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Published: March 11th 2007
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If there's one thing that I love most about Spain, it's the need the Spaniards feel to take a break from their already relaxing lives. If there's a holiday on Thursday, they take Friday off, too. The calendar is sprinkled with one holiday after another, so many that I feel like I've been off work more than I've been at work.
Last week we celebrated White Week, a holiday I'm still struggling to understand. You see, all the towns in Andalucía have a local festival once a year to celebrate life according to local tradition. It's called a feria and always includes dancing, drinking, staying out all night and eating lots of local foods. And to ensure that one can take advantage of all the ferias in the region, the celebrations are spread through out the year. Some are in May, others in February, etc. But since Málaga's feria is in August, we don't get as many days off from school as other towns. Poor us. 😞 So, being Spanish, they decided to add a special holiday to the school calendar in Málaga just to balance things out: White Week. I'm told that it gets the name because a lot
of people use the time off to travel to the nearby Sierra Nevada and go skiing, but really it seems that people just pick a place and go while the airfares are cheap.
Unfortunately, only public school teachers and students benefit from this week. Since Sage works at private schools, she still had classes until Friday morning. So I played Susie homemaker all week, surprising her with elaborate lunches, taking daily trips to the market, and catching up on laundry. Although I discovered the inner domestic goddess in me rather easily, I think I'd shoot myself if I had to do it for more than a week! I slept 12 hours a night, which is downright gluttonous and did not make a very tired Sage too happy when she had to get up at 7:00. But I survived the week of mild boredom and the moment Sage finished her classes on Friday morning, we headed to the bus station and left town.
We arrived in Cordoba in good spirits, eager to explore and see the incredible Islamic architecture we'd heard so much about. It really is as beautiful as they say. After a short walk from the bus
station to the Judería (the pre-Inquisition Jewish quarter), we checked in at the Hostal Seneca and were pleased to find that our bargain accommodations included a cozy patio overflowing with greenery and sunlight.
Cordoba is a curious city. Every group that ever dominated the area has left its mark, resulting in a fascinating mix of Jewish, Muslim and Christian art and architecture. Our first afternoon we climbed the old fortress and glimpsed the Guadalquivir River that divides the city. Wandering through the lush greenery of the gardens below, we listened to the trickling fountains and admired the symmetry of the landscaping.
We spent 3 lovely, lazy days in Cordoba, doing all things we forget to do when work gets in the way. We had a 2-hour picnic in a sun-drenched park, followed by frisbee-playing in the shade of palm trees. We played cards and drank tea in a Moroccan tetería, and thanks to Sage's bad luck enjoyed a free sampling of all the pastries they had to offer (she got accidentally sprayed by a hose the owner was using to clean the patio). And we managed to try every single one of the local foods mentioned in the
guidebook. Salmorejo (a delicious version of gazpacho thickened with breadcrumbs and topped with cured ham and hard boiled eggs), tender oxtail roast, 2 varieties of sherry and some very unique falafel. My personal favorites were the blue cheese croquettes and breaded, fried eggplant drizzled with molasses. ¡Qué rico!
When Sunday finally rolled around, we had checked all but one thing off our list. We stilled needed to visit the Mezquita (once the central mosque of Cordoba, the Catholics captured it during the Inquisition and built a cathedral right in the middle of it). Down to our last euros and determined not to be gauged by high museum entrance fees, we followed the advice of the hostel owner on how to see it for free: just go to mass on Sunday! Now if I had my pick of Sunday morning activities, church wouldn't be top on my list. But if going to mass means not paying exorbitant entrance fees, then I'm game.
It was beautiful and strange. This wasn't the first time I've been inside a religious structure that was converted by a different religious group, but it was the first time that I've seen people still worship in
the building. Can you imagine if you went to a Buddhist temple, but someone had painted cherubs and Jesus all over the statue of Buddha and they were saying the Lord's Prayer? It was kind of like that.
Now, about the title of this entry. Cordoba is a striking city and one of its most prominent features are the orange trees that line the narrow, winding streets. In all our hours of wandering the city, we never saw one person pick one of the ripe fruits or even take one that had fallen on the ground. Assuming that it was a Spanish faux-paux to take fruit from public trees, we waited until no one was around...and then, quickly we ripped off a juicy-looking one and made sure no one had seen us. Exhilarated by our stolen citrus treasure, Sage eagerly tore away the rind and took a big bite, which she promptly spat on the ground and cursed.
Apparently, the orange trees of Andalucía are famous for their bitter, acidic taste. The British buy mass quantities every year to make the tart orange marmalade they so adore. I guess Spanish people are more reasonable than they might appear!
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