Holy Toledo

Shaun's Post:



Feb 28, 2007

In the morning I awoke with a sour stomach, suffering some of the same ill effects as on my first day in Paris. So, I thought it might be dehydration, which has been a constant foe to ward off whilst traveling (usually to success). But when I went upstairs to have a little breakfast before our departure for Toledo, I knew this was something more and different. It was all I could do to dash back to the basement, that sour bubble pressing up into my throat. Fortunately, the body is well adept at ridding itself of toxins, and after this one somewhat violent episode, I felt immediately better, though a tender stomach plagued me all day. It must have been a touch of food poisoning. I don’t know the exact source, so I can’t warn anyone off of anything...

Nonetheless, I was feeling a little better and we had to go on this day trip. It would be the only chance we had to go to old Holy Toledo, as we would be flying to Rome the following day. So we went. The train ride was a quick half hour and before long we were out of the bustle and sprawl that surrounds Madrid and into the wide, open countryside of Spain, so evocative of Cervantes’ Don Quixote. Toledo was truly an ancient city and even the ground seemed to seep a sense of its deep history. The station, for instance, was ornate with Moorish design, and from there we followed a number of other travelers down the street to the old city gate which allowed pilgrims access to this once-fortified city on a hill.

We found a tourist office near the main square and got a town map. We then proceeded forthright to a café for some breakfast. We opted for the traditional menu, what Madrileños would eat after a night out partying: coffee with churros (fried bread twists with sugar). Considering my tender stomach, I felt like maybe I had spent a night out on the town. It was a pleasant enough café, though, with a slightly smoky air and the din of chatty locals at the bar which comprised virtually all of the café’s table space. It was interesting to hear their different accent and try to decipher what was being said.

From the café we strolled to the Great Cathedral, which was more impressive to Mandy and me than Paris’ Notre Dame (Sorry, Paris). The stonework was almost white and much natural light was admitted through the stained glass windows that soared high above near the nave. Everything was ornate - stonework, woodwork, glasswork, artwork. Restoration was underway, too, in an adjoining chapel with work underway to repair a beautiful but crumbling medieval fresco. In the center of the property stood a tranquil courtyard full of orange trees and the cheerful twitter of birds. I could have been happy here as a monk, I remember thinking.

As the day was pressing on and we had only a short time to visit the town before our return train, we moved on from the cathedral with the goal of seeing both a synagogue and a mosque in order to get a sense of the history of this place where the three religions had coexisted peacefully for some time - quite a feat for the Middle Ages. Finding our way to these other locations was quite a feat, too. The narrow, twisting passages of Toledo’s streets are a veritable maze, demanding glances at the map at every intersection. It certainly would have been difficult for any invading army to conquer. We conquered it as best we could, weaving this way and that, pressing close to walls to avoid flattening by persistent drivers who either had more patience with their cars or more disdain for walking than I do. Eventually we found both the synagogue and mosque. The first was fairly simple on the outside with a modestly ornate interior, including beautifully carved wood molding in the central prayer hall and women’s loft, replete with Hebrew characters. There was also an interesting display on the history of Jews in Spain (called the Sephardi) and the unique culture that had developed among them, including a local language. The mosque was still more modest (and more difficult to find), consisting now of only an empty space with beautiful brick vaults and arches - a simple place of prayer where one could no doubt still come to pray if wished.

Of the three, the mosque was the only site at which we did not have to pay. Almost all of the old churches and synagogues - and there were many more we did not visit - perhaps even the other mosque in town, required an entrance fee. It reminded me a little of walking through Lourdes where every other shop seemed to be selling prayer candles, rosaries, icons, plastic dolls, etc. If you haven’t heard, there’s big business in religion! Yet the souvenirs sold in Toledo were a little less “Oriental Trading Company” than the mass of trinkets sold in Lourdes, offering instead ornate swords and knives and fancy silk scarves for which the region is well known. Of course there were the usual tourist trinkets as well. (Consumerism is a different kind of religion, one could say)

After a sampling of the town’s history, we found our way back to a lovely park that sat on the rocky hill above the river overlooking landscape where Don Quixote might have rode his mule - where a monk, a rabbi, or a cleric might have sat in contemplation. There were lizards sunning on the steps below the town’s grand library and Mandy ran about trying to capture one on camera. A golden light in the valley, an ancient city at our backs, and our train soon approaching, I was convinced that our spontaneous coming to Spain, even our very decision to travel around Europe for six weeks, was not just tilting at windmills, though a quixotic journey all the same.