I Am Learning Some History: The Moors in Spain, and the Wealth of the Church

We began this week with one more day in Portugal, visiting Evora and staying in Elvas. Evora had one of the few churches with a statue of a pregnant Mary. The town also has the ruins of a Roman temple, reputed to be dedicated to Diana, but really built for one of the Caesars. We were sad to leave Portugal, where people were so nice, and where I was particularly affected by the human scale of the agriculture -- every house with a garden, animals grazing among the olive trees, everything on a small scale, food growing present everywhere.

We moved on to Cordoba, where a mosque built in the 10th century was later co-opted by the Catholic church after the Moors were driven out of Spain. The basic structure of the mosque, or Mezquita, still remains in the hundreds of pillars and double arches present throughout the structure. The sanctuary of the church is a small converted space in the middle of the Mezquita, looking somewhat crude and heavy-handed after the elegance of the arches. The Mihrab is still present, but it is the arches that are the most striking evocation of simplicity and purity.

From Cordoba, we went to Granada to visit the Alhambra. When we arrived at our hotel, we found out that there are a limited number of tickets sold each day so we might not be able to get in. We walked the long path up the hill to the site, and found out that, “No problema,” we could get tickets. Our visit began with the Nazrid Palaces, with the most beautiful sculpted plaster walls and intricate wood ceilings. One Arabic phrase repeated over and over, translated as “There is no victor but Allah.” There was water, the foundation of life, present all through the Alhambra in the form of pools, streams, and fountains. Farther up the hill was the summer palace with gardens still dormant, but the coolness of the running water throughout the levels of the site gave a hint of the refuge it would be from the summer’s heat.

We made a stop in Toledo, where more than ten years ago our children had staged a sit down strike, refusing to enter one more cathedral. We had more time to look around at the stunning wealth of art, gold, silver and historical treasures stored in this church. Really, it seemed more like a museum than a church, but it had many paintings by El Greco, Titian and others, and three of the most marvelous smiling Madonnas. Unfortunately, we were not allowed to take photographs, but we did take a few before we found out.

From Toledo, we went on to Monserrat Monastery, where a black Madonna dating back to the 12th century is housed. There are legends surrounding the founding of the monastery and the origin and discovery of the statue, but all I can say is that she has real presence. She’s housed in a glass case, but her hand, holding the globe of the universe, is exposed to touch or kiss. The church was obviously alive and well used by people of faith, and had melded centuries of art into a coherent whole, from the oldest statues to a very unusual 1990s painting of the Pieta.

We had a white knuckle ride over the Pyrenees to France, with hairpin turns every half kilometer or so. Deane kept his cool, and kept the car on the road, even with the distraction of the standard transmission and the stunning snow-covered high peaks around us. We drove and drove and finally arrived at Rennes-le-Chateau, where a local priest came into a mysterious fortune, causing a century of speculation about what he found in the old church there. All of Deane’s Da Vinci Code goosebumps were tingly as the little museum kept things suspenseful through innuendo and questions. The two souvenir shops, devoted to New Age paraphernalia and angels, testified to the compelling nature of the mystery. I was impressed by the devil at the entrance to the church -- what did this priest find his way into?

Today we arrived in Avignon, where the Popes resided for about sixty years. This site was…how can I say it?… kind of boring, stripped of nearly everything that had made it a grand place of ceremony and power. For me. Deane, on the other hand, ever ready to delve into history, found himself wondering about power and money and how that connects, if it does, with spirituality.

Food in the past week was sometimes challenging -- Spain is on an entirely different schedule of meals, with the dinner hour starting at 8 or 9 pm. We did have a couple of excellent sandwiches with the dry cured Spanish ham -- something like prosciutto, with a deeper, pungent and more aged flavor, but we never seemed to fit in with the meal schedule or find good markets. I was feeling a little protein and fresh produce deprived. But on our way to the Pyrenees, we happened on a small farmer’s market with a truck selling rotisserie chickens and potatoes. The chickens were rubbed on the inside with a mixture of herbs including rosemary and some hot pepper. They were basted with olive oil, and the potatoes cooked in the drippings. We ate the chicken and potatoes as a picnic on the hood of the car with the Pyrenees in the background, and it was by far the best meal of the week. We also picked up some local olives, which are the best I’ve ever tasted -- green, but smooth and mellow and extremely flavorful. So the food saga ended very happily this week!

Best for last -- best loaf of bread we've had, perfect crust and sesame seeds -- It didn't even make it to the car before Deane ate half the "tail" of this fish.