It feels like I am on vacation!
I headed out this morning at about 8:45 and walked to Calle Rosalana to catch the bus to the train station. I was a little nervous since I had never taken the bus in Seville before. I was thinking of how silly that was because after all, I had taken the bus in Korea where I could hardly speak any Korean and here I was in Spain where I can manage quite well, but I still couldn't deny my feelings.
There was nothing to be afraid of. Sure, I was confused. I didn't know where to put the money, but the driver pointed to a little hole in the window surrounding him. As I started to walk away, he pointed to a ticket that was printing. I took it and sat down.
The bus was very comfortable, clean, and spacious. It was nice seeing a little of the morning commute, mostly women (I am not sure why).
The bus stopped right in front of the train station where there is also a bus that goes to the airport. Good to know. It will probably be too early when I go to Rome, but it will save me some precious Euros when I come back if I can take busses.
I boarded my train which was headed for Madrid. Again, it seemed like I was with commuters. It was a high speed train (AVE) and we had to go through security. I'm guessing this is the train that was targeted by the train bombers in Madrid. We didn't have to go through the same procedures when I went to Cadiz. Still, it was nothing compared to the yelling and strip searches that happen in US airports.
The trip was quick. We left at 9:45 and arrived at 10:26. Cordoba was the first stop.
I couldn't find a place to store my backpack in the train station like I had hoped, and when I asked, the told me there were lockers across the street in the bus terminal. So I stored my bag and then started walking. I had no idea where I was going and my guide book was in my backpack which was now locked up.
The tourist information booth in the train station was closed with one guy inside doing some repair work and a bunch of stressed out looking tourists outside.
I figured I would find signs for the Mezquita, my destination, and if I didn't, I would ask.
My sense of direction did take me in the right direction, but at a certain point, I decided I needed to ask. I saw a woman in a newspaper booth who looked like the right person to ask. She was. I was right at the point where I needed to change directions. From there it was easy.
The Mezquita-Cathedral is a gigantic mosque turned cathedral that is located inside the old walled city. I felt like I was entering a medeival village, as I passed through the wall and saw the familiar cobblestoned winding streets I knew from Seville. I still wasn't sure where I was going, but the mobs of tour groups sort of clued me in. The streets were so narrow and the groups were so big, it was kind of frustrating trying to get around, but soon a big wall appeared before us and the familiar sight of gypsies scamming people with rosemary told me I was in the right spot.
A word about gypsies. I know the correct term is "Roma" and I am about as politically correct as they come. Gypsy is a word that originated from the fact that people in Spain though the Roma came from Egypt, and supposedly it is kind of derogatory. I am using it intentionally. I'm really sorry. I know discrimation is a terrible thing and the Roma have been discriminated up there with the worst victims of bigotry - Jews, Gays, the disabled, etc., but anyone who intentionally runs scams based on people's honesty and good faith is scum in my book. These women offer free sprigs of rosemary, then do some bullshit palm reading and then DEMAND a shitload of money. The tourists who give in do so because they feel obligated, which they shouldn't, because it is a SCAM.
As I walked through the gate to enter the compound, one of the gypsies called to me, telling me I dropped money. I kept walking. I knew she was a fucking liar.
Ok, got that out.
I was a bit disheartened to see the gigantic tour groups that had clogged the narrow streets of the old city were now clogging the entrance to the mezquita. By the time I figured out where to get a ticket and got in line, they had moved through, but once inside, there they were, mobbing the place all competing to try to get that perfect foto that would somehow convey the granduer of the place (or at least I hoped that was their intention). I also joined the competition, but there were too many people, so I moved away from them, passed through the enormous cathedral that bragged about the grandiosity of Catholicism that was erected in the center of the mosque and suddenly found myself feeling like i had the whole place to myself. Seemingly hundreds of red and white arches spread out before me and I imagined silence and thousands of men reverently prostrating themselves on the cool marble floor (even though there were sounds of drills and hammers and the distant sounds of tour guides speaking multiple languages).
This was one of the things I came to Spain to see. It was hard to believe I was seeing it. It was a visual feast if I ever saw one. The old mosque must have been a sight to behold. I lamented, as others have, the destruction that was later done when the Christians decided to impose their god on the place, but I got used to it, and found the cathedral, though a bit overdone, also quite beautiful.
I walked around several times. The place was huge. Each time I found something new. A cross under islamic arches, a little chapel with incredible golden mosaics, light coming from stained glass windows reflecting on columns. It was amazing. I wished I could have the whole place to myself without the tour groups or the reconstruction crews, but hopefully my photos will serve to bring me (and others) to that place.
Once I had had enough, I returned to the small, winding streets, found myself back at the entrance to the walled city, and turned around for another exploration. I came across a little tea shop that looked so tranquil and beautiful with a beautiful stone floor, a big plate with oranges, lemons and grapefruits and arab music playing. I got a horchata and a few little pastries.
From there, I walked further on, dodged the massive tour groups and found myself back where I started.
One more time I said, but as you can guess, the tour groups were too much for me, so I decided to leave.
I thought maybe I would find some interesting places in the newer, "real" Cordoba. The part I passed through on my way to the old city, where people were eating churros and chocolate or eating toast with olive oil.
As I walked back, I thought about the prospect of spending another 5 or so hours here with nothing to do and no guide book or map. I remembered the bus station and my thought at one point that instead of wait for my 7:15 train that would get me to Granada at 9:45, maybe I would take the bus.
As I walked towards the train station, I found a restaurant that had paella as their daily special. I stopped for lunch and then went to the bus station. I was standing in line at 1:55 when a woman asked if she could step in front of me because her bus left at 2:00. Just then I heard an announcement that the 2 p.m. bus to Granada was boarding.
Fortunately, I had enough time to buy my ticket, get my bag and board the bus. What luck. I was going to be able to check into my hotel early, shower and spend an evening exploring Granada.
The ride was wonderful. I saw what I imagined Spain to be like. Acres and acres of olive groves, dry yellow soil, castles perched high on hills surrounded by little white villages. It was absolutely gorgeous. I would doze off and open my eyes and be amazed, and though I tried my hardest to keep my eyes open, I would doze off again. But each time I opened my eyes, the scenery though it changed slightly, was pretty much the same for the whole ride. It seemed like there were nothing but olive trees (and the occassional castle and white village).
Finally, I arrived in Granada, found my hotel, took a walk, got oriented a bit and found a nice little square with cafes where people were eating churros and chocolate.
I decided this was my chance.
I have had churros before - in Mexican restaurants and in Mexico. They've always been the same. Long donut type things with ridges, sprinkled with sugar and cinnamon and sometimes filled with custard.
When the waiter brought my plate of churros, I was surprised. There were long donut type things but they looked very different. They didn't have ridges. They weren't sprinkled with cinnamon. They were kind of twisty and reminded me of play dough. But I did as had seen so many people do in the past three weeks, I broke off a piece of dough and dipped into the thick cup of warm chocolate and ate it.
OH MY GOD!
Enough said.
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