I'm a Princess...IN SPAIN

I've started to perfect the art of never doing anything I don't feel like doing while I travel (with the exception of transportation and housing compromises, which are unavoidable). But I'm also trying to learn how to be flexible when with other people. And Heather has been one of those other people for three weeks. She's been fantastic about not complaining when she wants to go for a walk or visit a museum and I opt instead to sit in a cafe and tippity-type on my iBook.  But by the time we reached Granada, with the trip wrapping up and two weeks of avoiding touristy things behind him, it seemed time to set aside my aversion to What You Have To See and go spend a day with my friend.

That's how we ended up at the Alhambra last Monday morning, an admittedly gorgeous estate but one I already explored five years ago. We went early to beat the line (which we got stuck in anyway) and I marvelled at the gorgeous forested walk, all lush and green like Portland, and the ancient structures along the entrance. I too k picture upon picture of windows and door ways, just like last time I was there. I was fascinated by the complex tile patterns on all the walls, so unlike the slap-'em-together construction we see here.

And then I got bored.

So I did what I always do when I'm bored with something but have no way of leaving it. I started to tell myself a story.

So this is the story I told, helped along by the atmosphere of the Alhambra and the surprising appearance of quite a few cats roaming the grounds. (And, of course, my lifelong princess fantasy which is always waiting for any excuse to be manifested in my imagination.):

I am a princess and this is my palace. Soft fabric skirts swirl around my legs. Curls and veils frame my face. All of the nooks and archways are my places of repose, where I lean on velvet cushions of red or gold and read or write or dream.

I wake ever morning under white covers in a room with white curtains , sun glinting onto my nightstand where a bowl of pomegranate seeds and a glass of ch ampagne lay waiting, placed by an attendant who massages my feet and my hands before I rise.

These are my kittens, roaming the grounds. I’ve named them. Ruby, Mango, Minga, Sariah, Azul. Ruby likes to sit with me while I read or nap. Mango is lively and prone to getting into trouble. Minga and Sariah are sisters, curling up together in the light filtering through the ornate window panes. Azul is a quiet, independent and mysterious cat, like a shadow, disappearing from view when you try to approach her.

In my bureau are stacks of silk scarves, rows of soft dresses, robes and slippers, jewelry like water.

And I am in love.

And that's as far as I got. Because by then, Heather had caught up to me and we took a nap on a terrace in the English-style garden and headed over to the Generalife, where I proceeded to get myself lost in a different garden for about an hour. But that's another story...

(By the way, I'm not sure why it follows that if I'm a princess with gorgeous things, I'd therefore be in love. But it does. And I don't have to explain it because it's my fantasy. So there.)