A town called Ronda was our lunch stop on the way to Granada. We walked past the still functioning bullring, over the stone bridge spanning an enormous gorge, and we picnicked in the cool green park which overlooks the countryside far below this hilltop town. I had never before heard of Ronda, but the old wrinkly set sure had. The town was oddly full of grey-haired, walking stick-carrying, tourists. Not a pimply, greasy, teenage backpacker in sight!

Granada. Last Moorish foothold in Europe; recaptured in 1492 by Isabella & Ferdinand (good catholic monarchs who instigated the Spanish Inquisition) ; and home of Tapas! It was here that some bright spark first began the Spanish practice of serving a small plate of food with any drink ordered. Who doesn't love a freebie? This practice is still followed throughout Spain (with varying degrees of generosity) but in Granada the custom is taken to extremes. For example, Dale and I spent 4 euro on a couple of beers and were then served a plate with half a dozen prawns on a bed of salad. Our next drink yielded Serrano ham, breadsticks and potato chips.

The next tapas bar we visited was packed with locals and the food smelled delicious. We made our way through the crowd and underneath the hanging legs of ham (trotters still attached!) to rest our elbows on the bar. Despite how busy it was, we were served after only a few moments. Over the din of Spanish voices talking over top of each other and the clinking plates and clashing pots of the kitchen, I managed to order Dale a red wine with lemon squash (nicer than it sounds), a beer for me, and a platter of what I thought was tapas for two. Drinks came out first, followed by the complementary tapa of olives and wedges of frittata, and finally a platter of food large enough to feed four people. Oh, and we were given a bread basket (which gets refilled if you start running low). Our tapas platter included bacon and tomato crostini, pork and blue cheese crostini, a dish of bacon and broad beans, a dish of pork with cooked peppers, ham croquettes, Spanish Tortilla (like a quiche with potato), and a melted cheese dish. We made a diligent effort but ultimately were defeated by this mountain of food. (Although we had certainly covered the pig-based food groups!)

Another Spanish tapa custom is to throw your serviette on the floor when you have finished with it. Consequently, it is easy to spot the popular tapas bars by how many scrunched up pieces of paper there are on the ground. This deliberate littering felt really weird, and I half expected to be scolded. Dale laughed at my attempts at stealthy serviette dropping. (Don't worry mum, they all get swept up at the end of the evening).

Apart from a lot of eating and drinking in Granada we also walked around the enormous catholic cathedral and the mausoleum where Izzy and Ferdinand are entombed...then the highlight...visiting the Alhambra! Built by Moorish sultans above the city of Granada, it is so beautiful that the Catholic monarchs thought it too lovely to destroy and ended up using it as their own seat of power. Inside the reddish walls of the Alhambra once existed a royal city filled with gardens, courtyards, fountains, and covered walkways. The gardens have been restored and visitors can again stroll through avenues of leafy trees, admire flowerbeds overflowing with colour and neatly manicured hedges, rest beneath shady archways of oleanders, and all accompanied by the soothing sound of trickling water. Our guide explained that archaeologists had worked out what plants once grew here, from seeds and plant matter uncovered. Fruit and nut trees - orange, pomegranate, olive, walnut, almond. Scented flowers - jasmine, roses, lavender, magnolia, wisteria. Herbs - mint, parsley.

Inside the remains of the royal residence, visitors can wander through chambers that once held sultans, sultanas, harems, ambassadors, and later, Spanish royalty. The baths complex below used the same construction techniques as those used by the Romans centuries earlier. Latticed windows which once were filled with coloured glass now give glimpses of the beautiful view over the modern city of Granada and its terracotta roofs. Coloured tiles laid out in geometric mosaics, wood panelling weaving different coloured woods into intricate patterns, carefully carved Islamic verses bordering walls and doorways, with the occasional reminder of the subsequent Spanish inhabitants in coats of arms added to rooms of the Moorish palace or King Charles' addition of a new palace wing influenced by Italian art and architecture. We had only a couple of hours to wander through the complex and it really wasn't long enough - but maybe we will return one day for a concert in the outdoor amphitheatre and to discover more of the Alhambra's treasures.

Dale and I chose to avoid the heat of the middle of the day at the Arabic baths. Unlike the Hamman in Morocco, these baths are open to men and women and you wear your togs. We walked into an atmosphere of relaxation. As I walked to the perfume scented women's changing rooms, I passed through filmy curtains and alongside gently glowing candles. Fountains trickled water and soft music was played through unobtrusive speakers. I entered the baths through double doors and met up with Dale, awkwardly standing outside the women's changing rooms. We were directed to the tiled showers, before beginning our bath experience in the tepid pool. Roman columns stretched from the water to the ceiling, more fountains trickled water, and signs on the wall instructed us to speak quietly. After soaking in the lukewarm water for as long as Dale's patience would allow, we made our way to the steam room. It was dimly lit, hot and humid. When we returned to it a bit later it was so full of steam I could barely Dale through the fog. We sweated it out for about 10 minutes before returning to the tepid pool (which now felt cold). Next we tried the hot pool which was shallow and the temperature of a perfectly run hot bath. We lay in the hot water until we were red and pruney and then it was time to brave the icy plunge pool. I launched myself straight in up to my neck - the chill took my breath away and made me wonder whether the shock would give me a heart attack...it didn't and slowly I began to enjoy the feeling of my limbs going numb. Dale, who has a well-established phobia of cold water, ninnied about with his ankles dangling in the water before he realised that the pool was filling up with girls and he was starting to look a bit wimpy, so puffing and jerking he lowered himself in up to his chest. We didn't last there long before it was time for a mint tea break and a return to the safety of the tepid pool. At some stage one of the baths attendants came and got us for our 15 minute massage. Using scented oil the petit masseuse deftly massaged my legs and back - she was much more gentle with me than the solid Moroccan lady at the Hamman in Essouira. As we left the baths feeling dreamily refreshed, we were handed a cup of fruit salad each. What a service!

In the evening we went to a Flamenco show in the caves of Sacromonte. this is where Flamenco originated, and granted it is a very passionate and spontaneous style of dance, but our experience was very much a Disney-fied money making conveyer belt. We arrived as the previous audience were leaving and as we exited there was another crowd queuing for the next show. In between we saw two groups of Flamenco dancers perform for an hour. Essentially the dancers are accompanied by a Spanish guitarist and maybe someone on a fiddle. One of the dancers starts to clap and that is what sets the beat. All the women join in the clapping (it is bad form for the audience to join in as this disrupts the dancers' rhythm) and when the music moves them they will start to dance, usually taking turns on the tiny stage. They add to the rhythm of the clapping with the rhythmic tattoo of their footwork. There is a lot of skirt swirling, cries of "al-ey, al-ey", flashing eyes (I now know what that expression means), and random outbursts of husky throated song from the long-haired man at the back of the stage. We saw one male flamenco dancer who was like a one man drum kit - big bass stomps, swift toe taps, and staccato finger clicking. The final performer was a wizened 60+ year old woman, who despite her dried out appearance, was the stand out dancer of the evening with her hypnotic castanet dance. While it was interesting to watch, I couldn't help feeling disappointed by the way we were herded in and out like cash cows, and the endless camera snapping of the bus load of Japanese tourists that crammed in ahead of us.

Tomorrow it is back to Madrid and the end of our tour. Hopefully there will be a chance for one more round of sangria before we fly out to the next country on our European itinerary - France!