As many of you know, the word for pomegranate in Latin is Punica granatum, but it may come as a surprise to learn that in Spanish the word for pomegranate is granada.   In Granada the symbol of the pomegranate can be found almost anywhere.  The origin of the city’s current name comes from a Jewish settlement originally located on the right bank of the Rio Darro, situated under the hill of the Alhambra, called in Arabic Garnata-al-Yahud, Granada of the Jews.

 It appears that when the Jews were forced to leave Spain during the Middle Ages, they were also compelled to take the name al-Yahud with them, leaving the simple title Granada in its place. 

Coat of Arms of Granada: Just one of many pomegranates featured in a city called Pomegranate.

We have yet to grow tired of pomegranates, though they have been placed in public view as if they were traffic cameras recording our every move.  It is true they feel like guardians, in this case benevolently watching over us as we ramble through the city.

Ripe and ready.

John of God, Granada will be your Cross.

Carved into fountains.

Welcoming tourists.

Adorning the Puerta de las Granadas.

Sitting there and getting wet.

But they also give us confidence in the Ayuntamiento of Granada, since the city has deemed it good and well that the pomegranate be molded into almost every public utility.

On drainpipes.

On hydrants used by bomberos.

On electrical covers.

Fancied up on drainpipes.

Covering water valves.

Adorning water mains.

Serving as road barriers.

Dotting the cobbled streets for a purpose unknown to us.

 The locals have learned the value of the pomegranate and have chosen to place it where ever they can and as often as possible.

The hybrid granada y cruz.

The hybrid granada-no parking sign.

The hybrid granada-and-burglar-bars.

Only 10 of the over-70 pomegranates that adorn this door.

Thus, in Granada, all roads lead to pomegranates.

Tart, sweet, juicy, and fun. Stains your fingers if you eat a lot of them. (Please do not eat the rind.)

Like a lot of houses in the Albayzin, ours features a rooftop terraza.  We go there to hang out the laundry, watch the sun set, and watch our neighbors hang out their laundry.  This winter, we went up to the terraza to embrace a brief, ephemeral storm of snow that descended unexpectedly on Granada one February morning.

According to WeatherUnderground, Granada is located 1,870 feet above sea level.  The Sierra Nevada mountains, just 45 minutes away by car, attain a height of 11,411 feet.  Even in May, snow covers the mountains, while 25 miles away people walk around in t-shirts and sandals. 

With so much snow so close by, we were determined to do something that few in our family had ever done before: ¡vamos a esquiar!

Early one morning we managed to rent a car, drive to the ski area, rent ski equipment, ride the gondola up to the ski lift, take the chairlift to the top of the slope, and get off the lift, all without falling. 

Three in our party took a ski lesson, while a fourth displayed her chops on the slopes.  It wasn’t long before all of us were careering down a hill, ostensibly a Green beginner’s run, at breakneck speed.  J. managed to complete every run in a straight line.  A. chose a gentle S curve.  M. ended up on the next slope over and D. offered encouragement to all.

As if that weren’t enough, A.’s fifth grade class spent an entire school week in April riding a bus up to the Sierra Nevada ski station every day for lessons and skiing.

A. rode this bus, carried her helmet and ski boots, lunch, water bottle, sun screen, and snack and never stopped smiling.

We hung on to the rental car and one Saturday drove to Héutor de Santillán to go to a birthday party located at a small farm where a classmate lived.  The children wrapped bread dough around sticks, covered it in aluminum foil and cooked the whole thing over an open hearth.  They looked at the chickens, hogs, goats and piglets.  They ran through the groves and orchards, rode on a horse, drank soda pop, and ate all manner of animal products.

No one caught fire.

No one washed hands.

The chickens minded their business.

The piglets kept growing.

The goat gave up its milk.

The horse knew the way.

We want to live!

Do not blame us…we are simply flavored potato chips.

After three hours, we Americans felt we had spent a sufficient amount of time at the birthday party.   Shocking our Spanish friends, we departed.  

View from a party at 3 p.m.

Around 10 p.m. that night, we began receiving What’s App photos of the children bouncing in the back of a 4-wheel pick up heading down the ravine towards Granada.  By the time the party officially ended, we were fast asleep.

View from a party at 9 p.m.