Memories of Andalusia: My Journey Through Spanish Architectural Art

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Spain has a long history, having been ruled by the Phoenicians, Greeks, Romans, Visigoths, and others. Before achieving unification in 1492, it was also under Muslim rule. Shaped by these diverse cultures, Spain became the "least European" country in Western Europe.

I've always felt that the essence of Spain lies in the south, in a place called Andalusia. The Moors (a general term for Muslims from West Asia and North Africa) once ruled this land, calling it Al-Andalus, meaning "land of the Vandals," from which the name Andalusia derives.

Arab civilization in Spain had three centers: Cordoba, Seville, and Granada, which are also popular tourist cities in Spain today. To better understand Spain, I believe Andalusia is a must-visit place. Here, I could carefully explore Moorish history and appreciate Arab art through architectural observation. So I planned a journey focused on architectural art in southern Spain, covering Cordoba, Granada, and the lesser-known town of Ronda. Even years later, the memories remain unforgettable.

From the Roman era to the Islamic era and then to the Christian era, Cordoba has undergone numerous transformations through history. I love exploring different cultures while traveling, so Cordoba became a very important destination on this Spanish architectural art journey.

Upon arriving in Cordoba and settling our luggage, we stepped out of the hotel's air-conditioned lobby, and Cordoba greeted us with scorching sun. We strolled slowly toward the old town, and the warmth of southern Spain instantly melted us. We casually turned into a side street, where narrow, pristine white alleys spread like a spider's web in all directions, and the scent of orange trees wafted through the streets.

No matter how many words and pictures I had seen before departure, nothing compares to a single glance on-site: the blinding white walls under the scorching sun, the fragrance of flowers carried by a gentle breeze, the unfamiliar melodies of deep song drifting through taverns and alleys... All of these formed the impressions of travel.

The Jewish quarter in Spanish cities is always the oldest part of the town, with labyrinthine, charming paths. We decided to leave our itinerary to the unknown, exploring this ancient city guided by intuition.

Today, there are no Jews left in the Jewish quarter. The Jews had been the economic pillar of the Caliphate of Cordoba for generations and were treated favorably. But after the Reconquista in 1492, following the Edict of Expulsion of the Jews, they disappeared from this city.

Cordoba still preserves a small Jewish synagogue (Sinagoga), built in 1315 by Isaac Moheb. It is the best-preserved of Spain's three medieval synagogues and the only one in Andalusia.

The synagogue consists of a single prayer hall, a women's gallery, and a courtyard. Although small, the walls still retain Hebrew inscriptions.

The upper floor is the women's gallery, and the prayer room features three foliate arched windows, with a niche for the Torah on the eastern side.

Then, in the alleys of the Jewish quarter, we discovered a 12th-century building, Casa Andalusi. Peeking through the door, we felt the house was particularly cool, so we decided to go in for a visit and cool off.

Crossing the hall, we arrived at a beautiful courtyard with a fountain at its center, filled with vegetation, aromas, and the sound of flowing water—moist and fresh, a stark contrast to the heat outside.

Casa Andalusi is quite small, with only two rooms and a cellar besides the courtyard. One room showcases the papermaking techniques of the Caliphate of Cordoba, while the other displays various household items and coins. The whole house was very quiet, with light tunes playing, recreating the atmosphere of the Caliphate era as if we were transported back in time.

After a short rest, we continued wandering through the ancient city of Cordoba. Even without a map, it was easy to find the Great Mosque-Cathedral of Cordoba (Mezquita-Catedral de Córdoba). Having undergone multiple demolitions and rebuilds, it bears witness to the history of this city and even of Spain—empires rising and falling, yet spiritual culture enduring.

In the 6th century, a basilica church was built on the site of a Roman temple. Two hundred years later, when the Arabs invaded in 711, the city surrendered and signed an agreement stating that half of the church must be given to the Arabs to build a mosque. So, the church was forcibly divided into two halves, and the Christians could only watch helplessly as their church was occupied. This agreement lasted for 74 years, and within those walls, half prayed to God while the other half recited the Quran.

This Islamic-Christian coexistence continued until 784 AD, when Abd al-Rahman I, who had taken refuge in Cordoba, bought the Christian part. After the purchase, the church was demolished, and Abd al-Rahman I wished to build a magnificent mosque on the site. Two years after breaking ground, the exile died, and the construction of the mosque was taken over by his son, who succeeded him.

The renovation continued for over 200 years. Nearly every ruler added something to the mosque: Abd al-Rahman II added a minaret, and in 961, Al-Hakam II further expanded and redecorated the prayer hall. The last major renovation took place in 987 under Al-Mansur, when the outer nave and garden were completed, finally reaching the mosque's current size.

Passing through the thick walls and entering the interior through a towering gate, we were first greeted by a square courtyard with a scent of oranges, filled with many orange trees and a still-thriving olive tree. In the past, people gathered here, scholars from various regions debated, and poets recited love verses in Arabic.

Cordoba reached its peak in the 10th century, and Muslim architecture gradually matured. The Great Mosque of Cordoba became a masterpiece of the Muslim world and held an important position in the Islamic world of Andalusia.

With the arrival of the golden age of Islamic culture in Cordoba, the authorities did not exclude other religions. The brilliant achievements of Islamic culture attracted and even conquered the Spanish. Like Roman culture before it, Islamic culture took root in Moorish Spain (the term for Andalusia). Local Spaniards began to regard it as part of themselves. Although their religion was different, they not only accepted but also began to admire Islamic art and culture. For a long time, Islam, Judaism, and Catholicism coexisted peacefully in Cordoba.

Walking inside the mosque, our eyes were filled with neatly arranged double-tiered red-and-white arches, columns standing like a forest, and corridors crossing everywhere. These columns use Greek-style capitals and show clear traces of late Roman architecture—white wedge-shaped voussoirs alternating with red bricks forming horseshoe arches, creating a visual impact no less than the towering, open cathedral dome at the center of the hall today.

The nave, main altar, choir stalls, and royal chapel are now in the middle of the mosque. When we visited cathedrals in other Spanish cities, we saw similar elements—grand domes with exquisite carvings, undeniably perfect. But here, surrounded by Islamic decorations, they seem slightly out of place.

Sunlight streamed through the glass on the high walls, casting psychedelic colors on the floor, dazzling and enchanting.

The maksura on the south wall of the mihrab amazed me the most. This is the direction for worshippers to face—toward Mecca. The colorful mosaic inscriptions and floral carvings are exquisite, making it the most intensely Islamic corner of the Great Mosque. Looking up, we saw a golden mosaic dome, a gift from the Eastern Roman Emperor Nicephorus II Phocas. Though the dome's decoration features Islamic floral patterns, from the engineering to the mosaic art, the entire dome presents a Byzantine style. It felt as if I had returned to over 1,000 years ago, to the devout and solemn atmosphere of thousands prostrating on the ground.

Lost in the forest of columns in the mosque, I found I couldn't see the end at a glance. Looking up at the columns still standing in the mosque, I could almost see all architectural styles that ever existed in the western Mediterranean: Carthaginian columns from North Africa, Roman columns from Spain and Gaul, Visigothic columns with delicate iris patterns, and the columns gifted by the Byzantine emperor from Constantinople mentioned earlier, perhaps even columns from the Roman Temple of Janus (the predecessor of the Great Mosque). The Mosque of Cordoba summarizes Spain's art history in a way no other building can.

The Moors are gone, but Arab civilization left a permanent mark on Spanish history, like the orange trees in the courtyard. Then and now, they still grow on this land and have become one of the symbols of Cordoba.

Leaving the mosque, we headed to our next destination—the Alcázar of the Christian Monarchs (Alcázar de los Reyes Cristianos / Alcázar of Cordoba). This palace was built by Alfonso XI in the 14th century on the ruins of Roman and Arab structures.

The castle was initially used as a palace, once lived in by Islamic caliphs and Christian kings. The high walls and towers around it appear impregnable, forming a square courtyard.

Inside the palace, there isn't much to see—it's relatively simple—but it has a beautiful garden, perfect for photos, dotted with fish ponds, fountains, and various garden decorations. Strolling through it is very pleasant, a great place to escape the heat.

In 1486, Christopher Columbus, seeking funding to explore the New World, met here with the Catholic Monarchs Ferdinand and Isabella. Today, we can see a sculpture depicting this event in the palace gardens.

Cordoba was once the capital of Roman Spain. Even now, the city still has many ancient Roman ruins.

Leaving the Alcázar of Cordoba and walking along the riverbank, we could see the ancient Roman bridge (Puente Romano de Córdoba) spanning the Guadalquivir River outside the city walls.

The Roman bridge was first built in the 1st century. Built of massive stone, it has 16 arches, connecting the Campo de la Verdad district on one side with the Cathedral district (Barrio de la Catedral) on the other.

Leaning on the bridge railing, I imagined the Cordoba of a thousand years ago, with countless Arab poets and Christian scholars bustling through the city—what a prosperous era it must have been.

As night gradually fell, the Roman bridge was especially beautiful in the evening and at night. Standing at the southern end, the mosque opposite and the ancient bridge shone under yellow lights, as if telling visitors the distant stories of Cordoba.

In the Albaicín district, the alleys are narrow and winding, like snakes with no end in sight. Walking in the middle of an alley, I checked the map in my hand while dodging tourists speaking different languages, all wearing the same bewildered looks, heading uphill through the maze-like alleys. The souvenir shops on both sides were so full of goods that I couldn't help stopping, and the originally short journey was unconsciously extended.

When we reached the end of the alley, the view suddenly opened up. In the distance, everyone was squeezing smiles for the camera. I walked straight to the Mirador de San Nicolás. The huge building I had seen countless times in guidebooks before leaving gradually appeared before me.

Street performers had just finished one song and switched to another. The familiar melody immediately caught my attention. They wore sunglasses—one adjusting the microphone, the other focusing on strumming the guitar—as they began to slowly play "Recuerdos de la Alhambra"...

Before us stretched the majestic Alhambra. The red walls were especially moving under the glow of the setting sun, standing alone on the opposite hill for eight centuries. Behind the red fortress stood the snow-capped Sierra Nevada mountains, proudly overlooking the Darro River to the north, with dense forests at the foot. It was like a ship sailing through the undulating river of history.

The performer sang a melodious tune, the guitarist lightly played, and the lost time drifted through the air with the music, taking me back to the past. A scene flashed before my eyes: when Muhammad XII (Boabdil) left Granada to retreat into exile, he turned back, silently took one last look at Granada, wiped his tears, and let out the Moors' final sigh. But his mother had no sympathy, sneering: "My son, you did well, crying like a woman, because you couldn't defend like a man." Boabdil did not retort. He left Granada, which he had once deeply loved, without looking back, and never set foot there again until his death.

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We hiked up from the foot of the mountain and unexpectedly encountered a statue of Washington Irving. When this American writer came here, the Spanish didn't care much about the Alhambra. It wasn't until his book "Tales of the Alhambra" was published that the Spanish began to re-evaluate, restore, and protect the Alhambra, allowing the world to rediscover it.

Perhaps this path stretching uphill was the one Irving walked countless times. After passing through the Justice Gate (Puerta de la Justicia), the most famous gate of the Alhambra built in 1348, we realized we had officially entered the castle area.

This route was the must-take path for 19th-century visitors exploring the Alhambra, but the newly built main entrance in recent years is at the other end of the Alhambra. By chance, we took the more original route.

On the outer arch of the Justice Gate, a hand is engraved; on the inner arch, a key. The hand might symbolize luck or peace, or represent the five basic tenets of Islam. The key, often appearing on Granada's city gates, could be the emblem of the Nasrid dynasty or symbolize access to the city.

The story began in 1231 when Muhammad I founded the Nasrid dynasty of Granada. After Cordoba and Seville fell into the hands of Christian kings of Castile, Granada held on amidst turmoil for over two centuries. Until 1492, the Alhambra served as the capital of the Nasrid dynasty.

However, the first building we encountered was completely different from Islamic architecture: the Palace of Charles V (Palacio de Carlos V). From the outside, it is a solid square, fully enclosed building; inside, it features a circular courtyard surrounded by a two-tiered colonnade. It's a decent building but sits awkwardly with the Alhambra. Today, it houses a free museum.

Leaving here, we immediately entered the heart of the Alhambra—the Nasrid Palaces (Palacios Nazaríes). After passing through dim, narrow passages, we encountered the beautiful Court of the Myrtles (Patio de Comares) bathed in sunlight.

The reflection in the pool was as still as glass. The past of the Nasrid dynasty was like the reflection of this Comares Tower—once standing firm, but with a gentle breeze, ripples appeared, making it sway precariously. Then a fish swam by, disappearing into the ripples, never to be seen again.

As soon as we entered the Hall of the Ambassadors (Sala de la Barca), our eyes were drawn to the surrounding walls, inlaid with tiles, poems, and Quranic verses, leaving no blank space. Each wall had five windows, and sunlight filtered through the embroidered patterns on the windows, softly spilling onto the walls and floor as the sun moved.

Stepping out of the Hall of the Ambassadors, we came to another courtyard, at the center of which stood the Fountain of the Lions. Twelve lions held up a stone basin. Four water channels from the fountain branched out, connecting to the four buildings surrounding the Court of the Lions (Patio de Los Leones).

Looking around, the building supported by marble columns was like a forest of stone pillars; the lacy arches were dreamlike, evoking a sense of elegance and luxury.

Following the flow of water from the Lion Fountain, I entered the Hall of the Abencerrajes (Sala de los Abencerrajes). The dim interior was starkly different from the bright courtyard outside. This was probably not an illusion, because a horrific historical event had taken place here: The hall is named after the Abencerrajes family, rivals of another faction, the Zenetes. A rift between the sultan and queen led to a palace intrigue. Here, 36 members of the Abencerrajes family were murdered. Legend has it that the red rust stains in the fountain at the center of the hall are the bloodstains of those killed. At night, the spirits' sighs can still be heard in the Court of the Lions.

On the other side of the Hall of the Abencerrajes is the more famous Hall of the Two Sisters (Sala de Dos Hermanas). The most impressive feature of this hall is the honeycomb (stalactite) ceiling, which, when looked up at, is as dizzying as the stars in heaven. I stood there entranced, turning around to admire the intricate and exquisite beauty.

From every window and lookout point of the Alhambra, one can overlook the magnificent plains surrounding Granada. In the distance, we could see the Sacred Mountain (Sacromonte) cave dwellings (where the Gypsies have lived since the 15th century) and the white houses built on the hillsides of the Albaicín district—truly beautiful.

What I enjoyed most during the entire visit was seeing the reflection of the palaces and sky in the long pools within the palace courtyards. This is the greatest feature of the Alhambra: the combination of flowing water and solid architecture. Whether in the Partal Gardens (Jardines de Partal) or the Daraxa Garden (Jardín de Daraxa), such beautiful scenes abound.

Later, in the Generalife Gardens, we encountered more beautiful courtyards. A water channel flowed through the center of the courtyard, surrounded by curved water jets. Even walking in the courtyard on a hot afternoon, we felt a cool breeze.

The ceaseless use of water is a testament to Arab wisdom, visible everywhere in the Alhambra. The Moors came from dry, arid lands, so they loved water, and Islam considers water the source of life, a symbol of purity that cleanses body and soul. Wherever they settled in Spain, water was their top priority. Thus, water is also the soul of the Alhambra, a basic element of its existence. Engineers built a complex water system, drawing water from the Darro River, channeling it upstream through a dam, guiding it up to the Generalife Gardens, and then through aqueducts to the Alhambra palace.

Strolling through the serene Generalife Gardens gave a sense of peace and comfort. Even with many tourists, the vast garden dispersed them, so it wasn't crowded. The garden was filled with brightly colored flowers in full bloom under the sun. I often lost my train of thought among the flowers, my mind wandering to centuries ago when princes and princesses of the palace frolicked here with laughter, while queens and concubines were attended by servants, reading or sipping tea.

After sunset, the Alhambra seemed a bit desolate. We lingered, waiting for the night visit. I wanted to see how the palace differed between day and night.

Unable to bear the hunger, we went down the mountain for a hearty meal, then climbed back up the same path. The red fortress at night had a different charm.

It was a kind of lonely beauty. Unlike the majestic grandeur of daytime, the outer walls of the Alhambra were so quiet they seemed not to exist. Only when we followed the guide into the palace interior did we confirm we were inside the essence of the Alhambra—the Nasrid Palaces.

The intricate and exquisite walls, under dim lighting, displayed the plant motifs and geometric patterns common in Muslim art. Compared to daytime, under the light, I could observe the decorative details more clearly and finely.

Under the faint moonlight, we walked through courtyard after courtyard, continuing to explore different palaces. The moonlight filtered through the tree shadows, quiet but with a touch of desolation. The sun rose and set, the Nasrid dynasty never returned. The Moors left behind Arab art and culture, preserved permanently through architecture.

Getting off the train, our wheeled suitcases squeaked over the stone road. Ronda is not big; walking along the main city road leads to the inn next to the New Bridge.

After resting at the inn, I checked my watch—perfect timing. There was still over an hour before the official sunset. We slowly walked back along the main road to the New Bridge (Puente Nuevo).

The New Bridge spans a 120-meter-deep gorge, connecting the new and old towns of Ronda. It is spectacular and the city's symbol.

To see the New Bridge, you must first cross it, then follow the path down to the bottom of the cliff. About halfway down, there is a small protruding platform to look up at the New Bridge.

Hemingway loved this place. Three of his stories—"For Whom the Bell Tolls," "Death in the Afternoon," and "The Sun Also Rises"—are set in Ronda. He described Ronda like this: "If you want to go to Spain for a honeymoon or to elope, Ronda is the most suitable place. Everywhere you look, it's romantic scenery."

From afternoon to dusk to night, watching the light shift on the New Bridge, creating different shadow effects, I began to understand what Hemingway meant by romance.

Rows of white Mediterranean houses on the cliff rose and fell with the hills. The Guadalevín River flowed quietly beneath the cliff. For some reason, it made me think of this ancient town's landscape as dramatic as a love story, full of joys and sorrows, partings and reunions.

Compared to dusk, I preferred the morning of Ronda. When we left the inn, the whole town seemed still asleep. The silent stone streets and dim streetlights made it feel like medieval Spain.

Before reaching the Old Bridge, we had to pass through the Gate of Philip V. In the past, people entered the city through this gate. The gate resembles a picture frame, making it a classic postcard scene.

As we walked through the unpopulated white town, we realized the variety of architectural styles: not only Spanish-style houses but also Gothic, Neoclassical, and more.

When we arrived at the Old Bridge (Puente Viejo), it was just sunrise. Unlike the grandeur of the New Bridge, the Old Bridge had a silent quality, ancient and perfectly matching the small town of Ronda.

This ancient town, built in Roman times, gradually awakened under the sun. We got lost in the narrow, maze-like alleys, experiencing the Iberian sunrise.

Traveling through different countries and civilizations always fascinates me. Well, it's time for me to wake up from these memories...

I hope that in the near future, I can set foot on this land again and continue exploring more interesting historical stories.

Table of Contents

1. Preamble

2. Cordoba | The Glory of Cordoba

3. Granada | Memories of the Alhambra

4. Ronda | A Romantic City for Elopement

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