By Debi Lander
On a recent trip to Spain, I reserved one day to explore Granada, a city steeped in history and home to one of Spain’s most treasured landmarks: the Alhambra. From Seville, I boarded a group tour bus before dawn for the three-hour ride, groggy but excited.
Our first stop was the Albaicín, Granada’s oldest neighborhood—a former Moorish quarter of whitewashed houses, flower-filled balconies and steep cobblestone alleys. Unfortunately, it was pouring rain, but we still wandered through the labyrinthine streets. From a hilltop overlook, I gazed across the city and saw it at last: the Alhambra, sprawled across the ridge and silhouetted by the misty Sierra Nevada mountains. Even through the rain, the sight was stunning.
After lunch, we entered the Alhambra complex. My designated guide chose to begin in the Generalife, the vast gardens once used by Nasrid rulers as a summer retreat. The weather made it challenging: I found myself wiping my camera lens, dodging umbrellas, and trying to keep up with the fast-moving group. But despite the damp and distraction, the gardens worked their charm. Trimmed hedges, blooming flowers, and glimmering water channels created a peaceful oasis—even in the rain. The sound of running water, a hallmark of Islamic Garden design, added to the sense of tranquility.
Next, we entered the Nasrid Palaces, the architectural heart of the Alhambra. At the entrance, we were required to show our passports—a reminder of the site’s strict preservation. Here, our guide began unfolding the Alhambra’s remarkable story.
What began as a small fortress in the ninth century rose to greatness in the 13th and 14th centuries under the Nasrid dynasty, the last Muslim rulers of Spain. The complex became a self-contained royal city: palaces, mosques, military quarters, and gardens spread across the hilltop.
The Nasrid Palaces, built in the 1300s, are masterpieces of Islamic architecture—expressions of paradise on Earth. Inside, intricate stucco designs ripple like lace across the walls, archways frame the changing light, and water flows in sinuous patterns.
In 1492, the Catholic Monarchs, Ferdinand and Isabella, completed the Reconquista by capturing Granada. The Alhambra became their royal court—most famously the site where Christopher Columbus received approval for his voyage to the New World.
Centuries of change followed. Emperor Charles V demolished part of the Nasrid complex to build his Renaissance-style palace in the 1500s—a bold but jarring contrast to the Moorish delicacy. By the 18th century, the site had fallen into disrepair and was even used as military barracks. But in the 1830s, Romantic artists and writers, including Washington Irving, revived interest in the Alhambra, sparking preservation efforts that continue to this day.
In the Palace of the Lions, I paused to admire the famed Fountain of the Lions — 12 carved figures supporting a marble basin that once symbolized the cosmos. Light filtered through filigreed archways, casting patterns that danced across the floor. The Alhambra’s magic lies not in gold or grandeur, but in light, geometry and water, a quiet kind of majesty.
We ended at the Alcazaba, the fortress section of the complex. Though we didn’t have time to climb the tower, the view from the ramparts was enough. Below, Granada unfurled — a sea of terracotta rooftops, the golden dome of the cathedral, and the winding lanes of the Albaicín I’d walked that morning.
Gazing down, I was struck by a realization: the Alhambra is more than a historical site. It’s a living conversation between architecture and landscape, power and poetry, past and present.
Debi Lander is a freelance journalist and photographer specializing in travel, food and lifestyle. Her work has appeared in national and international publications such as Islands FoxNews, and AOL Travel.
