The pomegranate – fruit of heaven

When choosing a title for my novel, I finally decided on Secrets of the Pomegranate, largely because it is set in Granada and the pomegranate is a symbol of the city. The Spanish word for pomegranate is granada although the origins of the city’s name lie elsewhere. The district now called the Realejo was, by the time of the Muslim occupation in the 8th century, home to a large Jewish population and the city was therefore known in Arabic as Gárnata al-Yahud, Granada of the Jews. Garnata later became Granada, although the Jews were expelled almost immediately the Catholic monarchs made their conquest in 1492.

Numerous myths feature the pomegranate and in many religions it is considered a sacred fruit. In the Greek myth of the abduction of Persephone by Hades, Lord of the Underworld, it is a symbol of fertility and abundance, the story being a metaphor for the cycle of growth, dormancy and regeneration.

IMG_1494The Qur’an refers to pomegranates growing in the gardens of paradise. A legend tells that each pomegranate contains one seed that has come down from paradise, while the Jews believe each pomegranate has exactly 613 seeds, one to represent each of the Torah’s commandments. (I must admit, I’ve never had the patience to count!) In the Song of Solomon, the cheeks of a bride behind her veil are described as like the two halves of a pomegranate. Christianity regards the fruit as a symbol of resurrection and eternal life: pomegranates appear in many statues and paintings of the Virgin and child. In some parts of the world it was believed to be a pomegranate rather than an apple that tempted Eve in the Garden of Eden. Buddhism considers it one of the three blessed fruits. In China, a popular wedding present is a picture of a ripe, open pomegranate, symbolising fertility, abundance, posterity and the birth of many virtuous children. It had symbolic importance and was used for many rituals in the Zoroastrian religion too. In Persian mythology, Isfandiyar became invincible when he ate one.

Dreaming of pomegranates can be interpreted in various ways. It can signify fertility, good health and long life. Alternatively it can represent blood or the allure and invitation of sex. According to gypsy lore, unripe pomegranates foretell sickness and scandal although to dream of gathering them indicates fortune through a person of influence.

 

IMG_1212According to one myth, eating a pomegranate signifies that you will yield yourself captive to the personal charms of another. Which could explain Deborah’s attraction to Hassan in my novel – although by the time he presents her with the pomegranate she is already thoroughly charmed. Their relationship being somewhat explosive, it is interesting to note that the fruit gave its name to the hand grenade, which has a similar size and shape.

Aside from its religious and legendary significance, the pomegranate is highly beneficial for health due to its anti-oxidant and other properties. Pomegranate juice is widely sold in health shops, with claims that it can lower cholesterol and prevent heart disease, diabetes, skin and prostate cancers and osteoarthritis, to name just a few. This is no new discovery. Pomegranates have been used for medicinal purposes for thousands of years as well as in recipes from all over the world. The Greek physician, Dioscorides wrote: ‘All sorts of pommegranats are of a pleasant taste and good for ye stomach . . . The juice of the kernells prest out, being sod and mixed with Hony, are good for the ulcers that are in ye mouth and in ye Genitalls and in the seate, as also for the Pterygia in digitis and for the Nomae and ye excrescencies in ulcers, and for ye paines of ye eares, and for the griefs in ye nosthrills . . . The decoction of ye flowers is a collution of moist flagging gummes and of loose teeth . . . ye rinde having a binding faculty . . . but ye decoction of ye roots doth expell and kill the Latas tineas ventris.’ This last, I discovered, means tapeworm infestation. So now you know!

Bienvenido. Welcome to my first post

sunrise from terrace

Granada is rightly famed for its beautiful sunsets but I thought this equally spectacular sunrise, taken from my terrace at 8.30 on an October morning, would be a fitting image for my first blogpost. Welcome and congratulations on finding your way to this site. I’ll be writing about life in Granada and giving some background to my soon-to-be-published novel, Secrets of the Pomegranate.

Granada in winter means dressing in layers that have to be repeatedly taken off and put on again. This morning, as usual in January, it was below freezing and with tiled floors and no central heating, the house was COLD. A few hours later, I was sitting with friends in the sunny garden of Quique’s bar, near my house in Sacromonte, feeling my face beginning to burn and wishing I’d worn a T-shirt instead of my thermal vest so I could take off my jumper. Quique is a retired flamenco dancer, always elegantly dressed, often in a white suit and cravat with a carnation in his buttonhole. Decorating the walls of his cave are large, close-up,  black and white photos of the lined faces of his mother and grandmother, who were also flamenco dancers in their day. Until her death a few years ago, I used to regularly see his mother sitting at one of the tables in the garden, solicitously attended to by Quique. Often she would appear absorbed in the music, adding her own accompaniment with the palmas, the rhythmic hand-clapping of flamenco. Paintings by local artists as well as all manner of traditional gypsy artefacts adorn the rest of the wallspace above and around the bar. In the garden, classical or flamenco music issues from a speaker but at a volume that’s relaxing rather than intrusive. It’s a great place to while away an hour or two absorbing the ambiente of Sacromonte and watching the sun set behind the Alhambra.

Quique's bar 3

Now it’s evening and cold again – at least in the parts of the house my wood stove doesn’t reach, like bedroom and bathroom. In the salón though, the heat is enough to bring the geckos out of their hibernation. If I get up in the night, I’ll often find a gecko or two on the wall, revelling in the warmth of the still smouldering fire. The downside to this contrast of heat and cold is chillblains – a problem I vaguely remember from childhood but never since – not till I came to Granada. Now every winter my fingers are covered in itchy red swellings. However, when I look out at the mountains, sparkling white after heavy falls of snow this week and clearly defined against a deep blue sky, I think: I can live with chillblains.