Seville to Cordoba, and autumn begins.

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Camas was our two day base for seeing Sevilla and regrouping somewhat, after some one nighters to get there. Trundling along the one way cobbled streets, to find an exit onto something resembling a smooth surface, has become easier with

time, and especially once you know there is no contra-flow pedalling here (we’ve been warned when done inadvertently, by a local)



On our first morning, I discovered a fully paved green cycle way all the way to about 10km west of Camas, which starts with a 2km ascent and gave some wide if hazy views of the Sevilla region. I’m guessing some of the industry could have been adding to it.



Italica, in Santiponce, was a Roman ruins site we visited very briefly in 2019 on our way to Jerez de la Frontera, and happened to be a 5km pedal from Camas. Lining up with the minimal fee of €1.50, we were waved in, as in Merida for the past weekend, today was “libre”. We’d missed the mosaics last time, only seeing the impressive Amfiteatro, and with the benefit of time, spent a good few hours soaking up the age of the place. The old panadería could not unfortunately sell any treats, but was well preserved, as were the various tile mosaics depicting birds and other life scenes with feature themes.



Passing back towards Sevilla, easily navigated entirely by bike path, we headed for the Parque de Maria Luisa (viewing from the outside, as unexpectedly and possibly related to tree fall damage, it was closed), the Alcazar, and the Cathedral with a capital C, if not caps lock. It is massive and impressive. Over a few decades ago, when I was travelling on a shoestring, much of this was scooted over, around, and not entered. Today, we scooted over it a little less, and did not enter, but for the addition of digital photography. The time we had, and tourist masses, were against us, and our tolerance for hustle and bustle came to an end about 6pm, when we returned home for that extra hour of sleep that goes with daylight saving ending.



Meaning, the sun rise would be earlier. HOORAH.



Leaving Sevilla, we took the same paths crossing two rivers, to then track northwards along the river and its wides avenues, entirely by green path. The numbers of cyclists in that section I saw was definitely over the 50 persons mark, adding to the 100 I saw that morning on a short circuit to Valencina de la Concepcion. It is a national sport, and almost everyone gives you a (occasionally hearty) wave.



One last stop at Panaderia Pepe for supplies (on this generally shop-less and sacred Sunday), and we’d finally exited the city. An hour later. P2 had been eternally trying to avoid busy or narrow-shoulder roads, although this route did take a little deviation. There were no queues at this panaderia, and, because of the ongoing saga of availability and etiquette around public conveniences, I can confirm it had a toilet!



Moving swiftly north to north east with a good tail wind, we passed to the east of Brenes, and around a few closed and high gated urbanizaciones (which I’ve learned are the topic of recent research, as in, what are the ‘pros and cons’ of them). Around this time, we sought a scenic roadside picnic stop for some lunch and passed an urbanite exiting his urbanización by car, who then directed us to probably cafe Maria. There was no publicly accessible plaza or anything in this village. It was a main road beside high fences and security gates (~250 of them, I later read), which seems so contrary to how Spain, and European settlements, developed. No hub at all.



Oh well. Seven kilometres away was our home for the night, in the old town hub of Carmona, a gradual 5km hill climb to get to, but with a very impressive gate (Alcazar). We went for a wander, keen to see town before dark fell around 6.30pm, and got chatting to a lovely 70 year old man from Brazil, who proudly gave us his five year history in Carmona, and dedication to his Catholic faith. With his farewell “Gracias a Dios”, and indeed the act of showing gratitude shown for life whether religious or not, we found the inner old town at night friendly and beautiful.



Then, the forecast turned severe. A trickle of raindrops could be heard over the cranking (old) air con unit late evening, and once in bed, it got so loud I woke at 4am thinking of how on earth would we cycle in this. Luckily, it cleared as per what the weather apps we’d been following said, and on leaving late morning, the thick mist leftover from a drenching night of torrential rain, lifted.



The snaking line of the A380 across brown fields could be seen from on high, the Puerta de Marchena gate. The A road was our route out. And men gathered at the outer area of the Hotel parador by another noteworthy gate, chewing the fat. Like every plaza in Spain, the scene is repeated.



Long stretches of flat, tailed-winded cycling made quick work of the 29km to Marchena, passing rows and rows of thistles and fierce looking roadside weeds that could guarantee a puncture. We skirted the outer town, dropping in at the local Mercadona for the aseos and, as it’s rude not to buy something, chocolate and mini wet wipes. The checkout was getting busy near 2pm (closing), and strangely, an older lady stood behind me asked “que tal”. I guess I am well, thank you.



Carrying on a further 20km to Lantejuela, a curious man interested in our journey as we ate lunch wished us ‘peace’ (who doesn’t need that), after which we tackled another gentle grinder of a hill, to then coast down to Écija with the odd fast driven car. On their way home, no doubt.



Écija is well known for the old town, and several Roman ruins near the main plaza, the latter of which we simply did not have the time to take in. Seeking out dinner and getting contingencies seen to took up a bit more time, to then retire to a brief massage torture session. And rest from the bustle. Mercadona at 7pm is just like Pak n Save after a severe weather warning is issued.



The sound of the old town is strangely soothing. Bells chimes hourly. School kids were up and about in the morning on their way to the local school, adding to the channelling of joyful noise on our narrow street. Meowing cats slunk into doorways, older women gathered for their morning Pilates class, and steps were being washed vigorously outside accommodations or historic buildings.



We pushed off to Córdoba around 12, having taken in some sights before check out, knocking off a 20km section (with a steady 10km rise) a little more sluggishly this time. Rolling mostly downhill towards Fuente Palmera, then across back roads (with some more unusually crazy drivers, is this Andalucía?) behind Posadas, the reward was going to a panadería cafe, at our lunch stop in Amoldavar. With a name like Grannies Oven (Horno de mi abuela), it was surprisingly (for Spain) open at 3pm and I was served by a lady not much older than me. I grabbed the last remaining chocolate muffin and mini chocolate dipped croissant. One for a morale boost now, and one for later.



Long flats and straights, as well as a few parallel city roads later, and we’d arrived in our home for the next week, San Basilio street in the old town area of Córdoba. Only one local put us right on a wrong turn, in the spaghetti-junction of lanes leading there.



Staying put for a week would be luxury. And with All Saints Day (1st November) the following, we needed supplies to tie us over. Again, I chose the crazy yet affordable establishment of Mercadona.



It would not be until a few days later I’d discover a good mini-supermarket (I.e. shorter walk) ‘Piedra’, a local Cordoba chain. Getting fruit, vegetables and fresh bread/ baking can also be easier (and fresher) from the fruterías and panadería dotted around town. And seeking out certain things, like napolitanas, or an antiques store, often does not manifest. And if it effortlessly manifests, it’s meant to be (as I’m prone to saying).



Public holidays on the road are fantastic. The N432 road heading south out of town was a gut-choice, for the commonly reliable N-road shoulders and smooth surface. I got as far as Santa Cruz, ascertained that despite significant public holidays the panaderías stayed open, then tackled the hill in reverse. What a view.



Committing more than a few hours to my fortnightly work check in, we then explored locally in the afternoon, to the Roman bridge, Miraflores bridge/ park, and taking in a grand view to the Mezquita from the south, as this vantage point is known for.



We’d pre arranged bike maintenance check ups on the 2nd, and this led the way for arrangements after All Saints’ Day. For a few days, it’d be foot (not pedal) power, getting us around this rambling and broad Old Town area. With our Mezquita ticket, the entry into several Fernandine churches (and other less well known churches of note) was included, with the typical elaborate interiors. Some of their histories began from the early 1200s, in the reign of King Ferdinand. Almost ‘churched out’ after three in a row that morning, we had a break before soaking up the Mezquita visit on a late afternoon entry. We’d dithered much on timing before pre booking tickets, but 4:30 until 6pm closing was pretty magic, and there were not as many people as I’d expected. For November tourism anyway.



On foot again, the Palacio de Viana was first up for the Friday. Patios are one aspect Cordoba is famous for. The cuidadores, those who caretake in the gardens (meaning a broad definition of garden, especially walled gardens), are sculpted in metal around town to honour their role in this beautiful art. The palace, naturally a stately place, had 12 patios all done with differing themes, and many featuring the calming effect of a flowing water feature. The pool looked good enough to swim short laps, and citrus or pomegranate trees were laden with fruit, at this late month in the year. Hands down, it had more disability access toilets and disability access facilities I’ve seen anywhere so far on this trip.



Unfortunately, cleanliness is not from our experiences extended beyond the tourist zones. Many times on our rides, we’ve not gone far at all without seeing roadside rubbish, much of it plastic, and what could often be recycled. Often it could last 10-20km at a stretch, or more. First, we figured it may have been a Portugal ‘thing’’ or at least city problem, but crossing into Extremadura, and into Andalucía, it’s sadly continued. I’ve struck a few bad patches P2 hasn’t seen when out riding, or, my first go in 4 weeks, jogging in Miraflores park here. Signs pleading for ‘no dejes basura’ give me hope (and, I’ve heard the rubbish issue discussed a few times on Spanish radio) that environmental consciousness exists. But, when we have seen the occasional person throw rubbish on the ground, when there’s plenty of bins, I cannot help wonder why.



We’ve mulled this over a lot since starting this journey. And done the comparisons to 2019, and other parts of the world, including NZ (I.e. our Takapuna beach rubbish pick ups). One does not need wealth to be tidy.



Our bikes were ready by Friday morning, which was a great surprise. Julio, the manager / mechanic and bike tour guide at Revelociona, was recommended to us by our host, after a false start with another shop with two premises in Córdoba that failed to respond to us. Oddly, P2s chain was more worn than mine after a month of riding, a record. They both got some TLC by Julio, and his French mechanic, a talented and bike savvy lady that I can only aspire to be like (as my skills end at degreasing a chain, averagely)



This then opened up our range for exploring Córdoba, for the remaining days. Julio had suggested Medina Azahara, a Roman ruin about 9km from town, and we’d also got old molinos and patios on our radar. It was a bit of a miss trying to see both the botanical gardens or the mill/ museum combination (P2 was aiming for seeing fossilised plants), as per misleading Cordoba tourism attractions website, and google information, stating the contrary. A muddy track to the mill, and closed gates to the gardens on two days, confirmed that we should go elsewhere!



That led us to Medina Azahara (Anglicised from Medinat Al-Zahra which is on road signs). The welcoming visitor centre staff waved us on with ‘para siempre’ (always) free access. A short 1.5km ride up a steady hill (no cars are allowed, unless disability access required) brings you to a grand view over the Córdoba area, and the ruins, which are exactly that (minimal reconstruction). It’s a great spot to visit, to ramble through the rooms and service areas, to add knowledge of the areas history, and how those with power or privilege lived.



We’d as gusty a ride there as the ride back, with strengthening westerlies. Cyclists always love a tail wind.



Patios and wandering the old town occupied a decent chunk of the next few days. Households in the San Basilio precinct open up their garden spaces, for a small fee or donation, and can enter competitions for the best displayed garden areas. Typically 200 to 300 garden pots, painted often in lovely bright blue tones, are hung and tended to on walls in the manner that the cuidadores historically would. Cans at ends of long poles, some very tall ladders, and one with a deep well and tall city walls of ~2000 years old, featured. Can you image the watering regime!



Sunday in Córdoba was a blend of walking quiet streets, some tight squeezes moving in old town alleys with the Sunday promenaders, seeing the tiled Bartolomé chapel, and the scent of passive tobacco smoke by bustling cafes and bars filled with chatter (plus, those clearly getting on the sauce, somewhat early in the day). We added to this on the quieter Monday by completing the five patios of San Basilio, a further three churches on the Fernadine route (such as San Francisco, San Pedro and Carmen, that were part of the Mezquita ticket) and appreciating the golden light of late afternoon in our ‘hood, by the Roman bridge. The number of brides-to-be using this spot for photo shoots certainly got the older ladies speculating.



We leave a town of such history tomorrow, it’s cute and smallest plaza (El pañuelo, handkerchief) as attractive as the magnificent ruins or edifices we’ve seen, and some great cycling (and cycle paths). If only we could take that last feature with us.

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Photos

Plaza de los Rincones de Oro, nr El Panuelo in Cordoba
The smallest plaza I have seen