Heat Grenada exploding

in their unsuspecting little faces. 
I am beginning to wonder if there is an imbalance between the Irish and French DNA in them. Looks like it is something like 80/20.
And they didn't even walk all the way up to the Alhambra. Incidentally, there are little touristy trains and Alhambra minibuses going from the foot of the hill to the gates of the complex but there is one breed that refuses to fork out the €4 for the motorised transfer: yep, the French. Mimi thought is was taking the piss when I told her. She soon realised that there usually is some truth behind stereotypes. Here the evidence was overwhelming. 
The French will walk up a hill in 40 degree heat to save some cash. That's why the nation is so fit. 
Having followed in the steps of my compatriots I actually pushed further than the gates of the palace (there wasn't enough time to do it justice) and walked even further up, to a little olive trees orchard which was an oasis of greenery and coolness (extra). 
A lovely day trip, and Finn got to eat his second best kebab ever (for some reason he found a second wind when I mentioned walking to a kebab shop I had spotted when climbing back down Cheapo Hill)