Córdoba

The Córdoba bus and train stations sit just northwest of the city center along a major road. It's all much newer construction than the city center, but they've done a great job of it. The pedestrian thoroughfare near the road is a very long park with bicycle lanes, pedestrian lanes, and open grassy areas, playgrounds, and exercises equipment.

As I turned into town and walked through winding streets that now feel so familiar, I noticed that the streets were eerily vacant. It's not uncommon for traffic to thin out a lot during siesta hours, but this was a ghost town. The hostel check-in experience was eerily vacant, too. Usually there's a smiling twenty-something at the counter to check you in. This hostel was a walled fortress. Their online check-in procedure had me scan a picture of my passport and enter a bunch of information while standing outside on the street. I was given an access code and used it to enter a large courtyard that was quiet and empty. I found my way to my room, which was also empty. It was a pretty bleak and corporate hostel experience.

Back on the streets, I discovered the layout of the town quickly. Like Granada, Córdoba spent a long period of its history as a Muslim emirate, but before that it was a Roman city built in the second century. As you walk through town you find intact ancient Roman artifacts with only mild celebration, like this structure of columns, whose foundation they built an unimpressive bank on top of.

The center of town surrounds a large mosque that was converted to a Catholic cathedral during the Reconquesta. It's beautiful from the outside, but when I toured it the next day I walked away with mixed feelings. More on that later.

South of the mosque is an impressive arch leading to an ancient Roman bridge which crosses the Rio Guadalquivir.

The street performers on the bridge were packing away their instruments because they couldn't compete with the volume of an impressive marching band across the river. I followed the music and came upon a Catholic processional of the Virgen Divina Pastora. A local told me they trot her out along the street once a year and put her away again.

I crossed the bridge again and made my way into the Judería, the historic Sefardic Jewish neighborhood. I learned later that the historical Emirate of Cordoba was tolerant of their Jewish and Christian subjects. There are many references to the "tres culturas" in Córdoba, from bus stops to mercados to a vegetable dish. The Reconquesta didn't exactly continue that tradition of tolerance.

When I got back to the hostel the vibe had changed considerably. There were plenty of travelers around, and I joined a table and started making friends. This hostel had quite a few other backpackers on extended worldwide trips. I met an Australian woman on a four month trip, an Australian man four months into a seven month excursion, and a 24-year-old French Canadian sailor on a five month camping trip with only a carry-on backpack. He proudly showed off how he attached his sleeping bag and tent and rearranged everything to go on planes. He rolled his own cigarettes with hash he obtained on the street from a stranger (he said he saw the stranger rolling his own hash cigarette and offered to trade him a water bottle). He has no phone number, no social media, and he develops the images from his film camera in his friend's bathtub. He frequently made a wonderful sound to convey understanding, not unlike "ah" but with the addition of "ch" you'd hear in German words like "ich." "Ahch!" I was in awe.

The next day I toured the Mesquita de Córdoba, the mosque turned cathedral. My first impression upon seeing the forest of Moorish columns and arches was to imagine what it must have looked like filled with people on their mats prostrating in prayer, but the ability to imagine that goes away very quickly. The Catholic Church made a major effort to strip the former mosque of any Arabic writing or any element of Islam. Some of the Christian art and iconography is undeniably beautiful (such as the ornate wooden carvings in the choir pit), but there's something deeply unsettling about gory depictions of a suffering Jesus (the most quoted prophet in the Quran) covering up the beautiful abstract artwork of people who originally built the mosque for their own faith, and who would have found graven images of a prophet they believe in to be obscene. It was interesting, but I can't say I recommend it.

I had another breakthrough regarding European city design while in Córdoba that now seems perfectly obvious. I walked past a small museum that had this phaeton prominently displayed. (I don't know if it's actually a phaeton or a curricle, barouche, or landau. It's some kind of carriage. I don't get to use any of those words very often and phaeton is definitely the coolest among them so cut me some slack.)

Somehow I had completely forgotten about horse-drawn carriages. I assume most animal powered vehicles had some commercial purpose (like a donkey cart), others were a matter of transit for hire, and still rarer were the carriages owned by prominent and wealthy families. I'm going to noodle on this a bit as I walk through future cities. I'm also going to take a deeper dive on the commonness of these vehicles because I have no concept of how many animal powered vehicles were needed per capita.

Favorite foods

Siniya is a grape leaf wrapped trout stuffed with orange and garnished with pomegranate pieces. This was very special. It's a traditional Sefardic Jewish dish, and it's one of the few meals I've had that contained no ingredients from the New World, so I can only imagine just how far back that tradition goes. There's no reason it couldn't have existed in biblical times. It was also special because I could imagine it being prepared for families. I'm enjoying all the gourmet creations of tapas, but no one will ever well up with nostalgia about their grandmother's octopus pate.

Runner up is mazamorra: a cold almond "soup," here served with Iberian ham, seaweed salad, and some kind of sweet vinegar reduction. "Soup" is an odd term for it, but that's how every description I've looked up described it. I suppose it's soup in the sense that Cheerios is a soup. Unlike gazpacho and other cold soups, this is the consistency of yogurt. I think it would be delicious with all kinds of sweet or savory toppings. I'll probably take a stab at cooking this the next time I see my mom and have some adult supervision.