The Events of Monday, April 11, 2011

                Having a big day planned, we awoke early, packed up and headed out of Granada. However, we had a stop to make first. Last night’s hodge-podge dinner had completely decimated our food supply. We had “nada” in Granada. We had seen a Carrefour, Europe’s equivalent to a Super Walmart, on our way into Granada, so we headed there to do our shopping. However, our two GPS systems gave conflicting directions which further conflicted with the Carrefour billboards. After getting turned around, we finally found our way there, only to find that it wasn’t open. It was 9 o’clock in the morning, and Carrefour doesn’t open until 10. In this way they are definitely not like Walmart. Having no choice, we decided to wait to do our grocery shopping in Córdoba.

                The drive to Córdoba was about 2 ½ hours long. The twisting, turning back roads took us through lovely farm country with lots of olive groves. I became very adept at interpreting road signs about when it was legal to pass and when it was not. Frustratingly, there were many signs requesting slower speed limits because of construction. However, there was no road construction or road crews in sight, just the signs. Guess someone forgot to pick up the speed limit signs. Arriving in Córdoba, the search for parking began. Our GPS systems didn’t have the latest information of construction in Córdoba and led us to closed roads and one-way streets. Having all our luggage in the car, we were wary to just park on the street. Jim spotted a sign for El Corte Inglés. This is a chain of gigantic department stores that we had discovered in Madrid. They sell everything, even groceries, and Jim was sure they would have free parking. We decided to park, shop and then see how far we were from our final destination.

                Pulling into the driveway, we were surprised to see that we were being directed to drive on the wrong side of the road. The reason became clear at the bottom of the ramp as we had to make a very tight right-hand turn to pull in to get our ticket. The turn would have been impossible from the “correct” side of the road. Parking garages in Europe are incredibly small. Narrow roadways lead to even narrower turns which lead to extremely narrow parking spaces. The kids are getting quite adept at piling out of the car before we park it, for they would never be able to get out afterwards. Such was the case today. I made a brief attempt to back into a spot. Not a chance. So the kids piled out and Jim took over. After performing about a 15-20 point turn, he was in the spot, mirrors intact. Only one small problem: he couldn’t get out. After a bit more maneuvering, he was able to exit. We probably didn’t have to lock the car. Anyone wanting to steal our luggage could never have gotten it out of the car. Jim was surprised that we would have to pay for parking, but he was even more surprised when he found out how much it cost: €2,50 an hour. That’s approximately $3.50!

                Motivated to be quick, we picked up just what we would need for a picnic lunch, and then headed back to the van. It took a bit more maneuvering to get out of the spot and then to exit the garage. The wall just past the exit gate is gouged bumper-high showing the number of vehicles that failed to execute the turn as well as Jim did. Back out on the streets, the search for parking near our destination resumed. Finally we decided on an above-ground lot and pulled in, parking near the attendant in the office. By now, we were starving, so the first order of the day was to find a shady spot for lunch. After lunch, we plugged in our destination to “Gypsy”, our GPS, on pedestrian mode, and soon found ourselves in the center of a Moorish city. High walls surround this cobblestoned section of the city. We entered through a Moorish gate shaped like a gigantic key hole. Walking the cobblestone streets, we admired the different architecture of a place that was the center of Moorish civilization in Spain for 300 years. Finally, we arrived at our destination, The Mezquita, or as it is known today, The Cathedral of Córdoba.

                The Mezquita was the largest Islamic mosque in its day. Built on the site of the destroyed San Vicente basilica, construction on the mosque began in 785. During its heyday, the mosque was completed and expanded several times, its intention being an ostentation display of power. However, in 1236, King Ferdinand III and the Christians reconquered Córdoba. The interior was gutted and replaced by a Latin cross-shaped plan to house the Main Chapel of Villaviciosa, the Transept and the Choir. The mosque’s minaret was embedded in the bell tower of the cathedral. Around the perimeter of this vast space, chapels were built to meet the desire of believers wanting to be buried in the cathedral. In essence, the structure of the mosque remained, and a cathedral was built into it.

                It was very odd to walk into such a place. All around are pillars (857 of them) and an equal number of Moorish pink and white arches. The ceiling and floor are decorated in a Moorish pattern. It is most mosque-like in its appearance. Lots of areas of dead space, figuratively, literally and spiritually. I felt the tension between its appearance and its purported purpose. And it is big. So big in fact that we walked around for a half an hour before stumbling on the main altar and choir area. And then it hit me, I was “churched out”. I realized that I was sad – sad that this cathedral attempts to be “the express image of the Church of Christ that preaches, sings, and adores throughout the world” (from the cathedral’s tour brochure). Yet it is filled with tourists, not followers of Jesus. The churches of Europe, where wars were fought over religion and Christianity played such a role in its history, stand empty and cold and heartless today. They are filled with tourists taking a look back in history to see the way it once was. Where are the true believers? As the psalmist notes in Psalm 14:2, 3a: The Lord looks down from heaven on the sons of men to see if there are any who understand, any who seek God. All have turned aside. Saddened by this thought, I was eager to leave.    

                Now it was time for the four hour drive to Seville. The country side continued to be beautiful, with signs of spring blossoming everywhere. While Jim and I switched off driving every two hours, the kids caught up on blogging, editing their pictures, researching future travel plans, reading or brushing up on their European history and art with our Europe 101 book. As we entered Sevilla (Spanish spelling), the directions from the GPS directed us into a neighborhood of very skinny streets. Finally, the GPS indicated that we had “reached our destination”. However, Hotel Marengo, our housing in Sevilla, was nowhere to be found. Jim parked the car on a very narrow street, and, after tucking in the side mirror, set off to explore. A half-block away, he spoke to some gentlemen, who let us know we were in the wrong city. It seems Caitlin had mistaken the name of the city for the name of a street. We were supposed to be in Castilleja de la Cuestra, a suburb of Sevilla. Soon, the correct information was entered into the GPS, and fifteen minutes later we were pulling into the street behind our hotel.

                Hotel Marengo boasts an underground parking garage, a cafeteria encompassing the entire ground floor, and a few rooms that are called triples. We soon found out that meant three twin beds per room. However, we also discovered that our two rooms were located on opposite sides of the building. The distance between the rooms and lack of phone connection between rooms led Jim and me to decide to split the adults between the rooms. That settled, we were about to head out to explore Sevilla, when Jim announced that the hotel manager wanted to treat our family to free ice cream. Few words are more enticing than “free ice cream”. We headed down to the cafeteria and were led to the ice cream counter and told to make our preferences known. Soon, we were sitting down to enjoy cold, delicious ice cream. Later, we were to find out why this was such a good decision. 

                Next we piled back into the car to drive across the bridge into Sevilla. We had three destinations to see: the bullfighting museum, flamenco dancing, and the cathedral. It was too late to fit in the cathedral, so we decided to visit that tomorrow morning. Guided by our tour guide for Spain, Caitlin, we soon found parking near our destination. After the now routine jockeying necessary to fit into a space, we emerged from the dark depths of the parking garage, blinking in the blinding early evening sun. A walk of about half a block brought us to the bull fighting arena and attached museum. We went in and found we were just in time for the last tour of the day.

                The tour was given in both Spanish and English. Carmen, our tour guide, would take us to an area or room and explain everything about it first in Spanish and then in English. At the end of the Spanish portion, she’d suggest that the Spanish speakers look around and take pictures while she did her spiel in English. The concept of bullfighting, until the bull is killed, goes against the grain of most Americans, but it is deeply etched into the Spain’s history and culture. One king, who tried to do away with bullfighting, found he did not last long on the throne. The arena is large, seating over 5,000. It is oval, instead of circular, because, since it took them so long to build it, the city was building and growing around them, and a change in shape was necessary to accommodate buildings that were finished before it was. After viewing the arena, we were led to the former first aid room. Once the place where matadors were taken when they were injured, it now houses art – prints, oils, and sketches, all of bullfighting.

                Next, we were led to a small museum where the history and particulars of bull fighting were explained. The bullfight is actually considered an artistic “domestication” of the bull. Establishing a rapport with the bull is essential to earn points. So the matador first befriends, then controls and then kills the bull. There are three stages to a bull fight, each lasting about 25 minutes. In the first stage, the bull is assessed by having it charge capes and then a lance is stabbed into the hump on its back by a matador astride a horse wearing armor. The second stage calls for the stabbing of three pairs of lances into the bull, to get it riled up again. The final stage occurs when the sword is driven into the bull. It takes three mules to drag the dead bull out of the arena. The matador is then awarded according to his performance. He can earn one of the bull’s ears, both of its ears, or both ears and the tail, this being the highest level, and, per our guide, very difficult to achieve. The audience can sway the vote by waving white handkerchiefs if they were suitably entertained. We were thankful that we had seen a video of bullfighting in a restaurant in Madrid. We were able to understand a bit more because of that. However, I left there wondering exactly what sort of trophy case does a matador utilize to showcase all these bull ears and tails?  

                Next we walked on to find the Flamenco dancing that Caitlin had researched out for us. She found that, if we arrived a half an hour before the show, and showed Rick Steves’ book, we’d get a discount and good seats. Using her superior map skills and ignoring the GPS, Caitlin got us to Los Gallos right on time. There was a small crowd at the door, and they were just being let inside as we arrived. We were quickly seated and settled in to await the start of the show. We had not had dinner, and outside food was not allowed. So we nursed our obligatory one drink minimum and were grateful for our earlier ice cream snack. The room was small and tightly packed. Abby commented that it reminded her of our Preservation Hall Jazz experience in New Orleans, and it was very similar – small space, good music, excellent dancing and a ton of energy.

                My only knowledge of flamenco dancing was of women in flowing dresses dancing with castanets. Thus the night was very educational. Flamenco is a music and dance art form that has its roots in Gypsy and Moorish cultures. The evening began with two singers and a guitar. The songs are almost wails, and one singer in particular, judging from his facial contortions, seemed to be in great pain as he sang. The female dancers were fluid and graceful, with rapid footwork. The male dancers took this rapid foot work to a new level. The singers hand-clapped intricate rhythms, while the fingers of the guitarists simply flew. The two hours were over in an instant.

                Exiting at 10 pm, we realized that hunger was beginning to set in. No problem for tour guide Caitlin, as she had just the place in mind for a quick bite on our way back to the car – La Isla Freiduria, where they have been frying fish since 1938. We found the place filled with locals and had to make do with two standing tables. Caitlin and Jim went to the counter and ordered us a variety of fish options and some onion rings. The fish is fried fresh, right after you order it, and is served in large thick paper cones. Hungrier than we had realized, we quickly polished off everything and then headed home.

                In order to access the parking garage under our hotel, Jim had to walk around the block to the front of the hotel to ask them to open the door. Then it was another bit of maneuvering to get the car parked in a slot. Finally, we were home at last. Quickly getting everyone ready for bed, it was lights out at 11:30pm. It had been a long, but enjoyable day. We had covered quite a lot, both in distance and cultural experience. A good night’s rest was all that was needed to top off the perfect day.