Cordoba II

Later that day, I met Antonio. I waited by the Puente Romana feeling a bit conspicuous; but that was the idea. We whirled around Cordoba, walking around neighborhoods, sitting at a rooftop bar, chatting.
At times, I felt like I was starring in a Spanish 101 video. For example: we walk down a narrow alley lined with windowboxes and those pots attached to the walls, spilling red geraniums: at the end was a little courtyard with a fountain. Sitting on the edge of the fountain was an old man playing a guitar. We exchanged a few words: he wanted to go to LA to play his guitar...wait, that's not all! Presently the world's cutest puppy scampers into the courtyard and snatches the sheet music, and starts waving it around. Soon, a woman in an apron rushes out, fussing at the puppy and apologizing to the musician and explaining to us about the rascally puppy. The musician gave us the directions we sought and went back to his guitar. Later, we went across the river to Antonio's neighborhood, met his friends, their new baby, etc: and had a view of a non-tourist area of the city, vital and full of people doing ordinary things, but outside. The city is mostly small enough to not require cars, and has little bodegas everywhere. Good thing, because driving on these narrow streets, not to mention parking, would be very difficult.

Alcazar, Cordoba

So we walked to a cafe and had beer and tapa (free with the beer) and soon enough, the friend joined us and we set off for another cafe. I had such a good time, talking about all kinds of things-- without much provocation and minimal wine, I actually sang part of 'All of Me', something that makes my throat tighten up just thinking about it around here. (The friend was a guitar player and we were talking about the blues; he was also a chauffeur and was trying to get his organic baby clothes/supply store off the ground.) As night fell, we headed for the Botanical Gardens, where there was a free concert by music school students. Er, variable quality, but the night air was so soft and fragrant, and the

bonhomie so easy, that we all had a great time. It reminded me of Max' early performances in Charlottesville. The willows flanking the stage were inky black, flushed with yellow around the edges, against a deepest blue sky, a tiny breeze possibly generated by a rib-jiggling bass, and a happy crowd, friends and fans of the performers.
 I got up late the next morning and chatted with the Canadian couple in another room off the courtyard who were doing a marathon 6 month trip including nearly all of Europe, it seemed, much of the middle east, and were planning their route forward.

Near the Mezquita and Puente Romana

Mostly, I wandered around new areas of town, losing myself: I found a delicious dish of habas

Palacio Viana

con calamari (favas with baby squid), and explored a several new neighborhoods. I did on purpose find the Palacio Viana, a palace that had been added to over the years and now had fourteen distinct, different courtyard gardens. Walking through these places is so profoundly nourishing, just what the spirit needs. Verbatim from my journal: "let me die here, in the jasmine/rose/petunia-scented shade and sweaty heat--birds--green + green, jasmine and other dangling blossoms making their own breeze. But I am not actually ready to die yet and so will likely die in a much less nice place. Everyone was silent, much more so than in, say, a cathedral." These gardens mostly had different public art exhibits, like hundreds of different colored pencils in the fountain, or an old typewriter, small desk, and chair in another; origami swans in one of the pools, tinkly bells hanging in the trees of another. Some courtyards were long and narrow, some had orange trees, some had hedge mazes-- all distinctive.
I had planned to meet the sketchers at an arts event in which various community organizations were making their pitch; with free music, beer, snacks, kids, and dogs across the river near the Puente Romana, but though I went, I never found them.
In Cordoba the map of fragrances was very pronounced. Maybe it was me, rediscovering color and salt, wide open to sensations; but I think it was also true that I was traveling through a sensory wonderland.