Now I know why Toledo has no water – Granada has it all! I spent the entire day at the Alhambra. An ancient Moorish royal palace, it overlooks the city and is filled with fountains and little liquid statues, walkways with rivulets flowing from stairs and gardens, even pouring down banisters. Rooms lead into rooms, courtyards, gardens and yet more rooms. And always the soothing sound of water. I roamed and let it touch all the alleys of my soul, often stopping to read in somewhere hidden, encircled by liquid. Right now it’s Washington Irving’s tales, fitting as he spent so much time here himself. 
I was the last one to leave. With the gates closing behind me, I peered in one last time, not wanting to rush too quickly back into the modern world. Taking small lanes back, twisting alleys filled with gypsies and beggars, shopkeepers and fortunetellers, I went into a little shop and came away with a guitar. I don’t know quite why I bought it. I have no idea how to play it. I guess it seemed the sort of shop to go into here, and the rows of golden wood instruments hanging in the window looked so romantic. Inside there were two young men strumming softly, trying out the newly finished mechanics, and I suddenly found myself with one placed in my hands, feeling its smooth sides and cool neck. I never even questioned its possession. The air seems to move through it like breath, and its strings talked to me. It makes me feel you are near somehow, whispering in my ear. 
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