June 24: Andalucia - Granada

How can words fully express the feeling of love at first sight? I don't think that they can. Because the experience is never an aesthetic sensation it's more of a sudden awareness of a strong feeling that envelopes you without warning. A feeling of deep peace and happiness is present. Of knowing a familiarity. Time collapses and seems to slow down. The familiarity blurs into some sort of recognition - similar to catching a reflection of oneself in a mirror as we walk through a dark room. Similar to when we recognise a twin soul. I wonder if this experience can be extended to new places that we visit for the first time. Where you seem to follow instincts and feelings as they lead you down streets and alleyways that are rich with familiarity, that make sense as you twist and turn your navigations, unaided by a map of any kind, but know exactly where you are going.


Following such an urge led me on my first night in Granada to find the Place de los Tristes, and allowed me a perfect view of a half moon rising high above the Alhambra Palace. Small bridges that arched along the river Rio Darro seemed just as I had remembered them; all still there in the right place. The Alhambra Palace is one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen in my life. A Grand Palace that was once close to being as close as close can be to the centre of the universe. This was the last bastion of the Moors as their empire receeded all around them. Seeing such a place of genuine beauty is so difficult, almost pointless, in trying to be put into words. Any attempt I could offer to describe this wonderful place would do it a great dishonour, a place like the Alhambra Palace is possibly one of those very, very rare places that needs to be seen in order to be believed. However, Irving Washington offers a wonderful insight into the mysticism and geometric cosmology of the Alhambra Palace in his novel, The Tales of the Alhambra.

At the top of Granada rise up the mountain ranges of the Sierra Nevada. They push hard against each other to sculpt deep valleys that can catch no breath in the baking heat of the Andalucian sun. One of these mountains is called Sacromonte and has been home to generations of gypsies who live in the numerous caves converted into homes. Here palms are read for a few euros, dreams are open to interpretations and flamenco is king. Life is lived by the Gypsy Code and all obey. Inside these caves, walls are cool and are whitewashed much like the outside walls that reflect the glare of the midday sun. Ceilings are low and rooms extend like rabbit warrens. Deep inside the mountain of Sacromonte is the Abadia del Sacromonte - a place of worship deep underground where altars and secret rooms are joined by long, low catacombs.

I am sat on some stone steps in Sacromonte, high in the hills of Granada. I can see the Alhambra Palace in the distance. The vast plains of Andalucia stretch far and wide into the distance beyond. A soft breeze blows moving shadows of leaves that are cast on these hot stones. A bird sings a sleepy song. Behind me rise the giant mountains of the Sierra Nevada. Cypress trees rise and point up to where the air is thin. There is a special sacred energy in Andalucia. If you listen closely you can hear its strong vibration hum. It is almost like hypnosis, calling to you, rendering one still and silent to the point of meditation. This is a source of great creation. From here many things have sprung, and from that blossoming fruit will bear. A motorcycle purrs past the Camino de Sacromonte and speeds off toward the city of Granada. The silence returns and it's time for me to leave. Wide awake at last.

June 23: Andalucia - Cordoba

Most people come to Cordoba to visit La Mezquita (the Great Mosque) in the city centre. And it's worth it. But there are a lot of things to see in Cordoba - the small, narrow streets of the Jewish Quarter which run and change direction without warning and without signposts. If you can find it, the Calle de Flores (Street of Flowers) is always a favourite with tourists, but there are lots of magical alleys and walkways which contain many wonderful things to see in this clear light.

My guide book on Andalucia tells me that many a Western traveller has come to Cordoba and found the Mezquita to be devoid of any spiritually. I disagree. After queuing with hundreds of others noisly outside in the intense white heat for almost an hour, we were permitted entry into the silent, cold shadows at around three o'clock. There was a vast mix of people, nationalities, colours, languages and religious backgrounds. Together we entered through a single doorway into another place.

The twilight of silence that met us overcame the vast majority of people, scything them down in an instant, reducing many to tears. I've never seen anything or experienced anything like it in my life. People walking around in circles of bewilderment looking up at such a sacred place of beauty, with mouths wide open, hands over their hearts and tears rolling freely down their faces. Their eyes transfixed at the creation of something so touching, so beautiful.

When eyes eventually became accustomed to the dusk of light in the Mezquita, I saw so many people wandering over to a seat or a bench to sit down and attempt to digest what they were experiencing. But it will probably take weeks or months for the mind to understand what the spirit learns in an instant. Certain feelings are difficult to describe, almost impossible. How can you say what it is to be seduced by a harmony which draws you closer in order to make you feel very small, before a rush of connection to a far greater knowing leaves you short of breath and bereft of understanding. Full understanding will never be known. But you become aware that perhaps a more simplistic method of pure acceptance is the key. Accepting that places like the Mezquita still exist, can still remind us that we are more than people going through the habitual motions of our life. The Mezquita serves to remind us that we are all creations of beauty from acts of beauty, and perhaps then, we have no greater moral obligation than to create beauty in our own lives.

I am sitting on my tour bus, riding onwards to Granada. The bus is very quiet. People are lost in their own thoughts. The fields that have been baked all day in the sun speed past our windows. Shades of gold, green, tangerine and burnt black pass. The road is long and runs on ahead over the smooth shapes that look like sand dunes. The sky is chrystalline blue. The sun is high. Ever get the feeling that things won't ever be the same again? Andalucia is casting spells over many people today. Some things won't change though, my stomach is rumbling and I'm hungry. Another hour to Granada, then I can eat. Till then, eyes closed and time to drift off elsewhere and dream of girls with big, brown almond eyes, round and soft

June 21: Andalucia - Sevilla

Sultry Seville. Seville regards itself as one of the eternal cities with a rich past draped in lost dreams; Romans, Phoenicians, Moors have all passed through here. No matter how long the wait, Seville is always longing for its renaissaince to happen again one day. Keep believing in your dreams, Sevilla, as they are important. For this is one of the most seductive cities in terms of its mysterious past - Seville is the birthplace of Carmen, the gypsy girl who could roll cigars between her thighs, according to Bizet's opera. A statue of her stands proudly with a hand on her hip outside the giant Maestranza Bullring near the city's river - still waiting for her lover Escamillo to return to her. The actual cigar factory she was supposed to have worked at is now the University of Seville, a giant tobacco fortress impregnable from the outside.

The Moors who came from North Africa and settled on these Iberian plains changed this mystical land forever. With them came the teachings of Islam and new mosques were built - some of the finest the world had ever seen. In the new world of al-Andalus places like Sevilla, Cordoba and Malaga became centres of learning for philosophy, art, religion and geometry. In Sevilla such monuments still remain. The minaret of La Giralda (built 12th century) is visible from all over the city and stands tall next to the city cathedral. The Real Alcazar of Seville is just breathtaking in terms of its absolute beauty, size and Moorish architecture. You wander through these places and are transfixed in wonder at how men can create such places of immense beauty, evoking deep feelings of humility and peace within.

As for the city, you get the impression that Seville would also be one of those wonderful places to be naughty in. During the heat of the day, during that unreasonable increase in temperature, that would be the time to be alone with your woman. Door locked. Curtains drawn. The world outside elsewhere as you make love before siesta. And what a siesta it would be. Long and deep. You'd wake again, late in the afternoon, refreshed, empty, heavy, happy, content, alive. Ready to share a shower, maybe watch a sunset, maybe an encore. But whatever you'd choose, you'd know Seville would be waiting for you. The place to be? A bodega, tucked away out of sight in a narrow street, far away into the shadows where voices echo and the sound of church bells carry. That's the time to be awake.

June 20: Andalucia - Mijas & Ronda

I'm sitting in the small hilltop village of Mijas at the end of day. The flat white walls of small Andalucian homes are punctured with small, black squares of hiding windows. The air is pure up here in the hills, almost scented with a sweetness of pine trees, jasmine and orange blossom. The bells of passing donkeys chime. Swooping swallows play together as they fly, creating unseen messages in the evening sky. People walk slow here and many congregate outside the small Farmacia to talk to the owner. There is always much to watch in a village square. It is here that I catch my first glimpse of an Andalucian woman - rumoured to be the most beautiful, daring and passionate on all the continent. Close your eyes and imagine what I can see; long black hair running in curling waves down her back, gold hooped earrings catching the last of the sunshine, a long flowing white skirt follows her every move. Her skin is dark brown, and her arms swing free in a white embroided vest. This is the stuff of hypnosis that eyes were made for.

Andalucia is a hotbed of insatiable beauty far, far from the beaten track, almost lost in a trance that time forgot. The spells that have been cast over this land linger still. This land seduces and continues to captivate. Time collapses. Up and up in between towering mountains secret Shangri-La's exist. The colours and light are clear. Flat hills sprawl on forever in colours of straw and terracota, some quarters burn to a cinder beneath the ferocity of the sun, others shine the colour of saffron. Oceans of sunflowers grow here in carpets of green and gold. This ancient land of al-Andalus is full of ghosts that continue to call; it is a thin place - one of those holy lands where the veil between this world and the next is thin, allowing a connection to truth with very little effort.



High in the valleys beyond the Sierra de las Nieves lies the village of Ronda. The New Bridge of Ronda, el Puente Nuevo, was built in 1740, at the second attempt. It is one of the great landmarks of Andalucia, sitting at almost 93metres above a sinister gorge. It's of a particular personal interest to me because of a persistant recurring dream I'd been having for the past two years. In my dream I am asked to come to this bridge. Once there I am always made aware that there are rooms inside this bridge which I must enter. True to form, there are rooms inside this gigantic monument, accessable via some steep steps down one side of a cliff face. Inside the Puente Nuevo, high above the gorge, there are windows that look out over the land of Andalucia. And written on one of the walls is this message in English; "A bridge takes us somewhere which is always on the other side. However, only some bridges can take us beyond their structure and pillars, where writers and dreamers and creators roam, where images of dreams and imagination are built. The New Bridge is this place."



I am out on my balcony under the night sky. The sky is black. Black black. The real thing. The black that was there to begin with before night became day. So black that it allows all the stars to shine. They are all so clear and bright. Some more so than others. One is bigger than all the rest. Must be Venus. It sits just below the bright crescent moon. The sky is charged with electricity. Shooting stars can't be far away. If you look a little closer into the darkness you can just see the outline of the Sierre de las Nieves. At the peak of this mountain range, tiny villages cluster in singluar pale lights. A glass bottle rolls below my balcony and my attention is switched to listening. Crickets sing so loud in this sweet, perfumed air and a single voice of a bird squawks danger though the silent groves of sleeping trees.