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.
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.
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.
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