Andalusian dreams

Two Middle Eastern tourists looked excited as they held up a phone to an exquisitely carved arabesque in Nasrid Palace at the Alhambra. No, they're not taking photos. They're comparing the Arabic text on their screen with the 8th century stone calligraphy. I hear them mumble in Arabic -- here's the translation:

"I am a crown on the front of my door, in me is the West envious of the East."

Trailing a few steps behind, I approach them. "Excuse me, is that a Koranic verse?"

"No," the two men turn and reply, "it's a poem." Then, they point to an inscription nearby on the first panel. "This one, this is from the Koran." Again, they recite it, this time specifically to me -- "wala ghabila illa Allah -- there is no victor except Allah".

Look around and you will see that same verse inscribed hundreds of times, over and over, horizontally and vertically, either as principle motif or camouflaged within geometric patterns or eight-pointed Hispanic-Islamic stars. "There is no victor except Allah" was the maxim of the Nasrids, the last Islamic Emirate that ruled Granada from the 13th century until their surrender to Queen Isabella and King Ferdinand on the melancholic morning of Jan 2, 1492, bringing 700 years of Muslim rule in Iberia to an end.

Was that sentence a war cry? A religious pep-talk? A preachy slap on infidels? That question weighed on me as I ambled around the glorious Alhambra compound on a crisp, bright January morning and imagined the last sunset of the Moors in the 15th century (my imagination had been gestating for over 20 years since I'd read Salman Rushdie's The Moor's Last Sigh, a West-meet-East novel set in the heat of Mumbai and the countryside of Andalusia). Through courtyards of faultless symmetry, by rectangular ponds whose surface is clearer than a Spanish queen's vanity mirror, and under marble arches that form an eloquent maze of interior wonder, I kept mumbling the motto, trying to figure out its underlying, perhaps secular meaning chiselled on the palace walls.

The Cathedral of Seville, a Gothic church converted from a medieval mosque, with a majestic, iconic four-shafted bell tower dating back to the 12th century.

It was a time of conflict in the post-Crusade Iberian Peninsula. The Christian Reconquista campaign was in full swing. Granada was the last Muslim stronghold in Europe. Certainly, "there is no victor except Allah" was a rousing battle cry. Unless it wasn't. "Wala ghabila illa Allah" was the solemn phrase that the Nasrid sultans repeatedly etched on the wall of their own house, in places where they would be reminded of its gravity at every waking moment, so it can be construed as self-reproach, an alarm bell of conscience, a warning against arrogance. Taking the liberty of a 21st century translator, I opt to make its message universal: there is no greatness without faith, there is no success without principle. Win or lose, conquest or capitulation, kings and queens must aspire for something nobler to which they look up.

In early January, I travelled through Andalusia, or what was once known as Al-Andalus, mainly to look at mudejar art -- a unique fusion of Moorish and Christian architecture. This took me from Seville to Córdoba and Granada, hopping on and off the impressively efficient Renfe train. I stayed in a nice yet affordable hotel at each stop. It is a popular route. But instead of using Seville or Córdoba as a base and making day trips to the other two cities, I made sure to spend at least two whole days in each of them, three if possible, because apart from historical sites, all three cities also have vibrant, modern corners worth exploring.

Spring is an ideal time to visit the south of Spain. Summer, I had been warned, is to be avoided, not just because of the crowd but primarily because of the heat, which can beat down even sun-hardened Thais (hotels have no air-con!). And winter? I was happy to report, surprisingly, that we had the best time. The sun came up at 8.30am but once it was out, sunshine was plenty. The sky was electric blue, so cobalt-bright that it almost made me tear up, and chilly mornings almost always warmed up to 10C afternoons.

In Seville, the giralda of the Cathedral of Seville presided over the city teeming with New Year holidaymakers. Like a number of structures in Andalusia, it is a splendid palimpsest of faith and aesthetic history -- a Gothic church converted from a medieval mosque, a belfry on top of a four-shafted tower, Catholic sculptures in conversation with horseshoe-pattern engravings. Even to an amateur enthusiast like myself, the first look of the cathedral's tower immediately brought back the image of Koutoubia Mosque's minaret in Marrakesh, except that the Spanish one is in brick-beige colour rather than the signature Moroccan red-brown.

On every wall and in every brick, visitors were tempted to peel off the layers of successive centuries, of conquests and defeats, of caliphs and kings. At the Royal Alcazar of Seville, built a thousand years ago as a citadel of the Moors and later modified into a palace by Spanish monarchs, Islamic archways led us into a Catholic chapel where King Pedro I of Castille in the 14th century once received his guests under the gilded, carved and elaborately mosaicked dome of the Hall of the Ambassadors. Vast, Gothic hallways open up to courtyards with indolent fountains and a profusion of orange trees amongst which peacocks roamed. A comparison with Moroccan palaces in Marrakesh and Fez is unavoidable. To my eyes, the beauty of Moorish art in Morocco is set in the present -- it's living, pulsating, its bricks still exhaling heat -- while the mudejar art in Spain holds a seductive allure because something there was already gone. It's a relic from the past, stone-cold in the warm Andalusian sunshine.

In Córdoba, I suggest you look up one of the lovely small hotels in the Old City, preferably in the Jewish quarter with its maze of narrow streets traversed by horse-drawn carriages (for tourists, sure) and occasional taxis (side mirrors folded). Our hotel, Llave de la Juderia, is set in three old connecting houses decorated with authentic Sephardic-style furniture and overlooking the picturesque Calle Romero, just five minutes from one of Andalusia's most famous sites, the Mosque-Cathedral of Cordoba.

As every guidebook will tell you, in the 10th century, Córdoba was the second largest city in Europe, a bustling centre of science and arts. It was also a vibrant, multicultural place, with Muslim craftsmen, Jewish traders and Christian monks coexisting in the town bordering the Guadalquivir River. Today, tourists voluntarily get lost in the walled labyrinth of this medina, probably popping into Cordoba Synagogue, dating back to 1315, and checking out numerous tapas bars and cafes before heading to the main attraction.

The Court of the Myrtles, one of the most elegant courtyards in Nasrid Palace at the Alhambra complex.

What else could I say that hasn't already been said? The Mosque-Cathedral of Córdoba is simply a wonder. Again, the juxtaposition of spiritual signifiers, the palimpsest of religious devotion that gave the city its soul over the millennium, is stunning and melancholic. First built in 785 and subsequently expanded over the following centuries, the mosque's elegant, red-and-white, seemingly endless rows of two-tiered horseshoe arches render a deep perspective that reminds one of eternity. In the 13th century, it was converted into a cathedral, though a major expansion took place a few centuries later when a majestic Renaissance nave was added to the complex. Spare at least 90 minutes to wander through stone columns and under hollowed dome, brush past Christian tombs set under Islamic archways and ponder the sombre iconography of Jesus and the saints. There is really no religious edifice like this anywhere in the world.

From Córdoba, it's a two-hour train ride to Granada. A visit to the Alhambra complex -- the Nasrid Palace, the gardens and buildings of Generalife, the ancient walls of the medina where Sultan Boabdil in 1492 watched the Spanish conquerors enter his city -- is of course the main item in every traveller's itinerary.

But make sure to set aside another day to get lost in the Albaicin district (I suggest staying in one of the hotels or Airbnbs in this area); this is the medieval Moorish quarter with winding narrow streets hugging the hill opposite the Alhambra. Climb your way up, past white-walled houses churches and cafes, to Mirador de San Nicolas for the sunset view, then spend your last evening at one of the restaurants around the lively Plaza de Bib-Rambla.

We came shouting Hola Andalusia! We left with the inevitable adios, but Spain has already beckoned us to come back for more.

A view of the Alhambra fortress from Generalife, the summer palace of the Nasrid sultans.

Travel Info

From Thailand, there are plenty of flights to Madrid and Barcelona. Once in Spain, the Renfe rail network is fast and efficient, and it's easy to reserve tickets online in advance. From Madrid, it's a 3.5-hour train ride to Granada. From Barcelona, it's a five-hour ride to Seville. Between Seville, Córdoba and Granada, train journeys take one to two hours. Taxis within each city are cheap and safe. Of course, renting a car gives you more freedom and is a great way to travel around Andalusia.
In Granada, choose a hotel in the Albayzin, or the Arab Quarter, from which you can walk to the gate of the Alhambra. Or you can find accommodation around the Granada Cathedral, which is less touristy and has a more contemporary feel. In Córdoba, there are plenty of affordable quality hotels in the old town (a seven-minute taxi ride from the train station). In Seville, the biggest city among the three, the choice of accommodation is dizzying, and you can choose the level of comfort and luxury according to your budget.
My own trip started in Barcelona, then on to Seville, Córdoba, Granada and finally Madrid.

Plaza Espana in Seville, built in 1928 for the Ibero-American Exposition, is now one of the most popular tourist spots in the city.

The arabesque windows overlooking a garden in Nasrid Palace.

The Mosque-Cathedral of Córdoba, first built by the Umayyad Emirate in 756, before being converted and expanded into a cathedral after the Christian Reconquista in the 12th century.

A palimpsest of faith and centuries, the Mosque-Cathedral displays both Islamic and Christian elements throughout its vast, seemingly endless chamber.