Mirador de San Nicolás

Mirador de San Nicolas

0:00

/389.12

1×

Before moving to Granada, I'd spent a single night in the city almost a decade before. It was the middle of winter, I was on a tour, and I'd been mesmerised by the beauty of the Alhambra during our afternoon visit. After the sun set, a group of us decided to visit Mirador de San Nicolás, a viewpoint recommended by our guide for its spectacular views of the Alhambra. Although the viewpoint was (and is) one of the city's most popular attractions, it didn't feel that way that night. There were only a few people around as we made our way to the bottom of the Albaicín, the city's oldest residential district.

None of us had data on our phones so we followed the vibe-based direction "up" to find the viewpoint. As we got lost in the Albaicín's twisty streets, it felt like we were on a mini adventure in an ancient, sleeping suburb. It's only a ten-minute walk from the bottom of the hill to the top if you know where you're going, but we made it into a complicated journey with a couple of side quests. But it was worth it when we reached the top and saw the Alhambra lit up like a golden beacon across the valley.

I knew little about Granada before that trip. I had yet to learn that its University, founded in 1531, was such a central part of the city with around a quarter of the city's residents studying or working there. I was unfamiliar with the region's almost 800 years as part of the Muslim kingdoms of Al-Andalus, which is why so many every-day words in Spanish have Arabic origins, such as zanahoria for carrot or naranja for orange.

It was so different to the history of "Europe" (read England, France and Germany) that I learned at school, and curiosity flared up inside of me. When my husband and I were deciding what city to move to in Spain, I kept coming back to Granada, even though I had spent so much more time in cities like Madrid, Málaga and Alicante. But sometimes you feel a tug towards a specific place – not anything resembling certainty, but a draw towards the possible, that might turn into the extraordinary if you let it.

So when we finally moved to Spain, after years of dreaming – when I'd finished my last day of work as a lawyer and had no idea what I was going to do next – it felt right to rent a small apartment in the Albaicín for a year, a 5-minute walk away from Mirador de San Nicolás. I have used walking as a way to process my thoughts for years, and many of my morning walks that year involved a stop at the lookout.

If I wandered in the cool of the morning, I'd sometimes sit on the wall overlooking the city and contemplate the world, admiring the snowy mountains and the majesty of the Alhambra itself. It was a reminder of how different the future can be from the past; of how much I still had to learn; of the possibilities of transformation. Mostly, it was peaceful and beautiful.

If I visited later in the day, it tended to be a brief pause, an acknowledgement of how grateful I was to be in this place at this time, surrounded by a cacophony of tourists and the musicians performing for them. The Mirador on those days was a brief stop on a regular route I'd devised for myself – hitting the various viewpoints as well as the amenities of daily life, like the local library right next door.

At the end of that first year, we bought a house and moved to the barrio where we live now. As beautiful as the Albaicín is, it's not very accessible for day-to-day life, and it's difficult to built community there. But whenever we have visitors, I always take them to the Mirador de San Nicolás to show them the view (and buy some guava jam drops from the nuns living at the monastery nearby). It feels special every time, no matter how crowded the lookout is.

So when I set out to paint the Mirador for this latest commission, I knew I wanted to include the fantastic view of the Alhambra. But more than that, I wanted to focus on the people experiencing it. Seen from behind, they might be feeling a profound connection with the landscape, or maybe they're just thinking about lunch. But I've noticed that Mirador de San Nicolás is a place that inspires people to be present, if only for a moment between a flurry of photos.

I've realised in writing this post that while it's only a couple of months since I took my parents to the viewpoint, it's a lot longer since I made the trip on my own. Maybe on the winter solstice you'll find me wandering up the hill after sunset, confident in my route now, but maybe still meandering for the joy of it; breathing deeply as I crest the top of the hill. I'll tuck myself in to the quietest corner of the square, relishing the return of the snow after such a long summer, admire the sight of the Alhambra glowing in the dark, and work out what direction I want to stride out in next.

Sketches from Granada celebrates every-day moments of connection with strangers, friends and ourselves. I know how easy it is not to be present in your own life, and I hope these sketches inspire you to seek out those moments that are worth savouring. 

If this post resonated with you, please share it with a friend you think might appreciate it too!