Granada is just south of the (original) Sierra Nevadas. Flew here from Barcelona. Didn't know it, but I arrived the day of a town festival. Got in around midnight. The airport bus dropped me off amid the dopers and skatepunks, where I spent an hour walking back and forth with my wheelie trying to find the hotel, misdirected by other hotels and cops alike.
The next morning the street were strewn with straw for a day-long parade. "Help us build your kingdom of justice, peace and love". Enough people were marching that the parade lasted most of the day. Yet there was much cynicism in the press that this was the Church's way of using the economy to prove some relevance to modern Spanish life.
Then they had to clean up the straw. After the festival people were standing around handing out springs of rosemary.  A few people took them; most rejected them with indignation. I finally had to break down and ask a waiter what this was for. Evidently it's for good luck, and good Catholics were rejecting it as superstition. "You can never have enough good luck," I said, to which the waiter replied a heartfelt "Yeah, luck is everything." Which you wouldn't hear in the country of Horatio Alger. (But then, Alger's most popular book was titled "Joe's Luck". I know this because I have my grandmother's edition from the 1860s.) 
Spanish ladies still fan themselves.  Fans were common in Granada (it was 105F)
On the Granada square: puppets, and later, flamenco.
The parents had to look irked for form's sake, but they were having as much fun deflecting the bubbles as he was blowing them in their faces. Since the heat was rather dry, women walked among the tables with pitchers of water, wetting the concrete to create evaporative cooling.
Condemned by thalidomide to a life of mouth organ
In a town full of tourist trinkets, these guys didn't have a license. They literally ran from the plaza to set up shop a few blocks away when chased by the cops (who weren't that serious, they were just walking fast).
Super lunch: salad of orange and cod, egg and kalamata olive with a little salt and olive oil.  When I came back next day (the food was good), the waiter told me our picture was in the local paper--a reporter had taken a pic of him putting a plate of food in front of me while covering the festival.  That was probably the coolest thing on the trip. But it was 8PM and everyone was sold out of the paper. "Ya necessito buscar en todos los basureros en la ciudad," I complained. He explained it would be pointless to look in all the trash cans because "no tiramos", but I didn't understand the explanation of what they do instead of tossing them. Maybe recycle. Checked on the web the next day. The paper has a site--it's the small town paper of numerous small towns. There was a gallery of pics from the festival, but we weren't in it.
Fried bread (churros) with chocolate dip is literally the only breakfast choice in town, so I was simply forced to eat them every morning.
Baked octopus with paprika on a bed of potatos. Here I made my most risible Spanish blunder, asking for "phrases with whipped cream". (Strawberries are fresas, not frasas.)
The street's everybody's, decorate your part.
Doesn't this kinda violate what graffiti's for? (In LA, anyway)
Our dreams don't fit in your ballot boxes.
True dat. The NY Times had an article linking the Arab Spring and London riots and Indian corruption protesting to loss of faith in democracy. The next generation is used to self-organizing, and has noted that the form of government designed to be most responsive is simply intractable before the people's will, paralyzed by special interests and bureaucratic maturity (internal political goals displacing the mission).
I'm missing some context here.
  Born after ancient hope
A resplendent clinic
Construction is complete
It's only missing patients,
Doctors and nurses
Upon thinking and speculating
I "have the pot" (idiom?) it's a mess
Well then, I can't explain
If smoking is so harmful
Why do they sell tobacco?

Yes, if you look up "taco" is a real Spanish dictionary, it means "mess". (Brian says he can see some Spaniard encountering his first taco and saying "What is this mess?")

The pickaninny took first:

After Michelle Obama
Left the flowered Sacromonte
The First Lady said:
"How dry is my husband
That here they call him dried tuna?"
(Mojama, Arabic for "dried" is a local specialty.)