén, the term for an aristocratic home complete with gardens and orchards, all hidden behind the walls of a tight urban space. This house, legend has it, was the residence of the Princess Morayma during the captivity of her husband Boabdil, the last King of Granada. (And a short walk from her mother-in-law's place at the Palacio Dar-al-Horra, which I wrote about last time.) Both interior and garden have now been turned into a restaurant, and though there's a warren of interestingly decorated rooms inside (wooden beams, tiles, artwork), as soon as it's warm enough most punters spill outside onto three terraces of shady gardens. It's a lush space with patterned cobbles, gently-murmuring fountains, towering evergreens and rambling roses. As if trying to exorcise the Moors, the garden has its own chapel and an exquisite tile mural of St. Anthony beams down from the side of the house.

The menu was full of regional specialties, which sadly I didn't appreciate as such until our tour the next night. On a more informed visit I would have tried the remojón salad (salt cod, oranges, black olives and spring onions), the salmorejo (cold tomato soup with garlic, thickened with bread and emulsified with olive oil), or the codfish with almonds. Despite guidance, we did well. A starter of asparagus spears and goat's cheese wrapped in local dried ham, then lightly grilled, may seem ordinary but the core ingredients were of exceptional quality and the whole thing was elevated by a sauce of reduced Pedro Ximénez that left us momentarily speechless. (Pictured at top.) We both opted for the suckling pig as our main. Succulent and rich, undeniably porky with exquisite crackling. It didn't beat my world's best suckling pig in San Sebastian ... the fat here could have been rendered a bit more ... but it was close.

Morayma adds to its attractions with house wines produced on their country estate, though they were sadly out of the white that night. The waiter made an excellent pick from a list studded with interesting local options. He ended our evening with glasses of complimentary licor de hierba and a move to a recently-vacated table with a better view. We ended up in a corner loggia overlooking both the gardens and the Alhambra. Under the pergola below, a large gathering of locals sang traditional songs as a couple who were clearly the centre of celebrations did a bit of informal flamenco. Magic.

Devour Tours
They're my fantasy tour company: devoted to the intersection of food and history, offering tours to small groups led by expert guides. Guide Marta Sanchez joins the rarified ranks of Sicilian oenologist Valeria Carastro and Omani guardian angel Yousuf as a local able to take your whole experience to another level through knowledge, experience and a genuine love of their home town.

After a short stroll through the lower reaches of the Albaicin and a chat about the history of the place, we got down to serious business at La Bodeguilla de al Lado, a tiny place specialising in local wines with a proprietress who's acknowledged as one of the town's great experts on flamenco. No dancing here, but the decor is a temple to the art form. We matched a dry but lightly fruity Xate-O ... one of those grape varieties that never gets out of Spain ... to an aged goat’s milk cheese from Granada. (Goats are far more practical than cows in these mountains.) Though Lado is near the Cathedral, it's down an unremarkable side street a tourist would never bother to traverse.

We were in a higher-traffic area at Casa Julio, just off the Plaza Nueva. The bar was packed three deep; all that could fit in to the narrow room. The rest spill out into the pedestrian lane outside. A bit of a shame, as all those people obscure the gorgeous tile murals that cover the walls. Forget the sightseeing, however, and go for the atmosphere. Despite the touristy location, it's an obviously local crowd. Tourists are probably put off by the jam. But, as Marta advised, Granadans rarely stay at any place for longer than the space of one drink and tapa. Squeeze in, order, and space will come free. The specialty here is lightly battered and fried local hake. Despite my perception that this mountainous region was deep inland, it's a quick run to the sea less than 50 miles away. Natives talk about local seafood and discuss their favourite beaches. A cold, crisp cerveza (beer) was the logical match here. 

The most bizarre introduction of the evening was El Tabernáculo. I thought I'd experienced every aspect of Southern European Catholicism: guilt, ecstasy, pathos, competitive placement at papal events. But I'd never put festive drinking on that list. This bar is a celebration of the fraternities that parade various religious statues during Holy Week. It's wallpapered with posters and holy cards of Jesus, Mary and the saints, hung with rosaries and medals, adorned with statues of penitentes (the pointy-hooded ceremonial participants who look like, but have nothing to do with, Ku Klux Clan members).They even play their distinctive parade music on a continuous loop. The religious atmosphere puts nobody off but the tourists; the place was packed and merry. Another new experience here was sweet artisan vermouth, which was not the stuff you drip out of a bottle to flavour a martini but its own distinct cocktail. Herby and slightly medicinal, it's probably a bit of an acquired taste but went perfectly with the grilled pork loin ​‘Montadito’.

We ended up at the Bar Patio Braserito, one of those places that was indistinguishable from scores of other restaurants on the outside but was packed with locals within. Here I discovered perhaps my favourite dish of Andalucia: lightly battered, fried aubergine (eggplant) drizzled with dark honey. Exceptional. On to artichokes with creamy Torta del Casar cheese sauce, a fish course of fresh cod in an obviously made-from-scratch tomato sauce and the local pork ‘​secreto’​, grilled with Pedro Ximénez sauce. We tried this with two versions of ‘Cerrojo’ red wine from the area before rolling into the inevitable Pedro Ximénez as a dessert wine.

In addition to ending the evening with both brains and bellies full, we walked away with a list of Marta's fabulous recommendations for more to see, do and eat in Granada. Sadly, their was just one day left. This is really an ideal tour to do on your first night.

La Vinoteca
As the name implies, this place is serious about local wines. It looks like it's had a recent remodelling and is run by people who want to appeal to those serious about their food and wine but disenchanted by the fussiness of fine dining. The staff is young, devoted to their menu and more conversant about it in English than anywhere else we went. There's a dark, trendy front end dedicated to tapas and wine consumption, with restaurant rooms behind for those who want a full meal. The restaurant section had the occasional open table (we hadn't booked and got a good one by the window) but the tapas bar was heaving throughout.

A tempting menu made our choice hard, but the word solomillo stood out. I had brilliant memories of sirloin from past Spanish trips, but Piers had yet to try the classic cut here. Would it live up to the meat eater's expectations? Absolutely. Beautiful beef, simply and lightly grilled (you never have to ask for rare here) with a few potatoes and a wedge of grilled red pepper. This is nowhere-to-hide cooking, entirely dependant of the quality of the ingredients and the fire, and they had both sorted here. The waiter knew his wine list well and introduced us to several of his favourites before we ended the evening with a surprise. The Spanish do baked cheesecake. None of this fluffy, gelatinous, flavour-free set stuff so common across Europe but proper, weighty, taste the cheese, baked cake. Here served as four small squares with different fruit toppings. I was happy.

And sad. Because that was my last meal in Granada, and after three days I felt that I had just begun to experience a distinctive regional cuisine. But it was time to go. Cordoba was calling.

From Moorish mystery to Catholic bombast, Granada has an exotic charm worth an extended stay

There's much more to Granada than the Alhambra.

It's not something I was convinced of when I discovered we couldn't get tickets to the main attraction. I'd booked us for three nights. Would there be enough to keep us busy without the hilltop palaces? Had I made a mistake? No. It's a city of various pleasures that deserves time to explore.

First, appreciate the magic of the physical setting. You're 738 metres above sea level ... almost 300 metres higher than Annecy, France, the mountain town I know best ... with the old city tucked into the sides of the Sierra Nevada mountains. Snow-covered peaks tower overhead, often still white even when it's high summer in the valley below. While the sprawling, post-Napoleonic new town is mostly flat, older bits are a warren of steep lanes, most-often cobbled with fist-sized river-polished stones in fanciful black and white designs. Come with good walking shoes and be ready to climb.

There's enough architectural variety and quaint scenes to keep a lover of the picturesque wandering happily for days. The medieval splendour of the Alhambra dominates many views; the hill facing it is dotted with small parks that seem contrived just to give you a chance to sit and glory in the architectural wonder across the way. That hill is the Albaicin, the old Arab neighbourhood that formed the town beyond the Alhambra in its glory days. It still retains a whitewashed ancient feel; more Sidi Bou Said than other Spanish towns I've visited. And yet, descend to the bit where the Albaicin meets the Darro River and you'll find a cluster of Renaissance palaces that would make you swear you're in Florence. Main boulevards in the newer town are closer to Madrid or Barcelona, while the cathedral is an architectural mishmash unlike anything I've ever seen.

The cathedral's stop-start construction over multiple centuries created an awkward hotch-potch that doesn't gel and is completely at odds with the buildings around it, but it's a cheerful mess. Down on the valley floor you'll find the 21st century in gleaming glass and stone, surrounded by sprawling car parks, in what they claim is Europe's biggest shopping mall. A university district sprawls to the north, while marvellously grand houses climb the Alhambra's southern flanks. Monasteries, nunneries and churches dot the place with a profusion that rivals Rome. One wonders if, once they kicked the Moors out, they were all protesting a bit too much...

The Moors are back in a big way, of course, now that the legacy of their glory days here has become the focal point of the city's tourism. Start by exploring the Albaicin to drink in that heritage. Some of it isn't particularly authentic: a fairly-new Moroccan community is supplying restaurants, hookah bars and shops that have little to do with the Nasrid's Granada. But they do give the whole place a charming, souk-like atmosphere, there's some fun shopping on offer and landlords deserve credit for kitting out their modern buildings in Mudejar style.

I started early one morning and avoided the winding commercial streets for a direct, steep route up Palacio Dar-al-Horra. Follow the little alley that leads off the Placeta to find it, rather than the tourist maps that imply it's in the convent next door. This is the pocket-sized palace of the mother of the last Nasrid king of Granada; from the tower room at its top she could look across the Albaicin to see her son's spread on the next hill. The architectural decoration is similar to the Nasrid palaces, but it's little known and if you wait for the occasional bus tour to clear out you can have it almost to yourself. The empty rooms host rotating exhibitions; at the moment they're full of tools and instruments exploring the scientific talents of the Moors. This was one of my favourite places in Granada.
the Albaicin's hill via lots of stairs. I ended up in a residential section with hardly a car or person in view, just lots of cascading bougainvillea and remarkable vistas below. On a return visit I'd consider looking for a hotel in the charming district around the Placeta de San Miguel Bajo. (We stayed in a practical but unremarkable Ibis on the outskirts.) I got there hunting for the woefully signposted

A bargain-priced entry ticket (less than €6) gets you into several other Moorish monuments across the Albaicin, most notably the Banuelo. You'll probably have to wait a bit to get into this one, as it's in the more touristy part of the Albaicin along the river Darro. But it's worth the wait, and the staff limits entry numbers so that once you're inside it's not too crowded. This is the best-preserved of what were once 21 different neighbourhood bathing complexes with hot, tepid and cold rooms, plus ante-rooms for relaxation and business. The layout is preserved today because it had been turned into a house. Now the modern layers are stripped away so you can see the elegant procession of rooms through Arabic arches. Brick vaults are pierced with hexagons and stars, allowing sunlight to dapple the space below. Even without its water and glazed tiles, it's a magnificent space.

At this point you're close to the Plaza Nueva, sightseeing Ground Zero as it sits between the Albaicin, the Alhambra and the Cathedral district. Time to consider some shopping: something I didn't do enough of in this city. Tourist shops are jammed with Arab-inspired slippers, mouse pads, fridge magnets, pashminas, etc. ... probably mostly made in China but even in the tacky shops there's some pretty stuff. Happily, there's plenty of real craftsmanship along with the mass-produced stuff and for every five tourist shops you'll find something that has a more artisan feel to it. Leather goods, jewellery and ceramics are all worth checking out. The main streets of the Albaicin, the road that runs along the valley of the Darro and the 19th century imagining of a medieval Arab souk near the cathedral are all good for browsing. Granada is particularly known for a distinctive style of inlaid-wooden box. You'll see them everywhere, but the best and most authentic range we saw was in a dedicated shop directly across the street from the Casa del Arte Flamenco on the Cuesta de Gomerez.

Speaking of flamenco, Granada is mad for it. Legend says the art form arose in the 16th century when jews and Moorish "conversos", not yet kicked out of the country but relegated to second-class citizenship, worked out their frustrations with heart-rending music and angry dancing. (Explaining why flamenco tunes often echo the pathos of Eastern-European jewish music, or the wails of Arab women at funerals.) The traditional district for Granada's flamenco is Sacromonte, once an under-class ghetto outside the city walls. It now hosts an array of flamenco venues, many in caves, where tourist buses disgorge large groups for the nightly show and dinner. Local aficionados are dismissive of most of them as being neither serious about dancing or food. Instead, they directed us to the Casa del Arte Flamenco. This small (only about 50 seats) venue stages a concentrated, one-hour experience with a rotating line-up of performers who are all well-known on the flamenco scene. Our show included a guitarist, singer, male and female dancers, each given the solo spotlight in addition to performing as a group.

This was unlike any flamenco I'd seen, either live or on television. The passion was raw and visceral. The intimacy of the venue meant we could see every drop of sweat and feel the shudder of the floor under the dancers' pounding heels. The speed and power of movement was jaw-dropping (and that included the flying fingers of the guitarist). An hour was perfect; any more would have been emotionally draining. And the beauty of this venue is that you spill out into a district full of restaurants in time for dinner.

The last must-see on even a short trip to Granada is the burial chapel of the Catholic Monarchs. Had the entire cathedral been constructed in this lace-like, triumphant gothic, it would have been a masterpiece. Instead, it's as if all the beauty has been concentrated in this small appendage. The focal point is the tombs themselves: full-size marble effigies of Ferdinand and Isabella, their daughter Juana and her husband Philip, lying on marble biers encrusted with carved figures, foliage and architectural elements. In a poignant contrast, you can descend and peer into the crypt where they actually lie in stark,  unembellished lead coffins. The main altarpiece which their effigies face is
considered one of the biggest and most lavish in Spain, a towering concoction of carved saints and angels who are painted and gilded to a life-like sheen as they go through their stories as if acting in a three-dimensional cartoon strip.

Several side chapels have altars and other works of art almost as intriguing. The most significant masterpieces, however, are probably in the arched room beyond the tombs, now used as a museum. Queen Isabella had a penchant for Flemish Renaissance art, and her collection on display here is better than most of the world's great museums: Roger Van Der Weyden, the Master of the Legend of St. Catherine, Dieric Bouts, Hans Memling. Seeing these paintings alone would be worth the admission price.

I worried that three nights in Granada would be too much. I thought I would like Cordoba better. I was wrong on both counts. We easily could have used another day. My only complaint? It's a city so swamped with tourists it can be hard to find a local experience. We beat that challenge by investing in a top-quality food and history tour led by a local. For that story, see my next entry.

Secrets of the Alhambra: ticketing, crowds and alternative entry options

There is one vital piece of information that neither travel writers, web sites or Trip Advisor reviews seem to get across about tourism in Granada: Getting tickets to see the Nasrid palaces within the Alhambra is as challenging as snagging a table at a prized Michelin-starred restaurant.

A limited number of tickets go on sale every day exactly three months before entry. A large chunk of those are snapped up by tour companies. The rest go quickly to individuals, selling out in weeks for off-season slots and days for peak times. Pricier packaged tour options take a little longer to sell out. But if, oblivious to the scarcity of tickets, you decide about 10 days in advance to buy your tickets online to get a bit of holiday admin out of the way, you will be out of luck. Which is how I ... the architecture and history geek, the holiday advance planner who's been dreaming of seeing this paragon of Moorish architecture for decades ... ended up spending three days in Granada without getting in to its No. 1 tourist attraction.

The Alhambra is now Spain's No. 1 tourist attraction. And last year Spain jumped over the USA to become the world's second-most visited country by tourists (France is No. 1). While I'm frustrated by the general failure to communicate the scarcity of entry, I applaud the Alhambra's attempt to limit and better organise the 2.7 million people flowing through their doors every year. They're trying to prevent something I've discussed before on this blog when writing about Venice, Versailles and Mont Saint Michel: the world's great sites are becoming so over-crowded with tourists that we are destroying the experience of seeing them ... and, in some cases, the sites themselves.

The fact that the Nasrid palaces exist at all is a miracle. The interiors represent the height of Islamic architecture, complete with Koranic verses flowing through the ornate geometric and foliate wall panels. Legend has it that it was all so beautiful that even when the Spanish establishment was stooping to mass deportation and genocide to get Muslims out of their country, they couldn't bear to destroy their craftsmanship. By the time Washington Irving wrote his classic Tales from the Alhambra in the 19th century, however, the buildings were all but abandoned after sustaining bad damage in the Napoleonic wars, mouldering into ruin in a disorganised, increasingly impoverished country. Irving's writing, arguably, started their restoration and climb towards tourist super-stardom.

These days they're a must see for anyone beguiled by pattern, architecture, courtyard gardens and stunning views. (The complex tops a promontory at the foot of the Sierra Nevada mountains, with dramatic vistas spreading out in every direction.) Increasing Asian and Oriental tourist numbers are adding to the crowds. But I think there are some other factors at work here. So much of the Islamic world is now considered unsafe for travel that this is one of the few easily accessible spots to revel in the glories of the architecture of its Golden Age. And the Spanish ... perhaps in penance for the Inquisition and all those centuries of being one of the most xenophobic countries on the planet ... are now playing up the wonders of Moorish Spain as a useful ideal for our own days. A time when Muslims, Christians and Jews lived and worked side-by-side, freely practicing their religions while also engaging in remarkable scientific discovery and thoughtful philosophy. This is the cultural zeitgeist that both Granada and Cordoba are promoting hard in their tourism. It's a comforting message in our increasingly polarised world. Even if it does ignore a great deal of political dirty dealing, internecine warfare and intolerance on both sides, even in the glory days. The Nasrids might have lived in exquisite splendour; their track record as rulers isn't so beautiful.

Turns out that you can still get a hearty taste of this splendour without getting into the Nasrid masterpieces. The Alhambra rambles over 26 acres on two hilltops linked by a bridge. Far more than a royal palace, it was a walled city-within-a-city embracing all the critical functions of government: administrative offices, military housing, reception rooms, bath houses, markets, craft workshops and housing for everyone who worked there from high to low. It's so big that the Generalife on the second hilltop was actually a garden palace where the kings of Granada could retreat to escape from their official, more centrally-located residences on the other hilltop.

Enter the Alhambra through the Gate of Justice and you can wander around through the site and look at all the buildings from the outside for free. You'll get stunning views and can see some of the better gardens from a distance. The ruins of the old city now feature a monastery and a couple of hotels. Lunch of traditional Spanish classics in the pretty, vine-covered courtyard of the Hotel America could make for a pleasant day out up here without doing any additional sightseeing.

For a bargain €7 you can buy a ticket that gets you in to all the buildings and gardens besides the three main Nasrid Palaces: notably the Generalife, the Alcazar, the Partal gardens and the palace of Charles V. Discovering this on your own, however, is unlikely. Google searches, Trip Advisor discussion groups and the Alhambra's own web site were no help; it took the city's tourism office to point me in the right direction. (The ticket booking page for this option is within the Alhambra's main web site, but not obvious to find.)

The Generalife is, at least judging from pictures of the Nasrid Palace interiors, a representative slice of both the architecture and the gardens you'd find in the main attraction. The gardens leading up to, and within the courtyard of, the residential villa overflow with colour in late April. Wisteria, iris, snapdragons, salvia, poppies and more are laid out to imitate the colour patterns of oriental rugs. At the end of a long courtyard with a water channel down the centre, flowers on each side and an arched arcade to the left giving dramatic views over the valley below, stands a pavilion covered with stone so intricately carved it's almost writhing. Indeed, it is partially alive as small songbirds live in and on the screen, piping a merry tune as you explore. The hall, niches, windows and ceiling beyond offer so much decorative detail to study it would take you a lifetime to properly see it all.

The Alcazar, at the other end of the Albambra complex, is the oldest part and was the military bit. What it lacks in decorative detail it makes up for in views from its towers.

In between, the Partal Gardens are similar to the Generalife (more gardens with water features terminating in a screen of ornamental architecture with views over the valley below), though the gardens here at this time of year are less impressive; mostly box-hedged parterres filled with plants that will be at their height later in the summer. At the bottom of this garden is the oratorio, a small chapel built into the outer walls with a jaw-dropping interior (below).

The Nasrid Palace tours end in this garden, while above it looms the much later palace of Charles V.Sitting on the streets of Madrid, Florence or Vienna it would be a gem: all Late Rennaisance bulk, elegance and classicism, the exterior cube made interesting by a massive, round internal courtyard with a double colonnade. Here, the Western style feels a clumsy, oversized interloper against the Islamic flights of fancy. Inside, there's an art collection upstairs and a museum of Nasrid finds below. Even without entry to the Nasrid Palaces, however, we had run out of the energy needed to explore these.

The decorative density of both the architecture and the gardens is so overwhelming up here that it burns your brain energy quickly. We just couldn't take in any more and appreciate it properly. I can't imagine that many of those who manage to get the Nasrid Palace tickets have both the time and the concentration to fully appreciate the rest of the site. Based on what I know now, I would book one of the organised evening tours to the palace and book the ticket for the Generalife et al as a second, daytime visit. If you're not that serious about the architecture, the sample you get in the €7 ticket may be enough for you.

From a visitor experience point of view, the Alhambra's ticketing strategy does seem to be working. Though the main Generalife garden and the courtyard outside the Nasrid Palaces were packed, we only waited in a few queues and the crowds were never so big as to destroy the experience. In most cases, stepping aside and waiting a few minutes would give me a clear, people-free shot of most things I wanted to photograph. This may be the future of all Tier 1 tourist sites. Thoughtful planning and advance booking will become essential. It will be helpful, of course, if attraction web sites make that clear.