When I was a kid, one of my favourite books was "1,001 Arabian Nights," the compendium of tales from which "Aladdin and the Magic Lamp" and "Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves" came from. It had the picture of an olive-skinned guy on the cover, wearing a fez, moustache and balloon pants. I probably read it 1,001 times.
Of course, no one who was Spanish looked like that in Granada, probably not since the Christians invaded the city and the Spanish Inquisition burned Moors at the stake in Plaza Bib-Ramla. But the city is still magical -- I believe there is a secret under every cobblestone and a genie in every lamp. You needed that magic, particularly if you were a cab driver dashing your Peugeot through narrow, winding streets at 60 km/h on stick shift.
The Alhambra is amazing, more so than the Alcazar in Sevilla. The UNESCO World Heritage Site committee can't be wrong. Strolling through throne rooms and harems, I kept thinking about sultans, scimitars and Scheherazade. I wish they had done a better job of preserving each chamber as they looked when in their prime, just like at Versailles. The only thing that remained was a wash bowl at the entrance of every room, for the cleansing of feet in true Muslim tradition. Allah giveth, and Allah taketh.
I rubbed a few lamps in the touristy shopping district of Alcaeria, a former Moorish quarter that used to be a Muslim silk exchange. No genies appeared, though -- I think it's because they knew one of my three wishes would be for a Cubs World Series championship next year.
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