Arabian Nights in Andalucia – the magic of Granada.

The Alhambra; it’s one of those unreal Ali-Baba pantomime names, like Timbuctu and Zanzibar. The Alhambra, though, is a lot closer – Granada is just across the channel, straight down and then left a bit, like the rest of Southern Spain. Perfect for a long weekend.

Tell that to the airlines.

Granada, is a sod to get to. Flights from the UK are expensive and long – up to 11 hours in some cases, including transfers. In the end, we gave up and bussed it from Malaga.

Spanish buses are wonderful – comfortable, frequent and cheap, at around £1.50 for a single ride, £20 return for the smooth two hour coach trip.

This, however, is about the only bargain around. The sterling/Euro exchange, spiralling ever upward in the wrong direction (for us, anyway), leaves the British traveller in mainland Europe feeling more like an economic migrant than a desirable guest.

Still, some of the best things about Granada are free. This is a city designed to be explored on foot (obviously – they hadn’t invented cars back then). Nothing is very far away, and the narrow streets with their mosaic cobbles and stepped passageways actively discourage vehicles. What they do encourage is wandering about, getting happily lost and going ‘Oh, wow, isn’t that amazing?’ a lot.

In the City centre, the Ramblas, as vibrant as their Barcelona equivalent, offer outdoor dining in lamp-lit squares, and fascinating shopping, from silver-lace fans to elaborate confirmation gowns, chandeliers, swords and custom-built flamenco guitars.

The Alcaicería or Arab bazaar surrounding the Cathedral is a haven of tourist tat – hookahs, inlaid wooden boxes, leather goods and shelves of plaster figurines. Here, doe-eyed Virgin Marys retail right alongside matadors and Pink Panthers – a real cultural melting pot.

The Albaicin, or old Moorish quarter, is on a steep hill that leaves you panting. One upmarket slope offers spectacular views of the Alhambra opposite. The rest, and the valley below, has been colonised by new-agers, with which Granada is absolutely heaving. Everywhere, dreadlocked crusties in matted coats and cheesecloth breeches trail mongrels on strings, and the air is heavy with wacky-baccy and Leonard Cohen.

Granada is a very old city with a young population, much of it student-based, all of it attractive, friendly and fun. What I don’t get is how they can afford to live there.

Food is seriously pricey. A starter of ‘mature sheep’s cheese’ at one Albaicin bar was an eye-watering £20 (you’d think they’d throw in the sheep for that), and tapas averages around £8 a dish. The Granadians don’t seem to have mastered tapas – standard dishes include tuna with tomato sauce on bread (about as nice as it sounds) grilled chorizo (okay, but unexciting) and potato croquettes (no, I can’t see the point either). Tourist paella is everywhere, usually re-heated, often unwisely garnished with a single desiccated mussel. Also cured hams, mounted for carving in elaborate callipers, the trotter pointing elegantly skyward, like a sawn-off ballerina.

I’m sure there’s wonderful food to be had in Granada: we just couldn’t quite find it.

Drinks can also cost. Wine in very average eating places can start at £25 per bottle. Look out, though, for the excellent, almost sherry-like, local rose by the glass, or try a generous warmed balloon of 10 year old Torres brandy (anything younger disappoints).

Places to see? Well, the Alhambra: you really can’t go all that way and just not bother. A fortified hilltop medina, the Alhambra is a vast, poorly-signposted network of palaces, towers, fountains with and without lions, terraces and gardens. Just finding your way into the place is a serious challenge. If I were an invader, I’d have given up. Which was presumably the whole idea.

The highlight is the Nazrid Palace complex. Entrance to this is by timed ticket and you have to be there on time or they won’t let you in. Once inside, sightseers are filtered through colonnades and chambers covered in exquisite arabesques, under intricately carved archways and alongside still, shaded pools reflecting the back the crush of tourists funnelling past. You know the sort of thing. Stunning, remarkable, absolutely unique - but strangely underwhelming.

For the real Arabian Nights bit, I actually preferred the Alhambra Hamman. A sinister-looking door down a side alley leads to a series of dim candlelit rooms, some apparently carved directly out of the rock face, each with its own temperature-controlled pool and perfumed relaxation area. Here, you hang about, sipping mint tea in near-silence, and chilling. You can also enjoy a very professional aromatherapy massage. And even, if you’re with someone special, a bit of discreet pool-based necking. All very Moorish, and very more-ish.

Moorish cafes, too, abound, each table modestly veiled off and surrounded by plump, invitingly-cushioned couches. Glasses of petal-scented tea are sipped to tinkling Arabic music and the satisfied bubbling of hookahs – carcinogenic and possibly hallucinogenic, but wonderfully soothing to be around.

Granada was Muslim, then Christian. When the Nazrids ceded to Ferdinand and Isabella, Catholicism broke out big-time. The cathedral is enormous; white and gold within, an apparent tumble of tiled towers and cupolas outside. I very kindly went there so you don’t have to. It’s full of massive, dusty-looking gilded monuments and altars. I wish I could say more, but the audio-guide was £3 extra, and I was feeling mean. The Capilla Real is the same, only more so. The city is full of big baroque churches and square, tiled monasteries, elbowing one another out of the way amid a sea of palaces, souks, chestnut sellers and spice stalls.

Why Granada is so inaccessible, when Barcelona is right on the main British tourist drag, I have no idea. Barcelona has Gaudi. Granada has it all. Once sterling starts recovering, I recommend you put Granada right at the top of your weekend-away list.