Culture clash schizophrenia
Door: Geiske
Blijf op de hoogte en volg Geiske
05 April 2014 | Spanje, Córdoba
Guess where I am! Here are the hints: (1) It’s a city and a museum and an orchard all at once. (2) My inner physicist goes wild at the delight of so many symmetries, repetitions, and patterns. (3) Mix in exploding extravagance of Spanish baroque and rosemary clutching gypsy witches. Still no clue? Read on then…
Promised land?
At the end of the last story, you found me in sparkling Barcelona. However, half a day of high speed train later, the world was a new place. No more flats elbowing each other for breathing space, but low buildings and whispering palm leaves. And off flew my sweater and scarf, as a warm breeze folded my skin in a soft smell that oddly reminded me of morning showers. And sure enough, there they were, in every possible line of sight and in the millions: tangerines and oranges, swinging about ripe and plump in their respective trees. In fact, there were so many of them, the inhabitants didn’t even seem to notice them, let alone pick them. Fresh fruits might be a luxury soap ingredient back home, but they were compost in Cordoba for sure.
What’s next
Now Cordoba wasn’t just a random city in southern Spain. It housed something I’d long since been dreaming to visit: the Mesquita mosque-meets-church. But before diving into elevated matters of culture, I had to address more urgent down to earth needs such as less weight on my shoulders and a bed to sleep in. So, after having enjoyed my high of citrus delight, I set off in the general direction of the center. Obediently following the modern convenience called google maps, I strolled past zooming cars and appliance shops, until all of a sudden a row of cascading little ponds seemed slightly out of place. But certainly no more than the towering stone city walls, which truly would have been befitting of a Roman castle. Yet, tired as I was, instead of giving in to my usual rock obsession (don’t fear my reader, this story will not convert into a climbing adventure), through the ancient city gate I walked. Into a labyrinth of narrow cobbled streets, flanked by whitewashed houses and wooden doors hiding lush shaded patio and tiled fountains. Left and right I zigzagged, until quite by accident I hit a small, quiet hostel in an out of the way street. Where the staff was all smiles and friendliness: my cup of tea exactly. Until five minutes of niceties and chitchat later, they pointedly explained me men were doomed to go extinct and woman were on their way to world domination. No need to explain all staff was female… Dear o dear, what places do you run into while traveling! Little note: Sorry to disappoint those of you who want the full story, this one will cost you a glass wine for some shameless live interpretation.
Mesquita - the mosque
Medium rested and well motivated, I hit the giant walls of the Mesquita mosque-church fusion the next morning at opening time, in an attempt to avoid to crowds. And sure enough, it was only me and the click-clacking of forty Asian owned camera shutters. Luckily the masters of the latter shuffled around in a pack, and my escape was quickly made. Mere moments later, I was all alone with the vastness of this strange building. I had seen pictures of the Mesquita’s famous red and white arches before, but never could I have imagined how many dozens and dozens of them would be supporting the never ending roof. Everywhere I looked there were more and more curving lines, making it almost impossible to find a clear line of sight to the back wall. Beneath all this, the floor was black and ill-lit, the walls straight and unadorned. The only architectural splurge seemed to be an alcove pointing towards Mecca, where complex mosaics fanned out in brightly colored floral patters and gilded Arabic calligraphy, stretching all the way up to the gilded, dome shaped roof. The sparkle of light through the dome’s faraway mesh windows amplified my feelings of infinite shrinking even further, and all my thoughts and worries and jokes were nothing but silence.
Mesquita – the church
In an attempt to catch my breath, I randomly wandered left and right, when somewhere in the Mesquita’s central part a bright area drew me closer. And with a sudden whack on the head, serenity was as far fetched as chocolate-fudge cake in a health store. No more Moorish symmetry and carvings. Here reigned catholic opulence, in all its twirls and curls, in statues and paintings and gilding and carvings. In an attempt to dwarf its mosque envelope, the more recent church addition was built twice as high, twice as bright, twice as detailed, well basically twice as everything. It was all too much to take in for me. But, after repetitively blinking my eyes in an attempt to recover from the initial shell shock, I also started to notice the artists' hidden practical jokes. Such as a thirty centimeter detail on a sixty meter pillar showing a face in fright, as it was being nibbled upon by two baby farm animals. And looking more closely at the decadently carved benches I found clownesque heads on each armrest, one of which had actually tried to stuff an entire apple in its mouth. Very funny, but very schizophrenic as well. All in all, I couldn’t take it any more. With my poor brain cells utterly over-stimulated, I U-turned and quickly retraced my steps underneath the beautiful Moorish arches, back into the world of sunlight and tourist shops. It was time for me to move on.
Final note
Until this day, I still wonder whether the right adjective for the Mesquita’s Christian ‘upgrade’ would be appalling or intriguing. Still, I feel deeply touched by the serenity of the Moorish part. And I do hope that one day you will get to see this place with your own eyes as well, my reader. Please let me know if you do so, and let me know what your thoughts are.
Promised land?
At the end of the last story, you found me in sparkling Barcelona. However, half a day of high speed train later, the world was a new place. No more flats elbowing each other for breathing space, but low buildings and whispering palm leaves. And off flew my sweater and scarf, as a warm breeze folded my skin in a soft smell that oddly reminded me of morning showers. And sure enough, there they were, in every possible line of sight and in the millions: tangerines and oranges, swinging about ripe and plump in their respective trees. In fact, there were so many of them, the inhabitants didn’t even seem to notice them, let alone pick them. Fresh fruits might be a luxury soap ingredient back home, but they were compost in Cordoba for sure.
What’s next
Now Cordoba wasn’t just a random city in southern Spain. It housed something I’d long since been dreaming to visit: the Mesquita mosque-meets-church. But before diving into elevated matters of culture, I had to address more urgent down to earth needs such as less weight on my shoulders and a bed to sleep in. So, after having enjoyed my high of citrus delight, I set off in the general direction of the center. Obediently following the modern convenience called google maps, I strolled past zooming cars and appliance shops, until all of a sudden a row of cascading little ponds seemed slightly out of place. But certainly no more than the towering stone city walls, which truly would have been befitting of a Roman castle. Yet, tired as I was, instead of giving in to my usual rock obsession (don’t fear my reader, this story will not convert into a climbing adventure), through the ancient city gate I walked. Into a labyrinth of narrow cobbled streets, flanked by whitewashed houses and wooden doors hiding lush shaded patio and tiled fountains. Left and right I zigzagged, until quite by accident I hit a small, quiet hostel in an out of the way street. Where the staff was all smiles and friendliness: my cup of tea exactly. Until five minutes of niceties and chitchat later, they pointedly explained me men were doomed to go extinct and woman were on their way to world domination. No need to explain all staff was female… Dear o dear, what places do you run into while traveling! Little note: Sorry to disappoint those of you who want the full story, this one will cost you a glass wine for some shameless live interpretation.
Mesquita - the mosque
Medium rested and well motivated, I hit the giant walls of the Mesquita mosque-church fusion the next morning at opening time, in an attempt to avoid to crowds. And sure enough, it was only me and the click-clacking of forty Asian owned camera shutters. Luckily the masters of the latter shuffled around in a pack, and my escape was quickly made. Mere moments later, I was all alone with the vastness of this strange building. I had seen pictures of the Mesquita’s famous red and white arches before, but never could I have imagined how many dozens and dozens of them would be supporting the never ending roof. Everywhere I looked there were more and more curving lines, making it almost impossible to find a clear line of sight to the back wall. Beneath all this, the floor was black and ill-lit, the walls straight and unadorned. The only architectural splurge seemed to be an alcove pointing towards Mecca, where complex mosaics fanned out in brightly colored floral patters and gilded Arabic calligraphy, stretching all the way up to the gilded, dome shaped roof. The sparkle of light through the dome’s faraway mesh windows amplified my feelings of infinite shrinking even further, and all my thoughts and worries and jokes were nothing but silence.
Mesquita – the church
In an attempt to catch my breath, I randomly wandered left and right, when somewhere in the Mesquita’s central part a bright area drew me closer. And with a sudden whack on the head, serenity was as far fetched as chocolate-fudge cake in a health store. No more Moorish symmetry and carvings. Here reigned catholic opulence, in all its twirls and curls, in statues and paintings and gilding and carvings. In an attempt to dwarf its mosque envelope, the more recent church addition was built twice as high, twice as bright, twice as detailed, well basically twice as everything. It was all too much to take in for me. But, after repetitively blinking my eyes in an attempt to recover from the initial shell shock, I also started to notice the artists' hidden practical jokes. Such as a thirty centimeter detail on a sixty meter pillar showing a face in fright, as it was being nibbled upon by two baby farm animals. And looking more closely at the decadently carved benches I found clownesque heads on each armrest, one of which had actually tried to stuff an entire apple in its mouth. Very funny, but very schizophrenic as well. All in all, I couldn’t take it any more. With my poor brain cells utterly over-stimulated, I U-turned and quickly retraced my steps underneath the beautiful Moorish arches, back into the world of sunlight and tourist shops. It was time for me to move on.
Final note
Until this day, I still wonder whether the right adjective for the Mesquita’s Christian ‘upgrade’ would be appalling or intriguing. Still, I feel deeply touched by the serenity of the Moorish part. And I do hope that one day you will get to see this place with your own eyes as well, my reader. Please let me know if you do so, and let me know what your thoughts are.
Reageer op dit reisverslag
Je kunt nu ook Smileys gebruiken. Via de toolbar, toetsenbord of door eerst : te typen en dan een woord bijvoorbeeld :smiley
