Category: Spain, Portugal and Morocco, November 2017

Fes is a very old city, dating from the eighth century CE, and a large one, with a population of over a million. It has an illustrious history and although no longer the political capital of Morocco, it is considered the country’s spiritual and cultural capital.

The hotel where we stayed in Fes, the five-star Palais Medina, was indeed a palace, and I have devoted more than the usual space to it. It was an ultra-modern establishment, with a spacious lobby, luxurious rooms, and a full range of amenities, including a vast outdoor pool and lounge area. Although in general I prefer traditional settings with lots of history, I very much enjoyed the tastefully decorated lobby with its comfortable modern couches and easy chairs as well as the modernistic paintings on the walls, most of which were apparently created by contemporary Moroccan and Arabic artists, judging from the signatures on the canvases.

The morning after we arrived in Fes, I woke up early and had some time to explore the hotel and its grounds before breakfast. After checking out the lobby and the adjoining areas, I descended the impressive marble staircase leading to the patio and pool area, which turned out to be quite vast. It also turned out to be quite empty; nobody was interested in taking a swim or lounging around in the feeble sun of that chilly November morning. But it was impressive nonetheless, with two very large swimming pools and more chaises longues, cabanas and other amenities than you could shake a palm frond at.

After enjoying a sumptuous breakfast at the hotel, we embarked upon our tour of the city. Our first stop was the main rival of the Palais Medina Hotel, the Palace of the King of Morocco. Although the political capital of Morocco is Rabat, the King maintains palaces in all the major cities and actually shows up in them from time to time, in order to assure people that he still exists. On that date, November 12, 2017, King Mohammed VI was not present in Fes, but we were nevertheless greeted by royalty, in the form of a cat who obviously regarded the palace and its grounds as his own private territory, whatever members of the inferior human species might think.

From the palace our bus took us to the Borj Sud. This is one of two forts built by the then Sultan of Morocco, Ahmad al-Mansour, in 1582, with the purpose not only of defending the city against external attack, but also – and perhaps more so – of keeping the fractious population of Fes under control. The Saadian dynasty ruling Morocco in that time was based in Marrakesh and had encountered considerable opposition in Fes, which was a notoriously unruly city (and still is). Al-Mansour had the Borj Sud built on a commanding height on the south of the city, across the valley from its counterpart, the Borj Nord, located on a promontory on the hills to the north of town. By 1582 the Moroccans had acquired experience with the use of gunpowder in the course of their wars against Portuguese colonial expansion, and the Borj fortifications exemplify the results, being modeled after Portuguese forts of the time. Indeed, the forts are thought to have been built with the labor of prisoners captured in the Battle of the Three Kings in 1578, when the Moroccans defeated a Portuguese invasion and killed the King of Portugal, Sebastian I, precipitating a dynastic crisis which led to the takeover of Portugal by the Spanish monarch Philip II.

The Borj Sud provides a wonderful view of the city of Fes, especially its historic core, the districts of Fes el-Jdid and Fes el-Bali. The former is the newer of the two and contains the Royal Palace, which we had just seen, as well as the old Jewish Quarter, known as the Mellah. The Fes el-Bali, the oldest quarter, dates from around 800 CE and was itself composed of two districts on either side of the Fez River, which eventually merged into one, and now comprise the Medina (old town). We would see it later in the day. Beyond the two old quarters stretches the modern city, the Ville Nouvelle, which mostly grew up during the twentieth century.

Descending from the height of the Borj Sud, we shortly arrived at an establishment which styled itself the Art de Poterie. We debarked into the courtyard, which provided storage for the raw clay used to make the pottery and also served as the drying yard for the tiles which constituted a large share of the firm’s output. In the drying yard we shot pictures of the clay stockpile, the soaking pool, and newly formed tiles being spread out to dry; there also we met the proprietor (or manager, I’m not sure which), who took us around the shop and explained the various processes and operations involved in turning the raw clay into finished pieces of pottery.

We first observed the process of making the zellij tiles so characteristic of Moorish architecture. It begins with shaping them from raw clay and then clipping off the ragged edges. Many complex pieces such as urns and bowls, of course, have to be turned out on a potter’s wheel, and next we watched a master potter as he spun out these items with a speed and ease which we knew to be much harder than it looks. The potter may also shape and add other constructs such as handles and spouts.

The most intriguing part of the pottery creation cycle for me was the painting and glazing. Even after having observed the artists at work, I have no clue as to how they imprint the incredibly intricate designs on the clay and then apply the colors without smearing or deviating from the pattern. It must take years of learning. I remember the proprietor complaining that it was getting harder and harder to find people with the patience and talent to perform these operations, or who would take the time to learn how.

The workshop had two kilns, of ultra-modern manufacture, which appeared to be the only hi-tech equipment in the place. Stoneware pottery of the kind made in Fes is fired at temperatures of 1200 degrees Centigrade. After firing, the finished wares are placed on shelves to cure and await transfer to the showroom, where they are displayed for sale.

Our final destination at the Art de Poterie was of course the showroom, where the number and variety of items displayed was overwhelming. There was naturally also a horde of salesmen to assist in divesting us of our hard-earned lucre, but they did not need to be aggressive because the pottery was seductive enough to arouse the lust of all but the most blasé shoppers. The prices were also relatively affordable for wares of such high quality. The only restraint preventing us from spending a fortune in the place – I wanted to abscond with about half the contents of the room – was the improbability of fragile pottery surviving the journey back to the USA in buses, trains, and airplanes. Some people succeeded in bringing their purchases home in their carry-on bags, but that was not an option for me because I had too much heavy camera equipment to lug around. There was no room for additional items in my carry-on and even if there were, the breakage risk would have been little less than in checked luggage.

Sandie and I met this challenge by making a minimal selection and having it shipped. The shop was willing to pack purchases securely and ship them anywhere in the world, though they warned us that the cost would be prohibitive. Foregoing all the other attractions – the tagine pots, beverage decanters, vases, dinnerware, etc. – we settled on four beautiful hand-painted bowls. It turned out that the cost to ship to the USA was about the same as the cost of the bowls – $60 for four. For us it was worth it. The workers in the shop packed the bowls expertly – they obviously had a lot of experience – in what was essentially an iron cage with abundant protective padding, which they put together before our very eyes. The bowls did indeed all arrive intact, and we have them in our kitchen to this day, except for one which I broke. You may of course correctly retort that it’s possible to buy Moroccan pottery online these days, at reasonable prices, but I haven’t yet seen anything on the Web quite as pleasing to my eyes as the bowls we bought at that shop in Fes.

On the afternoon of November 11, 2017, Veterans’ Day in the United States (a holiday which I favor, being a veteran), our Go-Ahead tour group arrived in Chefchaouen, known as the Blue City because many of its buildings are painted in that color. It is usually referred to simply as Chaouen. There are several theories as to how blue came to be the theme color of Chaouen, one being that the color has a special spiritual significance for the locals, another that it is repellent to mosquitoes, and a third, which seems most probable to me, that it was adopted in recent times as way of attracting tourists.

Chaouen is not one of the most ancient cities of Morocco. In the fifteenth century, following the completion of the Reconquista in Portugal, the Portuguese began to take the offensive against the Moors in North Africa. They took a number of cities in northern Morocco, most notably Ceuta and Tangier, and one of the local mujahideen built a small kasbah (fortress) in the Rif Mountains as a stronghold of resistance to the invaders. Over the following years a city grew up around the fortress, its population augmented by Moriscos and Jews expelled from Spain after the fall of Granada in 1492. The influx of immigrants from the Iberian peninsula was the source of a strong Andalusi-Granadan influence on the local culture, manifested most visibly in local residential architecture.

Portuguese imperial ambitions in Morocco were dashed by the Battle of Alcazarquivir in 1578, in which the King of Portugal was killed, ending his dynasty and leading to the takeover of Portugal by Philip II of Spain in 1580. Spanish rule of Portugal and its colonial empire continued until 1540, when the Portuguese rebelled and regained their independence.

Fast forward to the 19th century, when the French were establishing their colonial empire in North Africa. By the end of that century, the Spanish had lost the last of their overseas domains – Cuba and the Philippines – in the Spanish-American War, and were looking for some sort of compensation in order to keep some vestige of their standing among the European powers. Morocco seemed a likely place since so much of it was up for grabs anyway. At the same time, France and Britain took pity on the Spanish and agreed to let them have a few crumbs from the imperial banquet in the form of small slices of Morocco at its northern and southern ends. The arrangement was sealed by the creation of a dual French and Spanish protectorate over the country in 1912. Spain’s slice in the north included the city of Chaouen. The heritage of the Spanish occupation there is most visible in the street names and commemorative plaques, which are generally in Arabic and Spanish (though often in English as well).

The Berber tribes of the Rif Mountains, where Chaouen is located, did not accept Spanish domination passively, and under a capable leader named Abd el-Krim, they rose in revolt, inflicting severe defeats on the Spanish forces. Abd el-Krim established a short-lived government, the Rif Republic, which lasted from 1921 until 1926, when the Spanish finally crushed it with much help from the French. In 1925, at the height of the Rif War, Chaouen was bombarded by the Lafayette Escadrille, a squadron of American mercenary pilots in the service of France.

Francisco Franco rose to prominence during the Rif War, and later, in 1936, launched his uprising against the Spanish Republic from Morocco. The Spanish protectorate in Morocco continued until 1956, when both French and Spanish protectorates were dissolved and merged into the newly independent Kingdom of Morocco. However, Spain did retain the cities of Ceuta and Melilla on the Mediterranean coast.

In the post-World War II era, especially since the 1960s, Chaouen became a popular tourist destination. At first this was primarily associated with the production of cannabis in the Rif; Chaouen emerged as a major hub of cannabis tourism. Cultivated in Morocco for centuries, cannabis was outlawed by King Mohammed V when the country gained independence in 1956. But it was tolerated unofficially to some extent because of its traditional usage by the local population and also because it provided an important source of income for poor farmers of the Rif Mountains, where few other crops can be grown profitably. In recent years, the recognition of the economic value of cannabis has led to its partial decriminalization: in 2021 Morocco declared it legal for medicinal, cosmetic and industrial, though not for recreational purposes. By 2024 Morocco had become the world’s foremost supplier of cannabis. However, I don’t remember seeing any evidence of cannabis commerce in Chaouen, and since I myself am not a cannabis consumer, I didn’t look for it.

Our bus had deposited us in the newer part of Chaouen, through which we had to make our way on foot to the main area of interest, the Chaouen Medina. It was immediately apparent why it was called the Blue City. Not everything was blue, but many of the major structures, such as the wall of the cemetery on Boulevard Hassan II and the local high school, were painted in a bright and deep blue that was quite distinctive, even flamboyant.

Entering the Medina through one of its main gates, the Bab El-Ain, we emerged on the Uta el-Hammam, the main square of the Medina, so named because there is a hammam (public bathhouse) in the northwest corner. There we were able to view the Grand Mosque of Chaouen. Its date of construction is uncertain but is thought to have been in the late 15th or early 16th centuries, though its distinctive octagonal minaret was erected later, sometime in the 17th. As the main mosque of Chaouen, it served as an assembly point where the local notables gathered to make obeisance to the Sultan and where the Sultan’s proclamations were read out to the populace. For me its most striking architectural feature consisted of the blind arches, filled with green-and-white tile inlays, on the sides of what I took to be the prayer hall. The minaret also incorporates blind arches, three tiers of them, with square panels inlaid with zellij tiles on the top tier; for some reason we failed to capture photos of the minaret, but it can be seen here.

We spent some time roaming through the backstreets and alleys of the Medina, where we found ourselves immersed in a sea of blue. Along with Chuck and Elouise Mattox, Sandie and I soon got lost in the maze.

When we finally extricated ourselves, we came out near the main entrance of the Kasbah, the old fortress which was the foundational structure of Chaouen. Next to the entrance there is a historic house which contains some of the archaeological and ethnographic exhibits of the Kasbah, which is now a museum. We did not explore the museum; I think it was closed on the day we were there. On the steps leading to the entrance were piled various household effects such as mattresses, other furniture and crockery. Apparently it was moving day for someone, but who that might be, and whether they were moving into the Kasbah, out of it, or into or out of one of the nearby structures, I was unable to figure out.

Of the native inhabitants of Chaouen, the most memorable for us were the cats. There were a fair number of them inhabiting the Medina, and they seemed to enjoy some sort of privileged or at least well-tolerated status. They mostly looked well-fed and groomed, and they strolled casually around the Uta el-Hammam, without fear or reproach except when tourists crowded in on them; but they seemed to have little trouble coping with that. They even lounged on tabletops in restaurants, which would have been a no-no in an American city.

We continued to roam around the Uta el-Hammam until it was time for lunch. Much of the square was occupied by the souk or bazaar, which was unsurprisingly devoted mostly to tourist-oriented shops and stalls. The wares on display consisted mostly of textiles, clothing, leather goods and ceramics. I was intrigued by some of the offerings, but time was growing short and anyway I had heard that it was advisable to wait until we got to the great entrepot of Fes, our next stop, before splurging on souvenirs.

Every place has its eccentrics, and while wandering around Uta el-Hammam I encountered an old fellow in a Moroccan djellaba (a loose, full-length robe-like garment with a hood) with an unkempt appearance and a glowering, wild-eyed mien. He roamed the crowd, haranguing tourists and locals alike, in what language I don’t know – I could not tell whether it was Arabic or Berber, but it certainly wasn’t French, Spanish or English. His counterpart in an American city would have been carrying a sign that said “Repent! The End of the World is Nigh!” I gave him a few dirhams (Moroccan currency), which he accepted, but that did not soften his tone or his hostile glare, and he went on his way, muttering and grumbling unintelligibly.

We enjoyed our long-awaited and much-needed lunch at Chez Hicham, where we were seated in an upstairs gallery with a superb view of the Uta el-Hammam and the landscape beyond the city. After dining we enjoyed a few more minutes of leisure in the square, enduring the rantings of the aforementioned madman, before it was time to begin the trek back to the bus.

Back in the bus, we began the long journey to Fes. It was soon interrupted by a brief stop just outside Chaouen, at a location which provided a great panoramic overview of the city; I took advantage of the opportunity to catch a few nice shots not only of the town, but also of the immediate surroundings, which included a walled villa with a cute little dog sleeping in its courtyard, oblivious to all the commotion on the highway passing by.

We had only one morning to spend in Tangier, and we had to make the most of it. Fortunately our Moroccan guide, Karim, and his associates were the right people for the occasion. I can’t speak highly enough of them.

Tangier is a very ancient city with an unusual history, most of which I’m not going to cover here; instead I’ll refer the reader to Wikipedia for the full story. Here I’ll just mention that after centuries of Islamic rule, it was seized by the Portuguese in 1471 and incorporated into their colonial empire. But in 1762, the Portuguese monarchy gifted Tangier to King Charles II of England as part of the dowry of the Infanta (Princess) Catherine of Braganza, whom he married in that year. It proved to be a troubled acquisition, however, because of attacks by mujahideen – Muslim holy warriors determined to expel infidels – and in 1684 the British abandoned it to the locals after destroying as much of it as possible. Subsequently Tangier became a pirate stronghold, and hence a source of irritation to the European powers, who in the 19th century began to eye it once again, along with the rest of Morocco, as an object of possible acquisition. The French established a protectorate over Morocco in 1912, but Tangier was excluded because the rival powers found it too useful as a free-trade city (i.e. tax haven). Instead it became an international city, a nesting-place for all sorts of shady financiers, spies, and smugglers. The creation of the Tangier International Zone in 1924 formalized this arrangement. Eventually, however, with the restoration of Moroccan independence in 1956, Tangier was re-incorporated into that country.

It’s worth noting that the similarity between the name of the city and the fruit known as the tangerine, a form of mandarin orange hybrid, is not accidental, because tangerines were in fact originally developed in the orchards of Tangier. Mass farming of tangerines, however, was only begun in Florida, during the 19th century.

We had to start our morning in Tangier early – around 7 AM, local time. We headed right for the oldest quarter of town, the Medina, entering it via a gateway from the Grand Socco. Officially known as the Place du 9 Avril 1947, this is a historic roundabout square (if that makes any sense) with a large, impressive circular fountain in the middle. It is a lively place, with a number of sidewalk cafes, shops, a movie house called the Cinema Rif, and the Sidi Bou Abid mosque, which I mistook at first for a police station because there were so many police vehicles parked near it (“Really classy police stations in this town,” I thought). Built in 1917, it is distinguished by the liberal use of colorful polychrome tiles, especially on its minaret, and a large clock over its front entrance.

From the Grand Socco we entered the Medina, strolling down its main street, the Rue Siaghine, toward the central square, known as the Petit Socco. The word “socco” is a corruption of the Arabic word “souk,” meaning bazaar or marketplace, familiar to readers of the science-fiction novel Dune. But the entire Medina in effect constituted the marketplace, because the shops lined every street, interspersed with dwellings and other establishments. I felt a particular affinity to one little market that sold nothing but olives, of various kinds and in enormous quantities. This is the real Olive Garden, I thought, and it puts the American restaurant chain of that name to shame. Olives were piled to mountainous heights on its tables.

The most imposing structure in the Medina is the Grand Mosque on Rue de la Marine. From time immemorial it was a site of religious worship, occupied successively by pagan temples, Christian churches and Islamic mosques. When the Portuguese took Tangier in the 15th century, they built a cathedral, which became a mosque again after the British left in 1684. It then fell into decrepitude, but was eventually rebuilt on the order of Sultan Moulay in 1818, and its present form dates from that time. It has been restored and enhanced several times since then, most recently in 2002, and at the time we visited it presented a very attractive appearance. The main portal, in the traditional Islamic horseshoe shape, is surrounded by radiating geometric designs in green, with a carved wooden canopy above. The mosque is graced by an elegant minaret crafted in the traditional Moroccan square shape, of which we would see numerous more examples during our sojourn in that country. Each side, like the main building, was walled with white stucco, framing rectangular inlays of green tile overlain with white stucco latticework and exquisitely sculpted Koranic verses.

From the Grand Mosque we continued down the Rue de la Marine to exit from the Medina on its east side, at the gate known as the Bab Dar Dbagh, where I found a great vantage point from which to capture some captivating views of the Port of Tanger, the harbor and the old city. The older quarters of the city, including the Medina, are situated on a hill overlooking the harbor, with the newer parts of the city located to the east. We descended stairs and steep ramps to a broad terrace bordered by the Avenue Mohammed VI, and shortly arrived at the Restaurante Diblu, where we had an ample breakfast and bid farewell to Tangier.

Boarding the bus which would carry us through the next five days of our Moroccan adventure, we began the drive to our next destination, the Blue City of Chefchaouen. This took us through the Rif Mountains, a rugged and wild area where I expected at any moment to be stopped by bandits or mujahideen, who would hold us for ransom and, since we had no wherewithal to pay the ransom, we would never be heard from again. Fortunately, our only stop turned out to be at a very welcoming establishment called the Salon de Thé, perched above a charming lake surrounded by forested hills all round. There we enjoyed refreshments and relaxing strolls, and took pictures until it was time to resume the journey, which concluded without incident at the azure town which is the subject of my next post.

After recovering from the exhausting trek through the Alhambra and across the Albaicín during the day, we ventured out in the evening for a taste of the city’s vibrant nightlife. And what flavor of entertainment should we savor, other than the signature entertainment form of Granada and indeed of all Andalusia, Gypsy Flamenco?

Oh, wait – I gather that using the term “gypsy” violates current norms of political correctness – one is supposed to say “Romani” instead. Unfortunately I find that term confusing because it implies an association with Rome, which is inaccurate. The Romani people came from India about 1000 AD, according to the best information we have, and have nothing to do with Rome, either ancient or modern. But I’m told they consider “gypsy” to be a racial slur, so I’ll use it sparingly.

After dinner at the El Ladrillo Seafood Restaurant near the Mirador de San Nicolas in Albaicín, we headed over to the neighboring Sacromonte quarter, where we were ushered into the Cueva de la Rocio – “Cave of the Dew” – literally a cave in the mountainside, in the form of a long tunnel with seats on both sides and the far end. Our group sat on one side of the hall while a group of Turkish tourists occupied the other side.

I have to confess that I am not an avid aficionado of dancing in general – my favorite dance music is Beethoven’s Seventh Symphony – so I’m not the best person to evaluate the quality of the performance that evening. I do like flamenco music, though, so it was not entirely lost on me.

The performance lasted several hours and took place in two acts – the first dominated by female performers, the second starring a male/female couple. The women dancers wore elaborate tight-fitting costumes, which accentuated the grace and skill of their movements. I found the sartorial choice of the man – I only remember one, though there may have been more – a bit puzzling; he wore regular street clothes with a tie, not tied but draped loosely around his neck. This seemed a bit odd to me, even out of place. (It would have been a mistake to wear a tie like this in pre-modern India, where the devotees of Kali, the goddess of death, would have found it an invitation to perform their sacrificial rites, which involved strangling travelers from behind. I am of course referring to the notorious Thuggee cult, which gave rise to the word “thug”. Perhaps the Romani people emigrated from India to escape the Thugs, since they originated there as members of a caste of traveling musicians and dancers.) I thought perhaps the gentleman who wore the tie in this fashion perhaps had mislaid his costume that evening – I fancy it would have resembled the clothing worn by a matador – and was doing the best he could to come up with a substitute. Regardless, he and his cohorts were not lacking in skill, and the evening passed quickly as they whirled the hours away.

At the end of the show we decamped and went back to the Mirador San Nicolas, where we enjoyed a night-time stroll around its plaza and bid farewell to the fair city of Granada.

The views of the city and the Alhambra from the Mirador at night were stunning and I could not get enough photos of them. The entire Alhambra and the Generalife were illuminated with floodlights, which made it easy to shoot even with a telephoto lens.

I was pleasantly surprised that I could take viable shots with my 70-200mm telephoto zoom lens without using a tripod; I had not brought mine since it was too heavy and awkward to carry around. Instead of a tripod, I rested the camera on the parapet of the Mirador, which did the job just as well.

We had packed a lot of activity into the single day we had to enjoy this dazzling city, the pearl of Andalusia, and in seeing the Alhambra I had realized the dream of a lifetime. Still I found myself wishing for more. But it was now quite late, and it was time to head back to the hotel for some sleep in preparation for an early morning departure for Gibraltar and the crossing of the Straits to the fabled cities of Morocco.

When we finished our tour of the Alhambra in the early afternoon of November 9, we were given the choice of going back to the hotel or seeing a little of the rest of the city of Granada via a guided walk through the downtown area. The long trek on foot through the Alhambra had worn Sandie out and and she chose to return to the hotel. I was almost dead tired myself, but nevertheless I opted to go on and I’m glad I did. Granada is a beautiful city and full of history. It would be worth a visit even if the Alhambra had been razed to the ground. Yet for all its historic significance, Granada is surprisingly petite, with a population of only a quarter of a million, about half the size of my home town of Long Beach, California. That, in combination with the higher population density that is typical of European cities, makes it possible to see many attractions in a brief walking tour.

We began our walk in the downtown area, on the Carrera de la Virgen, a wide boulevard divided by a shady, tree-lined pedestrian median and lined with stately apartments and upscale businesses such as El Corté Ingles department store. We paused along the way to view the Basilica de las Angustias, a Baroque church which was begun in 1617 on the site of an old hermitage to provide a home for an image of the Virgin of Sorrows, donated by Queen Isabella the Catholic, which now graces the altarpiece of the church. The Virgin of Sorrows is considered the patron saint of Granada, as was officially recognized by Pope Leo XIII in 1887.

Before long we reached the end of the Carrera de la Virgen at the Plaza Bibataubín, where we encountered a fountain and a palace. The name is a corruption of “Bab al-Tawwabin,” Arabic for “Bricklayers’ Gate,” denoting that in Nasrid times it was the location of one of the city’s main gates, in a district inhabited by the stonemasons who built the gate. That was in the 12th century, in pre-Nasrid times, when the Almohads still ruled the area. The Nasrids reinforced the gate, but after the conquest of 1492 the Catholic monarchs decided to build a castle on the site to enhance the defenses of the city. In the 18th century the castle became an obstacle to the city’s growth, and it was converted to a barracks, a transformation which involved demolishing the existing edifice and rebuilding it with a facade made of premium-quality Sierra Elvira stone and featuring helical columns with a twisting spiral structure like a corkscrew. These are known as Solomonic columns because they were thought to have originated in the original Solomon’s Temple in Jerusalem (the one which was destroyed by the Babylonians in 586 BCE, and no remains of which have ever been found, so that nobody knows what it really looked like, or even if it really existed). These columns had originally been carved for the Church of the Sagrario (which we saw later) but had been rejected by its architect, so they were installed at the barracks instead. The building continued to serve that purpose until 1933, when it was given over to the Provincial Council of Granada. This led to a series of further remodelings and modifications, culminating in 2009 when the Provincial Council turned the edifice over to the Consejo Consultivo de Andalucía (Advisory Council of Andalusia), for which it now serves as headquarters.

Next to the Palacio de Bibataubín on the north is another square, Plaza del Campillo, a pleasant locale with a newsstand, several enticing restaurants, and an attractive fountain. I was especially taken with a circular brick planter surrounding a huge, venerable old tree; the planter also served as a bench for passers-by to sit and rest their weary feet, and perhaps to contemplate dining at the nearby Restaurante Chikito.

I must admit that I am hopelessly confused as to how we proceeded next. We ended up at the Ayuntamiento de Granada, which is the City Hall, in the Plaza del Carmen, but exactly how we got there I have no idea. My photos of the places we encountered aren’t very helpful since they don’t seem to comport with any logical route we could have taken. But it doesn’t really matter; the streets were well-kept and worth seeing in themselves.

The Ayuntamiento de Granada proved to be one of the most strikingly attractive town halls I saw in Spain, or anywhere else. It was originally built between 1572 and 1627 as a convent for nuns of the Discalced Carmelite order, and consisted of two enclosures: an old convent and a new convent, with a church attached to the latter . In the 19th century, the Spanish government conducted what it called a desamortización – confiscation – of ecclesiastical properties with the object of obtaining funds to pay off state debt and promote economic growth. In the aftermath of the expropriation, in 1858 the old convent and the church were demolished, and the Ayuntamiento offices were moved from their previous location to the undemolished new convent. The Casa Consistorial de Granada, as the building is formally known, is a two-story neoclassical structure with a high arched doorway and a balcony above it on the second floor. It has a beautiful patio, which however I have only seen in photos on the web, since we didn’t enter the building. The most striking feature of the Casa Consistorial, as far as I could see at the time, was the statue atop the building, which depicts a naked man on horseback; the man carries a golden globe, while the horse has two feet planted on identical globes. I have not been able to find out whom or what this sculpture is supposed to represent, but it is an impressive piece of work.

No less remarkable was our next stop, the Corral del Carbón. This is a survival of pre-Christian conquest Granada – in fact it is said to be the only structure of its kind surviving from the Nasrid period in the Iberian peninsula. It was built probably in the early 14th century as a caravanserai, a commercial and trading center serving as a warehouse for grain and as an inn and storage facility for traveling merchants. This type of establishment is known as a funduq in al-Andalus (Muslim Spain) and Morocco, and as an alhóndiga in Spanish. Its Arabic name was al-Funduq al-Jadida. After the 1492 conquest it was sold to private owners, who used it first as a theater, then converted it into an apartment building and also used the courtyard as an area for weighing and storing coal – hence the current name, which means “Courtyard of Coal.” By the twentieth century it had become quite dilapidated, but in 1928 the curator of the Alhambra, Leopoldo Torres Balbás, arranged to have the government purchase it with the proceeds of ticket sales from the Alhambra (which evidently was a major tourist attraction even then). The 36 tenant families still living in the building were ruthlessly evicted. Subsequently it underwent several restorations, the last one in 2006, and today it houses offices of the International Festival of Music and Dance of Granada and the Orchestra of the City of Granada.

The most striking feature of the Corral is its monumental entrance façade, which has its roots in Sassanian Persian architecture but also displays typically Moorish and Nasrid characteristics such as double-arched windows, panels of decorative plaster with elaborate patterns and Kufic inscriptions, and muqarnas sculpting in the archway. The interior is more spartan. The central courtyard is surrounded on all sides by a three-story gallery, with the bottom floor containing storage facilities and the upper two serving as living quarters. In the center of the courtyard is a large stone basin with two water inlets, one on each side, which must have been used to water the camels in Nasrid times. (Actually I doubt whether camels were used in Spain, even by the Moors, but it would have served horses and donkeys equally well.) Around the sides of the courtyard are planted vines which rise majestically up to the third floor – I think they must be a type of wisteria, but they were not blooming in November.

The Corral del Carbón is not far from the Granada Cathedral, and that is where we headed next. The Cathedral is part of a complex of ecclesiastical buildings which includes the Iglesia Parroquial del Sagrario, the Capilla Real de Granada and others. Formally known as Santa Iglesia Catedral Metropolitana de la Encarnación de Granada, it is the seat of the Archbishop of Granada. It was built on the site of what had been the city’s main mosque before the Reconquest. Construction began in 1518 and continued for 181 years. It was initially planned as a Gothic cathedral, but the second architect, Diego de Siloé, who replaced Enrique Egas in 1529, switched to a design reflecting the influence of the Italian Renaissance, which dominated thereafter, although Baroque elements were also added in the final years of construction. Siloé combined a Renaissance dome with a Gothic floor plan, but he also gave the cathedral five naves instead of the usual three, and he installed a circular capilla mayor (principal chapel) in place of the customary semicircular apse. Another architect, Alonso Cano, was responsible for completing the façade in its final form, an imposing tripartite triumphal arch, and that represented the Baroque influence.

The Royal Chapel of Granada (Capilla Real de Granada), on the south side of the cathedral, is actually older than the cathedral itself. It was built between 1505 and 1517 as the burial place of the Catholic monarchs, Ferdinand and Isabella. The chief architect was Enrique Egas, who designed it in a style known as Isabelline Gothic or Castilian late Gothic, a sort of transitional style between traditional Castilian Gothic and early Renaissance architecture, incorporating Flemish, Mudejar (Moorish) and Italian influences.

Also on the south side of the cathedral is another church, the Iglesia Parroquial del Sagrario or Parish Church of the Tabernacle. This was built much later than the cathedral, between 1705 and 1759, on the site of the mosque prayer hall, with a Greek cross floor plan. We did not see the interior, but it has what is said to be a “sensational” baptismal font and is filled with notable 15th and 16th-century works of art.

I also enjoyed snooping around in the area immediately surrounding the cathedral, where there were a number of interesting sights and shops. Right in front of the cathedral there is a square called Plaza de las Pasiegas; on its western edge is a series of shops – a cutlery store called Cuchillería Ruiz – El llavín de oro (“Golden Key”), a spice shop, and a café.

There was another spice shop on a side street not far away from the cathedral, and it was a matter of some interest to me that both of them were guarded by knights posted just outside the door – actually empty suits of armor, but formidable-looking nonetheless. It’s kind of understandable, because in early modern Europe spices were very valuable, and the quest to obtain them was what prompted the voyages of Spanish and Portuguese explorers to discover the New World and carve out empires in Asia. But it was a bit startling to see this historical moment reflected in a present-day context.

Hotels, rental apartments and airbnbs are plentiful in the cathedral neighborhood, and with good reason. The Plaza de las Pasiegas, and the major street that leads to it, is the venue of a number of processions during Holy Week, which lasts from Palm Sunday to Easter Monday. These are staged by the hermandades (religious brotherhoods) of Granada, and feature elaborate floats bearing tableaux depicting religious scenes and figures, as well as marching figures called “nazarenos”, people dressed up in white suits with pointed hoods looking alarmingly like Ku Klux Klan members. Although the nazareno garments did in fact serve as the inspiration for the KKK uniforms, the nazarenos themselves are not seeking to frighten or persecute anyone but rather to express penitence and ask for forgiveness of sins. Their processions are carried out throughout the city, but some of the most spectacular originate or terminate at the cathedral. Many outsiders come to Granada for Holy Week from all over the world as well as Spain.

Just off the northwest corner of the Cathedral is a square called the Plaza Romanilla, where I encountered the most appealing sculpture I saw in all of Granada. This was the Monumento al Aguador, Monument to the Water-Carrier, a recent work from 1999 by the sculptor Aurelio Teno. The profession of water-carrier was an essential occupation in Granada (as elsewhere) down to the twentieth century. Aguadors were itinerant figures who roamed the city, offering water to passers-by as well as houses who had no water – which would have been almost all of them in pre-modern times. (People would have been able to fetch water from fountains distributed in places around the city, but these were relatively few and far between.) All of the water for the city came from the rivers Darro and Genil, or from springs near the riverbanks. The aguadors fetched the water from these sources under the supervision of an official called muhtasib (in Arabic) or almotacén (in Spanish), who was charged with overseeing all the activities of the aguadors, including ensuring that they took the water from locations in the river which were not muddy, dirty or polluted – for all the garbage and industrial waste from the city was dumped in the rivers in those days. The aguadors typically transported the water in demijohns — large earthenware jars which they hauled on the backs of donkeys. The sculpture in the Plaza Romanilla depicts the aguador as a ragged, tired, almost emaciated figure holding a water glass, shambling alongside his heavily laden donkey, who appears surprisingly perky considering the weight he has to carry. I found this a very touching and thought-provoking portrayal. It drove home to me something that people tend to be unaware in these days of running water and flush toilets: how precarious access to water was in days of yore. Water was precious, and for those beneath the top layers of society it was very scarce. How would you wash cook your food, bathe yourself and your children, wash your clothes, and clean your house, all with the pitifully small amount of water obtained from the aguador? I find it difficult to imagine. At least you wouldn’t have to worry about washing your car. Anyway, I was very gratified to find that at last someone had created a monument to the poor and downtrodden members of society, and not just kings, emperors, nobles and churchmen like the notorious Cardinal-Archbishop Cisneros.

After exploring the cathedral area, we headed southeast and soon found ourselves on the Reyes Católicos, the grand east-west boulevard that runs through the heart of Granada. There, at the intersection with the Gran Vía de Colon, we emerged onto the Plaza Isabel la Católica. This is obviously the most appropriate place for a monument which depicts Queen Isabella holding an audience with Christopher Columbus – Colon being the Spanish form of his last name. The monument was built for the 400th anniversary of Columbus’ discovery of the Americas in 1892. It was originally intended to be a triumphal arch, but funds for such a grandiose project could not be raised, so the city settled for a high stone pedestal with Queen Isabella seated on her throne on top, and Columbus kneeling on steps in front of her. The pedestal is inscribed with the names of major dignitaries, including King Ferdinand of Aragon and various nobles.

I don’t remember what route we took from the Plaza Isabel la Católica to our next stop, the Plaza de San Gregorio. We were heading in the general direction of the Mirador de San Nicolas, and by this time I was so tired that I remember very little, and would remember even less if I didn’t have the pictures I took along the way to remind me. I think we came by the Calle Calderería Nueva, since that picturesque street with its many colorful shops shows up in one of my photos. In any case, we somehow arrived at the Iglesia de San Gregorio Bético, Church of Saint Gregory the Blessed, which gives the square its name. The church began its existence as a small hermitage, founded by the Catholic Monarchs after the conquest of Granada in 1492 in honor of two Christian monks who tried to preach their faith at the mosque of Granada in 1397, and for their pains were tied to the tails of horses and dragged through the streets of the city to a dungeon, located where the present church now stands, for execution.

In the 16th century the hermitage was expanded into a church, with an adjoining convent. After the desamortización (confiscation of church properties) in 1835-1837, it was used variously as a wine and coal warehouse, a dance hall and a brothel. But in 1887 the secularization was reversed, with the congregation of nuns of Sancti Spiritus taking over management of the church. It was burned down in 1936, during the Civil War, but later rebuilt, and is currently occupied by an order of cloistered nuns known as the Poor Clares.

Architecturally, the church is distinguished by its Ionic style façade, done in Sierra Elvira marble, and by the location of its main tower at the back of the building, an unusual position in Granada. The interior is a mixture of Renaissance and Baroque styles. It has only one nave, which is divided in two halves, the back for ordinary worshipers and the front one, which includes the main chapel, for the nuns. It also boasts some celebrated frescoes in the presbytery and the dome.

The square to which the church gives its name was also quite pleasant, with beautiful stone mosaic pavement and upscale houses all round. Here as elsewhere in Granada some of the walls were adorned with graffiti, but these were not nearly as prolific or as obtrusive as in another city of my acquaintance, founded in 1781 as El Pueblo de Nuestra Señora la Reina de los Ángeles del Río de Porciúncula.

From the Plaza de San Gregorio I continued on to the Mirador de San Nicolas. The guided walking tour may have ended by then, but all I can remember now is that I was very tired and nobody was with me when I reached the Mirador. Fortunately I wasn’t too tired to take pictures along the way. The quiet streets of the Albaicín quarter were quite charming, lined with elegant houses and walled gardens, the only caveat being that they were so narrow that any car being driven in my vicinity was a mortal threat.

Somehow I made it to the Mirador de San Nicolas and was rewarded by stunning views of the Alhambra in the last light of day. After a few moments’ rest I was able to attach my 70-200mm telephoto zoom lens to my Canon EOS-6D DSLR and to shoot a panoply of pictures of that amazing fortress. I don’t remember how I made it back to the hotel from there, but having done so, I was able to recuperate for a few hours before we were whisked off to our after-dark adventure, which will be the subject of my next post.

After viewing the Patio de Lindaraja from above, we descended into it and strolled through its garden on the ground level. Except for the Palace of the Lions on its north side, the enclosing structures are of Christian origin. In Nasrid times the gardens had occupied the entire space between the Palace of the Lions and the wall of the Alhambra. But in the 16th century the Emperor Charles V, after deciding to make his royal residence in the Alhambra, had a series of apartments built around the courtyard to serve as provisional quarters while the planned Renaissance palace was being built. Of course the latter mostly remained a mirage in his lifetime, and he was so busy traveling around the Holy Roman Empire fighting his wars that he rarely had time to stay in the Alhambra anyway; but subsequent generations were able to benefit from the construction. Washington Irving, for example, stayed in the Emperor’s chambers in 1829.

The Patio de Lindaraja is surrounded by an arcaded gallery, of which the supporting columns are of Nasrid origin. In the middle of the patio is a large but simple fountain, surrounded by garden plots filled with tall cypresses and bordered by well-tended hedges. Adjacent to the Lindaraja there is another, smaller courtyard known as the Patio of the Grated Window owing to a wrought iron balcony on the south side. It also has a gallery with Nasrid-era columns as well as an exquisite white marble fountain and elegant mosaic paving composed of stones forming geometric designs.

From the Patio as well as the Mirador of Lindaraja there are wonderful views to be had of the city of Granada. To the north, the Albaicín hill rises majestically over the Albaicín and Sacromonte districts. Turning a little to the west, one sees the Cathedral of Granada with its stately bell-tower, the Royal Monastery of St. Jerome (Real Monasterio de San Jerónimo) and other landmarks in the heart of the city. We would see more of those sights later that day.

Looking east from the Patio de Lindaraja we could see the Partal Palace (El Palacio del Partal ), where we were headed next. Built by the Nasrid ruler Muhammed III (r. 1302-1309) in the early 14th century, it is the oldest surviving Nasrid palace. Unlike the other Nasrid palaces, after the conquest of Granada in 1492 it was given over to private ownership, and only reacquired by the Spanish government in 1891. By then it had undergone many changes, including partial demolition. Today only the northernmost structures – a portico and the Torre de las Damas (Tower of the Ladies) – remain, and the Partal Palace is also known as the Palacio del Pórtico. There is a pool in front of the portico, which may have been originally enclosed by other structures in the same fashion as the Court of the Myrtles in the Comares Palace. Sadly, the last private owner removed a wooden cupola ceiling from the Tower and shipped it to Germany, where it now resides in a Berlin museum.

To the south of the Partal Palace, on a series of terraces rising above it, lie the Partal Gardens, a lush and idyllic bower perfect for restful strolling. It is not a holdover from Nasrid times, however; it is a twentieth-century creation, dating from the 1930s, undertaken with the purpose of improving a neglected area which become overgrown with weeds and brush — and also of facilitating archaeological activity. For the gardens occupy the site of what is now known as the Palacio del Partal Alto, or Upper Partal Palace, which preceded the present Partal Palace, sometimes called the Palacio del Partal Bajo to distinguish it from its predecessor. It was also called the Palace of Yusuf III (r. 1408-1417) because it was originally thought to have been built in his time, but now it is known to have been an earlier construction, from the reign of Muhammad II (1273–1302); Yusuf III merely remodeled it.

After the Christian takeover of Granada, Ferdinand and Isabella handed over the Upper Partal Palace to Iñigo López de Mendoza, first Marquis of Mondejar and second Count of Tendilla, who had served with distinction in the Granada wars, and named him Governor (alcaide) of the Alhambra and Captain General of Granada. The palace remained in the hands of the Tendilla-Mondejar family until 1717, when King Philip V fired the current Marquis, José de Mendoza Ibáñez de Segovia, abolished the office of alcaide, and confiscated all his properties. He did this in retaliation for Mendoza’s support of his rival for the Spanish throne, Archduke Charles of Austria, during the War of the Spanish Succession (1701-1714). Apparently the confiscation did not take effect immediately or was not complete, however, because Mendoza had time to sell some of the palace’s furnishings (now found in private collections) and demolish the palace itself, perhaps out of spite. (The sources currently available to me do not explain how he was able to do this after the property was confiscated.) In any case it began to be excavated in 1934, but only the foundations remain and some of them are still buried.

From the Partal Gardens we traipsed back toward the Charles V palace and then turned east again to follow the Calle Real de la Alhambra, past the Church of Santa Maria, the Ángel Barrios Legacy Museum, various administrative offices and the gift shop.

The Church of Santa Maria de la Encarnación stands on the site of the congregational (main) mosque of the Alhambra complex, which was commissioned by Emir Muhammad III (r. 1302-1309) and completed in 1305. After 1492 it was converted into a Christian church, but it fell into disrepair and was demolished in 1576. The present church, which belongs to the Archbishopric of Granada, was begun in 1581 and completed in 1618. The interior, which I did not visit, is furnished in Baroque style.

Ángel Barrios (1882-1964) was a Spanish composer and concert guitarist who was born in Granada, where his family apparently lived in a private house inside the Alhambra that served as a gathering place for artists, musicians and poets. The house was located next to the hammam (bathhouse) of the mosque. The hammam was partly demolished in 1534, and its remains were later incorporated into the house, which was built and/or remodeled in the 17th-18th centuries. In 1934, the architect Leopoldo Torres Balbás (1880-1960) undertook a reconstruction and restoration of the bathhouse, which coincided with the end of the Barrios family’s residence there. The house was then converted into a small and intimate museum where the instruments – piano and guitar – and personal effects of the composer are displayed next to the wall of the bathhouse; in addition, the museum incorporates an archaeological garden, with a pool recovered from the Palacio del Partal Alto, which now serves as a venue for concerts and other public events. I would have loved to visit this museum, along with the main museum in the Palace of Charles V, but that would have required another day in the Alhambra. I consider myself fortunate to have seen as much of the Alhambra as I did.

The gift shop was full of beautiful wares, most notably jewel boxes, wall plaques, picture frames and other objects lacquered with incredibly intricate and elegant designs, somewhat reminiscent of the Palekh lacquer art I had encountered in Russia, although the Alhambra offerings featured abstract geometric designs rather than the fairy-tale scenes gracing the Palekh items. All of them were exquisitely beautiful and far beyond the constraints of my budget, so I confined myself to the purchase of a few postcards and photo prints, which now hang on the walls of our home.

Resuming our trek eastward on the Calle Real, we passed the ruins of the Palace of the Abencerrajes, among others, until eventually the road became a narrow walkway between two towering hedges. Although this was Spain and not Crete, I expected at any moment to see the Minotaur lurking in the shadows. But eventually we emerged into an open space, where I found myself completely disoriented, without a clue as to where we were. Writing this account seven years after the trip, I’m not sure exactly how we proceeded from there; judging from the map of the Alhambra and the photos I took along the way, we trudged past the Torre de Baltasar de la Cruz before reaching the Torre del Agua at the east end of the Alhambra. There we descended some steps to the foot of the tower and found ourselves next to a structure which resembled an aqueduct. Indeed it turned out to be the the terminus of the Acequia Real de la Alhambra, which supplied water to the Alhambra from the Darro River, 6 kilometers away. From there we embarked on the path to the Generalife, the idyllic summer palace of the Nasrids.

The derivation of the name is disputed, but there is a tradition that Generalife is a Spanish rendition of the Arabic phrase jannat al-‘arīf, meaning something like “garden of the artist.” Its origins are also murky, but it is thought that the initial construction took place around the turn of the 14th century; in any case, it was frequently remodeled, redecorated and enhanced over the following centuries, both by Muslim and Christian owners. It was built as a private retreat and pleasure palace for the Emir and his family. From the start it was surrounded by extensive gardens, which provided sustenance as well as esthetic enjoyment for the inhabitants.

From the Torre del Agua, one reaches the Generalife by walking north on the Paseo de los Nogales, the Promenade of the Walnut Trees, which passes by the west side of the palace grounds. At the south end of the property we encountered the Teatro del Generalife, an open-air theater designed to serve as the main venue for ballet performances at the Granada International Festival of Art and Dance. It was opened in 1954 and has gone through several renovations since, including a major one in 2005. On its north side is a set of steps that leads to a wall of cypress hedges with archways that open into a panoply of gardens. These are known as the Jardines Nuevos, or New Gardens, to distinguish them from the older market gardens, known as Las Huertas, on the terraced hillside between the Generalife and the walls of the Alhambra. The Jardines Nuevos in their present form are a twentieth-century feature and have little in common botanically with their Nasrid predecessors. Regardless, they do convey an extremely satisfying esthetic experience.

The New Gardens consist of two sections, northern and southern. The former was designed by Leopoldo Torres Balbás in 1931 and the latter by Francisco Prieto Moreno in 1951. The southern garden is arranged around a long central rectangular pool or canal, similar in orientation to the Court of the Myrtles in the Comares Palace. At its southern end, on a raised terrace, is a spectacular fountain, surrounded by cypresses. I couldn’t find out a name for the fountain, so I suggest that the explorer Ponce de Leon, who set out to seek the Fountain of Youth in the New World, actually found it but kept it a secret and somehow dismantled it, brought it back to Spain, and then reassembled it at the Generalife. Unfortunately, he couldn’t bring its water source with him, so it didn’t work any more – at least it didn’t work for me, when I tried it.

The northern section of the gardens features a riotous collection of flowers, which was especially noteworthy because we saw it in November, a month which is not normally associated with floral flamboyance. I also noted that the walkways throughout the Generalife gardens were paved with strikingly elegant mosaic-style stonework, composed of pebbles embedded in a cement matrix. I subsequently found out that the pebbles are sourced from the rivers of Granada – white ones from the Darro and black ones from the Genil. We were allowed some time in which to wander around the gardens and relax; I took advantage of the opportunity to take photos not only of the floral displays but also of some of our fellow-travelers – most especially Chuck and Elouise Mattox, but also some of our other favorites such as Jim and Joan Hinds. I also shot some nice views of the northeast quarter of the Alhambra.

After roaming in the gardens for a bit, we entered the Generalife Palace itself via a couple of small courtyards at its southwest corner — the Patio de Desmontaje (dismounting) and the Patio de Polo. The latter, in addition to being completely covered in pebble-mosaic paving, featured a central Nasrid-style fountain in white marble with channels representing the four rivers of Eden radiating from it. After passing through the Patio de Polo, we found ourselves in the central courtyard of the Generalife, the Patio de la Acequia (“Courtyard of the Water Canal”). The canal runs the entire length of the courtyard but is split in the middle by a platform that crosses over it. There, on the west wall, is also a mirador with views of the gardens and the Alhambra. At either end of the courtyard stands a pavilion – the Pabellón Sur and the Pabellón Norte. We spent little time at the South Pavilion, which is less well preserved than the North Pavilion, and in any case the light was unfavorable for photographing it.

The North Pavilion is fronted by a five-arched portico, behind which is a gallery leading to the main room, the Sala Regia (“Royal Chamber”). At the northwestern corner rises the Torre de Isma’il, erected by the Emir Isma’il I (r. 1314-1325) to commemorate a 1319 battle in which he had repelled an invasion by the Castilians. At that time the Generalife consisted of only one floor; the second, essentially extending the Tower of Isma’il across the entire width of the North Pavilion, was added by the Catholic Monarchs in 1494. Since then there have been many modifications and restorations of the Generalife, with the magnificent result that we saw in 2017.

Above the Patio de la Acequia on its northeast side, extending to the south of the right wing of the North Pavilion, is the Patio de los Cipreses de la Sultana — Courtyard of the Sultana’s Cypresses — a post-Nasrid addition consisting of a rectangular pool with a large island within it, all surrounded by greenery, a fabulously beautiful area right out of the Arabian Nights —one expects to see Scheherazade entertaining the Sultan with her stories of Sinbad the Sailor, Aladdin’s Lamp, etc.

On the northeast side of the Patio de los Ciprises is the Escalera del Agua (“Water Stairway”), a set of flights of stairs with balustrades containing open mini-aqueducts on each side. At each landing of the staircase there is a small round pool with a fountain.

The time allotted for our visit to the Alhambra was now running short, and in order not to miss our bus we had to begin our trek back to the parking lot. Hence not enough time remained for me to obtain decent photographs of the Patio de los Ciprises and the Escalera, let alone the Mirador Romántico, a 19th-century pavilion located on a hill nearby which is said to offer wonderful views of the entire area. So for these I’ll refer the reader to Wikipedia, which has an article on the Generalife with gorgeous photos of all its attractions, including the ones I missed.

The way back to the parking lot led along the Paseo de las Adelfas, the Path of the Oleanders, a walkway lined with oleander bushes trained to grow in an idyllic archway covering the pavement. This led to the equally splendid Paseo de los Cipreses and finally to our bus stop.

We would see more of Granada that day, and it is a memorable city, among the most beautiful I have visited. But nothing for me will ever match the splendor and beauty of the Alhambra.

When I was nine years old, my mother gave me a history book with a picture of the Alhambra on one of its pages. I was immediately seduced by the beauty of the place; ever since then it was at the top of all the places in the world I wanted to visit. On November 9, 2017, I was finally able to turn that hope to reality.

I was exceptionally fortunate in being able to enjoy the experience in company not only with my wife Sandie, but also my treasured lifelong friends Chuck and Elouise Mattox, who had invited me to join them on the tour in the first place.

At this point it is appropriate to provide a bit of background about the Alhambra. The Emirate of Granada, the last independent Muslim state in Western Europe, was founded in 1232 by Muhammad Ibn Yusuf Ibn Nasr, later known as Muhammad I Ibn al-Amar. This was a time when the Muslim dominion in Spain, established by conquest in 712 CE, was in terminal decline. The Christian armies were on the march, taking Córdoba in 1236 and Seville in 1248. Yet the polity founded by Muhammad I Ibn al-Amar managed to hang on for over two centuries – though it did so as a vassal of Castile – until the rulers of a united Christian Spain decided to put an end to it. During the limited period of its existence the Emirate of Granada was able to enjoy considerable prosperity, for a limited time, and to generate the last great cultural flowering of Moorish Spain.

Muhammad I had already settled in Granada by 1328 and began the construction of the Alhambra in that year. His successors continued to expand and enhance it. The dynasty he founded is known as the Nasrids.

On January 2, 1492, Ferdinand of Aragon and Isabella of Castile accepted the surrender of the last Emir of Granada, Muhammad XII, also known as Boabdil, and made their triumphal entry into the Alhambra. Although the terms of the surrender guaranteed that the Muslims would be allowed to continue practicing their religion, the Catholic monarchs, under the influence of the Archbishop of Toledo and Chancellor of Castile, Francisco Jiménez de Cisneros, reneged on their promise. Cisneros conducted a mass forced conversion, burning their books and suppressing their ensuing revolt; in 1500 he declared that there were no more Muslims in Granada. But the Moriscos, as the unwilling converts were called, continued practicing their religion sub rosa, and in 1609, after suppressing several more rebellions, the government of Philip III issued a decree expelling all the remaining Moriscos from Spain.

After taking possession of the Alhambra, the Spanish monarchs used it as a royal residence and made a number of alterations – both additions and demolitions – to it. The most important of the additions was the Palace of Charles V, begun in 1527. But later, in the 17th and 18th centuries, the Alhambra ceased to be a focus of attention and it was severely neglected. During the Napoleonic Wars, the French occupied Granada, and when they were finally driven out, they attempted to blow up the Alhambra, and actually succeeded in destroying parts of it before being foiled by a heroic Spanish soldier, José Garcia, who disabled the fuses on the charges and thereby saved the rest of the fortress. In the 19th century there was a revival of interest in the Alhambra, and efforts to preserve and restore it were undertaken and have been continued over the years since.

Although our tour bus dropped us off close to the walls of the Alhambra, it was still a fairly long walk from the parking area to the entry point at the Puerta de las Justicias – the Justice Gate. It was nevertheless a very pleasant walk along a shady tree-lined avenue, the Paseo Bosque de la Alhambra, and it took us past the Hotel Washington Irving, named after the American author (famous for the short stories “Rip van Winkle” and “The Legend of Sleepy Hollow”) who spent several months living in the Alhambra in 1829 and wrote Tales of the Alhambra in the aftermath of his stay. Irving was one of the people most responsible for stimulating public interest in the Alhambra and for sparking efforts to preserve and restore it.

The Puerta de las Justicias was known as the Bab al-Shari’a, Gate of the Law, in Arabic. It was built in 1348, during the reign of Emir Yusuf I, and provides entry first through a large horseshoe arch, above which is a carving of an upraised human hand. This symbolizes the Five Pillars of Islam, which are the Muslim creed (“No God but God, and Mohammed is His Prophet”), praying to Mecca five times a day, charity to the poor, fasting in the holy month of Ramadan, and the pilgrimage to Mecca. I had seen the same symbol at the Alhambra Gate in the Pena Palace in Sintra, Portugal, earlier in the trip; as the name implies, it was copied from the Alhambra.

After passing under the arch, one climbs up a steep ramp and then makes a couple of turns through successive right-angled passageways to enter the fortress. The passageways were designed so that defenders of the fortress could shower arrows and boiling oil on any attackers trying to enter through this route. On the inner side of the Justice Gate is a carving of a key, another symbol of the Islamic faith.

Having passed through the Justice Gate, we found ourselves in a courtyard facing the Palace of Charles V. After succeeding to the thrones of Castile and Aragon as Carlos I in 1516, Charles was elected Holy Roman Emperor in 1519. (Charles is the French and English form of his name. In Spanish he is Carlos, and in German Karl.) He visited Granada in 1526 with his wife, Isabella of Portugal, and decided to make the Alhambra one of his royal residences. He had some of the former Nasrid palaces demolished to make way for a huge new Renaissance-style palace of his own, which was begun in 1527. However, it was not finished during Charles’ lifetime. Charles V spent most of his reign crisscrossing his domains, which included not only Spain but also the Netherlands, parts of Italy and, of course, Austria and Germany, fighting wars against France and the Ottoman Turks, and trying to suppress the Protestant Reformation. He rarely stayed in one place for long. His son and successor as King of Spain, Philip II, was different; he seldom left Spain, but he made his capital permanently at Madrid and did not reside at the Alhambra. Instead he lavished his attention – and his finances – on building his own palace-cum-monastery, the Escorial, near Madrid. Construction of the Palace of Charles V consequently dragged on and was frequently interrupted due to financial exigencies and rebellions, such as the Morisco Rebellion in Granada in 1568. Work on the palace ceased altogether in 1637, at which time not even the roof had been finished. Over the following three centuries, it was at times used as a storehouse and a barracks (e.g. by the French during the Napoleonic Wars), and in general left to deteriorate. However, in the 20th century interest in restoring and finishing it revived, and the roof was eventually completed – in 1967. Nowadays the Palace houses a museum.

The architecture of the Palace of Charles V is rather idiosyncratic. It is square in form, but with an inner circular courtyard, a feature unique for its time. It has two stories; the ground floor is in the Tuscan order, with plain unfluted Doric columns and a simple entablature, while the upper floor is in the more elaborate Ionic order. The inner court repeats the pattern, but with a Doric colonnade made of conglomerate stone and surmounted by an elaborate classical entablature.

Exiting the courtyard of the Charles V Palace, we found ourselves in the Plaza de los Aljibes, looking west toward the Alcazaba, the oldest part of the Alhambra. There were fortifications there long before Muhammad I Ibn al-Amar founded the Alhambra, but he greatly expanded and strengthened them to create the Alcazaba, which then became the citadel or keep of the Alhambra. We did not enter the Alcazaba; although its towers have been restored, the area within its walls contains mostly excavated ruins of houses and other structures used by the soldiers who guarded the citadel in days of yore. Instead we turned east to explore the chief glory of the Alhambra, the Nasrid palaces.

We entered the oldest and westernmost of the Nasrid palaces, the Mexuar, through two successive courtyards, the first being the Patio de la Mezquita, so named because it used to be the site of a small mosque, along with a series of secretarial offices. Only the foundations of these structures remain now. Passing through a high cypress hedge, we then entered a second courtyard, the Patio de la Machuca, named after an architect who resided there in the 16th century while working on the Palace of Charles V. In Nasrid times it was surrounded on the north, south and west sides by a portico, but nowadays only the north portico remains, the south and west components having been replaced by the cypress hedges. In the center of the patio is a rectangular pool with six semi-circular extensions on the sides; it formerly held a fountain featuring two lion statues, but these too have vanished. The east side of the Machuca is occupied by the Mexuar Palace itself. One enters it on the south side through a passageway paved with beautiful floral mosaics.

Upon entering the palace, we found ourselves in its main room, the Sala del Mexuar, or Council Room as it was known in Nasrid times, when it served as a throne room and audience chamber for the emir. After the Christian conquest it was converted into a chapel. Regrettably I was unable to obtain any decent photos of the entire hall, but there are some nice ones available on Wikipedia. The walls of the Sala del Mexuar are sumptuously decorated with carved stucco panels and tilework skirting, and in the center of the chamber stand four marble columns enclosing a space formerly reserved for the throne of the emir. The columns uphold a wooden ceiling with capitals and consoles (bracket-like support structures) featuring elaborate muqarnas (honeycomb-vault adornments). The capitals of the columns retain their original polychrome decoration. This central space was originally covered by a dome, but that was removed in the 16th century to make way for a new upper chamber to be built over the Sala del Mexuar; it was replaced by a wooden ceiling, which however preserves the geometric designs characteristic of Muslim architecture.

And speaking of geometric designs, mosaic tilework (known in Arabic as zellij) is ubiquitous throughout the Nasrid palaces, not excepting the Mexuar; it is found mostly in the form of tile skirting on the lower walls. The Christian rulers continued to use Moorish artists to work in the Alhambra after the 1492 conquest, and on one of the walls of the Sala del Mexuar is a tile mosaic with the words “Plus Ultra” (Further Beyond), the motto of King Carlos I/Emperor Charles V, who ruled Spain from 1519 to 1556. The words allude to the Latin saying “Ne plus ultra” which was for many centuries a warning to sailors to go no further beyond the Pillars of Hercules marking the Straits of Gibraltar, for there lay the vast unknown waters of the Atlantic Ocean, the mysterious, unknown edge of the world, where fearsome dangers awaited those who ventured thither. The Spanish explorers had dared to do so, and their daring had secured vast new territories, with limitless riches for the country and its monarchy. Also appearing in the some of the tile mosaics is the motto of the Nasrids,  “And there is no victor but God”.

Adjoining the Sala del Mexuar is a small room which served as an oratory, or private prayer room for the ruler. It contains a mihrab (prayer niche) and features elaborate carved stucco decorations covering the walls. The multiple double-arched windows provide superb views of the landscape and the city of Granada below the walls of the Alhambra.

After passing through the Oratory, we arrived at the final chamber of the Mexuar Palace, the Cuarto Dorado, or Gilded Room. This is a relatively small space, which in the Nasrid era was used as a waiting room for people queuing for audiences with the emir, but after the Christian conquest was adapted for residential purposes. This remodeling included the creation of a gorgeous ceiling decorated in gold leaf, hence the gold in “Cuarto Dorado.” However, even more spectacular than the chamber itself is its adjoining courtyard, the Patio del Cuarto Dorado, which provides a transitional space to the Comares Palace. The north side of the patio features a fine three-arched portico providing access to the Gilded Room; the capitals of the supporting columns are decorated with elaborate stucco carvings in a style favored by the Almohads, the predecessors of the Nasrids. In the middle of the courtyard is a simple but elegant scalloped stone basin.

On the opposite (south) side of the Patio de Cuarto Dorado is the imposing façade of the Comares Palace. This was erected in 1370 by Emir Muhammad V to celebrate his conquest of the important city of Algeciras, the key to the control of the Strait of Gibraltar. It has two identical doors, framed in colorful zellij tiles, the one on the left leading to the Comares Palace, the other connecting back to the Mexuar. Except for tile skirting at the bottom, and three windows on the second floor, the façade wall is decorated entirely with stucco, carved with elaborate designs and inscriptions in Arabic calligraphy, such as verses from the Koran.

Entering the door on the left, we threaded our way through a narrow passageway, from which we emerged to find ourselves in the Court of the Myrtles, the iconic central element of the Comares Palace.

The Comares Palace was begun in the reign of Isma’il I (r. 1314-1333), expanded by his successor Yusuf I (r. 1333-1354) and completed under Muhammad V (r. 1354–1359 and 1362–1391), though of course it was further modified by the Christian conquerors after 1492.

The Court of the Myrtles is a rectangular space 36 meters (121 feet ) long by 23 meters (75 feet) wide, with the long side oriented along a north-south axis. In the middle is a pool, also rectangular, 34 metres (112 feet) long and 10 meters (33 feet) wide. Water flows into the pool from two circular basins at either end; their design was cunningly calculated to make the water flow so slowly that it does not make ripples in the pool, the surface of which remains so still that the pool is perfectly reflective, as illustrated by the accompanying gallery photos. Myrtle hedges running along the the east and west sides of the pool give the courtyard its name.

The Comares Palace is built around the courtyard, with multistory pavilions at both north and south ends, connected by two-story structures on the long sides. In front of each pavilion is a portico with a wide central arch flanked by three arches on each side. The arches are lavishly decorated with designs in stucco, and the galleries behind them are resplendent with zellij tile skirting and muqarnas vaulting. The lateral structures on the long sides are austere by comparison, with a few widely-spaced windows and doors decorated with stucco framing. The doors lead either to residential quarters or to passages connecting with the Cuarto Dorado, the Comares Baths, and the Palace of the Lions.

The north pavilion is the heart of the Comares Palace, consisting of the Sala de la Barca and the Comares Tower with its vast Hall of Ambassadors, also known as the Throne Room.

The south pavilion was originally built as residential quarters for the royal family, but it was mostly demolished in the 16th century to make way for the Palace of Charles V, leaving nothing but the façade, which is nevertheless quite imposing. It consists of three levels. At ground level there is a portico and gallery similar to those at the north end. The second level has seven windows with wooden latticework performing the same function as venetian blinds in other cultures. The third and top level features a lavishly decorated gallery with seven arches and a large central doorway.

The Northern Pavilion is entered via the Sala de la Barca. The name, meaning “Room of the Ship,” does not seem to be associated with any nautical motif but is thought to be derived from the Arabic word baraka, meaning “blessing,” which is found on inscriptions in the room. (The resemblance to the given name of an American president is duly noted.) It is believed to have served as a waiting room for persons seeking audience with the emir. The hall has an ornate wooden ceiling decorated with elaborate geometric figures; it was destroyed by a fire in 1890 but later rebuilt with the aid of surviving fragments.

Upon entering the Throne Room, or Hall of Ambassadors as it is also known, one is immediately overwhelmed by its vastness. It is the largest room in the Alhambra, 18.2 meters (60 feet) high and 11.3 meters (37 feet) on each side. The ceiling, composed of 8017 pieces of wood fitted together to form a complex geometrical pattern, is 125 square meters (1346 square feet) in area. Floor space is 127.7 meters (1375 square feet). The central part of the floor is paved with lusterware tiles, so called because they are made with a metallic glaze that produces an iridescent effect.

Like most of the chambers in the Nasrid palaces, the Throne Room’s upper walls are smothered in detailed stucco decoration, while the lower walls are covered with zellij tiles displaying various brightly colored geometric designs. At the top of the walls are windows with lattice grilles. At ground level, three of the walls have three alcoves each, with lattice-grille windows; in each case the center alcove is larger, with double windows, and the central alcove on the north wall, facing the muqarna-festooned entrance archway, is the most elaborately decorated, since the throne of the emir was located there.

The baths of the Comares Palace, located on the east side of the Court of the Myrtles, are said to be the best-preserved medieval Muslim baths in the Iberian peninsula, and judging from the photographs I have seen of them, are quite attractive. However, in order to keep them that way, they are closed to tourists. So next on our itinerary was the Palace of the Lions, also on the east side of the Court of the Myrtles, next to of the baths.

Like the Comares Palace, the Palace of the Lions is built around a central courtyard. Rather than a pool, however, the centerpiece is a fountain surrounded by twelve stone lions. Also, in contrast to the Court of the Myrtles, the Corte de los Leones – measuring 28.7 meters (94 feet) long by 15.6 meters (51 feet) wide – has its long axis oriented east-west rather than north-south.

The Palace of the Lions was built during the reign of Muhammad V, between 1362 and 1390, when Nasrid architecture is considered to have reached its high-water mark. The archetypal feature of this period was the extensive use of muqarnas – stalactite-like honeycomb vaulting – or mocárabes, as they are known in Spanish – and it was precisely here, in the Palace of the Lions, that they attained their supreme expression.

The Court of the Lions is surrounded on all sides by a portico supported by arches and columns arranged in a pattern that alternates single columns with two pairs of double columns, with the purpose of highlighting various parts of the façade. Two pavilions, one on the east side of the courtyard and another on the west, extend outward from the portico, supported by slender columns in an arrangement similar to the portico. The arcades of both portico and pavilions are decorated with elaborately carved or molded stucco designs. The design on the capital of each column is unique to that column.

Behind the portico are the four main halls of the Palace of the Lions: the Sala de los Mocárabes (Hall of the Muqarnas) on the west, the Sala de los Abencerrajes (Hall of the Abencerrajes) on the south, the Sala de los Reyes (Hall of the Kings) on the north, and the Sala de Dos Hermanas (Hall of Two Sisters) on the north. It should be noted that most if not all of the names of the Nasrid palaces and their components were conjured up by the Spaniards after the 1492 takeover; the pre-Conquest Arabic names are mostly forgotten.

The central element of the palace, the Fountain of the Lions, consists of a large basin sitting on the backs of twelve stylized marble lions (each one unique, a little different from the others) streaming water into an encircling moat through spouts in their mouths. As with the pool in the Court of the Myrtles, the Fountain of the Lions displays the highly sophisticated Nasrid knowledge of hydraulic engineering. Water was maintained at a constant level in the basin at all times. The water spewed by the marble lions flows from the moat into four gutters, representing the four rivers of Paradise (Euphrates, Nile, Sihran and Jihran) in Islamic (and Christian) lore, which then flow to round basins with fountains in each of the four main halls. Apparently lacking pumps of any kind, not to mention electric power, the system relied entirely on gravity to maintain and regulate the water flow. To my mind this was a rather impressive achievement for its time.

We explored each of the main halls of the Palace of the Lions in turn, starting with the Sala de los Mocárabes. However, we spent little time there, because in 1590 an explosion in a gunpowder magazine (why was that there?) destroyed it and it has never been reconstructed, except for part of the ceiling. We soon found ourselves in the Sala de los Abencerrajes, which was named after a powerful family of the Emirate of Granada. Known in Arabic as the Banu Sarraj, they played a prominent role in the politics of the kingdom, but according to legend they aroused the ire of the Emir and were all massacred in the hall that bears their name. As far as can be determined the legend has no basis in fact, and the name of the hall in Arabic translates to “the Western Dome.” It does indeed have a dome, with a cupola shaped like an eight-pointed star, so that it has 16 sides and the same number of windows, one on each side. The dome and the ceiling around it are lavishly decorated with complex muqarnas. Intricate stucco decoration covers the upper walls, and colorful zellij tiles skirt the lower walls. The total effect is astounding, a sybaritic feast for the eyes, as well as a preview of what we were to see in the other two halls of the Lion Palace, in their distinct variations.

Circling around the Corte de los Leones counterclockwise, we next visited the Sala de los Reyes, on the east side of the courtyard. This is a long and wide hall, running the entire length of the east side of the Corte, but it is divided into seven sub-halls – three large and square, four smaller and rectangular – by muqarnas arches. The small and large spaces alternate in their order, so that there are two smaller spaces between the three larger ones and one small unit on each end. Each unit, small or large, has its own muqarnas-vaulted ceiling. The three larger chambers have rounded vault ceilings made of wooden planks but covered with leather painted with scenes of court life. These represent a motif fairly uncommon in Muslim art, because of the traditional Islamic strictures against depicting human and animal figures. It is thought that they were most likely executed by Christian artists borrowed from the court of Mohammed V’s contemporary Pedro the Cruel of Castile – who, it should be remembered, built the Alcazar in Seville with the help of Muslim craftsmen from Granada. Perhaps there was some sort of cultural exchange going on there. One of the paintings depicts the Emir in council with some of his officials; it is this that gives rise to the name of the hall, which, to risk belaboring the point, is a Christian rather than a Nasrid appellation. Conditions in the hall prevented me from obtaining legible photos of these paintings, but there are examples available on the web from Wikipedia and other sources.

In Nasrid times, the Hall of the Kings was a place for celebrations and feasts, with the smaller units serving as bedchambers. After the 1492 conquest, it was used as a Christian chapel. Ferdinand and Isabella held their first celebratory Mass there after the surrender of the Alhambra.

The Sala de Dos Hermanas, which was next on our itinerary, has traditionally been thought of as a private residential space for Mohammed V and his family, although some scholars think that it might have been used as a meeting place for the Royal Council. The sisters for whom it is named are not members of the royal family but rather two slabs of marble used to pave the floor. The Nasrid/Arabic name for it was al-Qubba al-Kubrā (“the Great Dome”), possibly likening the muqarnas dome over the hall to the vault of the heavens. And indeed that dome is reminiscent of a starry cosmos. The muqarnas vaulting, composed of over 500 prismatic pieces, seems to radiate outward from the top in concentric waves before flowing around 16 miniature domes at the periphery, where their spicules merge into a surrounding web of muqarnas. The ensemble is enclosed within a cupola 8 meters in diameter, with eight sides, with two windows to each side, their combined illumination causing the honeycomb structure of the muqarnas to sparkle with reflected light. The ceiling around the cupola opening is sculpted with muqarnas contrived to form the shape of an eight-pointed star, standing out from the background of additional honeycomb vaulting filling the spaces between the ceiling and the walls.

The upper walls, as in most of the other halls of the Nasrid palaces, are covered with intricately carved stucco. Encircling the room, approximately at eye level, is an inscription band with poetry comparing the hall’s dome to the Pleiades. On the lower walls, again in conformity with the usual practice, are elegant zellij tiles – but here they are the originals, not replacements from later periods as in some of the other halls.

Adjoining the Sala de Dos Hermanas on the north is a smaller chamber, the Sala de los Ajimeces or “Hall of the Mullioned Windows” – a mullion being a vertical or horizontal bar, vertical in this case, that separates units of a window (I had to look that up). Its distinctive feature, other than the windows, is a vault ceiling composed of multiple consecutive muqarnas domes merging into one another. On its north side is a much smaller but more striking room, the Mirador de Lindaraja. In Spanish a mirador is a lookout or scenic viewpoint. “Lindaraja” is a corruption of the Arabic phrase Ayn Dar Aixa, “Eyes of the House of Aisha”, referring to a tradition that the room was the preferred hangout of Muhammad V’s favorite wife, Aisha. The Mirador de Lindaraja is a small square structure projecting outward from the Sala de los Ajimeces into the garden outside the palace. The windows on the three sides of the room are installed low enough so that the garden is visible to people sitting on the floor. Indeed the garden, known as the Patio de Lindaraja, is worth a look, and we were to explore it in person a bit later. The Mirador arguably boasts the most elegant carved stucco paneling in the Alhambra, not to mention the mosaic tilework on the lower walls, featuring poetic inscriptions in fine Arabic calligraphy. It is also remarkable for its ceiling, which is a wooden lattice framework embedded with pieces of stained glass – a type of skylight, in other words, also known as a lantern vault. It is the only one of its kind surviving in the Alhambra.

In my travels I have seen some amazing sights, including some of the most magnificent works of art produced by human hands; but in my judgment none of them surpass the Nasrid palaces of the Alhambra, and I consider it a great privilege and gift to have seen them in person.

At this point in our tour, we were not done with the palaces, but the remaining ones were dispersed amidst the gardens of the Alhambra, which will be the focus of my next post.

The trip from Córdoba to Granada was generally uneventful, but had its noteworthy moments nonetheless. En route to Granada we passed through a district of the province of Andalusia known as la Subbética, which as far as I know includes no major cities or major tourist attractions other than the Sierras Subbéticas Natural Park, which we were not fortunate enough to visit, but which is home to a wide diversity of plants and animals, and a stronghold of the peregrine falcon. Our encounter with la Subbética was limited mainly to a rest stop on the N-432 highway at Nicol’s Restaurant, near the town of Luque. However, this proved to be of great interest to me as a showcase, as it were, of small-town Spanish life. The closest analogy I can think of is a roadside cafe in Midwestern America. But this was an area primarily devoted to the cultivation of olive trees and the production of olive oil, and Nicol’s was a market for that commodity as much or more than a roadside diner.

The olive groves and factory where the oil was produced were close behind the restaurant. Between the roadhouse and the olive groves there was a parklike area suitable for strolling, relaxing and picnicking according the needs of the moment. Although there was no railroad line, there were two railroad cars in back of the establishment, which puzzled me until I figured out that they provided the refrigerator for the business. Judging from the remains of an old horse trough, stone benches and other antique artifacts adorning the site. this place must have functioned as a travelers’ stop from time immemorial.

Resuming our journey, we continued across the rolling Andalusia countryside with its endless olive groves. Racing the oncoming twilight, we were able to catch late-afternoon views of picturesque towns and castles such as Castro del Rio and its hilltop fortress, until the curtain of darkness ended the show.

The mihrab, the holiest place in a Muslim mosque, is ordinarily a semicircular niche in a wall indicating the qibla, the direction of the Kaaba in Mecca towards which Muslims face when praying. The wall on which a mihrab appears is therefore known as the ‘qibla wall’. The mihrab in the Mezquita is an exception to the usual pattern in that it is a small room behind a lavishly decorated door. The caliphs also added a maqsura, a screened-off prayer space in front of the mihrab, reserved for the ruler, intended to ensure his privacy and protect him from assassination.

The Castilians of the Reconquista era unaccountably felt no obligation to pray to Mecca, and they had insufficient appreciation of the esthetic value of the mihrab as well. In the 14th century they converted it into the chapel of Saint Peter, where the consecrated host was stored before the completion of the new Capilla Mayor in the 17th century.

In the 19th century, however, the Spanish began to rediscover the cultural heritage left by the Moors, and restoration work began on the mihrab and maqsura that has continued to the present; so visitors are now able to see it in its full glory.

The mihrab is located at the south wall of the Mezquita just to the west of the Chapel of St. Teresa. On either side of it are two doors. The door on the left (facing the wall) of the mihrab, called the Bab Bayt al-Mal, led to the mosque treasury, which of course is now the cathedral treasury. The one on the right, the Bab al-Sabat, led to a passage (sabat) connecting the mosque to the caliph’s palace. The mihrab and the doors are lavishly decorated with mosaics and inscriptions from the Quran. The maqsura encloses the area in front of the doors in a set of intricate polylobed interlocking arches, which also serve to bear the weight of the three domes covering this space. No words can possibly convey the esthetic impact of viewing this astounding ensemble, which must be viewed in person to be fully appreciated. The pictures shown here can convey only a pale shadow of the reality. It was the culmination of our visit to the Mezquita and to the fabulous city of Córdoba.

Before leaving the Mezquita, I want to present a few glimpses of some of the detail-work of the walls and arches that has perhaps been neglected elsewhere. These serve as a reminder of the capabilities of the Moorish and Mudéjar craftsmen who built the mosque and continued its maintenance and transformation after the Christians took over, up until they were expelled from Spain in the 16th and 17th centuries.

We exited the Mezquita as we had entered, via the Patio de los Naranjos. As we emerged I caught sight of a young couple making out on the patio, and took a quick shot of them; the muchacho, probably an American, took a shot right back at me with his phone camera.

On our way out of the Patio de los Naranjos, Sandie took four superb photos of the Mezquita’s magnificent Campanario (Bell Tower). This began as a minaret, completed in 958 under the auspices of Abd al-Rahman III, the first Caliph. Although the Christians converted it into a bell tower after the Reconquista of 1236, they made few substantial changes at first, other than to put a cross on top. But in 1589 the tower was badly damaged in a storm, and rather than merely repairing the damage, the authorities decided to redo it in Renaissance style. They entrusted the work to Hernán Ruiz III, the latest member of the dynasty who had begun the new Capilla Mayor. The Ruiz family seem to have been singularly unlucky in completing their projects, since Hernán III, impeded by the neglect of his sponsors to fund his work, died in 1606, leaving it unfinished. The reconstruction was completed under another architect in 1617. But even that was not final; serious flaws in the construction, and further extensive damage storms and earthquakes, ensured that major modifications would continue throughout the 17th and 18th centuries. One significant enhancement, in 1664, involved the placement of a new cupola on top, crowned by a statue of Saint Raphael.

From the Mezquita, we embarked on the final phase of our visit to the wondrous city of Córdoba – an exploration of the Old Quarter. For that, a new post is in order.