The Most Spanish Weekend I've Ever Had

Watching the flamenco dancers stomp their way through Andalusian guitars and vocals, I thought about how strange it was that coming from a virtually unknown Midwest suburb, I was in Córdoba, a city--albeit small--known for its rich, Muslim history and important place in Spanish history. I smiled to myself as I sipped my vino blanco*; it was the first time that I actually felt like I was really in Spain.

Getting off the AVE train, Spain's high-speed rail service, I wondered if Córdoba would be similar to Granada, considering their location in Spain, proximity to each other, and joint place in history. The small narrow streets, of which I will never tire, seemed brighter, fresher, and less crowded than the brown-tinted streets of Granada. The old, Arab architecture also seemed more prominent; every house had an open, arched doorway, inviting glimpses into the darling patios adorned with tiles, plants, and fountains. The shop-lined streets had a labyrinthian quality, leading certain lost travelers from plaza to plaza.

Considering this was a group trip, the first stop after we dropped of our suitcases in the charming Hotel Selu was La Casa Sefardi, the Sephardic museum. There, sitting in a lovely, breezy patio, we listened to a very brief lecture on the history of the Sephardic Jews and their role in medieval Spain. Afterwards, we toured the rooms of the house, which were stone cellars with old artifacts on display, such as ceramics and musical instruments. It was interesting, but I was more intrigued by the tour guide's Andalusian accent, which very prominently omitted the /s/ and skimmed gracefully over the /d/. Yes. Linguistics.

Following La Casa Sefardi, we were allotted several hours of free time to eat lunch and explore. I ate my salmon, lettuce, and tomato sandwich and ciruela** on the steps of the mosque, which is as grandiose in Córdoba as the cathedral is in Granada. Eating lunch, I observed a familiar sight: the gypsies. Fortunately, none of them tried to force rosemary on me this time. Following lunch, I purchased ice cream in my two favorite Spanish flavors: turrón*** and green apple. An aimless walk around the mosque and its surrounding area lead me and my friends into the Museum of Torture, where the man who worked there offered me and Beth jobs because we were guapas**** and spoke English. Thank you, but I aspire to a more exciting career, whatever it may be. The Museum of Torture was eerie, disturbing, and had me thinking of Monty Python's Spanish Inquisition sketch the entire time, especially when I saw the rack.

Upon reuniting with the rest of the group, we went inside the old synagogue, which turned out to be one room. However, it had very impressive decorations: stucco etchings, carvings, arches, etc. I took several pictures and walked out, considering there was little to do in the empty, and relatively small, interior.

Walking through the streets of the judería,***** we made our way back to the mosque, which is amazing and a stunning example of the art human beings are capable of creating. The interior is filled with columns and brick arches with distinct white and maroon stripes. The sheer amount of the columns and arches is unbelievable and creates a gorgeous effect. However, the most impressive part of the mosque is the church built inside of it. The church is ornate and done in the dramatic Baroque style. It's a full on church. Inside a mosque. Why is there a church in the middle of a mosque, you ask? After the Christians defeated the Muslims in 1492, they converted all the Muslim structures for Christian use. The minaret of the mosque was turned into a bell tower, a typical example of how the Christians utilized Muslim works. I think I may have liked this mosque more than the Alhambra.

That evening, a group of us had dinner at 101 Tapas, which had a large selection of cheap, delicious tapas. Without realizing, I ordered the most stereotypical Spanish dishes: olives, patatas bravas,******croquettes with goat cheese, apple pastry, and, of course, sangría! ¡Olé!

Post-dinner, we attended tablao flamenco, which is flamenco performed in a bar-like atmosphere, drinks included. The white wine I consumed was good, but the flamenco performance was even better. The dancers exuded so much passion while dancing, it was difficult not to share in their emotions, even as an audience member. I was in awe at the precise--and super fast--footwork and graceful, exotic wrist movement and castanet clacking. The guitarists and vocalists themselves were very talented and jubilant, which made the performance even more enjoyable because it was evident that these musicians love what they do. Watching, with a stomach full of olives and sangría, I thought about how happy, and lucky, I was to be in Spain.

*white wine

**plum

***nougat

****good looking

*****historical Jewish district

******potatoes with spicy tomato sauce

P.S.-I realize that I described only one day, which doesn't really make up a weekend. Ok, fine. The following day we visited two more museums and I ate more tapas (mushroom croquettes, this time). Trust me, the first day was much more exciting.