Full resolution (JPEG) - On this page / på denna sida - I. Spain. En Route
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seemed to drop right down into the sea, we discover a
broad and fertile lowland in front of it. This is the
famous Huertas, the most fruitful plain on earth, con-
stituting a belt along the coast from Barcelona to be-
yond Malaga in the south, a distance of more than a
thousand miles.
There is a white gleam above the clouds, and as they
recede with the advance of morning, we behold the
mighty snowy ridge of Sierra Nevada some two or
three hundred miles to the southwest. All day long we
have the “snow tops” before us in the same general
direction and at the same distance, so remote and
immense are they. But on the following morning we can
distinguish the various country towns along the
southern slope of the mountain chain, all of Alpujarras, so
famous for its fruits and hams and its ten centuries of
Moorish history. And beyond it, over on the northern
slope of the chain, I know Granada lies, madly
captivating, with the Alhambra, the Vega, the gypsies.
About noon, we slip into the port of Malaga.
Malaga is the same pleasant town it was six years
ago, an agreeable blending of old and new; Moorish
ruins, Andalusian odors, new streets with pavements
of wooden blocks, modern cement quays. It is all fine
but not particularly characteristic, with its two
hundred thousand industrious inhabitants, who are
suspected all over Andalusia of coquetting with the
English and of having uttered contemptible words to the
effect that their seaport is as good as the Alhambra
of Granada. The foreigner who has seen both will
find it about as sensible to quarrel over this question as
to dispute which is higher: the soprano’s high C or the
cathedral spire at Seville. Probably something is
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