Once Upon a Time in Granada.

I remember Granada well, both of them. The first was built by Ford Motor Company and was a lemon. The second was a city in Spain, which I remember more fondly.

A few years ago my wife and I were traveling in Spain and visited the city of Granada. We were to visit the Capella Real, the royal chapel,  of the Granada Cathedral. It was a beautiful morning and we stopped by a coffee shop for a breakfast. The shop was crowded with well-dressed Spaniards on their way to work no doubt.  The shop had the modern look of lots of glass and chrome. However, there were about seventy-five hams hanging from the ceiling. The Spanish seem to have a love affair with the rear end of the pig. Each has a small cup attached to it to capture the drippings of this Spanish delicacy as it continues to age.  Jamon, i.e. Spanish cured ham, can reach seventy euros per kilo in selling price. But we had a cream filled pastry and cafe con leche. It was a short walk to the Cathedral of Granada past a building demolition project. Like all attractions the entrance is crowded by those pesky vendors. They want to sell you postcards, food, and souvenirs of all kinds.  Here I was, we were, accosted by the gypsy women. The fortunetellers.  My grandmother had always told me to keep away from gypsies. She said they would steal children. Well, I wasn't a child anymore. All gypsy women seemed to look the same, long black hair tied back. Many had wrinkled faces. They wore long skirts and had shawls and aprons. They would grab your hand and attempt to read your palm.   If you said you did not speak Spanish they would switch to broken English. Then they would press a piece of rosemary in your hand, tell your fortune, and demand  five euros. We escaped and had curses screamed at us in Spanish. But I remained curious. The curses did not hurt. I wondered about the survival rate of those cursed by gypsies.

The entrance to the Catedral de Granada was more like a tourist attraction than a place of worship, but then we were tourists. One of the cathedral's claims to fame is the final resting place of perhaps Spain's most famous couple. Of course we Americans remember Queen Isabella because she borrowed the money, probably from the Medicis of Florence, using her jewelry for collateral to finance an Italian sea captain's voyage of discovery. That sea captain was Christopher Columbus, who is given credit for discovering America. However, Isabella of Castile and Ferdinand of Aragon united Spain. They were also responsible for driving the Moors out of Spain. Their tomb is the center of interest in the cathedral. The tomb features the supine figures of the king and queen lying beside each other on a stone bed as high as the average man is tall. The effigies are very lifelike, with Ferdinand in his armor.

"You know they say that she was smarter than he was," Claudette announced.

"Really?" said I.

"They say that's why she is taller than he is, " She said.

We taook four steps down into the crypt underneath the reclining sculptures of the king and queen.
The monarchs remains are in simple lead caskets. I had been giving the idea of the queen being smarter some thought  and voiced my opinion, "I know why they say that Queen Isabella was smarter."

"Why?" Claudette wanted to know.

"It's simple really.  She financed Columbus's trip to discover America," I said.

She did not respond.  We enjoyed looking at the ornate interior of the Catedral de Granada a while longer before stepping back into the brilliant morning sunlight. 

Once again the gypsies were upon us. Grabbing, touching, feeling us.  I instinctively clutched my

camera and phone. I don't carry a wallet but keep money, credit cards, and passport in a money belt.  I found these women to be quite strong. So, I finally agreed to have my fortune told. Yes, I did pay five euros for it and got that sprig of rosemary pressed into my hand. She said I would have long life and good luck. All of this was to the chagrin of my dear wife. I said, "Okay, okay, I'm easy!"

"And she wasn't even pretty!" Claudette said.  She was citing my penchant for being an easy mark for a pretty face. That charge I can't really deny. However, my response was, "I know, but how many times do you have a chance to have your fortune told by an authentic Spanish gypsy fortune teller?" She did not continue to ridicule me.

We had decided to take a mini-bus to the Moorish part of the city for lunch but had a few blocks to walk to the bus stop. Along the way we went through an area where some demolition was taking place. We stepped carefully around the debris. Suddenly I heard a yell in Spanish, isounding like a warning, and a huge piece of concrete and stone hit the sidewalk just a few feet from me. I jumped at the sudden noise as the ground seemed to shake. I felt tiny bits of stone hitting my face. When I realized how close I had been to sudden death I felt something clutched in my right hand.

 It was that sprig of rosemary!