The Land of the Pomegranates
|View of Sierra Nevada (from the Barrio Realejo).|
|Inside the Alhambra|
The two weeks leading up to Christmas, my friend Willa and I were not hotfooting around Oxford street, no! Granada was our destination and an intensive Spanish course our agenda. (Yes, our parents made us stay in separate homestays too.) As they say, the only way to properly learn a language, is to go to the country! So off we went: having trekked through thick snow with our suitcases, ran through the whole airport terminal with ten minutes before take off, we luckily caught our flight to the land of palm trees and pomegranates.
It sounds exotic, but really it was freezing. Everyday we had classes with people from all over the world, all trying to speak Spanish to each other and all clad in thick puffas Eskimos would wear, around a large desk. Lessons weren't conventional in the sense that we sat down and wrote for hours. No, it was more like a constant game of charades: To explain what a cucaracha (a cockroach) was, we had mummy impersonations, screaming and our teacher performed crawling twitching motions on the floor!
A few days in, after frequenting the hipster music bar several nights in a row for sangrias and tapas, we found ourselves more at home in the city. And we didn't have to use Google Maps so much, which saved Willa from stepping in another dog poo. The Alhambra was beautiful and its views looking over the white Sierra Nevada were stunning. The Arabic teashops were something we'd never seen before. Granada isn't just an Instagram-genic place, it's a lively feast of culture.
|Museo de los tiros|
|Street in the Barrio Realejo|