Granada--2nd Day

I moved a little more slowly today--felt like I had been running all over the Alhambra yesterday as if to take everything in at once. I began with the bus tour of the city. Sprawling over hills and valleys, modern Granada has almost 400,000 people in it. Scattered throughout the city rest the remains of many older cultures almost crowded out by new construction. The bus takes riders up the hill of the Alhambra by circling around from the North and provides, along the way, a wonderful view of the highest peaks in the Sierra Nevada range. Only alout 35 miles away, three of them top 10,000 feet and one reaches almost 11,000. The ski resort there is Europe´s southernmost such vacation spot (the bus came with a running commentary about local features). In fact, Granada has applied to be a host city for the next available Winter Olympics (don´t know when that is). At the top of the Alhambra, the real size of the ancient city reveals itself; there were remains still being excavated outside the defensive walls that I visited yesterday.

After the round-about of the modern city, I took the tour of the old town that consists of winding streets too narrow for any bus to traverse. At one shop, I bought a copy of Washington Irving´s ¨Tales of the Alhambra¨ that was wonderfully illustrated with photos of the sites I´d seen yesterday. Then, I made my way up a hill to the 16th-century church of El Salvador. The church, a small, local parish, was fairly unremarkable, but the view was incomparable. Sitting atop a hill beside the Alhambra, the plaza of the church affords a panoramic view of the Alhambra streached out in its length. I took a seat at one end of the plaza in the cool Spanish sun and began reading Irving´s tale of ¨The Three Daughters¨--didn´t stop until I´d finished the story of ¨The Poor Mason.¨ Now, this is how I should have my students read Irving next time I teach survey of American Literature--first, we get on a plane and fly to Spain . . . . Halfway down the hill, there was a "Cervaseria." The only way I know how to translate that is "little beer shop." They were offering an afternoon special: one small beer and one order of ¨tapa de dia¨ for only €1.5 (that´s about two bucks). I´m not much of a beer drinker (despite what Mark Coley will tell you), but that sounded tasty. The beer in Spain is COLD; the Spanish, like Americans, want their cold drinks cold--unlike the British for whom "cold" means "not actually hot." It was the local brew--"Alhambra," of course--and a small, cold glass was perfect. The tapas of the day turned out to be a piece of flat bread with a heaping tablespoon of spinach, sprinkled liberally with goat cheese, and topped with a slice of boiled egg. Show me where you can find this snack in the mall!

In the late afternoon, I visited the Carthusian monastery--included in its art collection were a pair of Murillos--and then made my way over to the home of author Garcia Lorca. Lorca´s house is a national museum and has been surrounded with a lovely municipal park. I had the uncomfortable feeling that the flower-laden park was almost Spain´s apology to its poet. You may not know that Lorca was captured from his home and executed in 1936 in Granada during the chaos of the Spanish Civil War. Great authors have a way of speaking too near the heart of things to be endured by some governments. I concluded the day with a visit to a pair of churches, San Juan de Dios Basilica and Santos Justo y Pastor Chruch. The former was stylistically Renaissance and the latter New-Classical--I wish I´d had my students there because the differences between the styles couldn´t have been more profound. At 7:20 in the evening, just as I came out of Santos Justo, mass ended around the city; I cannot successfully relate the din of chruch bells that surrounded me for about three minutes. Of course, I thought of E. A. Poe´s poem "The Bells"--¨the tintinabulation that so musically swells of the bells, bells, bells, bells . . .¨ but that´s only because I can´t escape being an English teacher.

Tomorrow, back to the bus and on to the cathedral town of Jaën. Don´t know if I´ll find an internet connection until I reach Córdoba. But tonight, I´ll just walk back to my hotel with a little more Poe in my head: ¨while the stars that over sprinkle all the heavens seem to twinkle with a crystaline delight.¨ Good night, Texas.

Granada

Like most of my colleagues who teach English or history, I was that kid in my elementary school class who always won the spring reading award. It´s funny that both Jeff Nelms and Chuck Hope who teach at Tarrant County College have described to me reading the "Landmark History" books along with adventure classics like The Scarlet Pimpernel or The Man in the Iron Mask (abridged, of course) at that same age. I remember reading Washington Irving´s Tales of the Alhambra in those years sometime between elementary and junior high. Today, I was there--in the Alhambra.

Better known for works like "The Legend of Sleepy Hollow" or "Rip van Winkle," Irving traveled extensively later in his life, and in 1829 he wandered into little-known Granada. He took up residence on the hill overlooking town in Charles V´s abandoned palace which included parts of the 13th-century Moorish castle called the Alhambra. From there he wrote stories that are part history and part fantasy and all that a young reader could dream. Irving´s room is still there--with a plaque memorializing his stay. His book about the Alhambra excited such tourism that the Spanish government began to excavate the site in the mid-19th century. Today, it´s nothing short of spectacular. Situated on a hill overlooking a great, bowl-shaped plain that´s surrounded by mountains, 11th-century Moors began building first a fortress and later a town that would become a sultan´s seat of power. There are 13th-century baths, an network of streets, and an irrigation system that supplied not only the town and garrison but also a vast system of fountains and gardens. Remnants of the Roman occupation of the same hill are in the musuem, but even more amazing are the remains of Islamic crafts--the glass, wood work, stone carving, and pottery. The fortress itself is a system of six great towers that overlook the plain below and provide a perfect vista of the snow-capped peaks of the surrounding mountains. It was on the tallest of these towers that the forces of Ferdinand and Isabella raised the flag of Saintiago to proclaim their victory over the Moors in 1492. The Alhambra was the last Moorish stronghold to fall in Europe.

So, did I have a good day today? It took more than six hours just to walk the Alhambra and visit the museum. And, yes, I took pictures of Irving´s room in the Sultan´s palace. But Irving wasn´t the only artist to be inspired here. Claude Debussy wrote "The Wine Gate" after his visit to the Alhambra--at one of the gates during the rule of the Sultan, wine was sold without tax to the poor. The writer Garcia Lorca (whose works I teach in World Lit II) also lived in the city; tomorrow, I´ll visit Lorca´s house, now a museum. Additionally, I´ll be visiting several famous 16th-century churches and monuments below the Alhambra. Tonight, I´m going to dream about snowy mountains surrounding a Moorish castle--maybe Shahrazade will whisper a story as I sleep.

Italica and Ronda

I arrived in Granada by train, and the hotel I found near the city center had an internet in the basement. The equipment is stop-and-go and the keyboard barely works, but here goes. The past couple of days have been the best of the trip thus far. Saturday morning, I visited Italica just northwest of Seville. Originally founded by Scipio Africanus around 209 BCE after his victory that concluded the second Punic War (the war between Rome and Carthage ["Punius" in Latin, thus the name]), Italica was originally intended as a place to retire faithfully serving legionares and as a way to hold the Spanish frontier. As Spainish possessions began to expand by the first century CE (AD), Italica became a home away from home for Rome´s rich and famous. Emperors Trajan and his son, Hadrian, were born there. After the Visigoths stormed through in the fifth century, the town was abandoned and eventually covered over with silt. Today, the Spanish government is excavating throughout the area and slowly unearthing the town. Thus far, they´ve found some truely spectacular, luxury villas, a theater, and a colluseum that might have seated as many as 25,000 people. I spent more than four hours walking the ruins and, of course, taking pictures. The mosaics still vivid in the floors of some of the villas were worth the trip by themselves.

Late Saturday afternoon, I took a two-hour bus ride to the small town of Ronda. Located at the southern end of the Sierra Nevada mountains near the Rio Grande (no kidding!), this was a Roman town turned Moorish stronghold, turned Christian with a trail of history that testified to all three cultures. Roman artifacts, an 11th-century Moorish bath, and a 15th-century gothic church were among the highlights. Moreover, it boasts a two-hundred and fifty-year-old bull ring, one of Spain´s oldest. Hemingway visited there and immortalized Ordoñez, the bullfighter, in the novel The Sun Also Rises. Plus, the town has spectacular vistas--it is divided across a 400-foot-deep gorge with a Roman and an 18th-century bridge joining the two halves. An 8th-century Moorish wall surrounds most of the city and the mountains provide nothing less than a spectacular view from anywhere in town. PLUS, the town was the center of mountain bandit activity for two thousand years. There´s even a museum dedicated to the Spanish bandit in the center of town. PLUS, PLUS (I think), they celebrated Carnival that Saturday. Folks were in costume; bands played all over town; there were mock bull fights (the bull always being a somewhat hefty townsman); cotton candy, popcorn, and cooked chestnuts were sold in the streets; fireworks went off at random; and it was impossible to sleep until well after 2:00AM.

One more thing--I have the heart of a bandit. I was told so. Saturday night, I stopped at a local bar for dinner. They were serving the usual ham and huevo and queso and patatas dinners, but they were also offering the Andalus Bandit dinner! The owner swore that this was a traditional meal for the mountain bandit and that no one had ordered it all evening--he suggested (loudly, to everyone around) that such a big, German fellow (me) should want to be the first to try his stew. Well, I´m a sucker, so I went for it (also, masculine ego kicked in). Pretty good! It consisted of cubed potatoes, tomatoes, squash, eggplant, onion, and garlic in a thick tomato/olive oil sauce--all poured over five, halved boiled eggs. I ate the whole thing! Afterwards, the chef and the owner both actually came out and slapped me on the back loudly proclaiming that I was a true bandit and that people should watch their valuables.

Last Day in Seville

Yesterday was so full of such varied activities, I can think of no other way to describe them all but to start a list:

1) Toured the city on the bus. Saw the tobaccoo factory that inspired the opening of the opera Carmen. Visited the Plaza of the Americas which was built in 1929--kind of late art nouveau with baroque touches. Visited the site of Expo ´92--the last World´s Fair of the 20th century. The Spanish government poured 8 billion dollars into this thing--what they have left is a huge complex of "modernistic" (to the eyes of designers in the 1980s) buildings and display halls that are seldom used. Saw the Church of the Macarana--no, really.

2) Toured the Royal Palace with a local guide recommended by Rick Steves. Her name was Concepcion, and she was full of information and great tales. Plus, she gave me additional information about how to access the local monastery for a tour and how to get into the royal chapel at the cathedral. The palace itself was built by both Moorish and Christian artisans and the different wings are Gothic, Renaissance, and Baroque--all of which leads to a fanciful combination. Columbus was received here and delivered his reports to the king and queen in one of the reception halls.

3) Visited the local monastery, founded in the 14th century by Carthusian monks. Using my TCC connection, I was allowed to look at some of the 4,000-volume library collected by Hermano Colon--the younger son of Christopher Columbus. Quite a treat.

4) Tried the tapas dinner again--and really went adventerous. Ever had egg and lobster? Peas and spiced olives? Ox tail? Well, I have. These are not things you find on the menu at Texas Roadhouse.

5) Went to the Chapel of the Kings at the east end of the cathedral. This chapel is not open to tourists--only visiting clergy or members of the parish may enter. Concepcion told me to leave my camera out of sight and tell the guard that I was a member of the Confraternity of Saint James (I joined the American chapter before my last trip). I worked! It was sooooo cool--the remains of Fernando III, the conquerer of Seville, are mummified under the alter. Alphonso X--you know, Alphonso el Sabio with whom the Cantigas are associated--is also buried within. I sat right next to his crypt. Fernando´s sword and spurs are also encased in glass beside the alter; these are no questionable relics, but historic artifacts that are 750 years old--very exciting.

6) Having been properly spiritual, I decided to conclude the day with some additional corporeal pleasures. Namely, I went to El Palacio de Andelusia--one of the areas most famous Flamenco clubs. After a quick call home to my brother, I ducked into the night spot and watched colorfully clothed dancers whirl, stomp, and sing. Pretty pricey (about $32 American) but the ticket came with a free drink (vino tinto!) and lots of fun entertainment. Actually, have you ever seen Casablanca? Remember that female singer in Rick´s Cafe American who has that loud, piercing voice? Well, she was on stage again last night with the dancers.

And then I staggered home. I´m not certain when I´ll be able to make another blog entry. I´m leaving Seville this morning to see some Roman ruins and may be staying out of reach of the internet. Happy Trails.

The Cathedral of Sevilla

Yesterday, I spent seven hours in church. No, I´m not that devout, unless the combination of devotions includes history and culture. It´s not just a church; the cathedral is part art museum, reliquary, historical monument, and an unusual mixture of Christian and Islamic traditions.

First, of course, it´s big. In my previous blog, I remarked that the cathedral is the third largest church in the world. It also contains the largest alter screen--a huge golden wall behind the alter that depicts scenes from the lives of Jesus and Mary. Centuries ago, the city was Moorish, and these inhabitants had built a sizable mosque complete with a tall minaret, the Giralda, completed in 1184. When Christians under Ferdinand III reconquered the city in 1248, they began building a cathedral right next to the mosque. Eventually, the church subsumed the mosque and its tower--turing the minaret into an impressive bell tower. Inside the cathedral, there are three long (obviously) naves and a great transcept creating the traditional Gothic cross. The many side alters are filled with great art--much of it by the local artist and world master, Murillo. A Renaissance addition to the structure included an audience room for the cardinal that is most unusual; it is an elipse with an eliptically-shaped dome. It is the only successfully executed dome of its type from the Renaissance (two others elsewhere collapsed). The Seville cathedral did have its problems. In the middle of the cross where there should be a dome (as there is in St. Peter´s, St. Paul´s, and the cathedral at Burgos) the roof is decorated with tracery--no dome. Why? Originally, the church had a dome, but it collapsed in 1511. The main pillars of the huge structure simply couldn´t support the weight.

There was so much history--so many artifacts--that I can´t really relate all here, but I will remark on a couple of things. Ferdinand III who reconquered much of southern Spain in the 1240s carried a statue of Mary as he traveled. That ivory representation along with the keys that he received from the Moors on taking Seville are in the church. Among the many relics, the most important is a single thorn from the crown of thorns--it was delivered to Ferdinand personally by the king of France and placed in a huge silver reliquary. Even closer to my interests, the portable alter of Ferdinand´s son, Alphonso X, was also on display. This is Alphonso "El Sabio" (the wise) whose court at Santa Maria la Blanca along the Camino created the lovely Cantigas of Saint Mary. Again, if you´re unfamiliar, a link to the modern group ¨Cantiga¨ is included with this blog. Click and listen!

Last night, I attended Ash Wednesday service in the Cathedral. It was nice to see the structure transform from being simply a monument and a tourist attraction into a working church. No less than two Princes of the Church were there. The current Cardinal presided and a retired Cardinal attended. Very nice--but I hear that Ray Gager stirred up some good soup back at the home church. I would have enjoyed a taste.

Sevilla

My Fromer´s guide to Spain says that if you can visit only two spots in Spain, see Seville and Toledo. Well, exploring the first is now a work in progress. Yesterday was my first full day in the city; I´m staying in a cheap ($40 per night) hotel--no TV or room service, but a clean room with a good bed and a private bath. I almost fit into the shower. Truthfully, though, if you´re going to complain about such things, you shouldn´t travel--I´m here to see the sights, not to critique the plumbing. And what sights. My hotel is in the old city, near what was once the Jewish quarter. Some of the "streets" are only wide enough for two to walk abreast. Obviously, it´s all foot traffic. The buildings range in date from 1100 to 1800 and are a mix of styles. Every now and then, a street will bring you to a lovely patio or small square lined with orange trees with a fountain in its center. And yes, the city does smell of oranges--the trees are heavy with fruit and local kids delight in pulling oranges from the lower branches. Then they face the decision whether to eat or to throw the furit. The old city is a contrast to modern Seville that I passed on the way in from the airport. Comprised mostly of aging concrete apartment buildings, new Seville is in the grips of rising unemployment and a crime wave. The Spanish government seems to be doing all it can to increase the tourist trade and to involve its people in this lucrative pursuit.

I walked around the cathedral twice taking pictures; begun in the 1400s and completed in the late 1700s, it´s the third largest Christian church in the world--just smaller than St. Peter´s in Rome and St. Paul´s in London. The great central nave is the largest gothic structure in the world. Attached is a great bell tower, most of which was actually built in the 1300s by Spanish Moors and used as the tower for a great mosque. At 6:30 every evening the dozens of huge bells in the tower begin ringing frantically--a tradition that began around 1500 not only to call the faithful to prayer but also to mock the former Islamic call to prayer that must have issued from the same source hundereds of years before. Today, I´m already on the list for a guided walking tour of the cathedral´s interior--including the art museum.

Last night, I spent an hour and a half in the historic Hospital in the old city. Built in the 1500s, today it houses an impressive art collection including 30 works by Murillo. The tile work (Seville is famous for its tile and other ceramics) that adorns the hospital´s interior is itself a work of art. Delicately painted or shaped, the tiles demand your attention--though I feel a little self-conscious about staring at the walls even when there is no painting hanging there. For dinner I had a mixed tapas plate. For those who don´t know, "tapas" could be anything--a little snack served in a plate the size of a bread plate. The specific nature of the tapas changes each day. A tapas dinner included all five tapas for the day. Last night, that meant that my waiter brought five little plates, each with a side-serving of a different food. My tapas included servings of tomatoes cooked in olive oil, cooked garbonzo beans, stewed anchovies, shrimp on flat bread, and small, halved potatoes fried with calimari. A little fishy, but hey, Seville is a river port connected to the sea. What a great taste of Spain. If I had wanted chicken-fried steak, I´d have stayed home.

P.S. Would somebody please do something about the exchange rate? When I looked last week, it was 1.28 dollars for 1 euro. Today, I exchanged half my cash, and the latest international rate was 1.398 dollars for 1 euro--my money is worth about 10% less than it was last week. Traveling in Spain can be a bargain, but OUCH!

Tavistock and THE Library

So, why am I just a little excited everytime I hit the streets of London? Let me illustrate. On landing a couple of days ago, I rode the Gatwick Express into London and took the tube to the Euston/St. Pancras station in order to register at my hotel and drop my backpack. Just outside in the square in front of the station is a ten-foot high statue and tribute stone dedicated to Robert Louis Stevenson. Then, I stroll past the historic church of St. Pancras to Hotel Tavistock. Located on a lovely square, the hotel itself is named for the park that sits before it. Tavistock park was dedicated about thirty years ago to acts and people who contribute to world peace and diversity. Since one side of the square is the home of the British Medical Association (with a museum, of course), they thought a park dedicated to honoring life might be an appropriate idea. In the center of the park is a large bronze of Ghandi, legs crossed and still looking as if he needed a meal (he´d decline, of course). This is no passive site; each time I passed through the park, someone was kneeling at Ghandi´s feet or laying flowers on the granite pedistal on which the figure sat. Today, in fact, someone had covered the statue itself with yellow daisies. In one corner of that same garden is a bronze bust of Virginia Woolf--I´m happy she finally found "a room of her own."

Sunday, I attended eucharist and evensong (an evening service that´s mostly sung) at St. Pancras. Named for a young boy, Pancratius--a third-century saint, the church is built in neo-classic style after the form of a Greek temple and was completed in 1822. This is the second St. Pancras; the remains of the first, built in the eleventh century, are around the corner. I had never attended a Chruch of England (C of E, for future reference) service. It is much the same as an American Episcopal service; I enjoyed the homily very much. The highlight of evensong was a beautiful rendering of "Be thou my Vision" by the choir--certainly worth the visit.

And then there´s the library. Now, I know that there are some very good libraries in the Dallas/Ft. Worth area, but the British Library was just six blocks from the hotel. I went in to register as a reader so I could order materials when I return to England in a few weeks. That was all. I had promised Dianna not to do too much looking around because we wanted to explore the exhibits together. I failed. I couldn´t help it! Right around the corner from the entrance was the first exhibit hall showing maps of London that were as old as the ninth century--AND the exhibit was due to end in two weeks--four weeks before Dianna arrives. I went in. Great stuff. But then that exhibit hall connected to another. At the very first glass case was a copy of Shakepeare´s First Folio (1623), three early printed versions of individual plays, a deed signed by Shakespeare, a hand-written manuscript of a play by Ben Jonson, and a document by King James requesting a masque from Jonson. That was it--I was hooked. I looked at the first and only original copy (9th cent) of Beowulf (Beowulf, people!), the original working copy of Seamus Heaney´s translation of Beowulf (it won the National Book Award a few years ago), illustrated copies of Chaucer´s Canterbury Tales from 1410 and 1415, and more additional illustrated manuscripts than I can relate here. These included, by the way, a collection of illustrated prayer books dating from between 1100 and 1500. And then there was the Magna Carta. Yep, in a room dedicated for that purpose alone, they had on display an original, signed and sealed copy of the 1215 version and a copy of the 1225 version that was actually enacted into law.

That´s why I get excited when I go to London. Nevertheless, when I write next, I´ll be in sunny Spain.

Flights of Fancy

Well, here I go again. I'm in London again, on my way to Spain and more Medieval times. Arriving through Victoria Station was a little surreal. I had passed that way so often in the Fall that, yesterday, it felt as though I had never left. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

After wrapping up a few things at the office Thursday, I was ushured to DFW airport by hordes of Coatses and one Powell (Elaine's boyfriend and arch-Bengals fan, Jonathan). It's always a little anticlimactic being dropped off for an international flight; no friend or family can follow you through security and you're left to sit around for two hours by yourself. I was pleased to have reserved a window seat on my British Airways flight--I know, some people find that nine hours pressed against the interior sidewall of a Boeing 777 can be confining, but I love the view. I've never quite understood the travellers who didn't want to see every bit of the trip. I always try to find local landmarks as we climb for altitude. On that clear afternoon, I saw Mountain Creek Lake, Lake Joe Pool and the TCCD Southeast Campus beyond--no kidding! I could make out Southwest Center Mall and Duncanville as we turned east. The next remarkable landmark was the Mississippi River--we passed right over Elvis's home town. By the way, I have my next FDL application. In seven years, I'll apply to float down the Big Muddy on a raft from Hannibal, MO to the Arkansas River, thus retracing the trip that Huck and Jim took. Like them, I'll probably never reach Cairo, Ill.

As was approached Virginia, the plane passed into night. I could see the lights of Norfolk and Washington DC, but more remarkable still was New York City. Outside my window on the starboard side of the plane (that's the "right" side to you lubbers) I could see the entire length of Long Island streatched out before me. Curiously, it didn't glow; the night was so clear that each little point of light seemed to burn with a singular, confined orange color. I was reminded of a pointalist painting like the works of Seurat where each individual point of paint seems meaningless, but when considered in context with the whole, a meaningful canvas emerges. I like to think it's the same with each of us. Sometimes our individual lives may seem to lack meaning, but taken from above, the whole of humanity mingles to create something approaching a work of art. Sappy stuff, I know, but liberal educators who hold out hope for the success of each of their individual students seem to cling to such saccharine optimism.

I held the view of Long Island and its millions for a long while out my window; I couldn't help but wonder what Walt Whitman would have thought (give me a break--I'm an English teacher after all!). Brother Walt would have added a few more stanzas to "Crossing Brooklyn Ferry" or another canto or two to "Song of Myself." But the plane passed on over Canada and out into the bay that leads to the St. Lawrence Seaway. We flew over islands like Nova Scotia, with small towns that spoke in the darkness with their own spidery glows of mainstreet and sidestreet. Tiny islands had little dots of house lights or warfs, and I wondered who lived there and what lives they had--were they some mute, inglorious Milton or some Cromwell guiltless of their nation's blood (now I'm just being self-indulgent--those are phrases from Thomas Gray's "Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard")?

In the emerging dawn, we arrived safe and sound at Gatwick Airport. I rode the express into London and went on to my hotel, the Tavistock, near St. Pancras. But all of that's a story for another blog. Good morning, friends of home. I'm on my way.