And so, I am ending my Virtual Adventure of Spain in Granada. His Granada.
Him, of course, being Federico del Sagrado Corazón de Jesús García Lorca. His poetry has followed me throughout my journey until I end here. Just as his life began here, it would end here on August 18, 1936 at 38 years old. Death by Militia Firing Squad accused of opposing Francisco Franco's Rebellion.
"The City of Lorca."
Everywhere there are tributes to the poet/artist.
His childhood home and the home he would maintain as a young man are now open to the public. Tourist attractions.
Currently finishing The Gypsy Ballads, which you can read here...
http://www.bpj.org/PDF/V02N1.pdf#zoom=100&page=32
Ferreting out the line- often quoted by Mayes
"Green, as I would have you, Green.
Green Wind.
Green Branches."
Part of his ballad composed to a gypsy.
So, Granada...the name itself being the Spanish word for Pomegranates. And they are everywhere. Ripening in the trees, carved into sculpture and buildings, in the paintings and sold as ornamental jewellery and trinkets. Ruby red and bursting with seeds. Mixed in with perfumes and body lotions. I have selected an enamelled and crystal trinket box shaped like the fruit to purchase, as a souvenir of the city. It will arrive in a few weeks.
Online gift-shop, of course.
The Alhambra Palace sits majestic at the foot of the snow topped. Sierra Mountain Range.
And is resplendent with both history and beautiful gardens.
Inside its fortress like courtyard is a city within a city.
And I listen to Angel Barrios. Mentioned in Mayes book and apparently available for purchase in the Alhambra Giftshop.
https://youtu.be/gZBrEzLM2Y8
Where the 21st Century infiltrates Moorish Beginnings, with guided tours and tickets.
(...remembering for a moment...a friend's real time trek to Beirut, Lebanon where he was privileged enough to climb the endless stairs to the 7th century Mar Sarkus Hermitage (and Kahlil Gibran's tomb). When I asked, awe-struck, what it was like--he shook his head and replied sadly, and a bit bitterly
"They've turned the whole place into a fucking K-Mart."
K-Mart was always our euphemism for commercial sprawl.
Think Gatlinburg. Yeah...I'll pass. )
Even in death, Lorca was not left to rest in peace. His body was purportedly buried near an olive grove near the Fountain of Tears. When the family attempted to exhume the poet much later; they found the grave was empty. His body never found.
Awaiting a taste of the three distinctive Spanish Jamon (ham...the Spanish take their PIG very seriously...) soon...and then saying goodbye to Spain.
It has been a wonderful adventure!
More anon...
