Some of my favourite places here… The gardens of the Carmen de los Martires: I am often found sitting here, feeling tranquil and serene amid the greenery and the water flowing from the fountain, and the absence of noisy crowds of tourists (they are over at the Alhambra).
The day before I had discovered the Carmen Victoria – again I had sat and read and felt well and connected and grounded – all from a well designed and planted and built garden space, connected to history and with a view over the valley to the Alhambra on the other side.
Cordoba is one of those places that was full of Moorish culture and learning back in the 800s when my English ancestors were living in societies with less access to knowledge and cultural sophistication. These days of course its full of tourists. When you enter the Mezquita, built in the 800s and after, you are moved by the forest of granite and marble and the beautiful double arches with their alternating white and red brick patterns. All seen in the dimness of a softly lit undercroft ambiance. Endless beauty and magnificence is suggested by the sheer number of these precious columns of stone. As I moved through them I was bewitched. You must move, the experience of this cultural achievement can’t be captured by photographic reproduction. One of the high points of human architecture.
First impressions of an old city in southern Spain…. getting cervezas and tapas in Castenedas, an old Spanish bodega with barrels and legs of ham hanging from the ceiling and old wooden bar and lively atmosphere. That was after walking out of my first Spanish class on a Monday afternoon. Walking up to the Alhambra through the cool atmosphere of the chestnut trees and running water beneath them, to a fountain on top of the Alhambra amongst a symmetrical garden in the late evening light. A cat lapping from the fountain before me, with one eye on intruders. On a sunny day splashing water from the fountain in the Plaza Nueva onto my hot arms and neck, and then sitting feeling refreshed and cool, and watching the bustle of people and faces and lives loiter and pass. Walking down the pass between the Alhambra by myself one evening at 830pm towards the Rio Darro, and looking at the crumbling red rammed earth fortifications from centuries past, and hearing the water tumble downhill, in chorus with my downhill footfalls.