Streets of Granada... Hasta La Ahlambra

After a coffee in a plaza of the Albacin, I allowed myself to absently meander through the ancient alleys, drifting with the lofty doves and baking in the rising sun. The shade of these short passageways is the subtle genius of urban development before the birth of wide axil carriages and automobiles.
The markets below the Albacin, along el Camino de Reyes y la Gran Avenida, sagg back into webs of similar bazaars interspersed beneath the fading taughtness of worn tapestries.
As I walked I found Deja Vu at every corner, echoes of past adventures in the very buildings and courtyards through which I passed.























Note: The "bazaars" or "mercados" of Granada are stocked with textiles made in NEPAL.

With my new lime green linen pants around my ankles, I dropped the tapas from the night before in the hostel bathroom. "Due to a water shortage in the region, please do not shower for longer than 147 seconds."

After airing out up on the rooftop patio with Dora (a steady wanderer, euro-hosteller, crafting a living out of what she absorbs from the itinerant artisans on the road) and Alex (bearded seeker, cane and stone in hande, carving and uncovering the ancient holy pilgramige of epochs past) from Germany and Switzerland, dreaming of ancient bells and black sand beaches together, finding total relaxation within a moment of silence as a primal tone strikes certain chords within me and I set out towards La Ahlambra.