Granada, Andalusia — February 2020
The Mirador de San Nicolás was full of life. Street musicians played while a flamenco dancer moved through the crowd. I stopped and watched. Music, rhythm, noise.
Sunlight broke through drifting clouds in short bursts. A breeze carried the smell of churros, sweet and warm.
Around me, I heard English, German, French, Dutch. We were all there for the same reason: the view of the Alhambra in the soft winter light.
Once a Moorish palace, later a Christian fortress, the Alhambra stood as a sign of Spain’s layered past. From there, it felt permanent, even if history suggested otherwise.
Locals moved through the crowd selling sketches, bracelets, fridge magnets. One artist drew the Alhambra in ink and finished before I moved on. I considered buying it—not just for the drawing, but for the moment.
Nearby, a group of tourists spoke a language I did not understand. Their voices rose and fell. For a moment, I imagined they were talking about the strange illness mentioned in the news from Wuhan.
The Alhambra shone against the sky. It looked unchanged, while something uncertain had already begun to move at the edges of the world.
