Cordoba

We needed to vacate the apartment by ten . . . and we did.  Somewhere yesterday I had misplaced my hat – either on the seat outside the Cathedral (so probably long gone) or in a shop we had visited.  This was on the way to the train station so we took the bus and stopped by . . . sadly no hat.  Glen had a spare which by turning up the brim at the back, fitted well.

It was a simple connection to the new train station, and with the help of three delightful Senoras who were getting off at the same stop, we found the station without difficulty.  Plenty of time for a bowl of piquante white bean and chorizo soup plus crusty roll as we waited.

The high speed Renfe train rocketed along – averaging about 270km/hr.  Firstly through bright green pine forests and then what appeared to be farms and uninhabited scrubland . . .  the closely-cropped fields of hay gleaming gold in the sunshine. 

 Nearer Valencia  they were small and neat in closely ordered rows, but bigger, more widely spaced and less pruned the further we traveled.  Once again the train left exactly on time and had comfortable seats with loads of leg room AND foot rests.  Unfortunately,  there were two couples in the seats in front –  tourists traveling with young children.  One small girl had a meltdown tantrum – flinging herself about, wailing loudly with a mouth full of food and thoughtfully coughing bits of it in every direction.  Meanwhile, her baby brother would let out periodic ear-piercing screams at intervals throughout the journey whenever he wanted attention, all while the mother focused on her cellphone and the father sat idly by.  Argh!

We’d been forewarned about changing trains in Madrid, and despite researching ahead of time, the lack of actual, helpful directions rather than mass advertising splashed everywhere, made it perhaps a little more stressful than it needed to be.  But, we made it . . .  and it was a much quieter and more enjoyable trip.

Another high-speed train . . .  this one even faster, with an average of 300+ km/hr.  The scenery was much more interesting than before . . .  white-washed villages . . . rolling hills . . . rivers . . .  orange groves . . .  and olive trees as far as the eye could see. 

Finding the airbnb looked a fair bit more complicated in Cordoba, so we flagged down a taxi which had just deposited its fare (Cordoba sensibly has both train and bus stations in the same place).  Off we zoomed . . . weaving in and out of traffic . . .  narrowly avoiding scooters, buses and pedestrians, but more impressively squeezing down impossibly narrow, cobbled streets with barely an inch to spare on the corners.  He earned his tip . . . I reckon he saved us more by taking the short cut.

David was waiting for us . . . and what a gracious host.  His English was decidedly mucho mejor than our Spanish.  Gorgeous place . . .  I fell in love with the large, variegated terra-cotta-coloured floor tiles.  He and his partner had decorated the place to perfection – tastefully understated – with everything one could possibly need.  He sent maps to our phone of grocery stores, restaurants (tomorrow being Sunday pretty much all stores would be closed).  The local supermercado – Deza – was a short stroll away . . . along our cobbled lane, past a small section of the ancient city wall . . . through the archway and across the road.  EVERYONE was stocking up before the store closed at ten.  But this is a great grocery store. Not huge, but well stocked and everything fresh.  It was no trouble to stand waiting for the next cashier while people watching.  We settled on skewers of garlic-smothered prawns and another with combination cod and lagostinas covered in herbs . . . fresh tomatoes and wonderfully crusty bread to mop up the juices.  I spied pairs of small glass pots of yoghurt (made by Nestle) but with a layer of luscious-looking fruit at the bottom  – mango in one lot … strawberry the other.  They more than met expectations.

Next day – a bus to the Alcazar.  It was Sunday and all the church bells were calling people to church.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alc%C3%A1zar_de_los_Reyes_Cristianos  

It was HOT HOT HOT and people were utilizing every patch of shade – moving from one tree to the next while waiting to get inside.  There was a line of horse-drawn coaches (Gharries) patiently waiting for customers but not doing much business – 45 euros for an hour seemed a bit steep.  The gardens were the star of the show though . . .  all different . . . some shaded with fountains and geometric beds of agapanthus plus an unusual magenta flower . . .  others were open and formal.   Long water gardens with arcing spouts of water and edged with flowers led to the garden of kings with topiary shaped like towers and amphora. You

could hear horses clopping and neighing  in the distance as they went through their training regime – they were well-hidden behind tall fences. Suddenly, klaxon blared ear-piercingly to announce closing time at 3pm, and everyone was unceremoniously herded out.  We still had good part of the afternoon to spare, so indulged in a couple of hop-on-hop-off bus loops . . . just to give our feet a rest and get an idea of where we’d like to explore next.  The smaller mini bus was able to maneuver through laneways barely wider than the bus . . . I swear we could have touched the walls and balconies.  Churches, tavernas, cafes and plazas enticed one to explore further.  What a gorgeous city.  We got off at the Roman bridge and gazed across the river at the Mosque on the further bank . . .  amber and golden in the late afternoon sun.  We would be visiting there tomorrow. The other hop-on/off bus (an open-topped double-decker) deposited us almost at our apartment.

David’s suggestions for regional food to try led us to a restaurant just 15 minutes away, so we booked a table for 8:30.  Casual, off the beaten track and with only locals as our dining companions, we sipped beer and consulted the menu.  You can’t go wrong in asking the Camarero for recommendations, and we selected a cold tomato soup sprinkled with jamon (similar to Salmorejo) and the Rabo de Toro . . . slowly simmered oxtail.  The soup was good . . . but oh my, the oxtail was estupendo!  A rich sauce of tomato, wine, onion and garlic . . . fall-off-the-bone meat that necessitated mopping up with bread.  To finish – something del cielo (of the sky) reminiscent of a flan but more dense, covered with the same caramel sauce and pillows of whipped cream.  Goodness, I’m full.  Then with the bill, two small squares of frozen, chocolate-covered ice cream – like mini choc-ices.  I’m glad we had a walk back.

The following day it was the Mosque.  https://www.cordoba24.info/english/html/mezquita.html  This time we walked the 25 minutes or so.  Through a maze of inter-connected, cobbled laneways using one of the cathedral towers as reference (backed up by Miss Google).  Stopping often to snap photos . . .  everything was so photogenic.  The Mosque was  . . . . what can I say . . . amazing.  Those iconic red and white Moorish arches – so simple but impactful, blended with the much later and far more elaborate Christian influence.  A striking

combination indeed.  There were many different shrines and golden statues dedicated to Christian Saints . . . ancient holy books . . .  uncovered carvings dating back to 12th century Moorish times.  But one photo opportunity took my fancy . . .  a Senora with cleaning cart, mopping the floor of one of the shrines.  Cleanliness must surely be next to Godliness.  See photos below.

We strolled back through another maze of winding streets . . . stopping for coffee in a hidden garden patio whose walls were covered with greenery and filtered light  . . .  a gentle trickle of water . .  . and a caged song bird (goldfinch) hanging in the corner.(apparently he was grumpy and only sang when he felt like it!)  We booked a table for dinner later . . . who could resist?

The streets were busy now with children coming out of school and parents/grandparents walking them home . . . listening to the excited chatter of what had happened that day.  Everyone stepping out of the way as cars, scooters and delivery trucks nosed their way along.  We purchased some more water, crusty buns and slices of meat to make  sandwiches for the bus to Antequera tomorrow.  Although the water is safe to drink all over Spain (apparently it is tested daily) the flavour varies considerably . . . and here in Cordoba, it leaves rather a lot to be desired.

At the restaurant we were greeted like old friends, and started the evening with a rather nice fruity white wine.  Delightfully, one of the items on the menu was Roasted Iberian Lizard!! . . .  I knew it couldn’t possibly be, but had  to ask . . .  Digame, es verdad?? (tell me, is it true?)  turns out to be a particular cut of pork.  Oh the disappointment!  Our choices seemed tame by comparison.  Roasted vegetables – eggplant, tomatoes, green peppers, mushrooms, green beans, leeks and onion topped with dollops of the creamiest goat cheese  – all arranged like a giant flower. Incredible.   After this, a sea bass . . .  butterflied and fried to perfection with thick slices of seasoned potato and peppers.  What amazing food we’ve had in Cordoba. And thank goodness for the 25 minute walk back to aid the digestion.  Shops are still open . . .  kids still up and active . .. scooters (both motorized and stand-on electric) zooming the streets, drivers inching their way back and forth to shoehorn cars into shuttered garages. This is such a clean, welcoming, safe and walkable city.