I was in a bad mood.

Chris and I had just travelled on a rather luxurious bus from Seville to Granada and now we were on a local bus to our hotel. It had been fairly empty when we stepped on but now all manner of humanoids were compressed into strange shapes in order to fit into the tiny spaces remaining. Although this space would usually be reserved for air to breathe, it was obviously a luxury on this bus.

When the bus lurched to a halt at our stop, we were so hopelessly crammed in that moving would probably have unsettled the laws of thermodynamics, thus making the bus explode in a fiery ball.

After removing a small child's boot from my mouth and an old lady's hand from my crotch (which I'm sure was no accident), we managed to heave and push our way to the door which promptly shut before we could escape. The bus sped away with us still on it, wondering what the Spanish was for stop! Thankfully, there was a big red button that requested the bus to stop, so full of hope I pushed it. Lo and behold, the bus did set us down - a mile and a half away at the next bloody stop.

Cursing vehemently, I pushed my way through the doors dragging children and old people in my wake. My back pack was feeling as heavy as my ire.

Chris said, "Oh well, we'll just have to walk back." He was correct in his stoicism (as I usually am), but this time I was inexplicably fuming. I don't get angry often and it never lasts long but while it exists it burns fiercely. There was only one thing for it. I had to stomp.

I stomped up the hill that the bus had just driven down. Then I stomped down a busy shopping street. Next I stomped down a tree lined business thoroughfare. Do you get the picture? Before I knew it, we had reached our destination and my face had reverted from a grisly purple to its usual deathly pallor.

It was just as well as the Casa Martin apartments where we were to live for the next 3 days was easily the best accommodation we had stayed in so far. Suddenly, we had the freedom to cook our own food which was fantastic, and the apartment was smart and comfortable.

We headed into town and scouted around. There was nothing out of the ordinary apart from a spice market by the Cathedral which exuded all kinds of wonderful smells as you drifted past it. Oh, and this shop caught my eye for some reason.

The first night we decided to hit the town with a bang and what a night it was! We went down to Elvira street, just one street away from us which is one of the main drinking thoroughfares in Granada. Our first stop was the Hamelin Bar and it turned out to be our last too.

It started out a little slowly. But this is Spain and it was 9:30 - dinnertime! Gradually the pace picked up as we necked the Ron Palido (Spanish rum) in huge quantities.

The barman was a busy and likable chap called Luka. He was Argentinean and didn't speak much English, but as I had travelled around Argentina, we got chatting using a mixture of broken English, poor Spanish and excellent sign language.

Then we spoke to Sammy, one of the owners of the bar who had a great sense of humour, and the beautiful Malu who I clicked with almost immediately. The drinks flowed along with the conversation and before we knew it, it was five in the morning. Where had the time gone? Sammy had already locked the bar up and we five were all that remained of the evening’s throng. Chris and I reluctantly retired, but it was great being in a place where the local people were so friendly, lively and interesting! it was even worth the appalling hangover that bounced around my skull like a rock in a washing machine the next day.

The next two days in Granada was spent taking a holiday from the holiday, and it was great: exploring a bit, watching a couple of movies, the usual downtime activities. But before we left, we visited Granada's jewel in the crown: the Alhambra.

On the steep climb up to the Alhambra, old gypsy women would hang around offering fresh herbs as a gift. Chris and I would firmly say no, and I later found out that if you took the herbs, the women would grab your hand, read your fortune and demand payment.

When we got to the top and entered the compound, it didn’t seem too impressive at first. My cousin Jan had raved about the place, but I couldn’t see what she was on about. However, like anything worthwhile, it took some time for the place to grab me and once it had, it sunk its claws in and bit deep.

The Alhambra is a collection of buildings from different periods of history. Like the Alcazar in Seville, it contains a 9th century Moorish fort called the Nasrid Palace. This had been crafted palatially in the 14th century as it had remained independent until then and has been remarkably restored after being abandoned to beggars and thieves in the 18th century. It stands alongside later buildings built for Spanish royalty such as the Alcazaba – a castle which is now pretty much a ruin - and the beautiful Renaissance Palace, the Palacio de Carlos V.

Palacio de Carlos V (yes – around this time I bought Autostitch for the iPhone).

The pictures below illustrate how special a historical site this is. One can only wonder at the hours of craftsmanship that went into producing the elaborate details of the archways and tiling, the many hands that laboured to ensure all of the measurements were accurate and all of the earthworks moved to perfection, the extraordinary minds that conceived and planned this modern wonder of the world.

It was a shame to leave Granada. It was a really chilled out town with a real fun side to it, great people, and gem of a historical site. As we were leaving, Chris and I both raved about how it had been the best place we had visited, and I silently vowed that one day I would return. Little did I know how soon that would be.