Sleeping in a Spanish gypsy cave in Sacromonte, Granada

Finding the perfect cave home

When Aaron (the other half of  Holiday Duo) first told me that he wanted to stay in a cave on our upcoming holiday to Spain, I wasn’t sure what to think. On one hand, it sounded dark and dingy with minimal air supply and on the other, it sounded like a unique adventure.

I’m always intrigued and so we started looking around online for the perfect cave for our stay and we hit the jackpot with this one. We’d barely confirmed our reservation when we started reading some questionable reviews about Sacromonte as a destination…

Watch your bags after night!

I wouldn’t recommend walking alone after dark… someone held me at knife point and stole my wallet!

Sacromonte’s vibrant history

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Sacromonte has quite the past. The destination is a traditional neighbourhood in the eastern area of the picturesque city of Granada (known to most travelers as the home of one of Spain’s most impressive tourist destinations – The Alhambra). Once upon a time it was also the home of the Granadian Gipsies living in cave houses built into the whitewashed walls of the landscape. The area is also the birthplace of Flamenco and now attracts thousands of free spirited folk from all around the world who have opted to check out of reality for a more simple life in the Spanish mountains. But, it’s more free spirited history meant that it had its fair share of poverty and theft, hence the online reviews we’d been reading.

Now I’m not one to overreact (actually that’s not true at all) but I’d soon almost convinced Aaron to stay somewhere a little bit more on the well-trodden tourist pathway. We ‘um’ed and we ‘ah’ed but our sense of adventure was too strong and despite some worried conversations, we decided we weren’t going to miss out on the experience. 

Arriving in Granada

The train and bus journeys from Seville to Granada were both peaceful and picturesque. The small, local train took us past rows and rows of olive trees as far as the eye could see which likely produced enough olive oil to keep the entire world going for at least 2 years. We enjoyed practicing our broken Spanish with the train conductor who spoke slowly enough for us to smile proudly at each other about our conversational skills. At Santa Ana we hopped off the train and swapped onto a bus, continuing through the olive-tree littered landscape. I now fully understood Aaron’s obsession with olive trees and longing to recreate mini Europe in our backyard. We pulled into the bus station and quickly grabbed our bags so we could secure a spot in one of the only taxis left.

You mightn’t be surprised to know that In a cave-dominated neighbourhood there’s not your standard letterbox numbering system, so when our taxi driver became lost, he dropped us off on the side of the road with a shrug. We dragged out our suitcases (mine that housed my entire summer wardrobe and Aaron’s that contained exactly the number of underwear for one week) and started to climb the stairs that led us off the road, towards our cave.

The cave

What greeted us at the top was a small stone courtyard filled with pot-plants and a white façade that incidentally looked very un-cave like. The view swept off to the beautiful valley of Valparaiso opposite us and there was a small table beside the door which looked like the perfect spot to drink a tempranillo and take in the view.

I did my customary excited flapping around and photo taking while Aaron hunted down the key. Through the front door was a high curved ceiling (very cave-like) which opened into a huge living area complete with the cutest kitchen I’ve ever seen (red oven and all!). The fridge was stocked with eggs and orange juice and there was a loaf of bread sitting on the table.

The living area had colourful couch throws and the cupboards were decorated with tiles and crammed with crockery. Despite the picture I’d built in my mind of low ceilings and minimal air supply, the cave was bright and airy and the perfect temperature to escape mid-summer in southern Spain. The cave opened up into more rooms, each more homely than the next with reassurances of the outside world through the windows framing the outside view. Safe to say, we’d both fallen in love with our cave and were already wondering how we were ever going to leave.

I finished my photo-tour and Aaron finished his usual set up of the electronic equipment when he called for me to come outside where there was loud, upbeat music playing. If there’s one thing for sure, they love a good ol’ fiesta in Spain. From our front courtyard we could see locals playing instruments, dressed up as anything from popcorn tubs right through to a scary looking guy dressed as a zombie, wielding an actual chainsaw (and a mask) and pretending to decapitate people. At this point, there was only one thing for us to do.

We were soon wedged in the middle of the local fiesta (while still keeping a wary eye on the chainsaw man), understanding virtually  nada  of what we were celebrating. We danced and clapped our way down the street with the brightly coloured locals, past cafes and restaurants, and finally stopping to admire The Alhambra in the fresh air once we hit the main street.

We settled ourselves on high stools at a local bar overlooking The Alhambra and were soon provided with our drinks and free Tapas that is customary in the city (a tradition that is sadly becoming less and less)  – it may not have been the most local hang out, but the view of The Alhambra to our foreign eyes was awe-inspiring.

Aaron devoured  patatas bravas  and  bodingas  with ease (standard Spanish classics) while throwing down his red, while I looked at my wine with a wave of nausea. I’d been sick for over a week by now thanks to inhaling some dodgy tomato juices from the street at the La Tomatina festival (the tomato throwing festival held annually in the town of Bunol). Let me tell you, what an effective way to drop a few kilos. I hadn’t seen that number of the scales since 2006.

After Aaron had eaten and drank for two, we trekked back up the steep incline to Sacromonte stopping every few minutes to soak in the magic of The Alhambra. Instead of being the dark, bag-snatchers dream that we’d originally pictured, this sanctuary for gypsies from all over the world was simply breath-taking and one of the most unique places we have had the pleasure to lay our eyes on. From our bedroom window we could even see the soft light of the Generalife glowing in the distance (part of The Alhambra).

After the perfect night’s sleep followed by a shower in the quaintest bathroom I’d ever seen, I was inspired enough by the homely cave environment to have a rare attempt at cooking breakfast for us both. What was meant to be poached eggs had soon disintegrated in a white foamy mess, and Aaron was back to save the day (as he usually does with anything cooking related) with fried eggs and toast. We made the most of the outdoor table and ate breakfast outside our not so little cave home, looking out at the magnificent view with Generalife just in sight.

We were both so happy we decided to push through our anxiety and take a chance on the “dark and dingy cave” because our experience was anything but. We spent our time reading books, exploring Granada, wandering around Sacromonte, eating, and familiarising ourselves with the fine art of flamenco dancing. By the end of our time in Sacromonte we felt well and truly like our cave home had become our real home.

In case you are wondering, it’s Cueva Los Naranjos (the orange cave).

Rosie & Aaron