Photo 2 of 100: Granada, Spain

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As we sat in the corner of a bustling café set inside a food market full of stalls and mini cafes, we were starving. I had convinced Joe that I wanted to hit this market up to get groceries, but it was so crowded and overwhelming we decided to sit and eat first, because – as we all know – hangry married people cannot make good decisions together.

There was a deli counter where you could order bowls of fresh fish, beans, pastas, etc. And small tables were set up where others were eating and drinking. We plopped down, ordered a glass of sangria (because you MUST while in this region) and tried to order food, to no avail. We’d been in Spain for a few weeks now, and while our Spanish was improving, we couldn’t understand a word of what our lovely waitress was saying. We pointed at something on the menu, and she babbled a few words that we couldn’t quite catch, and then she left. We thought, well, at least we’ll be tipsy and hangry now. Que será, será.

Before we knew it, a steaming bowl of creamy chickpeas mixed with fresh mussels was placed before us. Not what we tried to order, but what the hell. It was delicious. Omg, was it delicious. And I don’t even like mussels. By the end of our time in Granada, we finally figured out that if you order a drink, you get a free tapas plate. Until you start ordering off the menus. And boy did we drink. I mean eat!

The city was quiet when we first arrived from a week spent in rainy cold Madrid where I was horridly sick but suffered through because it was the first stop on our world tour and I wasn’t about to miss out. The people of Granada were barely awake beneath the morning sun peaking over the golden mountains. My husband once told me that you can tell what the population of a city is by just watching how fast people move there. An abuelita pulled her grocery cart along with her chin raised up to the sky, basking in the rising sun. Neighbors quietly strolled the sidewalks beneath the trees. The train station was all but empty except for the couple of us that just got off. I peered across the landscape taking in what felt like a mix of the Italian Dolomites mixed with the architecture of the Wild West. Green olive tree groves dotted the arid landscape alongside carefully tended farmlands, all quietly resting beneath the morning fog rolling off the Sierra Nevada mountains like it had nothing better to do.

Imagine eclectic neighborhoods tucked away amongst winding stair cased cobblestone walkways, roads with vibrant colored walls. Lemon, lime, orange, and pomegranate trees sprouting off of every sunny porch, nook, and cranny, reaching for the sky with sun-kissed fingers. Warm spices, incense, morning coffee and baked goods greeted us around every corner. A glorious blend of Spanish, Arabic, and Moorish cultures creates a place like no other. Woven into the food, the shops, and the beautifully whitewashed buildings, this city in Andalusia is not to be overlooked.

Our 100-year-old guesthouse felt like stepping into luxury. Cool stone tiles and dark woodwork greeted our tired eyes. A winding staircase of stonework took us to a beautiful white vaulted bedroom ceiling that was glowing with the daybreak above the large crispy white sheeted bed that was calling my name. But the best part, was the view out the double French doors to the sunbathed patio. Directly above us was a view of the Alhambra –a stunning, jaw dropping, 13^th century palace fortress representing the pinnacle of Moorish art and Andalusian culture in the Iberian Peninsula. This is what we came for.