My dentist, Dr. Clinton, is the type that has pictures of his kids right in front of the chair, so I get cavities filled looking at all of them. There’s no shortage of years-old People magazines that one can enjoy while listening to Muzak, and Carol, the hygienic, chats you up while sticking instruments in your mouth.
The only reason I don’t dread the dentist’s office is because of Dr. Clinton’s obsession with Spain (ok, and Wally’s milkshakes next door). More specifically, he loves Granada, a city he has a vacation flat in and returns to once a year.
A mid-sized university city, Granada was the last stronghold of the Moorish Al-Andalus kingdom, which fell to the Christians in 1492 (same year Columbus claimed the Americas for Spain. Big year, I’d say). Nowadays, it’s famous for free tapas and majestic Moorish palace, the Alhambra, which stands high above the city.
My best friend in the whole world finally made it to Spain, and there was only one weekend trip I would allow. Not Madrid’s museums, not Gaudi’s Barcelona. I took her to the Pomegranate, one of the most beautiful places in the south. I think she and Dr. Clinton have some words to exchange.