Farewell España

  

  Why travel? To see what’s over the next hill. To see how they do things over there. It becomes an obsession until the traveler either dies or learns to stay home. 

  We wanted to find out what the thousand year old pilgrimage along the northern plains of Spain was all about. Why would people walk 500 miles for a month, sleeping in dormitories, eating rough food all for the reward of a scallop shell? 

  We would learn why they did it by going to Spain, not that we were going to walk with the pilgrims. Their way sounded grim. But we could go to Santiago where the walk ended and maybe do a few days of walking ourselves. 

  We talked to pilgrims in Santiago who had completed the route. They couldn’t put into words what the walk had meant to them but they did have a joyous glow about them. 

  We had found a hike along the Atlantic coast sixty miles west of Santiago. We saw practically no other hikers during our four days in this remote region called Galicia. We were on more of a tourist route though we saw very few tourists. We did see farmers driving their tractors out onto the mudflats of the deep bays at low tide to collect seaweed for their fields. We saw men nearby digging shellfish. Along the sandy beaches we saw Germans bobbing like seals in the water waiting for a good wave, their camper vans parked along dead end roads.  

  Our hike was a combination of beautiful views and anxiety that we might be on the wrong path.  Now there's something to meditate about.  We experienced language isolation because the local people didn't speak English and we didn't know their language. We couldn't get upset about it because we were in their country. Press two for English. Whenever we came across Dutch hikers or someone from the UK we had a nice chat.  We only met a handful of Americans in the month we were in Spain.

  After the hike we had no good reason to stay in Spain other than to see the church of the Sagrada Familia, that fantasy in stone by the architect Gaudi.  Sagrada Familia is supposed to be a church and it is a church. The cornerstone was laid in 1882, but the first mass was not said there until 2010 and the place  is still not done. What is going on? To be fair, it took 182 years to build Norte Dame in Paris. On the third hand, the much larger St. Peter's in Rome only took 126 years. 

  Sagrada Familia is in Barcelona on the Mediterranean, 700 miles east of Santiago. Cheap airfares save a lot of time, but getting to the airport and through security adds a lot of trepidation. Barcelona is a beautiful place if viewed through the lenses of the carefree traveler. We were warned off a certain area where the homeless lived. Could it be any worse than in our Portland?

  We could have gone home after Barcelona but then we would have missed the Alhambra, the fabulous Islamic fortress and palace outside Granada in the south. So we hopped on a flight to the south. Once we got set up in our hilltop lodging surrounded by groves of olive trees, we discovered the Alhambra was fully booked till after our flight home. Oh well, we didn't really want to see the Alhambra anyway.  We'd go to Córdoba instead and see the combination mosque and cathedral there.

  We had acquired a rental car by this time.  The roads in Spain are as good as at home and they drive on the right side of the road. But driving in the ancient towns is nerve wracking, so we took a ninety minute bus ride to Córdoba.  It was a twenty-five minute walk to the mosque from the bus station. That gave us an excuse to stop at a cafe for pastry.

  The Grand Mosque of Córdoba was gigantic. Córdoba had been the capital of Muslim Spain and North Africa. Its mosque was the second largest after Baghdad. We entered through the entrance to the mosque or former mosque. When the Christian's took over Córdoba in 1236, they converted the mosque into a church.  They covered over the Koranic texts and installed altars and statues, but left the basic structure of the mosque alone.  

  But no one ever lets well enough alone. In 1523 the bishop of Córdoba wanted to build a gothic cathedral in the middle of the mosque.  The city council said no way. The bishop appealed to the king who said way. After the cathedral was built the king was invited to mass there. He's reputed to have said, "Ouch."

  After our time in the south we had four days left over so we spent them in Madrid. This post was supposed to be a wrap. Perhaps I'll treat Spain to a Minnesota goodby.

Church meets mosque. Church sits on mosque.