Just Visiting, part 8

The next day we went to see the unique mosque of Córdoba—a huge structure filled with hundreds of red-and-white-painted Moorish arches. Andalucía had been fully Moorish for centuries; this was what the Crusades were about, as far as Spain was concerned. In the 1400s the Spanish monarchs, proud of their reconquest of Andalucía, built an entire cathedral within the mosque, making for a disconcerting contrast. You walked through rows and rows of the Moorish arches, and suddenly you came upon the intricate carvings of a Gothic cathedral’s choir. It was a typically Spanish contrast. Medieval Spain was built by a polyglot society of Catholics, Muslims and Jews, but after the Muslims and Jews were expelled in 1492, the Spanish striving for ethnic purity was relentless. Nevertheless, the dark physical appearance of many Spaniards showed the mixed heritage they had as a people.

We also went to the Jewish quarter, where we stopped to eat at a little bar near the bust of the Jewish thinker Maimonides, who was a Córdoban. I really felt like a foreigner in this situation. It was 11 in the morning, but I knew the girls wouldn’t make it until 2 p.m., the normal Spanish lunchtime. Would it be okay to order some food? I wondered. What could you ask for? Would they be irritated if I did the wrong thing?

I asked Mike, “What can a person order now?”

“I don’t know,” he replied, as unsure as I was. “I’ll see if they have tortilla española.” This Spanish potato omelet was something the kids had tried and liked, so it seemed like a good bet.

As it happened, in a Spanish bar or cafeteria you could order anything on the menu anytime and nobody would think a thing about it, but we didn’t know that yet. We had a tortilla in this bar, freshly made and delicious. It was so good, we ordered a second one. But it took me a few months in Spain before I understood how accommodating Spanish restaurants were.

We went to a large Córdoban house museum famous for having fourteen patios, or interior courtyards. The house was lovely, but the tour was only in Spanish. This was a frustration we experienced often in Spain. No one seemed to have the sense that it might be profitable to make allowances for foreigners, such as translations at tourist sites. Afterward we had a terrible time finding a taxi stand—we were far from the center of town. Still feeling unsure and easily scared, I feared we were going to be stuck there forever, but eventually Mike was able to muster enough Spanish to ask for and comprehend directions to a taxi stand. We got back to the train station and eventually to Madrid.