A friend of mine calls the Andalucian cities of Granada, Córdoba and Sevilla the “Moorish Triangle” because, after the Christian reconquest of the Iberian peninsula, Islamic culture managed to endure in these three cities longer than in other parts of Spain. Like other aspects of Spanish history, Islamic influence survives today primarily in architectural monuments, like the Alhambra in Granada, the Alcazar in Sevilla and the Great Mosque in Córdoba. What now remains from nearly seven centuries of Moorish presence in Spain exists as a kind of cultural debris afloat on a backwash of Christian religious marketing, civic self-promotion and tourist kitsch.

With the exception of some modern renovations, the Alcazar and the Alhambra remain pretty much as they were when the Muslims were expelled from Spain in 1492. The Great Mosque, or Mezquita, has a different story. Construction began in 785, and even though the city was “reconquered” by the Christians in 1236, the mosque remained for seven hundred years as it had been built by the Moors. That is, until 1523, when Christian religious and political authorities, who wanted to put their stamp on infidels by building a cathedral inside the mosque, received permission to do so from the Holy Roman Emperor Carlos V.

If constructing a cathedral on the site of a mosque or, in this case, inside of, and in the middle of,  one sounds disrespectful, it should; disrespect was the point. The mosque had been built on that site precisely because previously there had existed a church of the Visigoth Christians, who had constructed their edifice on top of an earlier Roman temple dedicated to the god Janus. What stood there before the Romans, I can’t say, but I would not be surprised to discover that under the Roman structure there had been a shrine honoring one of the gods of the ancient Iberians.

Below that, who knows?

Why many believers of the multitude of creeds that exist in this world cannot sleep peacefully in their  beds until they have eradicated  as many traces as possible of rival beliefs is a question best left for psychologists.  (Perhaps dogs pissing on bushes and trees that have been baptized previously by other dogs gives us non-psychologists a useful clue to the behavior of some pious human beings.)

In the case of the Mezquita, we should give a measure of thanks to those members of the hierarchy of the Catholic Church of the 16^th century who opposed the total destruction of the mosque. Thanks to them, at least the structure still stands in 2009. What is disheartening about its present existence however, is that it has not been allowed to exist in its own right, but rather as a kind of architectural footnote to a larger story of Christian triumph.

I quote from a brochure I and the other visitors received at the Great Mosque:

“The cathedral of Córdoba is not simply a monument or a temple of different cultures; nor is it a mosque, but the Mother Church of the Dioceses. The term “cathedral” derives from “cathedra,” or seat of a bishop, from where he acts as a pastor of all his people. That is why a cathedral is the express image of the Church of Christ that preaches, sings and adores throughout the world. Thus, the beauty of the Cathedral of Córdoba does not reside in its architectural grandeur, but   in the apostolic succession of the Bishop as a symbol of his pastoral service and the unity of the Church, founded upon the Word of the Lord, the sacraments and the community of believers.” (My italics.)

As a member of the community of unbelievers, I would have appreciated at least some recognition of the beauty of the Mezquita on its own terms. If the pastor of all of his people cannot bear to grant the Great Mosque the status of an architectural expression of a competing religious belief, is it asking so much for him to give at least some recognition that the Mezquita was, in fact, a mosque?

We all know the answer to this question.

Perhaps we should give the last word of our visit to the Mezquita to whomever carved the inscription on Doña Ynes’ tomb.  Or better, let’s leave this place with words written in 1915 by the Russian poet Marina Tsvetaeva (1892-1941):

I know the truth; forget all other truths.

No need for anyone on this earth to struggle.

Look, it is nearly evening, look, it is nearly night.

What will you say, poets, lovers, generals?

The wind is level now, the earth is wet with dew.

The storm of stars in the sky will  turn to quiet

And soon all of us will sleep under the earth,

We who never let each other sleep above it.

Yes, I know that I haven’t posted anything for the past several weeks. But who wants to read about excuses for not doing–or doing, for that matter– anything?

So even though I have a few excuses– and good ones!– for not making posts, there’s no reason for you to have to deal with them.

Therefore: here are photos of the Sierra College Madrid crew, Fall Semester, 2009. (I think there are photos of everyone, except Lillian. Why I missed her, I don’t know, but if anyone else hasn’t been included, let me know.)

I live on calle Ferrocarril on the 3^rd floor of a six-story building that is also home for many families, including a lot of children and older men and women. The view– of the rear of other apartment buildings– is hardly inspiring and the sun doesn’t shine directly on my side of the building, so when I want to see what the day is like, I actually have to walk over to the windows and look up over the roof of an adjacent apartment to see whether the sky is clear or cloudy.

But I really like this place. It’s quiet and there’s space to paint and the neighbors I’ve met are friendly. Juan, the doorman, doesn’t say much, but he’s a good source of information, and with his advice, I’ve discovered the best place to catch a taxi, an Irish pub for watching a soccer match and an excellent bakery where I now buy my daily bread. There’s a market and a farmacia directly across the street and it’s a ten-minute walk to a Metro or bus that will take me to within a block of the Instituto.

Here are some photos of mi casa Madrid. What I’d like to show you, but can’t, is the present from Victor and Cory that was waiting for me in a bag on the table when I arrived here six weeks ago, suitcase in hand, hungry, tired and worn out from the flight from San Francisco, and with no idea of what, or where, I was going to eat. The bag contained a note pad and pencil, two rolls of toilet paper, a bag of potato chips, tomato sauce, a package of spaghetti and a bottle of fine Rioja. Welcome to Madrid.

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The neighborhood in which the Instituto Internacional is located, Chamberí, is noted for its banks and upscale restaurants and bars and also for its foreign embassies. The neighborhood in which I live, Arganzuela, not far from the Atocha train station, contains its own embassies, although they are definitely not official. They are the stores, bars, restaurants and money exchanges used by immigrants from the Dominican Republic, China, Ecuador, Eastern Europe, Africa, Colombia, Turkey and Peru who share the neighborhood with the Madrileños and temporary residents like me.

I find it interesting that the majority of Madrileños are immigrants as well. They, or their parents or grandparents, came to the capital from towns and villages all over Spain in search of a job, a better life, adventure, escape or whatever, and this immigration has been going on since Philip II moved the royal court here from Toledo in the middle of the 16^th century. The cabdriver who drove me to my apartment on the day I arrived in Madrid told me that inquiring about a Madrileño’s background was often considered impolite because so many of them were not natives of the city, but arrived here from Galicia, Aragón, Extremadura, the Basque region or other parts of Spain. “The old, authentic natives are called gatos,” he told me, “and many of them no longer even bother to live in Madrid anymore. It’s too noisy and crowded and full of people who are not gatos.”

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A little over a week ago, Christine Sabin arranged a cooking class for any student who wanted to learn some of the basics of Spanish cuisine. She asked me if I wanted to attend. I was having some difficulties with PowerPoint in preparing the Spanish History and Culture class and wanted to decline, but she needed a minimum of 12 bodies to make the class go and had only 11, so I said yes. It turned out to be a good decision.

We took the Metro to the Plaza Castilla and found our way to the school, where we were welcomed by Rocío, our teacher. After giving us complimentary aprons and explaining the recipes for the appetizer, main course and desert we were about to make– Gazpacho, Paella and Buñuelos– she divided us into teams and we got to work. Monica Alleje, Brandy Palm and I were Team Gazpacho. We cut up the tomatoes, garlic, onions, peppers, cucumbers and bread for our masterpiece, added olive oil and salt and put all of it into the blender.  In order to feed 13 people we needed to make 2 batches. Meanwhile, Team Paella and Team Buñuelos were hard at work. Rocío supervised each group and, from time to time, gathered us all together to clarify some points she wanted to make about each recipe.

Within an hour-and-a-half all the food had been prepared. Cooking it was fun, and the next best thing was to get to eat it. All of it was good, and did not taste like it had been cooked by amateurs, but take it from me, the gazpacho was definitely the tastiest of all.

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A brass plaque inside the front door of the Instituto Internacional, “The American College in Madrid,” tells us that it was founded by Mrs. Alice Gordon Gulick (1847-1903) “for the Christian education of girls in Spain.” The building was constructed in 1910 and is located on calle Miguel Angel in the upscale neighborhood of Chamberí. It has been beautifully restored and renovated and now offers English classes for Spanish-speaking students, lecture series by prominent scholars, films, story-telling sessions for children and is also used by American universities like Stanford, Syracuse, Boston, USC and smaller schools like Sierra College for their Study Abroad programs.

Although green chalkboards give the classrooms a quaint, mid-20^th century appearance, the building is set up for WiFi internet access and digital projectors and Apple computers allow us to show DVD’s and use PowerPoint presentations along with our lectures. The library contains more than 70,000 volumes and more than 1,000 films. A cafeteria provides an assortment of sandwiches, tortillas españolas and soft drinks, which you can enjoy outside at the tables that have been set up in the leafy shade of a patio/garden.

More important than the building is the help and care we get from two people we have come to know and love: Victor González is the Director and Cory Smith is the Program Coordinator for the ACCENT Madrid center, which has its office on the third floor of the Instituto. According to its website, ACCENT is “an international education organization that works with over 50 American colleges and universities to provide high quality study abroad programs.”  I can’t judge the programs it administers in Florence, London, Rome or Paris, but the quality of the program here in Madrid is, from my own experience, fantastic. It’s not only that Victor and Cory  have arranged wonderful events, tours and excursions for us, that they know the answers to my questions (and according to the students, to their questions as well) and that they have been unfailingly patient and understanding with us. It’s also that they care.  When I thank them for this they shrug, ‘We’re just doing our jobs.”

Really? My feeling is that they really care about what they’re doing and they also care about us. And that makes all the difference.

I’ll post photos of them later. Meanwhile, here are a few photos of the Instituto.

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The photo at the end of the previous blog shows us (my colleagues Christine Sabin, Tricia Lord and I) posed on the side of a hill overlooking the historic city of Toledo. The Tajo (Tagus) river runs below us and marks the old geological boundaries of the city, which the Romans fortified during their 200-year war against the Celto-Iberians, centuries before the Christian Visigoths made it their capitol in the 6^th century CE in their wars against what was left of the Romans. During the Middle Ages under Muslim rule, Jewish, Christian and Muslim cultures flourished here until 1085, when Christian armies conquered the city. It then served as the seat of government for the Spanish crown until 1561, when the capitol was moved to Madrid, that is, to what was then a windblown, dusty, parched and arid village in the middle of nowhere.

Both cities have since expanded almost immeasurably, as a result of Spanish reluctance to control land development. But Toledo has managed to maintain a large part of its old charm, at least in its willingness to preserve its architectural and artistic treasures. How to do this under the pressure of waves of tourists must be, to say the least, a challenge.

The students responded to the city with enthusiasm and curiosity, even when having difficulty understanding the accent of Almudena, our tour guide. She steered us through the cathedral (where we weren’t allowed to take photos) and then to the Church of Santo Tomé to see El Greco’s masterpiece, the Burial of the Count of Orgaz, (where, because of the crush of tourists, we weren’t able to take photos) and then to the relative calm of the Synagogue of Santa Maria La Blanca (where we could take photos, but I forgot to.)

Wandering through the streets of Toledo, I found it difficult to ignore the memories of previous visits to the city. What I remembered was how few tourists there had been in those days. The church of Santo Tomé had contained a half-dozen pews on which you could sit at your leisure and contemplate how El Greco had solved the problem of graphically communicating to the faithful how the soul of the count had left his body and passed into the realm of the blessed heavens. Today viewers like us pass through the little church in waves, one wave after another, like herds of penguins, with tour guides shouting in German, Spanish and French, to be heard over the Italian, English and Japanese cries of the other guides. Today the cathedral, the Synagogue and Santo Tomé all charge admission to see the holy treasures. An official at the cathedral told me that taking photographs was prohibited because the cathedral was a “holy place,” and presumably, taking photos reduced it to merely a tourist attraction. Doesn’t charging an admission fee automatically make it a tourist attraction? I wondered.

I doubt that any of these thoughts occurred to the students, and that’s just as well. We all experience the world in our different ways. Perhaps when they return to Toledo in the future they’ll remember streets and churches with less tourists. But then they themselves will still be tourists and part of the crowd, just as we all are now.