By telling us your country of residence we are able to provide you with the most relevant travel insurance information.
Please note that not all content is translated or available to residents of all countries. Contact us for full details.
Shares
Exploration is a thrill I’ve always sought, and Granada did not disappoint. I left my host mother after lunch, deciding to see more of the city. I crossed the river Genil and took my route to Carrera del Darro, the road that runs alongside the river Darro. This is one of the most marvelous places in Granada, situated between the maze-like Albaicín and the fortress Alhambra sitting and watching up on a hill. It’s a small road, barely room enough for one car, and passersby hug the walls on either side. Along this little road, I followed el río, until it became the infamous Paseo de los Tristes. On Paseo de los Tristes, there’s a shift in the air. Perhaps it’s because of its haunting name or the antiquity of the area, but, at the end of the road, I felt a call. I walked to the very end where your only choice is to go left, right, or back. So, left or right? Going right would lead me up into the Albaicín on a steep cobblestone road where the sidewalks turn into stairs. I’d been up that road once before and knew I’d be lost within minutes. Since I was alone, I looked right. With no idea where I was going or where this led, I crossed a small bridge over el Darro, took a left, and followed the dirt road. Puddles of water and mud left craters in the road. I remember wishing good luck to my shoes. For a while, there was nothing but the view ahead until I stumbled upon a large polished and engraved stone. A poem! And then another and another. Poem after poem as I walked. Beautiful words even though I struggled to translate some. I continued to walk and read until the rock poems disappeared and the path became even muddier, narrower, and somewhat dangerous. I thought about turning around. There’s no way people can come down here, so was this it? Was it just the poems? Should I go further? I knew it was a risk because, if I slipped, I would crash through trees and bushes on my way down a steep ledge. My inner explorer wanted to go on while my voice of reason screamed to go back, but how could I give up the adventure? Grabbing onto a small plant whose root system would probably not catch me, I crossed over safely and continued. If I looked far down to the left, I could see plots of farmland where there were horses and green grass. To my right was a natural dirt and rock wall. In the distance ahead, I made out mountains and an old abbey. Slowly the steep dirt wall gave way to hillsides, and it was then I saw the color blue. Looking up at the hill, there was a tarp. It was a blue tarp covering a structure, an entry way. Realization hit. When I first arrived in Granada, I went walking with my group. Our coordinator, Curra, took us circuitously through el Sacromonte. It was there that she showed us a unique way of life: for hundreds of years, there were people living in hillside caves. And, it was here, in this moment, that I realized I had just come across more. That blue tarp was a part of someone’s home, and there wasn’t just one. In a photo I took from far away, I counted at least four caves. Four homes. This was a world outside of any I knew, and I had the privilege to see it all personally. I tried not to gawk as I observed. Plastic furniture made up little patios for people to sit outside, and there were some people out enjoying the sun. Some had bicycles or motorcycles leaning against the rocks. It was a life I wish I knew more about. I continued as far as I felt I could. At this point, it was like I’d left the city completely. I’m not sure how much further the path went or where it ended up, but it was finally time to turn back. The exploration for that day was over.