Granada...It's Pure Poetry ; Alexei Sayle Is Enthralled by Spain's Flamenco City ... And Its Tragic 'John Lennon'of Literature

Summary

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THERE are only three cities in the world that I know well: London, Liverpool and Granada. My house in Spain is about 16 miles from Granada, almost exactly halfway between it and the coast. Generally we visit the city only to shop at one of the giant hypermarkets on the ring road for things such as toilet brushes, to see lawyers concerning endless wrangles over property rights, or else to take a quick turn around the Alhambra or the cathedral with family or friends who have come to stay.

So the idea of passing a couple of days in Granada as a regular tourist, spending proper time viewing the sights, going where I wouldn't normally go, is a novel one.

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Granada...It's Pure Poetry ; Alexei Sayle Is Enthralled by Spain's Flamenco City ... And Its Tragic 'John Lennon'of Literature

First of all, we swing past the city on the ring road, heading north to a flat plain called the Vega de Granada. On our left, as we dodge in and out of the six lanes of traffic just outside the city limits, there is evidence that the Spanish building boom has truly imploded: a giant shopping mall abandoned in mid-construction sits forlorn in the dust. Its marble panels have begun to drop off its metal frame and it already appears more ancient than the Alhambra, which looks imperiously down on it from the opposite...

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