The Alcazar

The Alcazar

Wow, wow, wow. I didn't expect the Alcazar (The Palace of the Christian Monarchs) to be so spectacular. The splendour of Cordoba takes my breath away more and more each day. Who would think that anything could be better than the Metzquita? Nothing can, but it can be equalled. Oh, I don't know, the Alcazar is magnificent.
Four Euros to get in, including a leaflet. A snitch. First, up on the walls and the views of the gardens and the other way to some beautiful buildings. And the blue sky. It is a beautiful day. And once again, as it's February, very few people around so that it is so easy to take photos without being jostled and getting every stranger from whichever country in the frame. Pure shots of the stone and walls and palm trees and sky. Magic. More later...

Closed Doors

Churches and Palaces and Synagogues

Yesterday's top right hand photo was "For Sale." Fab. And I forgot to say that the Mezquitta courtyard closes at five thirty, or it did yesterday, Wednesday, may be their version of half day closing I suppose, anyway, one of the guards chucked me out as I was writing my notes. I went without kicking up a fuss.

So. Thursday. My list, The Church of St. Peter. It is the oldest church here and my father is called Peter, so must see that for him. The Alcazar (Palace of the Christian Monarchs) - I don't know why many places seem to have two names here, maybe it's because first, the Moors owned things, then the Catholics took it back again and of course there is the fact that the Romans were here first...mmm..that's three.

And then the old synagogue - it's the only one left in Cordoba after the Jews were chucked out (wonder if it was done as politely as my eviction from the mosque yesterday) and it's the smallest synagogue to boot. I don't know what's happened to my language today.
And the Bull Fight museum, just to check if it really is closed. I've heard it is, for renovation.

And the rain has gone, it's fine and windy today.

So, St. Peter's. Off towards the Mezquitta, then veering left up past the dance school up the hill to the main shopping square with the man on the horse, straight across and down the hill past the old roman ruins and left along the road to St. Peter's. Was it open? I think this has been the biggest disappointment on the church front. The front gates were locked and the doors the church firmly shut. It is crumbling and ancient. I strolled around the corner to see if there were any other entrances and what did I see? A shop called 'Estevez!' It was a man's shop, selling ties, scarves, hats and all things male. So heartening to see. I'm feeling at home more and more each day here. People here say 'Hola' they chat, they are helpful and kind and friendly.
I now walk without hesitation when meeting someone coming the other way. I step up onto the narrow pavement to let the car come down the narrow streets and I stride out onto the zebra crossings when I want to cross the road as this is the only way to halt the traffic.
I'm so glad it's sunny today. There's a breeze and it can be cold, but so warm in the full sun. Feel relaxed.
So, St. Peter's is closed, going to find the Alcazar. Pronounced Al-ca-tha. Short 'a' always.
Back to Mosque Square and onwards.

Art gallery, Place de la Correda

Cordoba Art Galleries

Umbrella up, strolling past more closed churches, beautiful, but closed to the Protestant, went stone, tiled saints in search of the Museums of Fine-arts and Julio Romero de Torres Museum. Do look him up and look at his paintings of tragically sad but stunningly beautiful and erotic images of the Andalucian woman. She is of another time, another place to a girl from Yorkshire, but she pulls you in.

Now the museum. Places are on the map here, they look easy to find, but they seem to lose themselves in the maze of streets. Eventually arrived, crossing a major road which I did not expect and the museums were not there. They should have been. I strolled towards another ancient, decaying church and there was the sign. "The Museums of Fine-arts and Julio Romero de Torres Museum." At the bottom of the square, more work going on, the fountain, wetter in the rain, a small, gift filled shop opposite.
I went in. The museum shop was closed, the man at the entrance kiosk let me in. No cost. I entered the inner square, bushes and trees perfectly clipped. Dark green in the rain. First, on the right, was the Julio Romero house and gallery. A guard sat with his eyes closed, listening to his i-pod. A room to the right looked like the artist's living room. The paintings upstairs were of twenties Spain and its men and women. I studied their dresses for Tessa's family in Jerez in Leaving Coty. Long straight dresses, three quarter length sleeves, belts, hair in low buns, low heels, the heat of the sun on their skin.
Simple with sheened stockings captured in paint.

And names. Rafael, Horacio, Manuel, Joaquin, Flex and Cristobal.
And the women, Concepcio, Maria, Rosarill, Ysolina, Benedicion, Rafaela, Nine, Eva, Amalia, Mari Liuz, Ines.

And one other couple.

Across the courtyard is the other art gallery. I put my umbrella in the compartments in the entrance. Guards strolling, talking.

Lots of religious work, but the most stunning are the sculptures. Fabulous. I loved that the galleries are so small, little houses housing art.

Then up to the Place de la Correda to see if there was a market. No, just a vast open space that will hold markets and events and used to be the bull ring. People live in the apartments looking down onto the square. This was unexpected in its size and the colour, green and red. It felt like communist Spain, it felt edgy, dodgy, not pretty, but passionate with an edge of danger. In sunshine it would be transformed with food and voices and music. But not today. Today it was raining.

I wanted to find a church open today. Not even the local St. Basil's would let me in. I'm thinking of writing a letter about this problem.

The Archeology Museum

Wednesday's Assortment

I love that the days are turning out so differently from each other. Gentle, fine rain today. The streets are empty. Meandered down the now familiar route to the main square of the mosque, then up out of the top right hand corner towards the Archeology Museum. The orange tree filled square was deserted. I showed my passport and went in to look at the roman busts and freizes, urns and implements. A woman that obviously worked there strode past and then back again with the receptionist. She was talking loudly and gesturing. She sounded angry and then she hit the receptionist on the back, continuing to talk and the receptionist responeded with what sounded like, "I know, I know." And they disappeared across the courtyard where a group of black dressed guards stood talking and sheltering from the rain.
The courtyard, like all the courtyards was bordered by a covered walkway and I strolled around, the only visitor looking at more busts and freizes and urns and implements. With my brolly up, I wandered into the courtyard and down into the next the had at its centre a green pool.
Upstairs more urns and rooms and a curious guard, probably bored, making his presence felt so that I didn't pinch one of the artifacts, because of course it had crossed my mind if I could possibly get any of the stoneware out unchallenged...
And then one guard as I strolled into another ground floor courtyard pointed out the shelves of stone urns that were used to hold roman ashes. I'd never have guessed otherwise. Then he asked if I was married... and if I had children... and it was gently teasing and unthreatening and part of being in the drizzle in a deserted roman museum.
Adios to the green and stone and beautiful place that was more like a roman villa than a museum.

The Square

Fino and olives

This is my table in the square of the Archeology museum. It was late afternoon and I could see a school party inside the entrance to the museum and as it was late, I thought I'd return tomorrow. It's one euro fifty to get in, but free to members of the European Union, so take your passport. It's worth doing that anyway to all the museums in case.
I'm feeling more at home here by the hour as I get to know the way around the winding streets and speak a little more spanish all the time. Confidence in that is growing.
I've been wondering what opportunites are like for young spaniards here, but have seen a dance school and a college for arts and a youth scheme, and of course there's music and all the usual opportunities, many ride scooters and english is compulsary in schools and some have private lessons. Over the following days I see evidence of this.
And the spaniards here, body wise, fairly short in general, strong, good sized bums, many are attractive, some, like everywhere, look as though life is tough too.
Feel relaxed with my fino and dish of olives. The sun is dappling the buildings. It is warm. The people in the bar were great and after I'd ordered at the bar, brought my goodies outside to one of the little tables. Birds are flying around, the trees are full of oranges, a man is sitting on the steps as his son runs around.
The road leading to this square is 'Horno del Cristo. I'm writing in my diary, keep looking up at the glowing light and shadows. Loving it. Going to leave soon, but don't want to, hoping the barman will come and bring me another glass, maybe order a tapas, but the television and conversation inside must be too good to leave and I'm too lazy to go back in and this is lovely and enough anyway. Slow wander back. A woman tries to give me a sprig of rosemary, but I say I'm not cooking, she takes my palm, but I don't want it read, she asks for a cigarette, but I don't smoke so have none.
Wander back the way I came that morning, satisfied with day, looking forward to the next.

Evening

The River Guadalquivir

Vastly stretching cold milky coffee of a river, wide between the two sides of the city that the Romans first entered. Every time a road is dug up, or a pavement or the authorities want to set up a market place or a new building, then they find roman remains that they have to excavate and exhibit. So cranes and builders and old and tourists combine.
On a sunny, breezy February day, two London tourists, seeing me alone, took my photo. I took photos of the swirling, wide river and the cranes and old town. A good day.
And a man, born in a village near Cordoba came with his family to the city when he was still young. They told him he was too shy, he should talk to people, be a man. So he went, aged 19, to Madrid to make something of himself. He came home after a month and they said, "Why have you come back? You will never make it in this world, you are too puny, too scared, go back to Madird and show you are a man."
He didn't go back to Madrid because he didn't want to. Instead, he travelled the world to prove he was a man. In Australia, he tried out for a football team, because he was a good, fast player, but the english coach chose someone else. He married, had a daughter and travelled again, ending up in Reno, America. He travelled down the coast playing flamenco guitar. He married, had a son and left when it fell apart. He came back, working for the navy, to Cordoba. And he'd spent the morning playing flamenco with friends and was going to the cinema that evening. He was called Angel.

The Roman Bridge seems to be a place that people stroll from the far side of the river and back, in groups, talking so loudly you think they are arguing. And the river, fawn, beige, flowing vast and wide.

Cordoba, The Metzquita and River Guadalquivir

I walked this way on the way into the old town of Cordoba every day. Through an archway by the cafe El Olivo, past the restaurant, La Meson de Luna, across a courtyard, straight across a cross roads, I say crossroads, more the crossing of paths and veering out to the right into the square where the magnificent mosque, the Metzquita towers. Little shops, restaurants, cafes, courtyards, line the square and inside, walking through the massive gateways into the sun filled inner square filled with trees and paths, a fountain for drinking, and the site of the mineret rising into the cloud filled blue was breathtaking. I strolled around for ages, men in blue gardening, guards strolling too. It was Eight euros to go inside the mosque. Now this is what really made the week: the personal moments. The buildings, atmosphere, everything I saw, were stunning, but the human moments made me smile.
There were two spanish women entering the mosque in front of me. The guard, with a little machine snipped the corner off her very attractive ticket. She looked at it, looked at him and, and this is amazing, I could tell what she and he were both saying, but she said, summarised, "I wanted to keep that and you've wrecked it!"
I was handing him my very attractive ticket as she was scolding him, and I pulled it back from his fingertips, he pulled it back, and I pulled it back. We were smiling, I add. His machine was poised. It was down on the ticket, he was clicking... and then he released it and handed it back to me. Ticket intact. Gracias.

Inside. Wow, wow, wow. So quiet. I definitely recommend going to Cordoba in February. Wrap up, but definitely fantastic. No crowds so you can gaze and walk and enjoy and take as long, long, long as you want. I spent hours in the Mezquita. No signs saying not to take photos, so took loads. It's amazing. Around the outer walls are little chapels to different saints. Very ornate, paintings and gold and oozing catholicism. And then the arches of the mosque stretching into the darkness. And in the centre, the towering catholic cathedral with it's gold on gold, painted ceilings, chandeliers sparkling, dark ornately carved choir stalls polished to shine, the alter and candles. Pretty and majestic and vast. I sat for a long time.
I didn't want to leave either the cathedral or the mosque, but eventually I left the chilly dimness and went out into the sunshine.

Cordoba, Spain

TRAVEL DEFINITELY KINDLES FIRES WITHIN US.

I was in Spain from the 8th to the 14th of February. I went in search of history, atmosphere, people, my family and to learn and push myself. And it was superb, surprising and life enhancing. Superb in everything I saw and did and experienced. Surprising in that I am determined now to learn spanish and feel I can do it, I really liked the people and I'd heard the spanish had turned off the english, and that Cordoba and Jerez, the places I visited were so, so breath taking, for different reasons which I shall go in to later. There will have to be many entries on Spain.
People:
People in Cordoba are on a mission when they are walking. They do not get out of your way and they don't expect you to take all day to get out of theirs. I learned this quickly and could soon side step and move on. You must not hesitate, that is the key and don't be precious about personal space. It's not meant as an affront, it's just the way you walk. And old don't expect young to move and vice versa. Only some, if blocking the pavement.
Rumanian gypsy women with their children outside the supermarkets and tourist sites, giving away rosemary in the main square and keen to read your palm and ask for a cigarette. A roadsweeper smoking a fat cigar. Dogs with jackets on.

I can see this is going to be all out of order, but after this introduction, I will try and go day, by day.

I arrived in Malaga. Easy taxi ride from the airport to the train station. It cost Sixteen euros. (Eighteen on the way back) There's loads of building and construction work going on. The shopping centre here is fantastic. Very tempting. The train platform is shiny clean. And you cannot get on the wrong train because every platform (Via) has a seperate check through. There's not long once you're through, get on the train and it's off. You are given a seat when you book your ticket. Incidentally, when you go to the booking office at the station, take a ticket from the machine and this will give you your number in line. When it comes up, go to the desk. Like at a supermarket deli. (21 euros to Cordoba one way.)

It took an hour and a bit to get to Cordoba. A beautiful, majestic city. Cranes, buildings, apartments, difficulty parking, quiet at night, surrounded by rolling hills which now are green and will be sandy grey in the summer. From the train saw olives bushes, remote farms, a harsh near, nearing Cordoba, more vines, less barren and lusher, more affluent.
Sandy stone, terracotta roof tiles, washing hanging on roof tops, small balconies, plants, a chair, orange tree lined streets, cobbles, narrow passages, trees emerging from between buildings, breaking the sky line, cranes next to ancient buildings, palms and deciduous trees and conifers. A massive river. No crime. Higgledy piggledy rooftops, all shapes and sizes. Morocco.

Colder than usual here. Definitely not Manchester.

The Front Line

I seem to be saying 'thank you' a lot at the moment. Maybe it's a sign of where I am, grateful for what I've had, what I have and what I may no longer have.
And talking to a friend about music and moments for certain songs and what they mean to us. And that made me think of The Front Line.
Side 1.
The Mighty Diamonds - Right Time
U-Roy - Natty Rebel
Johnny Clarke - Declaration of Rights
I-Roy - Don't Touch I Man Locks
The Gladiators - Looks Is Deceiving

Side 2.
Delroy Washington - Freedom Fighters
U-Roy - The Great Psalms
Keith Hudson - Civilisation
The Gladiator - Know Yourself Mankind
The Mighty Diamonds - Africa

I have had this record - LP for a long time. I copied the cover and had it on my wall at university. It made me feel strong. It made me feel like a fighter.

I would never have seen this cover or heard this album if it had not been for Matthew Duffield. I often wonder what he is doing now, what bands he has discovered, what music he has introduced to people. If he has the cast of his face, or was it hands that was on his parents' mantlepiece? He was so cool. He would go down to London and come back with music the rest of us had never heard of. And if you liked it, he would buy it for you on his next trip. I asked him to get The Front Line for me. And he did. It added to my life, the way I thought, the feelings I had, the images I appreciated more and more that stood for things, spoke to people. Do I love the cover more than the music? Probably. Made me see the power of visuals. I need to replay the music. Make the effort to lift the lid on the turntable.

And on the other end of the scale, thank you to Jez Wade for my bright yellow LP of Elton John's A Yellow Brick Road which I love because he gave it to me. I don't have that cover on my wall. It doesn't make me see the world differently. It doesn't smack me in the face the way The Front Line does. But it is part of my life.
Makes me think of all the senses and their power.

Juba Do Leao and Christian Aid - RNCM

We had a rehearsal yesterday with Juba do Leao. We have performed in many venues, from Festivals, Platt Fields, Picadilly Gardens, Oldham streets, clubs, The Attic, private parties, The Contact Theatre and now the Royal Northern College of Music. This is the first where we're working out the details of the exits and entrances, changes of costume in full detail. It's exciting. This band is unique in the way the drums, melodies and dance are created. They connect so that sound and visuals come together rather than occuring as separate unities. It makes your heart soar because it is so strong and vibrant and uplifting. Both performers and the audience feel it. And as in all the best shows, the one lifts the other.
Taking it one step further, for this show, it is to support Christian Aid, who help where help is needed around the world, this connection is magnified. The connection between the drummers, melody band and dancers connects the audience and both connect with the work of Christian Aid. It's joyful. Triple whammy.