Dispatch #32 Carmona, Seville and Ronda, Spain

Dispatch # 32 Carmona, Seville, and Ronda Spain March-April, 2005 “Majestic Paradors, Grand Cathedrals and a Barrio Black Hole” Carmona was a picturesque Andalusian town that sat atop a hill surrounded in each direction by fertile emerald valleys. The walled fortress city could be seen for miles as we approached from the valley below. The afternoon sun illuminated its tan hilltop fortifications, crowned by an elegant, reddish baroque-style cathedral tower. The remainder of the city spilled over the side of the hilltop like a white tablecloth checkered by the terra cotta roofs of the surrounding buildings. We entered the town through an imposing grand, horseshoe shaped gateway and then continued up the narrow, winding streets to our hotel, the Parador de Carmona. The Parador where we stayed was once a part of the city’s main fortress, or Alcazar, but was converted in the 16th century into a splendid residence by Pedro I, also known as Pedro the Cruel and Pedro the Just (apparently the name changed depending on who you were talking to). The Parador was a majestic building that rose hundreds of feet above the neighboring fields and orchards. The panorama from the balcony of the Parador of the rural countryside was magnificent. The interior of the building was equally as impressive. There was a splendid courtyard, fountains, and towering stone corridors richly accented with archways, ceilings and moldings of rich cherry wood. Having arrived late in the afternoon, we took some time to set up camp before dinner. The ritual of packing and unpacking can grow rather tiresome on a trip such as ours. We have experimented with a variety of strategies. For a long while we tried living out of our suitcases, periodically pulling out items when needed. The problem was that inevitably, the things that we needed were somewhere at the bottom of the case, so the remaining contents ended up being spilled all about and we had to spend an inordinate amount of time picking up after ourselves. So, we have adopted a ritual of unpacking our clothes at each stop and then each person finds somewhere in the room to pile their belongings. Since drawers are usually quite limited, there are typically small piles of belongings set about the room. Although we have had some longer stays, our typical stop is for three to five days, so there is rarely any sense of permanency involved. The wonders we encounter each day never cease to amaze and delight us, but the constant movement and the related packing, loading, unloading and unpacking does tend to wear us down at times. When we planned our journey, we had to decide how much we wanted to see. Inescapably, we found that we couldn’t leave a country without seeing certain places, so we voluntarily chose to be on the move more often than not. It will be interesting to see how this nomadic lifestyle will affect our children. Frankie seems to be the most affected by our perpetual motion; he has his worst days when we are in transit, which is to say quite often. He has seemingly made sense of this constant movement in his own unique way. When we are packing up to move to another location, he will say “Time to go Poppy, this house is all dirty in the mud” Perhaps we should disabuse him of this misconception, but we don’t know that a more complicated explanation would prove helpful. It will be interesting to see how long we are home before he decides the place is plenty dirty and is ready to move on. One lesson we have learned during this trip is just how little we really need to get by. Our finite luggage supply has dictated that we have only a few selected toys, bare bones accessories, clothing and supplies. Also, since we are often unable to do laundry for weeks at a time, we all have become accustomed to wearing the same clothes over and over. Anyone who has perused our photo album will note that we seem to be wearing the same outfits in each location. I am not sure what affect this will have when we return. We may adopt a simpler, less material lifestyle, or go the other way and become uber-consumers, reveling in all of the supply and choices of goods back home. We enjoyed a traditional Spanish dinner in the Parador’s elegant dining hall. The surroundings were certainly fit for a king, just or cruel, as the case may be. Because of Frankie’s variable behavior in formal dining situations, we often opt for take away. In fact, after learning how to say “Hello,” “Please,” “Thank you,” “Goodbye,” and “Where is the bathroom?” the next indispensable words and phrases that we seek to learn in each country are “Sorry!” and “We will take that food to go.” So, when we do go out for dinner, the girls get very excited. It is fun to watch them “get their freak on,” dressing up (as much as they can given their limited clothing options), putting on make-up and generally making the preparation for dinner as much fun as the dinner itself. Carmen loves to get her extreme makeovers from her older sisters and they have a lot of fun doing it. We had just sent a box home from Spain, but had missed Bella’s flamenco dress in the packing, so Bella wore her long, frilly, red and white flamenco dress, much to the dismay of her sisters who would have liked to wear theirs as well. Frankie is usually the easiest to get dressed; since he refuses to wear shoes, socks or long pants, we need only find one of his “piratie” outfits, preferably the one with the fewest stains. Elizabeth wore her only black dress, the one she wears each time we go out, and she looks gorgeous in it every time. Proving that if you look good in one outfit, who needs more? We had a traditional Spanish dinner, meat, cheese, bread, and vegetables. Madeline continued to delight Frankie and Carmen with her dining table art work, drawing scenes of each of them with the paper and crayons that we have found to be an essential part of any dining out experience. Bella was fawned over by the wait staff and passersby, each complimenting her on her beautiful dress. After dinner, we paused on the castle balcony to gaze at the moonlit countryside below. The moon hovered gently over the darkened silhouette of the Andulucian hilltops like a giant lantern. “Papa, I like living in a castle” Carmen said as she squeezed my hand with her little fingers. The next morning we rose early and set off to explore enchanting Seville. After completing the half hour’s drive from Carmona, we began our exploration of Seville with an unplanned detour through Seville’s medieval Jewish quarter, the Barrio de Santa Cruz. Guidebooks suggest that it is “a tangle of quaint narrow, winding streets.” That is true, except that they were not so “quaint” when we found ourselves hopelessly lost in those streets. As with most stories, you probably had to be there, but imagine all of sudden finding yourself in a maze of streets that are, without exaggeration, no more than a foot wider than your van (after retracting the mirrors) and you cannot find your way out. That was the position we found ourselves in after taking one simple wrong turn off of the main boulevard. As we sought an exit from our predicament we found our situation getting worse and worse with each turn. Each turn in the street was nearly ninety degrees in angle and we had to jimmy the van back and forth to make the bend. The Barrio “Black Hole” seemed to be drawing us further and further into its center. With each turn, the streets appeared to get slightly narrower. It was maddening and just when we were ready to abandon the vehicle (although we are not sure how we would have done that since we couldn’t open our doors!); fate intervened and delivered us from the labyrinth. Like a halfback running to daylight between towering linemen, I bolted for a bright spot between to buildings, passing within inches of two houses, I accelerated under the overhanging laundry, jumped a curb and finished with my best “Starsky and Hutch” fishtail before coming to rest in the right lane of a legitimate roadway. We shared our tale to some people that we met later in the day and they told us that tourists often will get trapped in the Barrio, driving until they find their vehicle literally stuck between the walls of the buildings that line the narrow streets. Badly in need of a road map, we pressed on toward the spires of the colossal Cathedral of Sevilla that loomed in the distance. Having lost sight of the Cathedral, we drove around hopelessly lost until we had had enough. We grabbed the next parking opportunity and decided to set off on foot. Completely by happenstance, we had found a parking spot right in the neighborhood where we wanted to be. Imagine our surprise and delight when we stopped at a local café for directions and discovered that we were a few minutes walk from our destination. Elizabeth and I, took this occasion to sit in the morning sunshine under a vine covered trellis, sip a caffe con leche and allow our blood pressures to return to normal. In route to the Cathedral of Sevilla, we happened upon a playground adjacent to the Alcazar Gardens and next to the towering monument to Cristobol Colon (Christopher Columbus). The kids enjoyed this respite from our historical explorations and they played for well over an hour while Elizabeth and I struck up casual conversations with some of the other parents standing along the perimeter. Afterwards we strolled along the tree-lined streets to another park situated along the Puerta de Jerez, but more importantly for our bread and cheese satiated offspring, across the street from McDonalds! The kids gobbled down the tastes of home and played in the warm sunshine. It is a credit to McDonalds that no matter where you are in the world, the food tastes exactly the same as it does back home in the United States. After lunch we proceeded up the grand Avenida de Constitucion to the steps of the spectacular Cathedral of Sevilla. The enormous cathedral was erected on the site of the original Almohad mosque and the main tower of the mosque, the stunning La Giralda (circa 1184 AD), still stands along side the Cathedral. After falling to the Christians in the 13th century, the mosque was converted into a Christian church, but early in the 15th century, the church fathers set upon an ambitious plan to build an awe inspiring monument to their faith. They vowed “Let us create such a building that future generations will take us for lunatics.” One thing is for sure, they certainly constructed themselves one very big church. The majority of the work was done between 1434 and 1517 in a dramatic gothic style of architecture. Additions were added over the succeeding 250 years in renaissance and baroque styles. The sheer size of the grandiose Cathedral and its series of spectacular vaulted ceilings, rising 120 feet from the church floor, was overwhelming for sure. Standing and gazing at the ceiling twelve stories overhead, colorfully lit by the plethora of large circular and tabular shaped stain glass windows, we could begin to imagine the wonder the medieval worshippers must have felt when they entered the Cathedral, the ceilings seemingly reaching into the heavens. We were distracted from the visual drama overhead by the flurry of interior adornments. All along the outer edges of the Cathedral were gated chapels holding tombs, monuments, works of art and sculptures. In the center of the Cathedral were golden gilded rooms and a towering and majestic golden altar. The gothic altar was over sixty feet tall, contained hundreds of carved biblical figures and an enormous crucified Christ figure that hovered at the top of the altar several stories above the pews. One of the highlights of the tour was visiting the tomb of Christopher Columbus. A portion of his remains are stored in an iron casket which is held aloft by four giant sepulcher bearers, each representing one of the four kingdoms of Spain as they existed at the time of the legendary mariner’s historic voyage, Castile (carrying Granada on the point of his spear), Leon, Aragon and Navarra. Another focal point was the thirty four-story climb up a circular ramp to the top of La Giralda. La Giralda is one of the most recognized symbols of Seville. Constructed by the Moors in the late twelfth century. Centuries ago, on special occasions, the King and other important leaders would ride their horses up the steep ramps to the top of tower to ring the giant bells. Unfortunately, we couldn’t locate any horses so we made the trip by foot. At first the kids all showed surprising stamina, but it was not long before Biz and I were carrying Carmen and Frankie up the incline. The views of Seville from the top of the tower were wonderful. We paused for a long while taking in the panoramic view of the city, as well as admiring the gargoyles lining the exterior of the tower, the orange trees in the courtyards below and the pinnacles of the adjacent Cathedral and the spires of the Alcazar in the distance. The real excitement came when it was time to descend the ramps. The kids started running, Frankie and Carmen always teetering on the edge of losing their balance. Of course around about every other blind turn, they would narrowly miss running into one of many tourist making their deliberate ascent. It was another one of those moments where I chose not to make it a battle, thinking that they would learn their lesson as soon as one of them made contact with another person or the wall. Remarkably, they were able to serpentine their way down the ramps and past the oncoming tourist without an accident. Lagging behind the kids a few ramps at all times, I listened for the telltale sounds of a mishap, but only heard a series of squeals, laughs and a lot of “Lo Siento’s” (“I’m Sorry”). I did however; have to listen to the complaints of these understandably surprised and disapproving pedestrians as they passed by me moments later. Both Biz and I did our best to avoid appearing to be the parents of those unruly children, feigning casual conversation and avoiding eye contact. After a long afternoon exploring the Cathedral and La Giralda, we walked around the enchanting neighborhood, stopping for ice cream, lattes and trinkets. We finished the day with a visit to the Plaza de Toros, Seville’s handsome and historic bullring. Then we passed along the banks of the Rio Guadalquivir in search of a flamenco joint that had come highly recommended for its authenticity, called “El Arenal, Tablao Flamenco.” We found El Arenal, Tablao Flamenco on a secluded back alley, but unfortunately it was sold out for the evening, so we made reservations for the following night and, at the recommendation of the host, walked deeper into the neighborhood to dine at a restaurant that is a favorite among the locals, “Mesones del Serranito.” It is always fun to watch the people’s reactions when our boisterous crew enters the scene. The restaurant was half full, a group of locals, all north of sixty, quietly eating and drinking in the dimly lit restaurant beneath dozens of huge stuffed bull’s heads that lined the beige colored stucco walls. Needless to say, we added a brief shot of adrenaline to the atmosphere, but it worked out fine, we enjoyed a delicious dinner, the locals put up with our noise and activity and we put up with their plumes of cigarette smoke. Our exit from Seville was far less traumatic than our entrance and we arrived back at our fortress Parador around midnight. We were exhausted, but delighted to have been able to introduce the kids to Sevilla, one of our favorite cities in Spain. Prior to the 11th century, Seville played second fiddle within the Muslim kingdoms to Granada and Cordoba. After the fall of Cordoba and Toledo to the Christian forces, the Moors, and specifically the Almohads from Northern Africa, made Seville the provincial capital of the Almohad realm, building a grand mosque where the cathedral now stands and later adding the Giralda tower which still exists today. By the middle of 13th century, Christian forces under Castilian King Fernando III captured Seville. By the 14th century, Seville had become one of the most important Castilian cities in the realm. The monarch that loved Seville more than any other was Pedro I, who presided over a combination of Christian, Muslim and Jewish religions and cultures. The “Catholic Monarchs,” Ferdinand and Isabelle set up court in the Alcazar in Seville for several years as they pursued the conquest of the Emirate of Granada, who possessed the last Muslim stronghold on the Iberian Peninsula. Seville’s “golden age” was ushered in with the discovery by Columbus of the new world. The city was given an official monopoly on Spanish trade with the newly founded continent. Within a few decades of the original discovery, galleons were disgorging their cargos of gold and silver at El Arenal, a sandy river bank port where the Plaza de Toros de la Real Maestranza now stands, and Seville was rapidly becoming one of the largest and richest cities in all of Europe. Lavish renaissance and baroque buildings sprung up in this gateway to the Indies and many of the writers, sculptures and painters of Seville’s “Siglo de Oro” did the bulk of their work here during the 16th century, artists like, Francisco de Zurbarian, Diego Rodriguez de Silva y Velazquez, and Bartolome Esteban Murillo. A plague in 1649 killed over one half of the entire population of Seville and as the 17th century wore on, the city lost its monopoly on trade with the new world and Seville slowly faded from center stage. We spent our last day discovering the treasures of Carmona. It was a quaint town, steeped in history, full of webs of small streets and alleyways, each leading to and opening into pleasant public plazas lined with shops and restaurants. We had lunch under the midday sun at a street side café and watched a group of local school kids, in full battle regalia, reenact a siege on the castle walls. We strolled through Carmona’s impressive Puerta de Sevilla, its ancient main gate leading to the old town section of the city and gazed at the lofty bell tower of the Iglesia de San Pedro which looked very familiar having been modeled after Seville’s La Giralda. That evening we returned to Seville, successfully by- passing the Barrio de Santa Cruz, and attended a wonderfully performed traditional flamenco show at El Arenal. The kids, and especially Bella were captivated and soon were participating at tableside along with the performers on stage during what turned out to be a colorful, highly energetic and entertaining flamenco show. From Carmona we traveled to Ronda, a beautiful city perched over the spectacular three hundred-foot El Tajo Gorge. It was also a charming, hilltop, white-washed town, full of delightful stucco buildings with decorative tile work and narrow, winding, cobblestone streets. I apologize if you feel like you have read this description before, seemingly trapped in an Iberian version of Bill Murray’s “Ground Hog’s Day, but the description fits most of the towns we have visited in the region and I am not a skilled enough wordsmith to conjure up different ways to describe the same sight. Despite the deluge of tour buses that roared into town each day, Ronda retained its pleasant, laid-back atmosphere and the character of an ancient Muslim fortress city. We stayed at the Parador de Ronda, a majestic and imposing tan brick structure situated on the very edge of the gorge. From our balcony we had excellent views of the famous Puente Nuevo Bridge, which spanned the gorge as well as the vast countryside that lay below. We have gotten very adept at making due with one room and two beds. Getting a good night’s sleep can be challenging for the adults, but we always seem to get by and, of course, save some money along the way. Some of our accommodations have, for a variety of reasons, required us to get two rooms, but many of them have been fine with us renting just one room. Whenever possible, we have booked ourselves into hotels that have “family suites” affording us the much needed additional room and bed surfaces, but that has not always been an option during our travels. These cramped quarters work fine for our family, but they do tend to result in a nightly exercise we like to call “musical beds.” One sunny afternoon we hiked to the base of the El Tajo Gorge and climbed around the ancient ruins of the outer fortifications of Ronda built during the Roman occupation (some archways still bore Roman inscriptions), occasionally, turning back toward the city above to soak in dramatic views of the Puento Neuvo Bridge and Ronda itself. As was expected, the kid’s zeal exhibited while climbing down the steep stone pathways was lost by the time we started our ascent. Elizabeth and I took turns carrying Carmen and Frankie up the hill while at the same time beating the drum like an ancient taskmaster exhorting Maddie and Bella to continue their momentum up the hill. Ronda was the capital of a small Berber “Taifa” (regional kingdom). After the collapse of the Cordoba Caliphate in the mid 11th century, Ronda came under Sevillan rule but regained a large measure of independence after Seville’s fall to Christian forces in the mid 13th century. Despite its impregnable location, the forces of Ferdinand “the Catholic” marched into Ronda unopposed in 1485 because Ronda’s leaders and their military had left the city in order to help defend Malaga, fooled into thinking that Malaga was about to come under Christian attack. Once the Christian forces had occupied the city, the returning Ronda military forces found out just how unassailable they had made their city. Much has been written about Ronda over the Centuries, and modern writers such as Ernest Hemingway were captivated by its charm. It is the self-proclaimed origin of modern bullfighting, and is home to two of the most famous bullfighting families in all of Spain, the Romero’s and the Ordonez’s. Actor-director, Orson Welles, was so enamored with Ronda and its bullfighting that he had his ashes buried here on the estate of his close friend and legendary matador, Antonio Ordonez. During the 18th century, three generations of Ronda’s Romero family enshrined forever the majority of the basic techniques of modern day bullfighting on foot. Previously, the sport had been conducted on horseback as a sporting cavalry training for the nobility. Francisco Romero evolved the ballet like use of the cape to attract the bull, and the use of the “muleta” (sword) to perform the kill. His son, Juan, introduced the bullfighter’s supporting team (the “cuadrilla”) and his grandson, Pedro, perfected the elegant and classical style of moves known as the “Escuela Rondena” (or the Ronda School of bullfighting). During Pedro Romero’s career, he reportedly killed over 5,500 bulls without suffering a scratch and the illustrious painter, Goya, in his famous painting of the fabled matador, forever memorialized his exploits. To this day, Ronda’s largest annual festival, held in September, is a commemoration of Pedro’s birth date. Located in the center of town was the neo-classical monument to this historic Spanish blood sport, the Plaza el Toros de Ronda, Real Maestranza de Cabelleria de Ronda (try printing that venue on a tee shirt!). The façade of the bullring appeared to us as it has to visitors for hundreds of years, baroque and renaissance architectural features, double arched galleries supported by Tuscan columns and covered by a white, Moorish style tile roof. Its design was patterned after the famous Palacio de Carlos V, a structure we had recently seen on the grounds of the Alhambra in Granada. We spent the afternoon exploring the bullring and visiting the museum located beneath the galleries. The Museo Taurino was crammed full of memorabilia, such as photos, paintings, and bull fighting costumes, swords and capes. During the 1940’s and 1950’s, the iconic Antonio Ordonez became the most celebrated matador in Spain. In commemoration of the 200th anniversary of the birth of Pedro Romero in 1954, at Ronda, Ordonez reintroduced and, thereafter, institutionalized the use of the beautiful, elaborate costumes once worn in the time of Romero and Goya, known as the “Corridas Goyescas.“ The kids had a great time taking turns playing the roles of bull and matador, one charging across the dirt ring, bent over, fingers held tight to the sides of their heads, while the other awaited the moment of truth, pulling back their coat/cape just in time to avoid a collision with their hurtling sibling. As I leaned against one of the horn-marred barriers, soaking up the sun and watching the children play their imaginary games, I realized with a certain degree of satisfaction just how far the kids had come from the pleasures of a modern playground in Chicago. Other Random Memories. The views from our Parador were spectacular. I especially enjoyed the early morning panorama when a foggy mist hung over the rural landscape, cocooned around all but the tops of the distant hills. The only drawback to the Parador was the neighboring farm. Located just across the walls from the fortress, the farm provided us with a seemingly unending assortment of animal noises. It was warm in Carmona and so we tried to sleep with the windows open, but inevitably we had to shut them to mute the sounds of the barking dogs and braying livestock that rose to our tower above. Each morning, we were greeted with the crowing of a group of very early rising roosters. Both Madeline and Isabella have been quite impressive in their use of Spanish. As might be expected, Maddie has a deeper store of knowledge, but she is hesitant to make use of it. Bella, on the other hand, is intrepid in her willingness to try to communicate. She thoroughly enjoys going into stores and approaching counters on her own and attempting to order an item or ask a question. Roaming around Carmona and Seville, we have been greeted by the fragrant smells of flowering bushes and trees. We love to sit in the public squares, taking in the sights and sounds of the neighborhoods. I especially enjoyed watching the groups of cardigan clad older gentlemen who congregated each day in a corner of the plaza and alternated between quietly watching people pass and telling animated stories with exaggerated hand gestures and raised voices. There is something uniquely European and, perhaps more specifically, Spanish, about walking up a quiet, steep, constricted, cobblestone street and passing a group of nuns walking arm-in-arm together. Carmen has been particularly sweet and matronly to her younger brother. She will sit next to him at dinner, periodically patting him gently on the back, occasionally leaning over and wiping his mouth with her napkin. Although he is generally intolerant of others being in his space, especially anyone trying to wipe his face, he makes special exception for the attentions of “his Carmen.” Neither Elizabeth nor I have ever been a fan of olives or dates, but we have tried them in Spain and found them to be absolutely delicious. While we were in Ronda, we took advantage of our proximity to an excellent Italian restaurant, “Da Vinci” and enjoyed a well-deserved break from typical bread, ham and cheese fare. Also while in Ronda, we joined the rest of the world in monitoring the last hours of Pope John Paul II’s life. Carmen is a little sponge, she absorbs everything she hears, especially phrases from some of the “teen” movies her older sisters periodically watch on our portable DVD player. Carmen added another instant classic when she emerged from the bathroom and remarked, “Bella, can you tell that I am wearing big girl underwear? Because I totally am!“ Our diminutive five year old never ceases to amaze us with the things that come out of her mouth. We have been getting a chuckle out of several op/ed pieces in the local paper expressing concern about the increasing use of English in Andalucian tourist towns, catering to the tourism trade. The authors suggested that this trend threatened the Spanish heritage and culture and called for assimilation of all visitors and foreign nationals. “If they want to visit or live here, let them learn our language!“ one author exclaimed. Coming from the United States, and being accustomed to our constant concern about political correctness, we found great irony in the sentiments expressed in the paper. Despite his independent nature, Frankie has a great deal of admiration for his older sisters. Whenever they get a costume or a frilly headpiece, he wants one too. Some day he may not appreciate all of the pictures that we have of him playing dress up around the world, but I will just have to explain that he was a metrosexual trapped in a pirate’s body. NEXT DISPATCH. BARCELONA, SPAIN We look forward to keeping in touch with you. If you have a moment, please send us your comments by emailing us at ourworldtrip@aol.com.