Córdoba with products of slaughter to the stone
Doña Mencía is a sleepy town at the foot of the Sierra Subbética, built on a small plain and bathed in the lucent Andalucían sun. Palm-trees and cypresses are in abundance, but I had been more interested in searching for my recently detached near-side wing mirror.
Not being used to driving on the right, I naturally kept too close to the near-side curb. My wing mirror clipped the wing mirrors of the cars parked on that side of the road. It was as if my car was shaking hands with them. Like a dignitary greeting a line of footballers before a match.
With the mirror rattling around in the glove compartment I headed northeast towards Córdoba. The air-conditioning whirred quietly away, maintaining a healthy temperature differential between me and the outside world. There was little traffic, a good road surface so I relaxed and enjoyed the drive.
Unlike cities in Britain, the Spanish cities I have visited have no suburbs, they simply start. For someone as timid and insecure as me, it is quite alarming. One moment I am driving along a near deserted N432 and the next jostling for position on the Carretera Castro heading towards the Avenida de Granada and the most appalling confluence of roads, roundabouts and squares. I imagined the driving in Spain to be easy; after all if it was to be difficult surely a car wouldn’t have been rented to a simpleton like me.
With La Plaza de Andalucía looming I lost my nerve and headed for the dirt verge where I pulled up next to a bright orange rubbish dumpster. I had been told that Córdoba was known for its car crime and I took this to mean that every male from the age 14 to 65 viewed it as a full time occupation. So it was with some apprehension that I shouldered my camera bag, locked the car and headed in the direction of the Rio Guadalquivir.
The bridge looked impressive; I was amazed how well it had lasted. Built in the first century, admittedly repaired and partial reconstructed over the years it still reflected the craftsmanship of the Roman engineers. In 1651 a shrine to San Rafael was completed about halfway along the 16 arch structure. Candles and flowers are always present at the tabernacle, while older Córdobenians still doff their hats as they pass.
I was just changing film when I noticed a plaque ‘Puente San Rafael’, I felt such a fool, the wrong bridge. I reloaded my camera and rattled off another roll of Velvia, trying to give the impression I was photographing the correct bridge, before sheepishly heading up-river.
The Gate del Puente at the western side of the Puente Romano was built by Philip II in the sixteenth century and complements the Torre de la Calahorra at the eastern. The tower, now houses the Museo Vivo de Al-Andalus, emphasizing the three cultures which are the very essence of Córdoba. A city which epitomizes diversity, religious tolerance and passion!
My trip to Córdoba was specifically to visit the Mezquita or rather the Holy Cathedral and former mosque of Córdoba, as it is described in official literature. It is very rare to find a religious site were evidence of previous doctrines has not been expunged. This may be more to do with the grandeur of the Great Mosque rather than tolerance on the part of Ferdinand III when he consecrated it in 1236.
In 785CE Abd al-Rahman I, initiated the first phase of construction on the site of a Visigoth basilica. Further expansions took place over the next 200 years by a succession of Emirs. With the coming of the Christian re-conquest a cathedral was built within the fabric of the Mosque and the minaret replaced by the Torre del Alminar.
Once inside I was struck by the coolness of the place, almost cold, the complex air-currents proving as efficient as any air-conditioner. The multitude of columns confuse the vision, the eyes have difficulty focusing, while the sheer scale of the building is disorientating. I had the feeling I was inside some enormous complex sculpture designed to comfort and calm.
The pillars support arches, whose voussoirs alternate red and white, the whole effect of shape and colour is stunning. The structural and cosmetic makeup of the prayer hall is reminiscent of the Great Mosque of Damascus, betraying the common Umayyad influence. The unprecedented decision to build the Christian Cathedral within the Mosque has led to a startling incongruity, with the gothic church rising from the heart of the Muslim prayer hall.
The entrance to the mosque is via the Patio de los Naranjos, although Olive trees and cypresses are more in abundance now. It was here that I immerged from cool shaded pillared halls into an inferno. I do not know what demonic forces had been at work whilst I was in the Mosque, but the morning was now superheated and the sun’s glare stung the eyes.
My exertions, both this morning and at the bar last night had left me tired and dehydrated, I was not in tip-top condition. My lips were chapped, my face red from the sun, I had a raging thirst and my vision blurred. My camera bag felt as if it were full of bricks, my legs were going, I stumbled into a taberna.
I attracted an admiring crowd as I fell into the bar, “Agua, muy fría, por favor” I croaked. The mozo de la taberna looked at me in pity as I downed the cold liquid. Once my thirst was quenched I realized how hungry I was! I decided I needed some protein, a steak would be nice. I ordered a fino, to put an edge on my appetite and to sip whilst I studied the menu. The fino was superb; I have only tasted better at the hotel Alfar near Montilla. A hotel I can thoroughly recommend, along with the excellent staff.
The bar had an English menu which was the stuff Goon Show Scripts are made of. What I took to be grilled steak was described as Products of slaughter to the stone. The translation was possibly made using Spanish to Ukrainian and Ukrainian to English phrase books. The translation may have been poor but the meal was first-rate, tender rice, crispy salad and a succulent steak washed down with chilled fino. A simple meal perhaps, but the quality of the produce and the skill of preparation made it memorable.
I left the bar full of bonhomie and steak. I walked the Avenida del Alcazar to the Puente San Rafael, where I crossed and made my way to the car.
I am a bad driver, mainly because I lose concentration and let my mind go off on any tangent it chooses. Today was no exception. I was oblivious to the blaring horns and waved fists as I mused over the day’s events.
The journey to Córdoba was more or less obligatory; the Great Mosque is on everyone’s list of places to go when in the area. In Spain if one expects the mundane, it usually proves to be extraordinary. This is the nature of Spain! It is one of the reasons why every trip surpasses the previous one. Why I a least continue to return!
