That I Am Grateful

Love creeps up to you in unexpected places.

To me it came in a campsite in Marbella, amongst the laughter and company of friends and little children. In the sea of people I knew and knew not, I have found a kindred spirit whose culture and life experiences differed from mine but who might as well have been cast from the same mold.

If I were less romantic, I would have called it by its proper name - positive assortative mating - but being of the literary kind, I would prefer a meeting of soulmates. But because many people find love like that, it doesn't make us more or less special.

Yet over a decade later it still fascinates me how in the many subjects of social and political importance, more often than not, my views are shared and validated by the same person whose perspective matters to me the most.

Are we together because we are like each other? 

Or are we like each other because we are together? 

How much of the other person have we become? 

Where do you end and me begins?

For sure, we are no longer the same people we were in our reckless 20's, where a whirlwind romance led to marriage and a sudden move abroad to face a future that we have not planned for. But they say that when you experience the uncertainties and disappointments we did in our youth and get through them unscathed an unresentful, we have grown well. And we have, like two trees that share the same roots, stretching outwards but firmly planted in the ground.

For despite our intertwined state, I am able to enjoy the company of people whose interests you wouldn't necessarily share (Korean dramas, girls night outs and weekly book clubs) or meet up with friends in exciting new places we haven't been to. But even then, when I encounter a line from a book that I would think most fascinating, I couldn't wait to tell you about it. When I find myself, in an ordinary day or on a trip with friends, confronted by an object of beauty or an experience that moves me, I would think of you, and wish that you were there too.

Of love and its many definitions, that must be one of them. The desire to share what is beautiful and inspiring with another person.

But being British, you would rather that it's definition is practical of course and expectedly so. A study has claimed that 'British couples in particular care about family, sharing household tasks equally and about definitions of proper behaviour'. In that way, we are no exceptions to the rule and in the many occasions that I would feel grateful that my efforts at maintaining the roots of our tree are equally (and sometimes more than) reciprocated, I am duly reminded that to expect less than what I deserve is a disservice to the parties involved.

Still I feel grateful.

That on a cold and rainy day, there is somebody who will share his warmth. 
That on a particularly difficult day, there is a voice that calms and reasons. 
Than on an ordinary day, there are memories that makes me smile, of seeing the same thing and at the same time with somebody who I would happily share it with over and over again. 

That over 10 years ago, in an unfamiliar place, I have met somebody with the face of a stranger but with a heart after my own.

You

I never called you by your name
Those letters, grouped together in that familiar form
Is the frame that holds your memories, your ideals, your hopes and dreams
It defines who you were, who you are and who you could become
But to me you are nameless
Like how a rose called by any other name
Would smell just as sweet.

Memories of the Alhambra

There was plenty of rain, not in heavy downpours, but in soft tiny tears from the sky, falling intermittently to the ground. The sun came out too, briefly, just enough to make a dramatic skyscape, before disappearing behind the grey clouds. But we wouldn't have it any other way, the Spanish city of Granada is in its most mystical on cold December days.

When I first visited John's tiny flat above an estate agent shop in Bell Lane, off Gibraltar's Main Street, he spread out on the living room floor a road map of Andalusia and revealed that he came to Southern Spain in search of adventures, to one day be able to greet those unfamiliar names like old friends. It must be then that I knew, and when I asked him to bring me along, it must have been that moment for him too. A few months later, we embarked on our first long journey on the road.

It was December 2009, a few days before our first Christmas together, at a time when mobile phones did not yet come with GPS or internet connections and all we had was a good old road map that I couldn't make sense of. But despite a few missed turns, we eventually arrived, long after the sun has lost its lustre, at the Alhambra Palace Hotel, to be met with the spectacular view of the city and the snow-capped mountains of Sierra Nevada from outside the walls of its most famous attraction.

Granada at Night. A view from our balcony at the Alhambra Palace Hotel.

The now five-star hotel we can only afford when there are fewer tourists around dates back to 1910 and evokes a feeling of stepping back in time, with its Arabian Nights interiors of orange and brown overtones, multicolour tiles and Moorish arches and pillars. It was the perfect prevue to what we really came there for, the UNESCO World Heritage site of the Alhambra.



Spain's most popular monument is a gathering of splendid Moorish palaces and landscaped gardens, beautifully located on a rocky hill overlooking the city of Granada.

It was a few minutes walk away from our accommodation, along a row of towering trees with glistening autumn leaves.

Winter in the Alhambra. The streets outside the fortress walls in winter.

Inside the fortress walls, we walked in the footsteps of the Moorish sultans and their many wives, stepping into the gardens where secret liaisons would have been made and sneaking a kiss on one of the quiet corners of Alameda de la Alhambra hidden by tall hedges and rose bushes amidst the sound of running water from several fountains and cascades.



Within the palace chambers and corridors, we felt the energy of a civilisation that held such a significant portion of Europe in its clever grip for eight centuries. The intricate patterns on the walls, floors and ceilings speak of tales unknown to us but their mysteries would continue to intrigue us. And as the sun began to set, we found ourselves in a balcony overlooking the city as it slowly gets ready to burst into the lively Spanish nightlife.



When we made our way down the narrow streets of the old town, we were still engulfed in the city's enchantments, of its dramatic past and its equally exciting present. Christmas lights have adorned the busy streets, filled with local people hurrying home or heading towards the many tapas bars.

We were looking for a shoe shop, my feet was soaking wet from the pouring rain and a more reliable pair of boots was needed. We asked for directions, in our broken Spanish, from a young woman under an umbrella and she happily walked with us to get to the city's main shopping thoroughfare and we naturally fell into a companionable chat as she happily practiced her English. We do not have any memory of what we talked about, but we can still remember the warmth we felt on that cold rainy evening in an unfamiliar city that suddenly felt like an old friend.



We went back to the old town the next morning, to Granada's cavernous Gothic and Renaissance cathedral that leads to a chapel where Isabel & Ferdinand were buried, the Catholic monarchs who commissioned Magellan to set sail in the fateful expedition that eventually led to the Spanish conquest of the Philippines that lasted 300 years.

Then from Plaza Nueva, we followed the course of the Darro River, crossing little bridges and passing by the Iglesia de Santa Ana with a mosque's minaret atop its bell tower, a characteristic of several churches in the vicinity. In a square with several cafes and restaurants, we paused to admire the Alhambra's fortifications that looms above.



We took a turn on one of the narrow lanes heading up the Albaicin, one of Granada's most fabulous treasures and another Unesco World Heritage site. We walked up the steep winding streets in search of the Mirador de San Nicolas, the best place to view the red palaces of the Alhambra with the backdrop of the Sierra Nevada.



After admiring the breath-taking views, we explored the medieval old town where Moorish houses, the traditional gardens of the 'carmenes', old mosques converted into churches and Arab palaces coexist with artisan workshops, traditional bars and local businesses. And as we walked downhill, we watched the captivating sight of the fortress walls of the Alhambra being magically bathed in roseate by the last glows of the setting sun in the horizon.



It was dark by the time we reached the Puerta de Elvira, one of the original entrance gates into Granada, and took the bus back to our hotel to settle in for our last night. The next day, we drove up for a quick visit to the Sierra Nevada which was slowly being covered in snow, ready for the skiing season.



It has been nearly a decade and we have been to many European cities since, embarking on exciting adventures we have set out to do together but when asked to name one place that is the most unforgettable, we still always say Granada.

All this time, the memories of those few days exploring the ancient walls of the Alhambra, the evening walk under a shared umbrella in the ancient cobbled streets of the old town and the breath-taking views from the Albaicin still makes our hearts flutter. Perhaps there was something in the gentle rain that slowly seeped into our skins, forever bewitching us with the charms of the beautiful Granada.

Of R♥nda and First Love

I discovered Ronda during the cusp of my very first romance. I was 25. Spain was an unfamiliar territory. Love was a concept I have only read about in the many books that lined my bedroom or marathon watched in the early years of my kDrama addiction. It was a new, exciting and different world.

Ronda was our first road trip together and that whirlwind romance turned into a lifetime commitment which led to the continuous discovery of fascinating new worlds, languages and cultures. But that one day remained rooted in my heart in a way that first love does, for it was, with all the nostalgic memories that still make my heart flutter.

Many years later when we briefly set up home in the south of Spain, I came back to visit with the little boy who felt more grown up than the three year old he had been and my friend Kamille who came to see us all the way from Dubai.

For no trip to Andalusia will be complete without the pilgrimage to what is often described as the most romantic of the Spanish pueblos blancos, perched on top of the many mountains of Serrania de Ronda, about 100kms from Malaga and reached either through a train journey as beautiful as its destination or through the long winding mountain road on a car for those who are braver (or more foolish).

We took the train from San Roque and as soon as we got out of the station, I realised that I had no idea how to get to the centre of town. I had thought that because I had once been there I could just as easily find my way around again.

But memories are often deceptive. How often do we remember the street names of the towns and cities we have visited? And yet we remember random moments made meaningful with the people we shared them with.

Under that tree we took a nap, my head rested under his arms, savouring that moment and dreaming of other places we were yet to explore.


On that vista, we listened to someone playing music, the melodies reaching our beating hearts.

In the park, on a path lined by trees, we sat by a bench and held hand while watching the world pass us by.

This second visit has been memorable too. By walking around without a map, we made took turns we wouldn't normally do and made discoveries we wouldn't have otherwise, looking at Ronda not as a tourists with a tick box but a travellers guided by our feet.

But we did find ourselves back on the tourist track, where art and inspiration was in abundance, from artists setting up their easels along the vista, to street musicians filling the air with passionate music and peddlers showing off their local creative wares.

We found a homely restaurant overlooking the valley below for lunch, filled our bellies and our souls and walked down the steep path leading down the ravine where we looked up Puente Nuevo, a 390-foot feat of engineering and the most famous bridge in Spain, to admire its full glory.

Alas, the uphill climb was not as easy as the way down, as they often are, but a promise of an ice cream cone when we reached the top was enough to make Isaac race to the top, well ahead of the adults who were left behind. It was an ice cream cone he deserved.

The harsh afternoon sun did not hinder the many tourists walking around the cobbled streets of the Old Town where we also found ourselves wandering. Later, while sitting on the picturesque square of Plaza Duquesa de Parcent, we marvelled at all the beauty we were able to see and experience in just a day.

My return to Ronda was like the reunion of first loves, bringing back memories of the rush of excitement that comes with the discovery of new emotions. And with it came the happy realisation that this quirky little Spanish mountain top village is as beautiful and romantic as I remember, just like the first and only love I know.