Real life, Granada

It was a lovely Saturday afternoon in Sevilla. The previous day's thunderstorms had lowered the temperature to a surprisingly pleasant 30 degrees or so, as compared to the city's typical summer days of 35-40. I sat outside at a restaurant along with new UC friends Gayatri and Anna, and Javi, their friend from Granada. The food was wonderful: salmorejo (a thicker version of the better known cold soup gazpacho), fried eggplants with honey, spinach with chickpeas, potatoes with mildly spicy sauce, and a jar of sangria. A nearby musician played the guitar and sang, hoping for a few coins. All along the sidewalk were umbrella-covered tables and colorfully tiled buildings. It was blissful and perfect. "Doesn't it feel like you're in Disneyland?" Javi asked us. Sort of. No, I realized. This feels amazing, but this is real. I'm living in a country where the old city centers actually look like this and eating out during a weekend feels like this. Until now, I haven't been altogether there, neither in Cadiz nor in my travels. Now, I am mentally here. This, alongside today's observation that the sunshine in Granada is the same as in Davis (which is surprising given that Granada is at 2000 feet higher elevation) made me feel at peace and at home.

Granada is covered in spray-paint art. I am reluctant to call it graffiti. Every storefront has a metal cover that slides down when the store closes during siesta and in the evening, and most stores have painted theirs with a representative piece of artwork. Some are literal: a bakery with a display of pastries, a glasses store with a glamorous woman wearing a classy pair. Some are unrelated and just pretty, such as a scene from nature. Needless to say, when the city shuts down, wandering the streets provides a different, but equally beautiful experience. But this art isn't limited to storefronts. Imagine a graffiti-laden part of an urban city--SF, Oakland, you name it. Imagine all those walls, murals, sides of buildings, alleys, covered in scrawled letters and some more intricate designs. Now, imagine that instead of aesthetically questionable scribbles, the walls become canvases for artwork: intricate, realistic faces, abstract scenes, surrealist figures conveying political messages. The best ones will use elements of the building, such as cracks, holes in the wall, or air vents as the foundation of the scene. Here, I will break my "go look at my pictures on Facebook" principle to show you one piece that does all of the above.

For you non-Spanish speakers: "Homes without people, people without homes, street that talks!"

Of course, I have more to explain about this city, but that's all the blog-energy I have for now.