"They have taken something unique in all the world and destroyed it to build something you can find in any city"
– Charles V upon visiting the renovated "Mezquita-Catedral"
These past few weeks have been a whirlwind of adventure, to say the least. With our time here quickly coming to a close, we have felt the pressure of this-might-be-your-last-time-ever-in-Spain-so-enjoy-it-dagnabit! As a result, we have been sleeping little, and exploring a lot. We had a long and aspirational list of where we wanted to go while we were here, what we just absolutely had to see, and what people would think we were crazy to go without. The list was longer than the 35 weeks we had, and moreover, it assumed we were superstar athlete-robots who could endure 8 months of limited sleep and stretch our euro-cents to their greatest value – all the while managing an intensive academic program and a very demanding internship schedule. We wanted to see everything, and when we faltered, it was the end of the world for us – when else were we going to be so close to so many beautifully historical and adventure-some opportunities?
Life kicked us in the butt a few more times than I would have liked, but it is hard to keep a straight face and complain about what we did not get to see. Indeed, these 8 months have been a lifetime's worth of adventures, and in less than a month, I will return home with new stories, a new outlook, and a new soul. I am only 25, and I can already say, I have lived my dream. The challenge will now come with reestablishing the next horizon in life to leap towards.
But more on that later – I have a lot of writing to catch up on! Be prepared, you are in for a few novels.
I think the best place to start the myriad of stories I have to tell is with one that came in the middle of all of the others. It is one I never gave much thought to before I went, one that filled me with inspiration when I arrived, one I was frustrated to only have a glimpse of in reality and fear I will never come back to, and one that seems to escape my memories too willingly. That story is our pit stop at the Mezquita in Cordoba, Spain.
I say the Mezquita and not Cordoba because, in reality, we saw too little of Cordoba for me to consider having actually visited this interesting city. It was stop we had sandwiched between a few hours in Toledo and our arrival in Seville, during our family’s advantageous aspirations to “see everything.” Not only was our schedule tight, but the sun was scorching and terrible – so much so that our new travel companions were practically running away from the city as we left that evening.
Cordoba has a rich history itself. It was a capital city for portions of the Roman Empire and Roman Republic, and following Islamic establishment in the region in the eighth century, it was the capital of the Islamic Emirate and Caliphate of Cordoba. It was a major hub for education during this time and in the 10th century, it was regarded as the most populated city in the world. Unsurprisingly, the old city is now an UNESCO World Heritage Site.
We entered Cordoba by crossing the Roman Bridge (Puente Romano) of Cordoba over a narrow stretch of the Guadalquivir River. This bridge was said to have been built during Roman occupation of the area, around the 1st century, replacing its wooden predecessors (thank, goodness). It has been restored too many times to count – adding and removing different elements of it each time. Now only two of the sixteen arches supporting the structure are originals. The bridge was a beautiful and long expanse of sandy-colored stone that welcomed you to the desert-city with a castle-like entrance at one end (Calahorra Tower), and a beautiful squared passage-way on the other (Puerta del Puente). As we meandered across, dripping in sweat, I felt as though I was entering into the Free City of Mareen, its tan, square walls, and the sun’s merciless light glaring across it all. Though clearly I was not Daenerys because I was convinced half way through I would shrivel up right there and combust under the fiery glare of the sun.. I regretted passing by the overpriced hat-stand that flanked the stairway to the bridge. It was terrible. It was beautiful. Almost as if an attempt to encourage our success in entering this mythical town, musicians and street performers lined the way, and we did the best we could to ignore the misery, and indulge in the culture all around us. The heat even overcame my perpetually content husband, and he engaged in a delusional tipping spree – dropping handfuls of coins into the omnipresent street-performers’ baskets.
At long last, we successfully crossed the circa 1 B.C., 250-meter, 16-arched bridge, passed under the Puerta del Puente, glanced at the ethereal pillared sculpture of St. Raphael to its left, and sought refuge in the tourist center.
One thing I really liked about this city, that is often not the case with other cities, was our immediate confrontation with the tourist center. Amidst the sand-colored stones and marble that make this city what it is from floor to sky, stood a glass building to our right that was near impossible to miss. We jumped in, took a breath, and grabbed a map we did not really need.
The Mezquita, the beautiful wonder that we came for, confronts visitors immediately upon their successful pilgrimage across the Roman Bridge. We walked up the short, steep marbled hill onto the main road, and followed the enormous building with its slowly decaying facades that appear to have once been brilliantly colored around to the left, dodging cars and glancing around at this quaint town inundated with all-too-well established tourist shops. Music guided our way as students sat upon the building’s intermittent doorways playing guitars and singing upbeat Spanish tunes to applauding bystanders. I wanted to stay forever.
Finally, we found the doorway and passed through it into an enormous plaza, crowded with other tourists and groups, benches lined with people. We located the humble entrance to our right, only to learn we had to cross the large square and get tickets opposite the entrance. Nothing to complain about there – just more opportunity to take in the square with its palm trees and timeless essence. Tickets in hand, we made our way to the entrance and passed through its dark doorway to find ourselves immersed in a whole new dimension.
As with most world wonders, I think it is important to understand at least a snapshot of its history to really appreciate its phenomenal beauty. The Mezquita could very well take an ignorant tourist’s breath away. But being knowledgeable about its history made me hyperventilate a little bit.
The official name of this impressive marvel is the Mezquita-Catedral de Córdoba, in English, the Mosque-Cathedral of Cordoba. It is called by the Catholic Church the Catedral de Nuestra Señora de la Asunción, in English the Cathedral of Our Lady of the Assumption. I was told by a friend of mine in his abbreviated history of the place, that it was originally a Catholic Church before the Muslim invasion of the country when it was taken over and converted into a mosque. While there was some truth to his assertions, I looked further into the history, and I learned that in fact, on the site, there had been a Visigoth, Catholic Church, and in 711, following the conquering of the area by Muslim forces, the Church as divided in half to allow for both Christian and Muslim worship. In 784, the Caliph purchased the Christian half of the church, demolished the structure, and in its place, built what I can only imagine to be the most majestic of religious centers in the entire world – the Mosque that stands there today, regarded as one of the most accomplished monuments of Moorish architecture today. I say I can only imagine because, unlike the Islamic tendency of that time to facilitate the beliefs of others and literally share places of worship, Catholics have not been, and still are not, so welcoming. Following the reconquering of the territory by the Catholic Monarchs (Reconquista), the mosque was converted into a Roman Catholic Church, and during the 16th Century, its Renaissance-style central nave was installed. The result – a gorgeous, colorful masque of simultaneously simple and breathtaking geometric beauty perverted by the random assortment of Catholic figures and Renaissance artwork. As recently as the early 2000’s Spanish Muslims have petitioned the Roman Catholic Church to allow them to pray in the Cathedral – a plea which has been consistently rejected by Spanish and Vatican authorities, true to form.
The Mezquita was, without a doubt, the most unique site I had the opportunity to visit in these last 8 months, and that is saying something. Its beauty and wonder echoes in my mind each time I think about our trip. You walk through its dark entrance way in the plaza, and you find yourself standing before a seemingly endless room of red and white arches, held up with dark marble pillars, and dimly lit chandeliers. So simple, so magnificent. Had I lived in Spain in the 800’s surely I would have been converted following one glimpse of this place. We wandered through the many archways that were outlined by the simple side chapels, trying to erase the Catholic imprint speckled throughout it all, trying to understand how they were so incapable of seeing the beauty to be preserved here … and in the midst of the wonder of it all, we interrupted our musings to take in the spectacularly ornate, traditionally over-the-top, nave.
In contrast to the dimly lit passageways surrounding it, the nave blinded me with its bleached white structure, embellished with gilded designs, and marble statues. It is probably one of the prettiest naves I have seen in my time here, but I am just too cynical about how it came to be that way to enjoy it more than the others. Indeed to me, it seemed like a competition, an attempt by the Catholic creators to make a religious center more beautiful than the building it was created within (and if so, I think they lost anyways). Perhaps it was an honorable attempt to merely match its surrounding beauty (it missed the point). Either way, yes, it was pretty, I admit, and worth seeing, no matter how dark its history is.
And let us not forget Jonny’s favorite portion of any Cathedral – its choir. The chairs of every choir are worth some time – each one unique, each one creepily amusing. Carved into dark walnut, creatures of another world line the backs, the armrests and the undersides of the many choir chairs. Above the chairs, one, if not two, outstanding organs with their musical pipes emerge over the whole scene, towards the larger-than-life choir book stand and pulpit. And all of it is locked behind an iron wrought gate of equally elaborate design.
After taking in a Nave that I have seen in essentially every other city (Charles V was right), we continued to wander through this very old, very historic building, taking it all in, wanting time to slow down, never wanting to leave. Detailed plaster-work true to the Islamic culture of the time, long ago left behind, showed its face in different portions of the building, and as usual, I just stood and stared. What detail – who knew we were capable of making so many shapes!
But then the place emptied out, and the security guards seemed impatient. The place was closing, and we had overstayed our welcome. We left the building like children leave Magic Kingdom – more than unwillingly, and strolled along the perimeter, following our path back across the bridge. As we danced to the accordion-player’s jubilant music, I stopped every fifty or so feet to look back on the city I was saying goodbye to, only having hours ago said hello, and promised repeatedly to return, to explore the wonder of the city itself, and to find where else my soul is hiding.
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