The city of Córdoba alone could boast 600 public baths in its 11th-century heyday. After the Moorish cities fell to the Christians the baths were closed down or demolished but now, more than 500 years on, a modest revival is gaining momentum.

Although it is tucked away at the edge of the busy city centre, this particular part of Granada felt to us as exotically Moorish as The Arabian Nights. For a start there was the Alhambra itself, an arabesque citadel, its palaces and battlements rising romantically above the wooded ridge. Behind us was the old Moorish residential quarter of the Albaicín, on a hillside that faced the Alhambra across the narrow Darro Valley. Among its chaotic tangle of alleys and stairways were water cisterns, secret gardens and hidden doorways. We were staying there, in one of the former grand residences that had been converted to a hotel. Ours, inside, was like a little Alhambra palace, with a tinkling fountain, chiselled stone archways and a huge underground storage jar (every home had one) called an aljibe.

To the Moors of Granada cleanliness was next to godliness while, to the Christians of those distant days, the reverse applied. Baths to them were somehow lascivious and immoral. The traveler and writer Richard Ford observed in the 1830s that: “Isabella, the favourite daughter of Phillip II… made a solemn vow never to change her shift until Ostend was taken. The siege lasted three years, three months and thirteen days. The royal garment acquired a tawny colour, which was called Isabel by the courtiers…”.

It was zealous, determined griminess of this sort that had formed the backdrop to the smashing of the baths and the expulsions of the fragrant Moors in the early 16th-century.

“A fiesta for the senses”, that’s what Grupo Al-Andalus promised, and the pamphlet pretty close to the mark. We both changed into our swimsuits in the communal vestibule of Baños Arabes, then went through the steamy, scented vaults to the baths themselves, where we soaked along with a small group of mixed nationality. The company was cautiously convivial, and members would break away in ones and twos, to amble lethargically from hot pool to cold plunge, to return later, more briskly.

Through the vapour our surroundings were convincingly Moorish – the star-shaped occuli in the vaulted ceiling (though in this case with artificial lights); the patterned azulejo tiles, stencilled fretwork, white marble fountains and intricately-carved archways. It was another little Alhambra, this one with steam – and masseuses.

The early success of these Baños Árabes was such that they were being tripled in size. Gerardo showed us to the panoramic restaurant that was also scheduled for enlargement. A Hispano-Muslim menu included such dishes as rabbit with Almohad sauce (Almohad was a fundamentalist sect of Moors, as I recalled), eggplant with honey and partridges with chestnuts.