Chasing Castles

Life feels cleaner after a good rain. The dust has settled; the temperature has gone down. When I left Lupe's house in Córdoba on Saturday morning, the city was actually cool. (This is saying something, since it has the highest average summer temperature in Spain and Europe!)

The land changed as I drove the three hours north to Mérida. Mountains gave way to broad, flat plains. I saw a Roman tower behind a gas station.

In the middle of the plain, an enormous rock pile suddenly loomed up. To my utter delight, a castle perched precariously atop it. I did not realize just how precarious it seemed until I drove around it.

I found out later it was the Castillo de Belmez, built originally in 1245 and last used by the French when they were attempting to overrun Spain (Napoleon=idiot, remember?).

I thought about going to see it, but I had a lot I wanted to do and I needed to be in Sevilla to turn in the car that evening, so I kept going.

I've discovered that there are few things that make me happier than driving through unfamiliar territory without the fear of getting lost.

 I could thoroughly enjoy sailing along at 90km/hr. I began passing through fields upon fields of solar panels - small wonder! The sun was beating down and there were few, if any, clouds to be seen.

Once I passed the solar panel fields, I began to go past acres of sunflowers, all pointing toward the sun.

In Spanish, the sunflower is called a "girasol". "Girar" means to turn, and "sol" is, of course, the sun. They are sun-turners! It's an apt name.

Of course, I was stuck behind a slow-moving vehicle for most of this, but once I went around it, the sheer emptiness of road stretching out in front of me was simply glorious.

I was driving along happily when in the distance I saw another hill fortress, this time looking like a crown. I determined I was going to go find it.

Imagine my surprise and delight when I saw a small brown sign with an arrow pointing toward the castle, with "Roman theater" written on it. Naturally, I immediately turned off the main road onto a winding road toward the hill and the castle atop it. My GPS proceeded to have a panic attack.

The road led steadily toward the castle, winding up and up the mountain and right through the small whitewashed town of Reina.

It was a sleepy Saturday morning; the only stirring inhabitants of the town were three women. They looked at me curiously, but without much interest.


My quest for the castle ended rather ingloriously and abruptly. I simply could not find a way to go farther.

As I backed my car back down what turned out to be a sheep track and did a 3-point turn on the side of a mountain with a steep drop no more than a yard behind my back tires, I reflected that this whole situation probably counted against the promise I had made to a friend to "not do anything stupid" while in Spain.


After heading back through the still-sleepy town, I headed off to find the Roman Theater. This detour turned out much better.

A bored and sweaty security guy emerged from his air-conditioned trailer only just long enough to not answer my question of how much the theater cost to see and merely tell me it was "that way". He then immediately went back into the trailer. I therefore assumed that it was free.

The path to the theater was lined with fences to keep sheep in. It was an intensely hot day by this time - 11:45 in the morning! I felt like just lying down in the shade like this poor sheep.

A word about this Roman theater: it was completely deserted and remarkably intact. I could climb down the steps, stand on the stage, go "backstage", and explore as much as I liked. 

                     




There was a Roman town in the field nearby, and I could see plainly where the foundations of the buildings were. An informative sign told me in good Spanish and Google-translated English that the town had been mentioned by Pliny and Ptolemy; that the Emperor Vespasian had been involved in the planning of the city; and that centuries later the hill fortress had been made by the Moors, using Roman stone.








I only spent about half an hour at this fantastic spot, but it was absolutely worth it. It isn't every day that you get to have an entire Roman theater all to yourself. Well, as much as you can have it "all to yourself" when you're sharing the space with about a hundred sheep and one completely uninterested security guy.








To be continued...

113 Degrees and Humid

The thing about the Alhambra is that it is not only vast, but overwhelmingly detailed. I could probably spend the rest of my life there and not understand it or discover everything there is to know. However, I didn't have the rest of my life; I had an Airbnb reservation in Cordoba to get to in the afternoon, and the drive would be a couple hours.

The "interstate" system in Spain is a bit different to the one in the States. I took the non-toll roads, which wind around a bit more than the direct toll roads. You see more countryside and pretty towns, I suppose, but it takes longer.

Not that I minded countryside. I loved it. True, I didn't love that there were seven roundabouts in a row with six different directions I could choose, according to my GPS. I did not love the fact that one of those six was a dirt road that looked like a Flavius or Julius could conceivably have been the last person to take it. Nor did I love the fact that the next roundabout had a dirt road that didn't make it onto the map, despite it being well-worn and much-traveled.

I found out quickly that it's best to just go with whatever exit you think might be right and make a U-turn if it isn't. After all, it's not like there is anyone around - except for the exact moment you decide to make a U-turn.

So it was a good thing I had my GPS.

Cordoba turned out to be a bustling city with fairly quiet streets. I don't know how that works. Driving in it wasn't a problem, and I seemed to have turned up at the precise moment when there was exactly one parking place open. This was better than I could have hoped!

After a short rest, I felt ready to see the sights. Lupe, my host, had kindly brought me a glass of ice water when I arrived. It melted completely in 10 minutes, with the A/C on. Everyone was dripping sweat. No one was prepared for the heat this early!


I'd heard great things about the Mosque-Cathedral, so I knew I wanted to see it. It used to be a grand mosque when the Moors ruled Cordoba, but ages ago some Catholic architect had asked permission to build a church in the middle. The Holy Building Permit Office (I assume), rather than go to the trouble of going over to look at the proposed site, gave permission sight unseen. Hence why it's called the Mosque-Cathedral: there is a cathedral built in the center of the mosque, incorporating the side aisles but completely removing and rebuilding the very center.

Getting there took some doing. I took the wrong bus twice, ended up I-know-not-where, walked until I got to the river, and figured out my way from there. The heat and humidity pressed down on me and fogged my mind.

After the Alhambra, the Mosque-Cathedral was a disappointment. The ceiling still soared above my head, ancient and mesmerizing, but it was dingy and discolored.

I left, hot, sweaty, sunburned, and feeling like the drive to Cordoba had been a waste. I wandered around a little, looking for the palace of the kings of Cordoba. I found it! It was closed.

Somewhat discouraged, I stopped at a small heladería (ice-cream shop) nearby and decided to eat my dulce de leche ice cream across the street by a large and rather out-of-place monument (to Columbus, I think). The ice cream was melting rapidly in the 113°F heat, and so was I.

Just past the monument, a several-times-rebuilt Roman bridge spanned the Guadalquivir River. When I looked at it and mentally shrugged, I knew I was overly tired. Normally anything with the word "Roman" in it captures my attention. This time it did not.

I stopped to fill my water bottle from a fountain on the street, forgot to take my camera off my wrist, and stuck it directly into the stream of ice-cold water. Getting upset would use too much energy, so I sat on a park bench, took out the batteries, let the thing air-dry for a few minutes (Everything just evaporated. It was scary.) and it was just fine.

I decided to do the smart thing and go back to my room, eat something, and go to bed early. I wandered around, smelling the bitter orange trees that dot the city, glad for the shade.

The "smart thing" involved getting on several buses, not knowing where I was going. Somehow my heat-addled brain deciphered the maps and told my body where to go. Somehow, without knowing what I was doing, I got back to my room with not a single bit of backtracking.

After a short rest, I set out again, this time in search of supper. I found a small store nearby, selling fruit and cheese and bread. The wind was picking up, and the heat was not so bad anymore. Dust was flying everywhere, though, and static electricity crackled in the oppressively humid air. The clouds were black and roiling by this point, the sun either sinking fast or completely obscured.

I hoped desperately for rain.

Filigree and Oils

Washington Irving spoke Spanish. Not only did he speak Spanish, he spoke it fluently. I never knew that. I thought he wrote the Tales of Sleepy Hollow, etc. and that was the end of the story.

Not at all.

It took me going to the Alhambra, a Moorish fortification in Granada, to learn more of his story. He lived at the Alhambra. I saw his room – a bare, somewhat ugly room: four walls, two doors, a large window, dark stone floors, plain white walls. Apparently he was ambassador to Spain in the 1800s.

But I haven’t told you about the Alhambra, have I? So silly of me. Well, it’s one of the most popular tourist attractions in all of Spain. So, naturally, I didn’t buy my ticket in advance. I didn’t know, you see, if I was going to go on Thursday night or Friday morning. Since I was too exhausted to go on Thursday night, it had to wait until Friday morning.

I was out of the house by seven. My GPS proved invaluable for ascending the mountain the Alhambra stands on, but it was no good to navigate the parking lots. I parked in the one closest to the entrance (perks of being early!) and retrieved my backpack from the trunk.

Not having bought a ticket, I had to get there early to stand in line. Line-standing is an interesting experience in a popular tourist attraction in Spain. You get to see how Americans act if they’re in a group versus how the rest of the world acts when they’re in a group. We do ourselves and our country’s reputation no favors, let me tell you.

Anyway, by 8 or so the place opened and we could buy our tickets. I was about 20 people back in a line that stretched around the ticket office, zig-zagged a good deal, and went down a hill. Another perk of being early.

According to Wikipedia, the Alhambra’s name simply means “The red one.” The origins of its name are disputed, as is pretty much everything here, but the walls are red so we think that’s one possible explanation. Also according to Wikipedia,

It was originally constructed as a small fortress in AD 889 on the remains of Roman fortifications, and then largely ignored until its ruins were renovated and rebuilt in the mid-13th century by the Arab emir Mohammed ben Al-Ahmar of the Emirate of Granada, who built its current palace and walls. It was converted into a royal palace in 1333 by Yusuf I, Sultan of Granada. After the conclusion of the Christian Reconquista in 1492, the site became the Royal Court of Ferdinand and Isabella (where Christopher Columbus received royal endorsement for his expedition), and the palaces were partially altered in the Renaissance style.

That simultaneously tells you nothing and everything about the Alhambra.

I got myself an audio guide, stowed my water in my backpack, and set off. Even in the early morning, it was a warm day, and muggy. The red dirt paths were just damp enough to not be dusty, and the clear ripple of running water provided a nice cover for the steady murmur of the visitors’ chatter.

It took a little while to figure out where I was going. The place is vast. It was, after all, a palace, a village, a garrison, and a thriving business center all rolled into one. I finally figured out where I was going, and meandered through the gardens on my way to the Generalife (pronounced hen-er-ahl-EE-fay), the summer palace of the Sultans of the Alhambra.

The generalife commands a sweeping view of the rest of the Alhambra, as well as the valleys below. It's a quiet, cool area replete with fountains and running water.

It's here that the filigree comes into play. The entire Alhambra is covered in delicate carvings and swirling calligraphy. Islam dictates that no images be used in Muslim art, so the decorations are of intricate geometric designs and verses from the Qur'an or the poets. It looks like stone lace.

By nature humans are oily creatures, and too much touching has the unfortunate result of breaking down stone and ruining the designs. (There was some intentional damage as well, but the real threat now is from curious visitors who just can't resist the urge to touch everything.)

This "Please Touch" panel is meant to cater to the compulsive touchers as well as the simply curious. I fell into the latter category until I saw the "Please Touch" panel; then, I was a compulsive toucher. I love touching things. (Touch is a weird word. I'm getting a squiggly red line under "toucher" and the whole concept of touching is seeming less and less like a real word.) 

It was beautiful. Don't let the pictures fool you: there were lots of people. I just tried to wait until most of them were hidden by the arches, and I tried to stay ahead of the packs.

The bottom right photo is of the water stair. It's a regular staircase, with upside-down roof tiles on either side. This lets water flow on either side of the stairs, falling from one roof tile to the next, the different bumps lending slightly different tones to the water. Or something like that. In any case, I liked it.

I wandered through to the Medina next, the area where artisans and servants lived in the days of the Sultans. It was a pretty place, the golden sun slanting through the trees and burning off the light mistiness of morning. It's all ruins now, all the houses and shops.





This is the gate that Ferdinand and Isabella's army poured through when Boabdil, the last Sultan of Granada, capitulated. Or, rather, it's the reconstruction of said gate. The thing lasted until Napoleon's army besieged the Alhambra with cannons and broke down the wall. I always knew Napoleon was an idiot.

         

Moving on. I turned my map every which way until I found two points to use as reference, and to my surprise I didn't get lost. I was on my way to the Nasrid Palaces, the palaces of the Sultans of Granada. On the way, I saw a bathhouse (Moorish Baths were the natural descendants of Roman Baths, but I daresay they were cleaner than their predecessors).

Channels of water run through the streets, to make washing feet easier before going to prayer. This is a staple of Moorish architecture. The channels are no wider than a person's foot. I can only imagine the logistical nightmare of creating a system of channels where the water is always running downhill at just the right angle to be slow and sedate.

This is the section of the Alhambra that is still in use, with shops lining the street and cars beeping and honking their way up and down the narrow streets. It's quite a different atmosphere from the quiet ruins and carved arches in the Generalife up on the hill.

Cats were in the weirdest places in the Alhambra,
all statue-still and slowly blinking their shrewd golden eyes.

The Nasrid Palaces could not have been more different to the Palace of Charles V. King Chuck apparently wanted a life of luxury and opulence, surrounded by pillars and overly carved Baroque architecture. And I do mean surrounded.

The palace was never lived in; it was not even completed. It's used today as a stage and as a museum of the Alhambra. I liked to see the different exhibits, but I absolutely loved climbing the wide, sweeping stairs. No one else realized they could go upstairs, and I had the upper gallery all to myself, with the exception of some workmen who were preparing for a concert.

The Nasrid Palaces, on the other hand, were light and airy - none of this heavy Baroque nonsense. The walls and ceilings were covered in tiles and carved wood.

   



In the courtyards, swifts dived and swooped. Their chirps and cries were sharp and high. Some wheeled and turned, always returning to their nests tucked into the ancient filigreed arches. They've been there for centuries.


The perfectly still water in the Court of the Myrtles reflected the carved battlements like a mirror. Two matching fountains bubbled quietly at either end of the pool, fed by the channels crisscrossing the floors. Somehow, they didn't disturb the sheet of water.




My path took me through the decorated halls, through Washington Irving's rooms, and to a small square room. The ceiling is ornate, with stone "stalactites" and a blue-and-white color scheme. Some of the decoration is damaged, a reminder of the time that Napoleon (remember what an idiot he was? Good.) stored gunpowder in it and it exploded. This is a small destruction indeed considering that he meant to blow up the complex entirely as retribution in a war he started to put his brother on the throne of Spain, but it's still a pity.

The next stop on my journey through the Nasrid Palaces was the Court of the Lions. There is a fountain in the middle, supported by twelve distinctly carved lions. The fountain feeds more channels in the floor. The entire courtyard is covered in geometric patterns and calligraphy.





















My time in the Alhambra was almost at an end. I took some time to appreciate a courtyard garden and the fantastic view from the palaces.  I found my way back to the visitor center, navigated the line of impatient tourists to return my audioguide, and figured out how to pay for parking, alongside a fellow tourist who was just as confused as I was.

(To be continued...Friday is too long to put in one post.)