Painted by sun and shadow, the city of Granada spills from the hills to the valley below. If I die in this place I will have at least done something right. This city has stolen my heart, and I could go on and open with this poetic nonsense, but Jasmine (the one taking all these dope photos) tells me that I must inform you that, “free tapas exist here, like real ones!”

I promise I will get there (and give you the same advice our newfound friend Valentine gave us), but back to the story…

The hills above Granada are dominated by the fort-turned-mosque-turned-palace of Alhambra. It’s red bricks catching sire in the setting sun reflect on the streets below. The entirety of the city seems ready to rise from its foundations and be carried off by the music that breathes from every corner. In the main square, balconies resonate with and reflect the intricacies of nylon strings as some far off voice tumbles down the valley, searching for its lost love.

With souls and bellies hungry we hit the streets. We found satisfaction for the latter in a place called Los Diamantes (Valentine’s suggestion). My only addition to his top would be to order a beer and see what appears before you. The golden batter on fresh anchovies and other things pulled from the sea matches that of the local Alhambra (go figure) local beer. Barely able to pull ourselves away, we found some more substantial snacks at Los Manueles (thanks again Valentine!), which has the best croquettes in Spain. I am totally willing to stand by that statement, if anyone wants to fight about it.

Besides Alhambra, which we’ll post about in a little while, the most important thing to do is make your way to Sacromonte.

Sacromonte - the Gypsy Quarter - a neighborhood literally carved into the rock, built by blood and passion, and legitimized through determination and an enduring love of the land. The caves that the people here call home create the acoustics for what you came all this way to see: Flamenco.

I’ll let Henry Miller say it:

“To sing you must first open your mouth. You must have a pair of lungs, and a little knowledge of music. It is not necessary to have an accordion or a guitar. The essential thing is to want to sing. This then is a song. I am singing.”

Flamenco is the sound of the soul. Six strings tear at the heart, while the rhythm is pounded out by hand and fist. The sounds bounce off of the cavern walls, which can barely contain the universal language of love and loss, longing and belonging.

Whatever else you do here, pay the 20-25 euro to see one of these shows, I would specifically recommend Zambra Maria la Canastera. She is a badass. You also get a free sangria with the show too. If you are looking for something cheap (go home then), just remember this is how these people make a living. Art is work. Art makes the world a better place. Make sure it stays that way. Also, whatever else you do while at this show, don’t act like you are at a goddamn museum. Let the intoxicating swirl of sound take your soul away to where lost lovers find their way home and the heart converses in the universal language of music.

Semi-drunk on sangria and the night air, we let the streets of Granada lead the way. If you can’t find whatever it is you are looking for here, I don’t know if you ever will.