How does the architecture in Andalucía tell its story?
Soon after the nearly 30-hour journey from Singapore to Cordoba was over, I was welcomed to Spain with a numbingly cold night. As jet-lagged as I was, the air was fresh, and the newness of the place breathed life into me. Our hotel was a few hundred meters away, but the driver deliberately stopped short so as to not disrupt the tranquillity of this historically significant place. I was in Andalucía.
I was in Andalucía with about 10 other students to study the history of the place from different points of view. For a place as picturesque as Southern Spain, I chose to study its architecture with the goal of understanding the history behind the buildings- why they are the way they are.
Throughout this trip, I visited significant architectural sites in Cordoba and Granada to see how they represent the story of Andalucía: the rise and fall of what was, then, the world’s most successful empire. The first place on the list was Alcazar de Los Reyes Cristianos or The Castle of The Christian Monarchs. Flags of Spain, Cordoba, Andalucía and the EU greeted us at the entrance. As I walked through the hallways of the Alcazar, I learned a bit more about the place, one glance at a time.
Evident in the decisions surrounding this building’s architecture was the Christian Reconquest, or Reconquista- a theme that I was going to see throughout Andalucía. Thanks to its strategic position near the river Guadalquivir, this used to be a Muslim stronghold in its heyday: a fortress. And when the Moorish empire finally fell, so did the walls of the Alcazar. The Christian king who captured the city in 1236, King Fernando III, chose to build his royal residence on top of it. In addition, this building was built to challenge the Muslim architecture that had preceded it. Muslim architecture during the Moorish Reign was head and shoulders above anything else in the world. It was during the "Golden Era of Islam"- a period that saw significant advances in science and architecture. So merely a tactical victory was insufficient; they also had to win the intellectual and symbolic war. And what better way to do so than to turn a strategic stronghold of an empire into your own palace? An abode? Certainly. Humble? Not perhaps.
Alcázar de los Reyes Cristianos
I was on my way to the terrace after what was a seemingly endless set of spiralling stairs. This vantage point lent me a view that led to a rather ironic observation. The architecture was clearly Christian, and yet the Palm trees that complement it, both inside and out, were distinctly Arab. Before I had completed a second thought, my panoramic glance was interrupted by the second of the three towers of the Alcazar. Called the "Tower of the Inquisition", this was the tower at which those found guilty- of being believers of any faith other than Christianity- in the Inquisition met their fate. And suddenly the image of the place had taken a different dimension. It was a concise, yet powerful insight into the Moorish empire and the Reconquista. The tragic demise of an empire within its own walls, and the aftermath of the reconquest filled with a symbolic tug-of-war.
The Spiral stayers up the Tower of Inquisition.
Beautiful Catholic art inside La Mesquita
The fact that the Minbar, the place where the Imam or leader of the prayer delivers the sermon was oh so close to Catholic portraits was a small detail; yet it was one that was as symbolic as anything else considering portraiture is one of the grave sins in Islam. As with any place of worship in Islam, La Mesquita was built facing the Qibla, or towards Mecca. When the Christians conquered the city, the mosque wasn’t destroyed, rather the church was built on top of it- yet another symbolic victory, but one that is ironic at the same time. In fact, as I later found out, many of the Churches in the region are facing Mecca because they were built on top of mosques. I eventually took a seat in the chapel to absorb my experiences. The sensory overload had dissipated but only just.
Golden Arches of La Mesquita
​​Minaret is another one of the distinct elements of a mosque. It’s a thin, tall structure where Imams deliver the call to prayer, also known as Azan. The tall nature of it distinguishes it from the rest of the landscape and signifies a prominent Muslim presence in an area from far away. While I was waiting outside to have my pass issued to enter the mosque, I looked for the Minaret. Unable to find it, my gaze fell on another soaring tower: La Torre Campanario or The Bell Tower. All it had in common with a Minaret was its height. It was clearly not a Minaret. Turns out, this tower, clearly of Christian architecture, was built on top of the Minaret. The minaret was hidden under layers of bricks, just like the empire it represented.
La Torre Campanario
The official title of the structure is Mesquita-Catedral de Cordoba or the Mosque-Cathedral of Cordoba. Yet, as one of my professors pointed out, it has always been referred to La Mesquita, or simply, "The Mosque" in Spain.
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What she saw that day was different from what she had seen a few years ago. La Mesquita was seemingly lost in translation.
Delicate balance between preservation and repair.
Of course, most of it was history running its course. But some of it, as I soon found out, were things that had been done in the last few years. Some of them were installed recently. The simple skepticism that the things you are marveling at as relics may not be that historical was a rather troubling one. La Mesquita was once the symbol of religious tolerance. But, as I said, the efforts to tamper with its history were all too apparent. This Aljazeera article I found after returning to Singapore seems to echo my thoughts. I couldn’t help but feel that even though conquest was over, the war of symbolism continues to this day. Those who have walked through those walls bear witness to that claim.
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Our final, architecturally significant, visit was to the iconic Alhambra. The boundaries of the structure extend as far as the eye can see. For the first time in Spain, the horizon was cut off by some very tall trees as if to immerse you in the experience of the Alhambra. I walked through site after site learning about the tough balancing act of renovating a place such as this while trying to keep it as original as possible. I sat down on one of the many benches stretching the length of the Alhambra, my feet as tired as my eyes. I sat as hundreds of people walked through its majestic walkways. The place was incredibly beautiful, and as a result, the urgency to take as many photos as they could was quite understandable.
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Yet, what I noticed is how lost their eyes were in trying to decide what to capture and what not to. I, too, had given up.
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On more than one occasion, I found myself not only forgetting to take photos but choosing not to do so. The camera strapped on my neck was all but a spectator for most of the trip. After all, no picture will ever do justice to the Alhambra, or any of the sites I visited, frankly. I continued my walk a bit later, and as I made my way to the end of the Alhambra, I couldn’t help but notice the skyline developing behind. Alhambra was clearly an Arabic name, and the insides were clearly works of Muslim architecture; yet, when you look at it from afar, the skyline of the Alhambra is defined with a Christian Cross.
The walk through the Alhambra ends
All the sites that I had visited had some combination of these elements: a Muslim architectural core, upon which the Christian empire was built. The result was sometimes jarring, as in the case of La Mesquita. But often, it’s simply fascinating. After all, history has its own stubborn way of telling its stories no matter what you do. Sometimes, it resists changes by the trees that grow beside a building, sometimes it does so simply by a colloquial name.
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In Granada, we visited. The Great Mosque of Granada. I learned about the early phases of this mosque’s planning and how it was funded by the likes of Gaddafi and Erdogan. Our guide, who was also part of the building process, told us about how they had to make sure that the Minaret wasn’t taller than the nearby churches to get it approved. But he also talked about the other side of this complicated community. The community that, despite its differences, has held tight, almost as tight as its narrow cobblestone streets. A few years ago, during one of the off-hours of the mosque, some radicals were at the gate wanting to vandalize this mosque. But locals stopped them, locals, who felt this was part of the region’s heritage. I got a similar feeling when I visited a Jewish Museum called Casa de Sefarad near the Alcazar. The museum aimed at upholding the Jewish history in Andalucía- yet another aspect that seems to be buried beneath the Reconquista. Neither the staff, nor the founder of this museum were Jewish. We asked Alex, our tour guide, why they were doing this.
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“Paying a debt, a historical debt.”
Just as I am at the edge of the road, I see a sign saying, “ZONA ACUSTICA SATURADA DERECHO A DESCANSAR NO MAS LICENCIAS.” The people living here do not want any more business licenses to be given in this region. And there was the tragic reality of these historical, touristy places: they are also home to people like you and me. Suddenly the decision to stop the bus was significant in more ways than one. Hoping that those signs weren’t meant for me, I walked on.
Next up on the list was La Mesquita. Also known as the Grand Mosque of Cordoba, this mosque represents the history of this region like no other structure. It was initially built as a Church only to be overtaken by the Muslims during the Moorish reign. It was expanded under their ownership and was reclaimed by the Christians once again when the Muslims were dethroned. It has since been referred to as the Cathedral-Mosque of Cordoba owing to its ambivalent ownership, although it is generally called simply La Mesquita. La Mesquita epitomizes La Reconquista, as its changing ownership corresponded with each empire perfectly. I was especially excited about visiting La Mesquita, not only for its historical significance but also for its aesthetic appeal. Places of worship are typically the height of excellence when it comes to architecture, and this was no different. I even went through a few pictures on Google to prepare myself for the experience. I encourage you to do the same. Else, you are likely to be overwhelmed during your visit. Among the pictures I found were the iconic golden arches and a seemingly endless array of pillars holding the edifice together. I also saw a few beautiful glass paintings in the sections that divided the mosque and cathedral (for a period followers of both faiths could pray here).
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Despite the early googling, however, when I finally stepped into the mosque, I couldn’t help but feel unprepared. The duality of the architecture was the first thing I noticed as my eyes looked to make sense of the place. The things I saw on the internet were all there. And individually, each of those elements was a sight to behold. But, put together, they just felt odd, out of place. The ceilings were tall- something that is typical of mosques- but their enormity was interrupted by the low-hanging chandeliers with crosses. The Arabic inscriptions on the walls were there but they were being shone upon by glass paintings that are distinctly Christian. The golden arches giving the impression of an endless path were there, as I had seen on the internet, but they were right next to Catholic art.