If you discount the minor incident involving a puddle on the platform which culminated in my third and biggest stack in three days, attempt number two at our overnight train or 'trenhotel' was successful. Mark detangled me ("three slips you're out - time to buy some Jesus sandals." Ugh, not likely!) and we climbed aboard the Granada bound train.

Mark had turned into Mr Paranoia at the thought of an overnight train, and clung to the bags with a fierce glint in his eye, waiting for the criminals to climb aboard and gas us. Instead we found ourselves on a retirement village excursion - we bought youth tickets so it must have been the concession carriage.

Despite Mark's 'dont be fooled, they're just as crafty" warnings, I refused the idea of sentry duty and had a reasonably comfortable sleep - once I got used to the rythmic snoring of the old men and of the dog sitting in the lap of the woman behind us.

I awoke at about 6am and gazed out the window at scenery reminiscent of a roadrunner episode. We arrived at Granada station a couple of hours later, which was tiny and near deserted except for 6 or 7 Polizia spread out across the platform. Just as airport security always think Mark is a terrorist, the Polizia must have picked him for a criminal. One pulled us aside, collected our passports and disappeared into the office for what felt like an age, until finally we received our passports back with a nod from Mr Polizia and we were on our way.

We wandered through the eerily quiet town and stopped at a cafe to order churros con chocolate for breakkie. While munching on the deep fried doughy chocolatey goodness, the Polizia pulled in to haul Mark away. Ok not true, but they did haul another guy around the corner for a thorough pat down before releasing him, driving away, driving back, hauling him out again, cuffing him, popping him in the back and driving away. I raise my eyebrows at Mark. What IS this place.

With bellies full of churros we hailed a cab and giggled as the driver squeezed through streets so tiny that he had to collapse the side mirrors. As we approached the Albayzín area, the town became prettier and prettier. When the taxi could go no further, we hopped out and finished the trek to our hostel on foot, huffing and puffing up endless stairs, to be rewarded with a spectacular view out over the whole city and it's major drawcard - the majestic Alhambra.

Unfortunately we had only one full day in Granada so we got stuck in straight away. We walked back down to the town and spotted a free walking tour, which we hitched onto for about 45 minutes. Money well spent, as we learnt about the cities history under early Moorish (and therefore Islamic) rule which spanned more than 700 years, and Isabel and Fernando's bloodless conquest of the city in the 15th century.

The Moorish King Boabdil sold the city to Isabel rather than engage in a hopeless and bloody battle - this comparatively peaceful history is perhaps why the city is now a bit of a hippy town. All the stores sell fisherman pants, hemp bags and tie dye dresses, and there is a commune of hippies living in cave houses bult into the hills.

As well as the hippies, the town is filled with gypsies who thrust rosemary at you and babble about how many bambinos you will have if you take it, while holding their hands out and aggressively demanding money. Steer clear!

Our guide pointed out the churches converted from mosques - Isabel had promised in the sale agreement not to persecute Islamics, however she couldn't deal with the mosques - so rather than knock them all down she simply stuck a cross on top and declared them to be catholic churches.

We also went into the oldest standing bath house in Granada. This was a bathhouse for the middle classes, and later we would also see one of the king's bathhouses in the Alhambra. Our guide explained that the king would often visit his harem of ladies in the bathhouse, and throw a piece of fruit at them. Whichever lady it hit would be his lucky companion for the evening. How charming. Eenie meenie minie mo. Thud. Hey baby. But this pales in comparison to his other use of the bathhouse - when he heard rumour that his nobles were getting a little mutinous, he invited them to his bath house to 'clear the air'. Once they were inside, he locked the doors and steamed them to death. Ew.

We dropped off the tour at that point and grabbed a quick bite to eat. Granada is apparently one of the last places in Spain that still offer tapas in the traditional way - that is, as a free accompaniment with your drink. Delicious and cheap!

After lunch we walked up the hill to the Alhambra - a fortress complex containing a collection of Moorish palaces and Islamic architecture, beautiful gardens, and Roman and Christian additions such as the palace of Charles V. It's set up high in the hills with a stunning view,the detail of the buildings is remarkable and despite the many tourists it still felt incredibly peaceful wandering through the gardens. Also, stinking hot! You could easily spend the whole day exploring but we called it quits at about 5pm and trudged back to the hostel half asleep and dehydrated.

After a nana nap we finished off our day in Granada with dinner underneath a glowing Alhambra, listening to buskers play some wonderful music and eating tapas. Lovely!