Aqueducts and Alcazars: Segovia

I vividly remember learning about aqueducts in my grade school history classes with Mr. Loehr and wondering, “why on Earth are we talking about this?!” Running water seemed to be a nice addition to what I had naively imagined to be primitive living, an advantage I have taken for  granted, having always had it myself. While I thought it was nice for the Romans to have water and all, I did not understand why we were going on and on about some gutters in the ground. Fortunately, I have wisened up in my older years, and I am jumping on the bandwagon - aqueducts are not only ingenious architectural creations, they are monstrous works of skillful art and something everyone must see and experience for themselves. 

Segovia, Spain is one of the best - and for that reason one of the most popular - day-trip options from Madrid. Beyond its over 2000 year-old aqueduct, it has a fairy tale-esque castle you can storm (by climbing 152 steps), famed roast suckling pig to devour at every restaurant, and, of course, a beautiful Gothic cathedral. You can engage in each of these delights in one full day, and from Madrid, the trip is a 28 minute bullet train ride (and a 15 minute bus ride).

Segovia (Victorious City) originated as a Celtic landholding, with control then passing to the Romans to be used as a Latin convent. It was then abandoned centuries later, following the Islamic invasion of Spain. Around 1080 the city was resettled with Christians from north of the Iberian Peninsula and beyond the Pyrenees. In the Middle Ages, given the city’s key position on trading routes, its industry of wool and textiles exploded and continued throughout the 16th century. Jewish populations began to settle in the region, and its collective population rose to 27,000 in 1594. However, this prosperity was short-lived: one century later the population fell to 8,000. Attempts to revitalize the textile industry in the 18th century were unsuccessful. In 1764 Spain’s first military academy, the Royal School of Artillery, was opened, and in 1808 the town’s forces were put to the test as French troops sacked the city during the War of Independence. Less than 30 years later, it was unsuccessfully attacked by Don Carlos in the First Carlist War – a Civil War over succession to the throne in Spain. Segovia finally saw its population recover in the 19th and 20th century, having achieved relative economic stability.

Segovia finally reaped the benefits of its historical foundations when, in 1984 both the city itself and the aqueduct specifically were declared World Heritage Sites by UNESCO. With its narrow cobble-stoned streets, Jewish architecture, and astounding landmarks, the humble city is truly a walk back in time.

Often, when arriving in different towns, I have found there is always one more step I need to take to get where I really want to go. To get to Paris and Rome we needed to take an hour-long taxi. In the Canary Islands, we ended up needing two busses, a long walk, and a Ferry Ride. Our honeymoon in Malaga was a nightmare of trains, buses, and taxis. While it takes a train and a bus to get to Segovia, it was all very easy, very cheap, very fast, and it all allowed for a few beautiful views of the surrounding area. After arriving in nowhere-Segovia’s train station, we disembarked, stepped outside and found two buses waiting to take us to our destination. You step off the bus, look to your right, and feel faint at the monstrosity before you.

The Aqueduct of Segovia is shrouded in mystery and wonderment as to when exactly it was built and how it has managed to stay so well preserved throughout Spain’s history. The Aqueduct used to have an inscription of its date - but that has long-since vanished. Most assume it was built in the 1st Century.

The fascination surrounding this creation does not stop upon first witnessing its grandiose size. It only grows when you realize this is an ingenious work of architecture. This behemoth has managed to withstand centuries of mother nature, human recklessness and general aging - with no mortar. The stones in the Segovia Aqueduct are holding themselves up.

We explored the sight briefly that morning before heading off to our next destination, and we returned in the evening to have a drink and continue to marvel at it all, holding my breath and pondering what a terrible catastrophe it would be for this seemingly fragile world-wonder to collapse before us.

Our next visit was a brief tour of the Cathedral of Segovia. The Cathedral is located in Plaza Mayor, dedicated to Virgin Mary. It was one of the last Gothic Cathedrals constructed in Spain and Europe as a whole, between 1525 and 1577.  A former Cathedral had been built adjacent to the Alcázar, but it was destroyed in a siege while attempting to protect the Alcázar. To avoid future chances of similar destruction, the Cathedral is now a good distance away from the palace.

A view of the Cathedral from the Alcazar Tower. 

I’ve seen dozens of Cathedrals - most of them Gothic - at this point, and they all have started to run together, with their gilded altars, arched ceilings, multiple chapels, and stained glass. However, each one has evoked a unique character that seem to make them all worth the visit. Entrance to the Cathedral in Segovia was €3.00 each, and sadly, no photos whatsoever were allowed once inside. And so, as with Escorial, I put my phone away and focused on taking it all in. Noticeably, while this Cathedral has been dedicated to the Virgin Mary, its chapels seemed to indicate otherwise; almost all of them focused their art on the story of the crucifixion. It was, honestly, a little too much for me. Unlike other cathedrals I had visited, this one seemed to be more in a state of disrepair - or perhaps a constant state of repair? Water damage was evident here and there, parts of the marble floor had worn away, and some of the altars seemed in dire need of polishing. Along the walls, aligned with the peak of the 33-meter-tall arches so characteristic of Gothic churches, bright stained glass windows told a story, but some were missing. I personally liked the abandoned sentiment of it all. I found solace in the antiquity of the building’s spirit, and I appreciated its genuine nature. 

After passing through each chapel, we entered into a courtyard that led to two more rooms. The first was a small museum of silver and gilded chalices and crosses, french tapestries, and interesting paintings. The second was the "Chapter House" covered in Flemish tapestries from the 18th Century and topped with a 17th Century Renaissance-style masquetry ceiling. I think this means gilded and over-the-top embellished. This room reinforced a practice we have developed in our time here - look up! 

In sharp contrast to the vulnerable appearance of the giant roman plumbing system was the Segovian Alcázar, perched high-up on a rocky peninsular hill that juts out of a fork in a stream.  Many liken its position and structure to that of a ship, and when you climb to the top of the tower, it does feel like you are in fact steering the palace forward through raging … hills. It began as a fortress, served as a royal palace, was used as a prison, transformed into the Royal Artillery College, and now, it calls to visitors far and wide as a museum.

The location has been of military significance for all of its known history, originating as a Roman, and then Arab fort, until the 12th Century when King Alfonso VIII decided to make it his and his wife’s personal residence. The following Century, a large cave-in led to more remodeling of the growing palace, and in the 15th Century, King John II made the largest contributions to its construction, with the accomplishment of the “New Tower” (John II Tower).

After 1570, upon King Philip II’s marriage to his niece, Anna of Austria (his fourth and most beloved wife), he had sharp slate spires added to the Alcázar to reflect the current styles of central Europe. When the royal court took up residence in Madrid, the Acázar was used as a state prison for about 200 years before King Charles III converted into the Royal Artillery School in 1762. After 100 years of existence, a fire badly damaged the building, and restoration did not begin for two decades. During its restoration, its original features were exaggerated and beautified to reflect the 19th Century obsession with fairy tales and magical kingdoms, making the building more ornamental than functional. Thereafter, Alfonso XIII designated the Ministry of War to use it as a military college. It is now one of the most popular historical tourist destinations in Spain.

After taking in the wonderful external views of the Alcázar, rumored to have inspired Walt Disney’s creation of Cinderellas Castle, and gazing across the yellow and green planes below us, we stood in line, bought our tickets, and began our exploration.As far as ticket costs go, the normal entrance fee is €5.00, plus an additional €2.00 to climb the tower (which is foolish to go without). The student discount is €3.00 for the normal entrance (the tower is still an additional €2.00). However, unlike most student discounts provided in Spain, this one (at least for us) did not ask for further confirmation of our ages - meaning we both got discounts!

We passed through the entrance and began our self-guided tour of the fortress in a side Military School Museum. This was interesting as it had miniatures of the many cannons and laboratories used (from my understanding, they made ammunition here), as well as beakers and jars full of materials used for making explosives. After touring the displays, we decided it was time to see the actual building.

The first room you enter in the Alcázar is the Sala del Palacio Viejo (the Old Palace Room). The main feature here was a fascinating array of armor for horses and men alike. I enjoyed the reminder that I would have been tall in the 16th Century, and Jonny was intrigued by the spear-like toes on the feat of many suits. Apart from the museum decór the room was rather bare, and we moved on.

From the Old Palace Room we entered the Sala de la Chimenea (the Fireplace Room) a small room - with a fireplace - encumbered with a large wooden table. There was some interesting furniture, but we continued on quickly.

Next came the Sala de Solio (the Throne Room). The extravagant mudejar room itself was constructed in the 14th Century, when the Castilian province was under the controversial rule of the Trastámara Dynasty (upon the death of Alfonso XI of Castile, his illegitimate son, Henry II took the throne from his legitimate son - Peter the Cruel, and that branch of the family ruled Castile, and Aragon, until Ferdinand and Isabella united the country). The top half of the walls were adorned with blood-red cloth, under which blue and white glazed tiles (Azulejos)  stretched down to the floor. Intricate gilded doors hung below beautiful archways, and the domed ceiling was a fantastic cornucopia of red and blue detail. The throne itself, added to the room in 1808 in honor of  Alfonso XIII and his wife, Queen Victoria Eugenia (granddaughter of Queen Victoria of England) was red like the walls, with golden outlines, the Spanish coat of arms, and dark wooden seats, all atop a large, fancy rug. The room was rather small, overall, and oddly square shaped.

The Sala de Galeria (the Galley Room), commissioned by Queen Catherine of Lancaster, the mother and guardian of King John II through his infancy, was our next stop. The room received its name from the the ceiling which resembled an upside down view of the hull of a ship.  

Apart from an interesting wall mural on the far end, the remainder of the room was relatively bare, showcasing its golden stone walls, and highlighting the enormous, beautiful windows.

We passed through the Sala de Piñas (the Pine Cone Room), commissioned by Juan II and named for the nearly 400 gilded pine-cone shaped embellishments emerging out of the ceiling, and we arrived in the Cámara Regia (the Royal Bedroom). The bedroom was laden with faded tapestries cut to fit the shapes of the wall, revealing only the arched mudéjar doorways reflecting those in the Sevillan palaces. The four-poster bed, again in the thematic blood red of the Alcázar rooms, took up half of the room. I imagine it was a rather large bed relative to the people - and beds - of the time.

The most popular room came next - the Sala de Reyes (the Hall of Kings). The lower half of the walls were cemented in Azulejos, clothed in blood-red drapings, and decorated with large Renaissance paintings. the overall feel of the room was that of a reception hall, spacious and open with more enormous windows drawing the sun within. But, what is most spectacular about this room is the “frieze” lining the high part of the wall. There statues of the rulers from Pelagius of Asturias to Juana la Loca looked down quizzically upon its visitors. I, personally found the changing headdresses over the years to be the most interesting component of these characters.

Then came the Sala de Cordon (the Cord Room), lined with Franciscan cords to represent Alfonso X’s penance for his excessive pride. Then we made our final stop within the confines of the palace - the chapel where Philip the II married his Anne of Austria. The chapel had, like many of the rooms, been renovated following the fire. However, it proudly displays a painting of the Epiphany by Bartolomé Carducho from 1600 that was rescued as the place burned to the ground. Like Dolly Madison saving the portrait of George Washington during her retreat from the White House in the War of 1812.

We had one more exciting adventure to take before settling in to a traditional Segovian lunch: climbing the tower of Juan II. 

Many signs warn visitors, this part of the trip is not for the faint of heart, that it is 152 steps to get to the top. What they don’t mention is that these are hardly steps. Rather, it is a never ending spiral of (152) triangular, worn-out, slanted slabs. Adding to the thrill of it all, there are constant streams of visitors climbing and descending on these “steps” more suitable for one person. Oh, but don’t worry, there is a rusty chain dangling along the walls for you to grasp in case you slip and fall... I wanted to kiss the ground at both the top and the bottom, because for the second time in my life I made the journey unscathed.

half way up the tower, there is an outlet for you to rest and see another
incredible view of the castle towers and surroundings

And I would do it all over again because the views are too outstanding to miss! We caught our breaths and took a very long look around. On one side, you see an impressive view of the city and its cathedral. Opposite this view, you can look down and see the rest of the castle below you, and you feel as if you are steering it forward like a ship. The remaining sides only offer more wonderful views of the city’s rural surroundings and snow-capped mountains. I´m not sure I would have minded being Rapunzel.

Our workout left us famished and we sought a restaurant to indulge in a Menú that would allow us a taste of the famous local cuisines. Jonny chose Meson don Jimeno, and we were able to try not only the famed - and absolutely delicious Roast Suckling Pig - but also traditional Castilian soup - which tasted like paprika water with chorizo, bread, and fat throughout. A word to the wiser travelers than us: we were very preoccupied with making sure we could see the palace and the cathedral before they closed to the public. This meant lunch closer to the average Spanish lunch time - 3:00. I think in retrospect it would have been a better idea to eat earlier, like 1:00. We probably would not have had to wait for over an hour to eat on a busy Saturday, and we still would have had all the necessary time to visit the Cathedral and Alcázar. Oh well, we had a few beers, a few tapas, and the meal was well worth the wait. 

Our afternoon plans were more unstructured, and when Jonny is your travel companion, this often means falling away from the crowds, and taking the unmarked paths. We returned to the Alcázar area to view the valley below us, lined by an ancient wall. We were there not three minutes and Jonny is futzing with an iron gate. It opened to a set of stone stairs along the wall that devolved into a steep grassing incline, and despite my protest about breaking some rule, we were on our way into some unknown adventure. As soon as it was clear we were allowed to be doing this, I was having fun again, walking along the Camino de la Cuesta de los Hoyos (walk of the slope of the pit?). Up above us people had lined the walls to gaze at the castle, unaware of our existence, and we were blessed with uniquely beautiful views of the Castle and the Cathedral, while immersing ourselves deeper and further into the valley below it.

We circled the entire base of the castle’s foundation, finding random, un-preserved ruins here and there. As the sun began to set, we were scaling an uncountable number stairs to arrive at the top of the rock, on the opposite side of the castle from where we started. I need to be in better shape if I am going to keep up with the whims of my husband.

As the sun was escaping beneath the horizon, we found ourselves back where we started, beneath the Aqueduct. We sat in the plaza, ate ice cream, and relaxed until it was time to say goodbye to another wonderful adventure in Spain.

Seville, Spain part 2 - Seville Has Not Abandoned Me

Seville is one of those places that, as a student of Spanish and formerly avid reader of Garcia Lorca, really makes you feel like you are in Spain. Throughout the day you are surrounded by the clatter of horse hooves on the cobble-stoned roads, and brilliant flowers pour out of planters as they hang from the balconies of narrow streets where houses are so close together, you would hardly have to make an effort to hold hands with your neighbor through the windows. And at night, as you stroll through the historic streets you can hear the darkly fascinating sounds of flamenco vocalists and guitarists echoing in every third establishment.

Plaza de España

Our integration into this seemingly new world began Saturday morning with a visit to Plaza de España (Spain Square)– at this point in my Spanish discovery, the best plaza in this country. And that is saying something, because there are plazas everywhere in this country. Of course, This particular plaza should have drawn my attention sooner - it was used in Star Wars Episode I and Episode II as part of the planet Naboo, and it also showed its face in The Dictator. It was built in 1928 for the Ibero-American Exposition of 1929. 

Upon our arrival that misty morning, we were sadly reminded of the relentlessly distasteful attempts by hawkers to get you to throw away your money on gimmicky, mass-produced souvenirs that were not even made in Seville. An old man approached us, and I, a fool, thought perhaps he had a question I would be able to answer. I don’t really know why I would think that: my Spanish is basic, and I had only that hour begun to learn the layout of the city. But I cannot refuse at least an attempt if someone needs it. Then I saw it – the small twig in his hand – and knew all too well we had been targeted. I put my hand up to halt him, said “no, gracias” and hoped that would be enough. Unfortunately people like this do not take no for an answer, and his response was to take my hand – quite firmly – and push the plant into my palm. I repeated no several times, but he would not be deterred. Before I knew it, he had Jonny in his grasp, and I think he was trying to tell us our fortune. I told him I speak hardly any Spanish (a desperate attempt to get him to give up this charade) but “Qué lastima” he continued on. From what he knew, we are going to have two children, a boy and a girl. I think Jonny has the heart of a horse, there was something about our hearts, and best of all, I think Jonny will also be a model someday. After forcing our fortunes upon us, he pulled out souvenir “palmas,” the handclappers used in flamenco. Again I said no and tried to pull away, but he put them in my hand insisting “es un regalito.” Now, I have heard this before from men the likes of him, and while I learned in school that “regalito” means little gift, I learned in Spain that it is not at all a gift as we understand it. It really means, “high pressure sale where I put something you don’t want in your hands and then demand you pay for it.” True to form, he began asking for money. I said no, no again, and thereafter sought the help of Jonny – who maybe this guy would listen to. Finally, he gave up, sighed gruffly, and took the palmas back. Most amusingly, he also took the twig he was using to tell our future out of my hand as well and marched off looking for his next victim. It was a good warm up to the people in the plaza itself selling twigs of Rosemary – or at least attempting to – to passersby, and by the end of our visit here I seemed to adopt the effective, brow-furrowing scowl every time one tried to pin us down again. The look of disgust was, of course, all for show, as it would be impossible to maintain any negativity when surrounded by the glowing details of the plaza.

Plaza de España is a giant, round oval, with an equally large orange-brick building lining half of the perimeter, marked at each end with two impressively tall towers.  Hinting at Andalucía’s Arabic history, the details of the building were phenomenal. Brilliant stone of green and blue lined the edges and corners of the exterior, and the rust-red floor was lined with bright blue patterns that could make one dizzy. We explored every inch of the building, constantly impressed by its pristine and warm details.

At foot of the building, the bend of its wings, tiled alcoves with maps of the regions, and paintings of the area’s history were found, and we passed what had to be at least an hour examining each one and trying to decide which was our favorite. There were also four maps of Spain designating the traditional industries of the regions. 

Along the vicinity of this narrow stretch of building his a thick pathway of matching brick, leading to a series of small, colorful bridges (representing the four kingdoms of Spain) that pass over a waterway/mote into the center where white and black stones had been arranged and cemented into abstract designs. Row-boats were available for rent to relax with an alternative view of the plaza, and a relatively plain, but large fountain - the “Vicente Traver Fountain” sat at the very center of it all. I hear it is beautiful in the summer when the fountains are actually running. 

Parque Santa Maria

Plaza de España was just one piece of the Iber-American Exposition, which really consisted of the whole of “Parque Santa Maria,” a place I can liken to Jurassic paradise. And so our inspired wanderlust naturally carried us there. A majority of it had formerly been the gardens of the Palace of San Telmo, but they were donated to the city  for use as a public park in 1893. They were rearranged in 1911 into the way they look today, and they were ultimately incorporated into the construction for the Ibero-American Exposition of 1929, beginning in  1914.

We spent the remainder of our morning getting lost on the paths, eyeing the tempting orange trees and marveling with wonderment as to how palm trees can get so freakishly tall, lulled into a daze by the constant giggles of doves in the trees. Again paying homage to the region’s Arabic influence, the buildings and the layout of the place was adorned in detailed, colorful tile work and manicured square gardens. A variety of terraces were scattered throughout the giant retreat, as were marble white statues and small fountains. Every unassuming path seemed to provide us with a new surprise, and, of course, tons of oranges.Various buildings occupied the far east end of the park with a strip of courtyard between them (Plaza De America). Once mansions, the buildings are now museums holding archaeological wonders. We found a small enclave of a circular stone bench surrounded by pine trees and sat to rest for a moment in this courtyard. We quickly noticed that the benches were covered in tiles that depicted several images from Don Quixote – hundreds of them, all showing a different image.

Another magical wonderland in Parque Santa Maria - the Little Island of Birds,
complete with elegant swans, fluttering white doves, racing ducks, and storybook bridges.

My relentless headache was begging for relief from the harsh lighting, and so, we decided to take random peak into the nearest park museum. We went with the prettier of the two – the Museum of Arts and Traditions in Seville, located in the Mudéjar Pavilion. This was maybe the “low point” of our adventures. However, it could have been worse: what we thought was the whole of the museum originally was a courtyard square with two rooms on either side of it. One room  showed the layout of a VERY traditional Catholic home, nauseatingly encumbered with statuettes of Jesus and the Holy family, behind a thick square glass. The other showed, well, doilies.

We were about to leave, amused by our own foolish ignorance when, near the entrance we found a small, unassuming threshold to pass through, and voila! We were in an actual museum. The arts section was closed off, but the traditions portion kept us entertained. As one walked down the hallways, videos from the 90s cycled through on small cathode-ray tube TVs while reproductions of what shops may have looked like in the olden days gave you a peek into traditional Seville lives. There was a tannery, a blacksmith, a bakery, an olive press, a “palmas” workshop, and on and on. It was not the best of museums, but it is free to European residents and only €1.50 for outsiders. Worth it I suppose, if you have the free time. It is highly likely that the Provisional Archaeological Museum is worth more of your time on the inside than this one.

After finishing our jaunt through the Museum, we continued our careless stroll through the park admiring the exotic and domestic trees, and encountering the friendliest of “Sevillanos” who wanted to tell us everything they know about the beauty – in Spanish.

Metropol Parasol de la Encarnacón (Las Setas)

After a delicious lunch (menú!) at a random bar (across from the hopelessly packed bar TripAdviser recommended), we set out to find the controversial yet intriguing modern structure that initially consumed Jonny’s interest in this city: The Metropol Parasol de la Encarnación – The Setas (Mushrooms) of Seville.

Spanning approximately 490 feet in length, 230 feet in width, and 85 feet in height, the Setas – six mushroom-shaped parasols were made entirely out of wood, with construction beginning in 2005, completed in 2011. Several complications plagued efforts to complete the structure. For one, in the midst of development, 14 million Euros needed to be expended, and construction plans were halted upon the discovery of Roman and Andalusian-era ruins. In the area. Once the ruins were recovered, a new interest was spurred in continuing the development of the Setas. However, in 2007, an engineering firm admitted to the city that the structure was technically unfeasible – several structural assumptions were untested, and violated the limitations of the planned material – Birch tree imported from Finland. Various plans to remedy these difficulties were suggested and failed, until glue, of all things was finally settled on as appropriate reinforcement in 2009 (I for one am glad I did not know this before riding the elevator to its top!). These many delays turned what was estimated to be a € 50 million project into an approximately € 100 million, never-ending, burden.

Many find the Setas to be an unfortunate eyesore, only adding insult to injury. From the photographs I had glimpsed at, I did not see the point of a visit, but Jonny was more excited than a kid in a candy store, so to patronize his glee, I decided to be excited as well. Then I realized, you can take an elevator to the top! A view from 85 feet off the ground in Seville is not something to miss, and our timing could not have been better – the sun was setting on this gorgeous city.

Torre de Oro

I realized as the night was coming to a close, there was one more place we should see for the day – El Torre del Oro (The Gold Tower) – a dodecagonal (12 sided) military watchtower built along the Guadalquivir River between 1220 and 1221 during the Almohad dynasty to control access to the Moorish city. It had, at best, a short-lived result. The Christians conquered the area by 1248. It then served first as a chapel dedicated to Saint Isidore of Seville, and then as a prison during the middle ages. In more recent times it served as a maritime museum, after Seville resisted forces wishing to tear it down completely. The name – Torre del Oro – is based off of the tower’s golden shine projected onto the river because of the materials it was made out of: a mortar, lime, and pressed hay mixture. It has changed dramatically throughout its life, seeming to lose its finer details with each renovation - whether it be a conqueror of another faith or political revolutionists rejecting the artistic facade, or an earthquake threatening to destroy its very existence. After scaling the Setas, passing the Cathedral, and strolling through Plaza de España, this was probably the least impressive sight for my eyes to soak up. Of course we were visiting at night, and it seems like it would be a nice place to relax during the day, strolling through the marina and getting a good look at the river this imposing tower sought to keep enemies out of. 

The next morning, my headache, and the clouds had cleared, and it looked like it was about to be the most beautiful day – perfect for seeing two very popular tourist destinations in Seville: the “Reales Alcázares de Sevilla” and the Cathedral. We ate a delicious Sevillano breakfast of thick toasts with different spreads while watching carriages clop through the streets, downed an invigorating “café con leche” and jaunted off on our final day of exploring, sad that the evening would likely arrive too quickly, whisking us back to our Madrileño reality.  

Reales Alcázares de Sevilla

Reales Alcázares de Sevilla. The word Alcázar is an adaptation of a Hispano-Arabic word meaning either “Royal House” or “Room of the Prince.” They are seen in the majority of major cities in spain, and several small towns besides, in a diverse display of styles. The Alcázar of Seville was originally a Moorish fort, turned royal Palace. It is regarded as one of the most beautiful palaces in Spain, one of the best displays of mudéjar architecture on the Iberian Peninsula, and the oldest royal palace still used in Europe. Throughout the history of its use, it has been remodeled, added onto by each succeeding power, which is ever apparent as one wanders from room to room, seeing a mosaic of Arabic, Mudéjar, Renaissance, Baroque, and 19th Century influences. It holds a predominating Mudéjar feel overall.

Our visit here confirmed what I was already certain of after my visit years ago to Granada: Mudéjar is the most beautiful style of architecture I have ever seen. No room is ever the same, and with the use of geometric carvings, they cover every inch of wall space in an enchantingly mesmerizing design. They are commonly filled with a mix of vibrant colors – often blues and pinks. But my favorite ones are those that maintain the natural, ivory tone of plaster throughout.

Rooms full of the arches that Arabian culture perfected and expounded upon, glowing with the yellowish white hue and seemingly dripping in elaborate engravings, fill me with an indescribable feeling – excitement, wonder, yearning. I search in vain for the words that could cement such an abstract sense, and when I stand before its beauty, I feel as though I am back in Manzanares, hiking through the granite mountains.

Every time we entered a room, I would think to myself, this has to be the best one yet. But each room would be so inundated in labor-some design, that no matter how hard I tried to memorize the look of one, it was instantly lost when I turned my eyes to another. I would pass through an archway, taking in its marbling, its plaster work, its colors, reflect on the antiquity of it all, and be launched into another unremarkable room.

I take it back, there is one room in particular I hope to never erase from my mind. Excepting the breathtaking solid-ivory colored rooms, this one takes the cake. The ceiling caught my attention first – a golden dome giving the room the creative name: “the room of the half orange.” From there, small balconies peaked out at the very top of the walls, supported by statues of dragons. Every inch of wall space was filled with three dimensional creations, including sea shells. The walls descended down to human-level, each of the four in the square room with its own uniquely ornate archways and pillars. It all made me quite dizzy.

And then came the rooms of the Catholic Kings. These were in total not nearly as remarkable, and so we did not linger nearly as long here. Ironic as they were constructed on top of the Arabic and Mudéjar architecture to symbolize the Catholic’s domination over the Moors. There was one room that gave us pause – a room whose walls had been blanketed in the largest tapestries we had ever seen. They had to be at least 30 feet in length and 18 feet in height. Not only was their size impressive, but the artwork was astounding. I have no idea how they did it. Sadly, I stopped to read the little sign, and these were not the originals, which had been destroyed in an earthquake. Mere reproductions made in the 1800s. Oh well. We move on.

I could go on and on about the rooms, the layout of each one, the fountains, and what happened where, but it is a lot, and you really should see it for yourself. And when you are done eyeing in wonderment these insane rooms, you can relax in the warm, citrus gardens of the palace. Interesting side note, some of the interior rooms, and the amazing wall within the garden featured here show up in Kingdom of Heaven as the Palace of the King of Jerusalem, starring Orlando Bloom.

Seville Cathedral

After yet another amazing meal, we had one final stop to make in this heavenly city - The famed Cathedral of St. Mary of the See, more commonly referred to as the Seville Cathedral. Now, something I find truly amusing about this country is that everyone has their favorite Cathedral, and it is always “the best one in the country, if not Europe!” I almost instinctively roll my eyes at this remark now. For one, after what I have seen so far - the famed Cathedrals of Toledo, Notre Dam Salamanca, Segovia, Granada, and Valencia, and the Basilicas of the Vatican and Escorial - how does one even define the best? They are all so unique, so astounding in their own rights, and each one is worth a visit - even the ones people don’t give such high regard to. That being said, there are some impressive features specific to Seville’s Cathedral that you would be remiss to ignore on your Sevillan getaway. This Roman Catholic Cathedral is regarded as the largest gothic Cathedral, and the third largest church in the world. In 1987, it joined the Alcázar in becoming a registered UNESCO World Heritage Sight.

The city decided to build the church in 1401, following its economic ascent as a major trading center after the Reconquista of 1248. Their goal was to have the grandest, largest, most outrageous church. The story goes that the members of the Cathedral Chapter remarked upon the decision, “let us build a church so beautiful and so grand that those who see it finished will think we are mad.” Construction took over 100 years of labor by architects, artists, stained glass artisans, masons, carvers, craftsmen, and others. Only 5 years after construction was finished, the dome collapsed. An earthquake led to the dome’s demise yet again in 1888 and it took until after 1903 to see it finished. And yet, no one seems to be as upset about all of this as they were for the complications surrounding the cursed Seta construction.

We waited in a long but steadily moving line to see the Cathedral, giving us time to carefully appreciate the detailed beauty of the entrance way. Stone in an off-white hue formed an elaborately detailed archway, and a monstrously large statue guarded its entrance. The interior, with 80 chapels lining the perimeter of the spacious, 138-feet high nave (the main, rectangular section of a Gothic church, opposite the typically rounded section), dark stain glass, and gilded decór were definitely worth seeing. The size of the room and the arched pillars supporting it all were what I found to be truly impressive - intimidating and magical. After a passing glance at the monumental tomb dedicated to Christopher Columbus and rumored to hold his bones, we were in for our last major exertion before a painful 6 hour ride back to Madrid had to happen - climbing to the top of La Giralda.

La Giralda is the bell tower of the Cathedral and one of the most well-known symbols of the city. This 340-feet tall icon was completed in 1198, under Moorish rule in the area, and at that time, it was a minaret (a tower of a mosque with a balcony whereby a muezzin calls Muslims to prayer). During the Renaissance era, and following slight damage to the top of the tower following an earthquake, the city decided to renovate and incorporate it into the Cathedral. For this reason, we can now see moorish influence in the majority of its design, topped with Renaissance influence, Catholic Crosses, and tolling bells.

We were staying pretty close to the Cathedral, and we were able to hear the clamour announcing each hour, echoing through the streets. Now we were about to get an upclose and personal look at the music-makers themselves - and a wonderful view of the most beautiful parts of the city. After mentally bracing ourselves for the hike, we started up the winding, path approximately 300 feet up. I was surprised to find the climb was not stairs but rather an incline - and over 30 left turns. little balconies jutted out along the way, and we stopped at nearly every single one to get a peak of what was to come, and to encourage us to keep moving. Indeed, the trek was otherwise uneventful, with a tan, brick incline that seemed to suggest it would never end. Just when I thought I could take no more, we had arrived. We caught our breaths, and proceeded to take in everything around us. Above us, everywhere we looked, giant bells hung, connected to gear systems, ready to spin in tune when the time was right. Along each of the four sides, three arched windows opened up onto the city, and we clamoured through like minded tourists to get a view from each one. The people looked like ants as they sat sipping their after-lunch coffees on the pristinely paved roads, and oranges revealed themselves brightly beneath the branches of their dark green trees. Every ornate detail of the giant cathedral’s structure showed just below us, and I never wanted to leave. 

Seville is inspiringly romantic, mysteriously dark, warmly accommodating, and everything that I ever imagined this country to feel like. I never understood the point of coming to what I assumed was an overrated city, but when the time came to depart, I had to force my unwilling limbs to carry me towards the bus station, feeling like I did the first time I had to leave Disney World. My heart broke with each step to say goodbye with the citrus-littered streets and the clip-clopping carriages. It had been so cleansing and I wanted to hang onto every second I could, and I hoped the feelings would endure within me for years to come. Really, I hoped for riches so I could buy a winter home there, or luck, to drag me back to this paradise. 

It may be a long time before I am lucky enough to feel the welcoming sun of Seville shining down on me again. I will have to abandon my want to interminably indulge in more of what this city has to offer so I can stretch forward onto new horizons and keep the wanderlust spirit alive. However, while I may have to leave this all behind, “NO8DO” - Seville has not abandoned me.