A few years ago, I almost didn’t get into the Alhambra. I tried to buy a ticket months before my trip. Nothing. I queued for an hour after arriving in Granada. Still nothing.
That evening, I booked a guided tour. It was cancelled. The next morning, I went back one last time. This time, I got in. Inside, there was almost no one.
I found a quiet corner in one of the gardens and sat down.
Around me were carved marble column looked like hand-made lace.
I could hear nothing but the sound of water flowing from a small fountain.
Without expecting it, I remembered a poem by an Arab poet.
It spoke about the gardens of the Alhambra.
The orange trees.
The fountains.
The quiet beauty of that place.
I don’t remember how long I stayed there.
A few hours later, I was looking at the Alhambra from a quiet spot in the city.
One of its towers was covered with people. That’s when I realized how lucky I had been.
If that tour hadn’t been cancelled, I probably would have seen the same monument.
But I would have missed what I remember most. I only remember that, for a little while, the Alhambra stopped being a monument. It became an experience.
Years later, I realised I wasn’t trying to create a different kind of tour.
I was trying to protect moments like that.
That is where RAY began. Long before it had a name.