Granada Is One of Spain’s Hidden Jewels—With Incredible Tapas, Lush Gardens, and Thrilling Flamenco

The rain came early that winter and didn’t stop. Scotland, where I live, is known for its miserable weather, but this was something different. The pavements were peppered with deep puddles, and grassy areas wilted into mud. It felt as though we hadn’t seen the sun in months. I would sit in my apartment, watching droplets trickle down the windows, and find myself googling Andalusia—checking the weather there, looking at photos of sunny plazas and orange trees. My wife, Megan, and I had been to the coastal city of Málaga a couple of times, and in 2018 spent our honeymoon in beautiful Seville, but we had missed out on Granada. 

Friends had described the city as the jewel of southern Spain. I knew it to be a historic center of Muslim and Jewish culture and the home of the Alhambra, but I learned that it had an even richer heritage. It is known for flamenco music and dance, for tapas, and as the hometown of the celebrated poet and playwright Federico García Lorca. Megan and I researched the trip online, sending links back and forth when we were supposed to be replying to work emails, before finally booking our flights. 

In April, we landed in Málaga and rode the train an hour and a half inland. I had read that the Italian filmmaker Sergio Leone’s “spaghetti westerns” were filmed not in the American West but outside Granada, in the Tabernas Desert, and I was expecting an arid landscape of sand and stone. I couldn’t have been more wrong. In springtime, the fields were verdant and the hills were covered with thousands of olive trees. 

Our arrival in Granada was spectacular, with a vista of snowcapped mountains giving way to the ancient city tucked between them. The train cuts a path directly into the urban center, so we could step from the carriage to the platform and stroll straight into one of the cultural centers of Andalusia. Blue skies, sunshine, and a gorgeous dry heat: It was as if our palette had been flipped, from the flat gray of Scotland to the vivid, full spectrum of color we had been missing for so many months.

It was immediately apparent that we had come to a place that was both ancient and contemporary. Stylish boulevards with expensive boutiques were punctuated by winding cobblestoned streets and secluded terraced gardens. We stayed near the Granada Cathedral, at the Palacio Gran Vía. A recent and welcome addition to the city, the Palacio is housed in an old bank built around the turn of the 20th century, and many of the original features are still intact: the tellers’ stalls; the mechanisms of an old safe. Our room had a Juliet balcony overlooking the cathedral, from which we could watch people potter about in the street below.

It was tempting to hang around on the balcony or at the rooftop bar, but we made our way across the street to the Royal Chapel and the tombs of Ferdinand and Isabella, the king and queen who are so integral to the history of this city. Heroes for some, villains for others, the so-called “Catholic monarchs” conquered the Muslim emirate of Granada in 1492, when Emir Boabdil surrendered the keys to the Alhambra to the royal couple. Shortly afterward, Jews were expelled from the city; Muslims were pushed out over the ensuing years.

We had lunch at a place called Restaurante Oliver and sat outside, delighted to be in a climate where this was possible. Oliver serves raciones rather than smaller tapas, so it made sense to share them. We ordered croquettes, gazpacho, and a plate of fried red mullet that was crisp on the outside and succulent on the inside. Our lunch was so good that we returned the next day, but nearly made a mistake by ordering the tortilla sacromonte, which we had assumed would be an unchallenging concoction of potatoes and eggs. Some instinct prompted us to look it up on our phones, and we discovered that this local delicacy is made with lamb’s brains and testicles. We quickly changed our order.

Megan and I ventured toward the district of Albaicín, through narrow cobblestoned streets lined with shops that sold local crafts. Our progress was slow, because we stopped frequently to admire leather goods and smell spices. We took the road by the Darro River, which is more of a burbling mountain stream—as Lorca wrote, “through the waters of Granada / only sighs can row.” Then we climbed uphill, past bright, whitewashed houses and churches that used to be mosques, toward the Mirador de San Nicolás, a plaza from which we took in sumptuous views of the Alhambra. 

Back at the hotel, we made use of the spa, which has its own rose-scented hammam, before going up to the rooftop bar for pre-dinner drinks. Cava for Megan and sherry for me—a variety called Manzanilla, which is beautifully dry and best served cold. We sat back in our loungers and sipped our drinks beneath the dipping sun.

I’ve traveled enough in Europe to have seen more basilicas than I can count, but Granada Cathedral is breathtaking. It was built in the 16th century, and I was expecting the inside to be dark and austere. So I was pleasantly surprised when we were greeted by an interior filled with light and sparkling with gold from the altarpieces that lined the nave.

From there we ventured to the Alhambra, one of the most exquisite and best-preserved palace complexes of the medieval Islamic world. Building on the site commenced in the 13th century under the instruction of Ibn al-Ahmar, the first member of the Nasrid family to be emir of Granada, and the sprawling compound was used by the emirs until Isabella and Ferdinand conquered the city in 1492. We began with the terraced section known as Generalife, which is filled with ramparts, fountains, and rose gardens. In April, the gardens were full of pinks and yellows and whites, all framed by views of the palace, the city, or the high mountains. 

From there, we made our way slowly toward the Nasrid palaces. I’ve been to the Taj Mahal, to Machu Picchu, to Florence’s Duomo: the Nasrid palaces are up there with the best. As we walked through the courtyards and rooms replete with Arabic calligraphy and geometric designs on every surface, people around us gasped. Walking around slowly, gazing out into the sun-drenched courtyards, it was easy to imagine ourselves in the court of the Nasrid emirs.

We had sampled the neighborhood cafes and tapas bars, but we had read that contemporary Granadan cuisine can compete at the highest possible level. So that evening, we dined at Faralá, one of the most celebrated restaurants in the region. The 10 stylish courses included an absurdly succulent leek dressed in beurre blanc and lamb that had been cooked for three days. 

Lidia Outeda, the front-of-house manager, told me she was so passionate about the restaurant that she had moved from Seville to Granada just to work there. She began as a waitress, but after extensive training was promoted to sommelier. “There is so much nearby,” she told me. “In the past, Spain was famous for red wines, and we still have many of those. But in the last few years, white wines have become more prominent. And there’s always sherry—my favorite is Amontillado.” 

The next morning, Megan and I walked through freshly rinsed streets to the Hammam Al Ándalus for full-body massages and a dip in the scented pools. This public hammam has the feel of a traditional Muslim-era Andalusian bath, but we both preferred the quiet, private version back at the Palacio Gran Vía. We left relaxed and ready for a walk up another hill—this time to the public gardens surrounding Carmen de los Mártires. Granada was so much greener than I had expected, at least in April. Gardens are found throughout the city, and none is complete without a burbling fountain. At Carmen de los Mártires, peacocks displayed their multicolored plumes while drinking from tiled pools and hopped between beds of exotic flowers.

We wanted to sample some traditional tapas and do it the way the locals do it—standing or sitting on high stools at the bar, ordering a drink, and waiting to see what small morsels are brought out to accompany it. This style of eating used to be typical across Spain, but Granada is one of the few cities where they still serve tapas this way; almost everywhere else, patrons have to order from a menu.

First we went to Bar Casa Julio, which we found down an unassuming side street not far from the cathedral. There were some tables outside, but the cozy, wood-paneled interior made it feel authentic. At the bar, Megan ordered a caña, a small glass of the house lager, while I got a sherry. We sipped our drinks and peered eagerly toward the kitchen to see what would arrive. Out came a plate of fried white fish with a sweet dipping sauce. 

At La Tana, in the Realejo neighborhood, we ordered the same drinks and received a tomato salad and a small plate of white sausage. It’s possible to get lost doing this all afternoon, moving from bar to bar, having a drink at each, and waiting to see what comes out of the kitchen. But we had eaten our fill—and had certainly drunk more than we usually would in the middle of the day. 

That evening, we were due to see some flamenco up the hill in Sacromonte. Music and dance (the two are inseparable) are southern Spain’s most famous cultural exports, and in 2010, UNESCO declared flamenco an Intangible Heritage of Humanity. There are shows all over the city, but the one at Venta El Gallo was recommended by the staff at the Palacio Gran Vía. We decided to walk, and did so slowly, stopping to wander around the garden of Carmen de la Victoria, an estate built in 1944 in the traditional style. 

The show was held in one of the whitewashed caves carved into the hillside, which were adopted by the Romani people and others seeking refuge in the 16th century. A standout feature of this district, they are cool spaces. Many have been converted into restaurants, taverns, or artisan’s shops, but people still live in some of them, and others are available as vacation rentals. Over the course of an hour, a virtuosic guitarist, a singer, and three dancers performed a program of mournful music and percussive dance, their faces set in serious frowns—an integral part of the performance. It is important to note that flamenco is not a historical artifact, but living culture, and we really did get the sense that the performers were showing us something that was deeply important to them—something they would be doing even if there weren’t tourists like us watching.

On our last morning, we visited the Centro Federico García Lorca, a museum dedicated to the playwright and poet who was born and raised in the nearby village of Fuente Vaqueros before moving to Granada at age 11. He frequently wrote of the city in adoring terms. Killed by fascists during the Spanish Civil War when he was only 38, Lorca left behind an astonishing body of work: multiple collections of poems as well as plays, such as Yerma and The House of Bernarda Alba. Browsing displays of literary ephemera isn’t for everyone, but for my partner and me—a professor of literature and a writer, respectively—it was heaven. I have loved Lorca since school, when I studied Yerma, so was pleased to finally pay homage to the great man. We perused displays of poems, letters, and drawings, and left wishing his library had been open to the public, too. 

Lorca wrote that “Granada has no defenses against the people, because nobody can defend themselves from praise.” We had gone to Spain in search of sunshine, good food, and rich culture, and we had found a perfect mélange of history and vitality, haute cuisine and informal morsels, old and new architectural styles. And, of course, blue skies and a brightly shining sun.