Exhausted from a week in Madrid, we set out somewhat reluctantly to see La Mezquita, a weird combination of Muslim mosque and Catholic cathedral. On the way to Cordoba on the train, I had read about the building's history in Kelly Lipscomb's comprehensive guide book on Spain, which, in my opinion, beats the others hands down .
In a nutshell, the Moors started the mosque in 784AD, on the site of a former Visigothic church, which was built on the site of a former Roman temple. The building grew and evolved, until it became a cathedral when the Christians reclaimed Cordoba after four centuries of Moorish rule. Cordoba was once the intellectual centre of Islam.
Christian, Jewish and Muslim stonemasons left their marks on the walls and columns throughout the mosque, so it is not only modern day bloggers who need to say,
" I was here. This is what I did."
I was struck by the clash of styles in the building which combines Islamic, Mudeja, Renaissance and Baroque elements in a jarring yet awe inspiring mix.
The endless red and white arches seem to suggest infinity, while the opulence of the cathedral built in the middle , suggests power and wealth. But these days only a small group of elderly parishioners attends the mass.
Nothing I had read prepared me for the impact La Mezquita had on me.
We arrived early in the morning, when the place was almost empty, before the tour groups arrived. Soulful, sonorous sounds of the pipe organ filled the cavernous spaces, illuminated by the morning light.
I felt a growing sense of reverence as I thought of the human beings who for centuries had worshipped, prayed, chanted, sang, knelt, prostrated themselves on this site. I could almost feel their presence as I walked over the cold marble floor, each slab the size of a prayer mat.
Suddenly I felt my eyes fill with tears and I was overcome with emotion, a most unexpected reaction from a pagan like me. I could have converted on the spot. But to what?
I guess that is the effect these buildings are designed to have on us of little faith.
I preferred the simplicity of the Islamic elements, but overall the fusion worked for me. It was emblematic of the way that all cultures influence each other. and that at whatever point we find ourselves in the human story, we are part of a continuum, stretching back to before we could write that story and when images were lines in the sand or on the walls of caves.
Out on the streets...
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| Irrigating the orange trees |
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| Spanish guitar music in the street |
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| Roman bridge over the Rio Gualdalquieir |
Patios...
From the outside, the medieval buildings, which line the narrow streets look very plain. But many of them have indoor courtyards, green oases with fountains, flowers, mosaic patterns with tiles or pebbles and in one, birds singing.
Personally...
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| Lamb with saffron rice and chicken tagine.. |
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| Carol succumbs to the touristy shops in the Jewish quarter. |
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| Swinging singing violin |
Our final night in Cordoba was magical. Walking through a park we stopped for an 8pm sangria at a cafe, which extended into dinner with a packed crowd of locals [not a free table in the house] and an amazing jazz band. I still can't believe that families with very young children turn up at 11pm for the evening meal. Oh what a night!
On a more melancholy note.......
Cordoba, distant and lonely,
Black pony, large moon,
In my saddlebag olives,
Well as I know the roads,
I shall never reach Cordoba,
Over the plain, through the wind,
Black pony, red moon.
Death keeps a watch on me,
From Cordoba's towers.
Oh, such a long way to go,
And oh, my spirited pony.
Oh but death awaits me,
Before I ever reach Cordoba.
Frederico Garcia Lorca, Rider's Song
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