Cordoba - 5.9.11

Kevan had told us when we’d arrived at the hostel that the Mesquita was free from 8:30 to 10 on Mondays and Tuesdays. Upon reading the literature he’d given us, we learned that this was because a mass was held at 10 on Monday and Tuesday, and they don’t ask everyone entering whether they’re there as a tourist or as a parishioner. We felt slightly guilty, but we also knew there would be a lot of people there doing the same thing, and at least we’d be informed and more respectful than most other tourists. So, Tricia set her alarm for 7:30 so she could get up and shower. I curled up into a ball and scrunched my eyes shut as usual until 8 when she came back in and made me get up. After a quick bite of oatmeal, we were on our way.

We arrived at the Mesquita at around 9, and walked around trying to decide where to go. We decided the ramp with a guard at the top looked promising, and stealthily tried to ease closer so we could see what others were doing. A couple of men walked up in shorts and ball caps, and the guard motioned to them to remove their caps and then let them inside. I was wearing a tank top, so I pulled off my scarf and wrapped it around my shoulders like a shawl. The guard watched me, and as we approached he nodded approvingly and stood aside to let us in.

The inside was huge, with striped arches left over from when the Moors built it as a prayer/meeting house and alcoves filled with alter pieces of angels and saints and other religious icons. At 10 am the bells began to ring, and we realized there was a small section in the center of the building set aside for the mass. We could just barely see the back few rows, and couldn’t see the priest at all, but the mass was broadcast on speakers throughout the Mesquita and went on until we left. Tricia and I separated a few minutes after we left the building, and she went a little photo-crazy: the first 187 photos are of the Mesquita.

Next we crossed the bridge to visit the Calahorra Tower Museum. We paid 4 Euros to enter, but were given free headphones to listen to the audiotour in each room. It was an interesting setup: each room would broadcast to the headphones, and there were transmitters on the ceiling to send the signals. In some rooms there were two different transmissions, so if you crossed the line in the middle of the room you would suddenly be listening to something else.

In one room we heard some writings by Muslims, Christians, and Jews from hundreds of years ago read aloud. I particularly liked the common theme that religion should not be about fear of punishment or hope of rewards. There was also a model of the Mesquita, which was very cool. It is about all that is left from when the Muslims were in Cordoba - the libraries, shops, and homes are all gone.

We were also able to climb to the top of the tower and see the city, as we do in every city and in every historical building. We didn’t spend too long on the roof though, as we were getting hungry and it was time to eat.

As we were getting close to the plaza, we passed a pastry shop and went inside. We were worried that so close to the tourist areas the pastries would be expensive, but they were less than 2 Euros apiece, and so we got a couple to eat at the hostel before siesta. As we continued our journey, we passed a little grocery store as well. We looked at all the food, and in the frozen food section we found artichoke hearts and ham and cheese croquettes. We read the back of the croquettes for instructions, and decided we could either fry them in a pan or cook them in a microwave. So we bought both.

We ate our yummy pastries as soon as we got to the hostel (I heated mine in the microwave so the chocolate inside would be all warm and gooey). And then we took our siesta, setting the alarm for 5:00 so we could eat again before seeing some more patios in the afternoon.

When we got up, we learned some interesting things about our food. One: the croquettes were supposed to be either fried in oil or in a deep fryer. The picture on the bag was not, in fact, of a microwave. The croquettes were covered in flour and breadcrumbs just waiting for the oil. Well, we didn’t have a deep fryer and weren’t about to heat oil on the stove (been there, done that), so those were going to go into the microwave. The artichokes also did not want to go into the microwave, but that was just too bad. In they went.

Now, as Tricia was fooling with the artichokes, I tried to open the croquettes. I couldn’t get the bag open, so grabbed a knife and sliced into it. And into my finger. I stopped and regarded the little white slit in my finger. Tricia left her artichokes and came to look at it with me. After a bit of discussion, we decided I should run it under cold water while she went to get a band-aid. By the time she returned, my finger had started to bleed and was turning the water a nice rust color. After another discussion, we wrapped the finger in toilet paper and then in mechanical tape (it seemed a shame to waste a band-aid), and then I held my hand above my heart to stop the bleeding and watched while Tricia finished lunch. [I’ll jump to the end of the story - no, I didn’t see a doctor. It’s been 3 days now and my finger is still a nice flesh color, not black or purple or any other scary color.]

 Tricia put all our food on a tray and it made a lovely display. Unfortunately, presentation was all it had going for it: the croquettes were still the color of flour and breadcrumbs, and were quite strange. I let Tricia eat some of mine, as she liked them better than the artichokes, which looked alright but were still quite hard. I figured crunchy veggies were better than the squishy croquettes, although I did need to spit one or two out whose leaves were just plain inedible.

So after that failure, we made a quick stop at the tiny Church of San Bartolome, and then continued on towards the patios. On the way we came across the royal stables and took some pictures, but the horse shows were only on the weekends and we had missed them. We spent the next hour at the various houses, seeing the requisite plastic flower pots, tiny caged birds, tiny bronze utensils, and wishing wells.

We returned to the hostel for a second siesta, but left again at 10 to go to the Light, Sound, and Water show at the Alcazar. There were just a few people milling around in the courtyard, as they apparently didn’t give many invitations to each show. At 10:30, the show began: a video was projected onto the wall of the Alcazar and words giving the religion in power at the time were projected into a pool of water in the center of the courtyard. It was completely awesome. Basically, it was an animated film like you would see in history class, except without words since we all spoke different languages. If I’d been in history class, I’d have wanted to poke my eyes out with a pencil, but being in Spain, in a castle, in the middle of the night, with a couple dozen other people who spoke all different languages, watching a completely surreal film on the history of Spain; well, it was awesome.

Following the show, we all went into the gardens where the water show was going on. In the first pool, water was shooting straight up and was lighted in a rainbow of different colors. We followed the pool all the way to the far end of the garden, and then crossed over and doubled back along the second pool, where the water shot out from the center at an angle and arched out towards the sides. Finally, at the third pool water arched from the sides into the center, crossing over each other as it went. It was a lot of fun, and we were there for a long time watching the various colors and designs on display.

Even though it was well after 11, we thought we would go to the square and have dinner. When we arrived though, the place we had wanted to eat was closed and didn’t look as though it had even opened that day. The rest of the places were closing up as well - the outdoor tables and chairs were being stacked up and dragged inside. We still thought we could find a place to eat, but after wandering around for half an hour we gave it up - midnight is as late as places are open in Cordoba on a weekday. Though the weekends - even Sunday - had been packed with people still out walking around and eating into the early-morning hours, weekdays were a different story. We eventually found an ice cream place that was still open, bought a couple of cones, and called it dinner. And even though we needed to get up early to catch the 9:25 train to Seville, we still stayed up until 2 writing and packing and making phone calls to the states.