2011 Morocco & Al Andalus 3 by Susan Hanes

Morocco & Al-Andalus 3

Morocco & Al-Andalus April 4 - May 10, 2011 My heart has become capable of every form, It is a pasture for gazelles and a convent for Christian monks, And a temple for idols and the pilgrims Kaâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ba and the Tables of the Tora and the book of the Quran. I follow the religion of Love. --Ibn Arabi (1165-1240)

V. 3 1

Saturday, April 23

Toledo

Early alarm as the car that Diego had arranged to take us to the Marrakech Airport was to pick us up at 7:15. Weren’t sure what was happening when we opened the riad door to a dark, empty street, seeing only a cloaked and hooded figure at the end of the alley looking very much like a medieval monk. Jake motioned for him to come and help with our bags but he waited until we had rolled them down to him, and then assisted us in getting them through the silent mellah and into a decrepit Mercedes taxi; we detected in him a surly attitude that we had not before experienced in Morocco. Arrived at the airport in plenty of time and all went normally at first. Getting in line for security, I found myself behind a wild-looking woman wearing patterned pants and a turban and carrying a couple of paintings. After some kind of discussion with the authorities, she put them on the belt to go into the xray machine. I followed with my purse and carryon bag. When I went through and picked them up, they were 2

covered with wet paint—OIL paint! Why on earth she had put wet paintings through the security machine, I can’t imagine, but my purse (and then I) was totally smeared with yellow oil paint. The agents offered a sympathetic shrug; the woman was concerned only with getting on her flight to London with her paintings. My purse was ruined and my clothes and scarf and carryon smeared with yellow mess. What would ever possess anyone to carry wet paintings on an intercontinental flight? Meanwhile, Jake had forgotten to take his Leatherman knife out of his backpack and it was promptly confiscated. So Orbitz’s scheduling us for the extra connection through Casablanca was significantly more costly than a direct flight to Madrid would have been. The flight on Royal Air Maroc to Casablanca was only 20 minutes; as we came in to land, had a magnificent view of the epic Hassan II Mosque, one of the most striking landmarks of post independence Morocco.

Hassan II Mosque, Casablanca 3

With a delay talking off, our Madrid connection was pretty tight. There must have been several flights that were leaving at the same time, for the lines—more like mobs—to get through Passport Control in the transit area were an absolute mess. I did my share of elbowing my way through, looking like a sloppy painter in a bad mood. Just made our connection, and arrived at Madrid at 12:30. Trouble was, our bags didn’t. Waited and waited, but they were not on the flight. Put in a claim at Iberia; that was all we could do, except hope that they show up. Next project was to pick up our rental car at Hertz. This time we got a gleaming Renault Megane with only 5000 km. on it. Had a fairly easy time getting out of the airport and on the autovia A 42 to Toledo, only 80 km. south. It was raining when we arrived at the Palacio Eugenia de Montijo Hotel, in the center of the historic quarter; a great location for sightseeing but not for maneuvering a car. In trying to locate the parking lot, went down a street that was too narrow for the car and got a nasty scrape on the rear wheel well. Then when 4

Jake got out of the car, he smashed his finger in the door. Can this day get any worse? Found the lot and the attendant let us park even though the sign said it was full. The hotel is very comfortable— luxurious in comparison to our last three nights at the riad—and the staff, extremely helpful in assisting us in making further contact with Iberia concerning our lost bags. When we asked for a dinner recommendation, they suggested Botero, a taberna down the street. Feeling pretty bummed by this time, we looked forward to a bottle of wine and a good meal. We were not disappointed. The cozy spot had an extensive bar (lots and lots of gin, we noticed) and was decorated with old photos, particularly of matadors. It was evident that it is hugely popular with the local people. After drinks at the bar, we climbed up the narrow stairs to an attractive, sparsely furnished room where we had an excellent four-course meal. Walked up the street to see the cathedral by illumination. By the time we got back to our room, we were feeling a little better.

Saturday, April 23 Toledo Although it was still cloudy, the rain had moved on as we walked the maze of narrow, steep, stone streets of historic Toledo. Jake planned a route for us through this UNESCO-designated site, based on the map in the Michelin Green Guide. Starting at the cathedral (which was closed until 11:00), walked to the Cloisters of San Juan de los Reyes, where I found lots of animals and little figures tucked into the carved foliage of the bays that lined the walkway. Visited the only two synagogues remaining from the time of the old Jewish quarter: Santa Maria la Blanca, with its distinctive Almohad-style horseshoe arches, and the Sinagoga del Transito, that has intricate MudĂŠjar carving on the upper walls and an ornate ceiling of cedar. Both are intriguing amalgamations of motifs from the three monotheistic faiths.

Cloisters of San Juan de los Reyes

Sinagoga del Transito

Our tour of the El Greco Museum was a highlight of the day. Located in an attractive 16th century Toledan house that resembled the one where El Greco lived in 1585, the museum displays a number of his paintings, offering excellent accompanying video commentary that gave us a new appreciation of this most unique of painters. At the Iglesia de Santo Tome, joined the crowds to see El Grecoâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s most famous painting, The Burial of the Count of Orgaz, which he painted for the church in 1586. At my insistence, stopped for a beer and a hamburger at an outdoor cafĂŠ. Visited the Visigoth Museum, housed in the beautiful 13thcentury Mudejar church of San Roman. Walked back to the massive cathedral representing countless styles, from French Gothic, to Baroque, to Spanish Flamboyant. We lined up to see the treasury, a stultifying tribute to the excesses of the Church hierarchy; I found myself wondering about the faithful artisans who created the massive gold monstrance and the patient needlewomen

who stitched the opulent liturgical robes with silk and jewels. Those simple people are the ones who represent true religion. Our favorite place was the choir, where the wooden stalls depicting scenes of the conquest of Granada were worn to a warm patina. I would have loved to find a book about them. The streets were full of tourists on this Easter weekend; many groups of students were in evidence, as well as older visitors following leaders bearing unfurled umbrellas. Lots of shops selling marzipan goodies and damascene souvenir swords, plates, and jewelry. Returning to the hotel, spent the rest of the afternoon working on the luggage issue with a growing sense of defeat. Were assured that 98% of lost bags are found in 24-48 hours; half that time has gone and we are trying to be hopeful that we donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t fall into the other 2%. Returned to Botero for a late (but in Spain, quite early) dinner; the place was really lively by the time we got there.

El Greco Museum

At the Iglesia de Santo Tome, joined the crowds to see El Grecoâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s most famous painting, The Burial of the Count of Orgaz, which he painted for the church in 1586. His self portait can be seen, the sixth face from the left. 16

The Visigoth Museum Church of San Roman

Sunday, April 24

Baeza

As we left Toledo, circled around to reach the overlook from the Ermita de la Virgen del Valle for a view of the cathedral and the Alcazar over the Tajo River. Drove toward Aranjuez on great roads; the clouds that weâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ve had since arriving in Spain finally began to dissipate and the landscape was green and fresh. Reached Aranjuez around 11:00 and spent a pleasant couple of hours strolling in the formal gardens of the 18th century Royal Palaces, along shaded walks with fountains and spring flowers. A large boules tournament was in progress in the courtyard; stopped to watch the activity. Had a problem getting out of town as the roads were blocked for Easter processions, but eventually joined the autovia E 5-A 4, a wonderfully engineered road through stunning scenery. Were very glad we were heading south, as it was bumper to bumper for over 250 kilometers out for the holiday weekenders returning to Madrid.

Toldeo

Aranjuez Royal Palaces A UNESCO Site

Turned onto a smaller road to Baeza, through rolling hills of olive trees as far as we could see, and eventually found our way through the narrow streets to the Puerto de la Luna with the help of a couple of old men who laughed at the scrape on the car and gestured that we were probably headed for more. The hotel is in a 16th century house with a central courtyard planted with orange trees; our room has a view of the garden and the tower of the adjacent cathedral. We immediately set out to explore this UNESCO-designated town while the light still reflected from the golden stone of its churches and mansions. As it is Easter Sunday, the balconies of most buildings in town are draped with purple banners, many decorated with pictures of Jesus Christ and Christian symbols. Inside the cathedral, the huge carved platforms with the figures of Jesus at the Last Supper, coming into Jerusalem, and after the Cross were displayed, following their procession during Semana Santa. In order to get a view of the area, I climbed the 167 steps to the tower while Jake waited below. It was really treacherous—no railings on the spiral steps—and I am glad that he decided not to do it. The

climb did afford some wonderful views of the town with the olive groves and mountains in the background. We made a circuit of the old streets, ending at the main square where families had gathered for dinner together. Everyone was dressed up: women in stylish suits, young girls in impossibly high heels, little girls in colorful dresses. And everyone was having a good time. It was fun to watch all the activity on this special day. Back at the hotel, we resumed the quest for our bags. It seems we are getting closer, although the plane that was supposed to be bringing them from Casablanca was delayed and there was no further word about whether it had arrived or if our bags were actually on the flight. Had dinner at the hotel’s restaurant, La Pintada; the menu bragged, “All of our plates are given a special personal touch with the local virgin olive oil.” That was an understatement, as everything was swimming in oil. Some delights from the English menu included “stewed soap” and “stuffed beads of white chocolate and scum.” Things were somewhat better than that, but it was altogether a very heavy meal.

Baeza A UNESCO Site

Easter Sunday 29

Monday, April 25

Cordoba

Day four in the same clothes. Jake tried to call Iberia but they were not picking up. Although we were entitled to an opulent breakfast buffet at the hotel, neither of us felt like eating, whether from the heavy meal of the previous evening or our increasing desperation that our bags were indeed gone, would be a guess. At last, our cell phone rang, but the call cut off before Jake could get the phone out of his pocket; when we tried to call back, got a recording in Spanish. Frustrations were mounting. At last he got through to Iberia; our bags had finally been received in Madrid and had been forwarded to Seville where they were being held in customs at the airport. Our only recourse was to drive there and retrieve them ourselves, as no one else could clear them from customs. Thus our plans for the day had been revised to include a 240 km. round trip to the Seville airport, with the hope that the bags were actually there. Not wanting to miss an entire day of touring, we drove the 8 km. to Ubeda, another UNESCO site, founded by the Moors and one of the major cities in Al-Andalus.

However, once we got there, we realized we did not have the energy to find a parking place and locate various buildings with the bag issue hanging over our heads; we left by 11:00, took a deep breath and started for Seville. By 1:00 we had arrived at the airport and an hour later, we were on the road back to Cordoba WITH our bags. They were covered with stickers and tags, evidence of the troubled route they had taken to reach us. We were amazed that we actually had them again, as they had gone from Marrakech to Casablanca to Madrid to Seville by a long and circuitous route. Approaching Cordoba, we were uncertain that we we going the correct way to follow the hotelâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s printed directions and paused to consult the map, when we were approached by a man who appeared out of nowhere and asked us whether we wanted to go to the Amisted Hotel; although we were uncertain about following him, he led us down a narrow, tourist-saturated street to the hotel, which would have been impossible to locate on our own.

That we chose to stop at that very spot and that he suspected that we wanted that hotel were providential. Things were finally looking up. Jake said he was disappointed in the Amisted, which he found very sterile, belying its interesting location abutting the old city walls in the Jewish section. I, on the other hand, was delighted that the bathroom was modern and clean and the air conditioning worked; while he went out to do a little advance work, I had a nap and a bath and a CHANGE OF CLOTHES. When we set out at 8:00 to do something of a montilla crawl to sample this beloved wine of the Cordoba region, we both felt like our trip was starting anew. The white walls and narrow lanes of the old Jewish quarter were aglow with lanterns as we

walked down to Casa Pepe de la Juderia, a cozy taberna that Jake had found on his exploration. We chose a halfdozen tapas and of course, a couple of copitas of the finolike wine. After reordering a couple of times, strolled the streets, enjoying the sights of people gathering at numerous small bars to drink and socialize. Went as far as the marvelous Moorish exterior of the Mezquita, glowing in the golden illumination. We will see it in detail tomorrow. Stopped in at two other tabernas, Casa Rubio (with Moorish-inspired arches over the bar) and Bodega Guzman (a cavernous place, its walls a small museum) for another round. We were fortunate: the bodegas claim that since montilla has no added sugar, it does not produce a hangover.

Tuesday, April 26

Cordoba

It was great to take our time getting up and ready for the day; the Mezquita does not open until 10:00. When we got there a little after that, there was a long line for tickets and numerous tour groups were assembling (this time, led by fans rather than umbrellas). The sun was shining brilliantly as we waited our turn in the Patio de los Naranjos, the ablutions court. Although none of the original fountains survive, orange trees still offer pleasant shade as they have since the 15th century. When we stepped inside the mosque, I was blown away. Although I had seen pictures of this astonishing building before, no photograph could capture the immensity and complexity of this ancient religious icon. On the site of the Visigoth Cathedral of St. Vincent (which was itself built on an earlier Roman temple), Umayyad ruler Abd ar-Rahman I began construction of his Great Mosque or La Mezquita in the

mid-8th century. In 1523, under Carlos V, a Gothic cathedral was constructed at the heart of the mosque and adaptations were made throughout. The “Christianizing” of the structure had taken eight centuries to complete; Carlos realized the mistake after seeing the completed work, saying, “You have built what you or others might have built anywhere, but you have destroyed something that was unique in the world.” The contrast of the simple beauty and uniformity of the Moorish horseshoe arches with their distinctive red and white striped pattern (unprecedented in the Arab world) and the Renaissance excesses of the cathedral and Baroque cupolas was striking. We savored the architectural details, many of which we had seen duplicated in the medersas in Morocco; especially the golden calligraphy and detailing on the mihrab, the center of worship in the mosque.

La Mezquita A UNESCO Site

A sunny café enticed us as we exited and we found a table and ordered coffee, orange juice, and rolls. Walked along the old city walls and down to the bridge that spans the Rio Guadalquivir; then back through the Juderia where we visited the synagogue, the only one in Andalusia to survive the Jewish expulsion in 1492. There are only three in all of Spain, and we visited the other two in Toledo. Unfortunately, not much is left of this one; only traces of the lacy carving that was so prevalent in the others. Saw the Zoco, once a Moorish souk, but now a series of small craft shops around two shady patios. As we walked by the numerous souvenir shops that lined the streets, stopped to buy a packet of old postage stamps to scan; I also bought a snappy red and black flamenco dress—with fringe, fan, and hair

ornament—for Ryan. Later in the afternoon, we visited Cordoba’s excellent archeological museum, located adjacent to a 16th century house, below which significant Roman ruins had been discovered. Sauntered through rooms with interesting collections from the Iberian, Roman, and Moorish periods; took photos of our favorites, including a stone relief depicting the olive harvest and a whimsical turbaned Almohade musician figurine from the 12th century. Walking past the Taller Meryan, stopped to watch Cordoba leather masters at work. Had 8:30 dinner reservations at El Churrasco, according to Rough Guide, the best restaurant in town. We can’t attest to that, but we did have a pleasant meal of fish and fresh asparagus accompanied by manzanilla, another local fino-type sherry. 49

Archaeological Museum of Cordoba

Wednesday, Ap ril 27

Granada

Had the usual hassle finding our way out of town; by 10:00 were on the road to Medina Azahara, the ruined palace-city of Caliph Abd-ar-Rahman III in its terraced setting at the foot of the Sierra Nevada Mountains. It took 10,000 laborers nearly 30 years to build the complex of residential and ceremonial buildings, gardens, and a mosque. Although the site is totally in ruins, an excellent audio-visual presentation in the Aga Khan Design Award-winning museum brought it to life and gave us a sense of what it must have been like to have lived within its substantial walls. At 1:00, we left the site and drove south, passing the turnoff to Montilla (which gave its name to the drink we enjoyed in Cordoba). Saw olive trees and vineyards far into the distance, sometimes even planted together; snow was apparent on the distant peaks. The brilliant blue sky

gave way to rainclouds as we followed meticulous and complicated directions to the Casa Morisca, a small Michelin “red” hotel in a 15th century Moorish mansion in the Albaicin Barrio. Were greeted by Victor, who gave us suggestions for our evening visit to the Alhambra and told us that we might have the place to ourselves, as all of Spain is going to be watching the big “futbol” game between Real Madrid and F.C. Barcelona. He admitted that he was feeling quite nervous about it and said he was afraid he was going to have a heart attack (FCB is his team). Jake and I had an early supper (by Spanish standards) at an outdoor café near the hotel where we ordered paella and a bottle of wine and sat out under an arbor by the Darro River in the shadow of the Alhambra.

Medina Azahara

Of all the lands from the west to the Indies, you, Spain, O sacred and always fortunate mother of princes and peoples, are the most beautiful … You are the pride and the ornament of the world, the most illustrious part of the earth … you are rich with olives … your mountains full of trees and your shores full of fish. --Saint Isidore of Seville (560-636)

About an hour before our 10:00 admission time, took a taxi up impossibly steep and narrow streets—one place was just over a meter wide— to the top of La Sabika, the highest hill in the city, where the Alhambra sits like “the ruby in the crown,” according to poet Ibn-Zamrak (1333-93). The Rough Guide describes the Alhambra as “one of the most sensual buildings in the world and the greatest treasure of Moorish Spain.” And although his tried his best, even Carlos V could not destroy it (although he did manage to demolish an entire wing). After picking up our reserved tickets for the evening and for tomorrow morning, we waited outside on a terrace with a nice view of the city. Promptly at 10:00, were admitted to the Nasrid Palaces, along with a manageable group of other visitors that was far less then we feared. To see the Alhambra

for the first time at night! What a treat for the imagination to experience the splendor of this jewel of Moorish architecture by light as dim as candles. The mood seemed to affect everyone, as people spoke in hushed tones, and no flashes spoiled the serenity of our surroundings. There is no way to adequately describe the beauty we saw: the intricate zallej tilework, the delicate plaster carving, the flowing Arabic inscriptions and poetry; and overall, the proportions of the rooms and the way each seemed to flow into the next, whether by design or by the reflections on the still waters of the pools that connected them. Truly, the Alhambra is one of those unique places in the world that is even more wonderful in actuality. The magic one would hope to find after reading Irving’s Tales of the Alhambra is really there. 61

The Alhamb ra A UNESCO Site

The portico is so beautiful that the palace Competes in beauty with the sky. How many arches are high on its summit, on the columns that are adorned by the light, like spheres that turn above the glowing pillar of the dawn! The columns are so beautiful that their success flies from mouth to ear: the marble throws its clear light, which invades the black corner that blackens the shadow; its highlights iridesce, and one would say that they are, in spite of their size, pearls. --From a Poem in the Hall of the Two Sisters by Ibn Zamaarak

The Alhambra ... How unworthy is my scribbling of the place. --Washington Irving

Thursday, April 28

Granada

Asked the hotel for an early breakfast; it was served in the crypt-like lower level of the house that was attractively finished and furnished. Called for a taxi to take us up to the entrance of the Alhambra at 8:00; found that we were the first visitors in line. When we were allowed into the complex, we wisely moved quickly so that we could take pictures with no one else around. Although we had to keep moving, it was wonderful to be alone in each room and to see it as those who lived there long ago must have experienced it. Visiting the Alhambra in the morning has its own charm: the singing of birds, the play of sunlight on the walls, the illumination of dark corridors we could not see at night. After our initial exploration, we walked through again, taking it slowly with the other visitors. We took a long walk through the palace gardens and on to the Generalife, the terraced gardens, with views of the defensive walls of the Alcazaba. Completed our visit by climbing up to the Alcazaba and visiting the excellent Museo de la Alhambra located in the 16th century Palacio de Carlos V. Made the obligatory visit to the bookshop where we bought La imagen romantic de la Alhambra, filled with evocative prints and drawings. 71

Took the little red Alhambra bus down the hill, getting off at the Cathedral Quarter for a visit to the Renaissance-styled cathedral and the Capilla Real, where the remains of Fernando and Isabella rest under a massive carved marble mausoleum. The small accompanying museum has an outstanding collection of Flemish paintings by Memling and van der Weyden; it was a treat to be able to put one’s nose up to van der Weyden’s Pieta and Nativity and see the subtle expressions on each face. Walked back to our hotel, past the outdoor cafes on the Plaza Nueva and along the Carrera del Darro. In the late afternoon, set out again to do a sort of “tapas crawl” near the Plaza Nueva, where we started at Bodegas La Mancha for fino and sardines and cheese, as we stood at the weathered counter and watched one of the men carve a ham chosen from those hanging high on the walls. Down the street, Jake wanted to go into Hannigan & Sons, an Irish pub. I preferred something more Spanish, but he won out and we sat at the bar and talked to Ross, the twenty-something-year-old guy from Belfast who bartended. Learned that he has been in Granada for a little over a year, thinks it is the best city in Europe, has a degree in environmental philosophy from Cambridge, has a girlfriend from Kentucky who is studying to be a vet, hates domesticated animals, and plans to teach English in Peru.

The TV at the bar was tuned to news and we learned that among other world events, there was a terrorist bombing today at a café at the Djemma el Fna Square in Marrakech that left many dead. Exactly a week ago, we were sitting there in just such a place. After admitting that the cuisine at Hannigan is lacking, Ross suggested we go up the hill to the St. Nicholas area and have dinner at one of the restaurants with a view of the Alhambra. Following his advice, hailed a taxi that dropped us off at Calle Elvira. When we got out, saw groups of people sitting along a wall with their choice of beverage, waiting for the sun to set on Granada’s beloved buildings. Walked down the street and found a table with a great view at Aljibe del Poela where we shared white asparagus, salad, and monkfish stew, marveling at how one thing leads to another when you allow yourself flexibility when traveling. The taxi ride back to the hotel on the steep and narrow streets of Granada demonstrated the unique traffic rules that necessarily deal with local circumstances: the readiness to back up to allow another vehicle to make a tight turn, the need for traffic lights to change the direction of an entire street, the expectation that pedestrians will find the means to get out of the way. All this is done, not just with courtesy, but with a sense of mutual cooperation.

Capilla Real 94

All great and beautiful work has come of first gazing without shrinking into the darkness. --John Ruskin 100

V. 3