In the charming ancient neighborhood of El Albaicin, where houses are packed together close as teeth... off the Plaza of San Miguel Bajo... is a mysterious door in an ivy-drenched wall.
It opens to a leafy, sunlit garden and quaint white-stucco house. This is where my great-aunt and -uncle live.
You can't imagine more warm, welcoming people. They tucked Lillian and I into their daughters' old bedroom - they have twins too! This is the same room we slept in 10 years ago, the first time we came to Spain with our grandparents. Then our great-aunt served us mountains of Spanish food and our eccentric great-uncle, a professor and poet, recited poetry for us.
Our room had a balcony that overlooked the city of Granada. I miss waking up to that view.
My great-uncle's poetry adorns the wall outside. A rough translation: "The fountains of El Albaicin, amongst the cypress and the rose, have made song the murmur of the dark water that weeps."
I can't wait to go visit them again! Anyone interested in a jaunt to Spain?
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