Pardon me sir, there's a cathedral in my mosque

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When we arrived this well dressed man standing on the street corner asked us if we were lost. We were kind of taken aback at his friendliness, and were half expecting someone to come by and swipe our bags as we chatted with him (we had only walked a few blocks away from the bus stop with our luggage in tow). When we told him what street we were searching for, he proceeded to tell us what a great neighborhood it was. He seemed genuine, and this was our introduction to the sometimes surprising friendliness of southern Spain. It really is true, however that you leave an even greater impression on people when you make an effort to learn the language. At times, people don't believe we are from the States, but they quickly remark how good Claudia's spanish is. As for me, they must think i'm slow or something, because this soon into the trip, I have yet to really engage in any conversations other than to acknowledge i understand what is being said.

The following day we went to the Alcazar, one of the most famous sites in Andalusia, if not all of Spain--Like Toledo, the U.N. has given it the same protected status that it has given to the Grand Canyon. The intricate designs on the columns and walls of the Islamic portion of the building are striking and geometrically complex. Later, the Spaniards would drive out the Muslims and decide to build a cathedral right in the center of the former palace. The Christian iconography, which I grew up with, is familiar and beautiful in its own right, but somehow still exotic when sitting inside a Muslim horseshoe archway, complete with Koranic scripture etched into the very columns themselves.

After visiting the Sephardic Museum, I get a better since of just what this part of Europe meant to the Jews as well. Under Muslim rule, and later under the early Catholics, much of what we in the States consider Jewish culture comes from here. Prior to this trip, I didn't even know Sephardi was the Jewish name for this part of Spain.

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