Andalusia

The Alhambra, with its calm amplitude, hypnotising proportions, mysterious calligraphy, and sweet-smelling gardens, stood true to its description as a “pearl set in emeralds.” Built around a theme of paradise on earth, the Alhambra and our Spanish expedition was an eye-opening experience. When one spoke of Islamic architectural wonders, what used to come to my mind was the architectural magnificence of the subcontinent – the Taj Mahal, Humayun’s Tomb, the Red Fort, and the Shalimar Gardens – of Mughal times. I was oblivious to the existence of Muslim architectural feats such as the Alhambra and the Great Mosque of Cordoba in the West. My oblivion in this regard may be a result of my ties with the subcontinent, but I also think that the way most of the Muslim architecture in Spain changed hands may have also impacted its popularity as “Muslim” architecture. For example, both the Grand Mosque of Cordoba and the Alhambra were subjected to Christian revisions with the onset of the Reconquista and the expulsion of the Muslims. The Alhambra, however, presents a unique opportunity to compare both Muslim and Western architectural styles as the Nasrid Palace is juxtaposed with the Renaissance palace of Charles V. In this blog post, I will discuss some of the most prominent elements of Muslim architecture, such as the calligraphy on the walls, the ornate ceilings, and the mosaics and colored tiles in context of the Alhambra.

Walking into the Alhambra, I was fascinated by the intricate detail of the walls and pillars, which symbolises centuries of Muslim rule in al-Andalus. The walls and the pillars of the Alhambra are adorned by Arabic calligraphy from floor to ceiling, which made me feel like I was walking into a story book. As I walked through the fort, I wondered what the inscriptions meant. Researchers have successfully decoded, dated, and identified 3,116 of the 10,000 inscription in the Alhambra. Some of the inscriptions are verses of poetry by Islamic poets like Ibn al-Khatib and Ibn Zamrak, while others are verses from the Quran. One inscription that is prominent throughout the Alhambra – on walls, arches, and columns – is “There is no victor but Allah”. Individual words like “happiness” or “blessing” recur throughout the palace, which some claim to be divine expression that were supposed to protect the monarch. Other prominent inscriptions include, “Rejoice in good fortune because Allah helps you” and “Be sparse in words and you will go in peace.” The inscriptions from the Quran are intentionally situated far from the ground and towards the top of the walls.The inscription in the throne room read: ¨From me you are welcomed morning and evening by the tongues of blessing, prosperity, happiness and friendship… has decorated me with the robes of his glory and excellence without disguise and has made me the Throne of his Empire: may its eminence be upheld by the master of divine glory and the celestial throne.¨

The ivory starry ceiling particularly stood out to me. As depicted in the photograph below, the intricate wood ceiling contains both eight pointed and sixteen pointed stars, which have exacting measurements. According to popular opinion, the 8018 multi-colored panels symbolise the seven heavens of Islamic paradise and the diagonal lines from the centre represent the four trees of life. It was interesting to think about how the light from the windows would have illuminated the throne, creating an effect of mysterious glory. Other ceilings in the Alhambra include scenes from court, and present a fascinating array of tempered glass and paintings. It was interesting to think about how these ornate structures were put into place without the availability of advanced machinery.

The mosaics and the colored tiles that I encountered in the palace were striking. Such mosaics and tiles are still used back home in Pakistan. In the Alhambra, they served a two-fold purpose of decoration and keeping the palace cool during the summer. The intricate design and the geometrical precision is awe-inspiring. Moreover, the colors themselves were not readily available and had to be made from cobalt (blue), manganese (purple), iron (red+green), lead (yellow). Plant motifs are vibrant throughout the palace from the arches to the ceilings and the floors, which is in line with Islamic disapproval of the depiction of human images.

Water fountains form an essential component of Islamic architecture, but the Fountain of the Lions in the Alhambra particularly stood out to me for its symbolism of strength, power, and sovereignty. A poem written by Ibn Zamrak adorns the edge of the fountain, which not only praises the beauty of the fountain but also provides insight into the workings of their complex hydraulic systems. The twelve smiling lions, each of which is slightly unique, are made out of white marble and underneath the base of the fountain are four water channels, which are said to represent the four rivers of paradise. All of the twelve lions also sprout water from their mouths, which creates a soothing vibrating sound as one stands in the center of the palace.

The Alhambra, as we saw it, was devoid of the rich silks, the rugs, the vases, musical instruments, and the intricate wood furniture that may have lined the palace during Muslim rule. One can only imagine what it may have looked like at its prime.

This trip to Spain was revelatory and provided me with a significant block of missing information about Muslim rule in the West. Walking through the gardens, the palaces, and the cathedrals, all that came to mind was the several prominent historical figures that had walked the same path – often in their chariots, on horseback, and on elephants – as I was. A personally exciting moment was when I saw the reflection of the Patio de los Arrayanes (Court of Myrtles) in the water in front of it, seeing what I had so far only seen in photos and dismissed as a product of photoshop. The following quote from ‘Perks of Being a Wallflower’ effectively describes up how I felt,  “And in that moment, I swear we were infinite.”

(A huge thank you to the Estee Lauder Foundation for making this trip a possibility.)

By Matthew Majsak

After travelling from city to city over the course of 8 days moving between ornate palaces and mosques with Islamic calligraphy in shimmering mosaic or carved into walls; seeing awe inspiring chapels with rich oil paintings and religious artifacts made from precious metals; and winding through neighborhoods steeped in rich history, I left Spain thinking a lot about the importance of space. In the history of Al-Andalus, space is an important representative of the religious and cultural interaction that defined the region for centuries. This is reflected in maps showing the constant shifting of dominance between Christian and Muslim kingdoms to the distinct culture of the Jewish quarters of Cordoba or Sevilla or the Moroccan quarter in Granada, space tells the story of Andalusia. And nowhere is this more prevalent then in the palaces of Spain. Ines mentions the overlap of Christian and Muslim architecture in her blog post and how this is can tell the story of the region’s politics and this is indeed an extremely important aspect. However, I want to focus in on the Muslim architecture, specifically in the Real Alcazar de Sevilla and Alhambra in Granada.

We spoke in class a lot about the architecture of the Muslim palaces in Spain and how both the Umayyads and the Zirtians built in a tradition tied very closely with Islam. The architecture of the palaces are constructed around big open spaces, either with fountains or reflecting pools, meant to evoke peace and tranquility. The ever-present noise of running water is an important staple of Muslim architecture, used to create this peaceful environment. The intricate calligraphy carvings repeat a mantra of sorts, praising Allah and Muhammad and referencing the royal family. The constant presence of Allah is literally built into the palace. The elaborate gardens throughout the complexes call to mind Quranic images of beauty and perfection. Thalia told me while wandering through them “it makes you realize why Muslims believe that paradise is like a garden.” The beauty of every inch of these palaces is breathtaking.

Yet as I wandered through these palaces, I could not help but feel as if something was missing. These palaces were supposed to be places of dwelling. Although impressive, there was a sense that these palaces felt almost empty. Much of that is no one’s fault but rather a product of a changing society and time. The furniture that would have been here originally has long since rotted away, was raided, or taken away through regime change. The colors that adorned most of the walls of Alhambra have faded over time as has the stained glass resulting in a loss of  a palace that was the center of life for the royal family, leaving behind a still gorgeous, but monochromatic space. I tried to recreate the life of the palace in my imagination as I stood in the midst of this majestic space but was struck  by how the presence of hundreds of tourists impacted this experience.

The hundreds of tourists move through these palaces day in and day out depersonalizes the space. What was in its peak an intimate space with its own community and living population has now become a series of rooms and ceilings and tiles for people to take pictures of. The sound of the fountains is drowned out by the hum of tourists groups. Unlike the mosques or cathedrals which were built with large crowds and movement in mind, these palaces were made to be lived in, and it felt to me as I was moving through them with hundreds of others that I was maybe missing something.  It was worth the effort to put down the camera and feel the space in all its grandeur recognizing the history these walls hold and the centuries of cultural influence that began in this place.

That is not to say that I think that things should change. For one I think that what is there now, if a different experience, is still stunning and worth every minute of the visit. Alcazar and Alhambra were my two favorite sites we visited in Spain. I think that is wonderful that so many people have the opportunity to see these important historical spaces and I pleased  that there is great care, and necessary precaution to protect these sites. Ultimately my reflection is more so a big “what if” than anything else. It was fun to imagine as I walked through those palaces what it must have been like when it was lived in. The dinners, the entertaining performances, the conferences of Muslim leaders from across Spain. I wish I could have a rare opportunity to go through the palaces alone and experienced the sounds and the silences and the balance of the spaces as they were intended.

Maegan Stanley

In Andalusia, orange trees were everywhere. They were most present in Cordoba and Seville, but we saw them throughout the region, although Seville itself is said to have more than 14,000 of these ornamental trees. They truly are ornamental – some of us ventured to try a fallen orange and were amazed by the fruits’ unpleasant, sour flavor. After a little research, I learned that interestingly, the oranges are collected by the city when they fall to the ground to avoid them rotting, and are sold to the United Kingdom to be made into bitter orange marmalade, which is a common English breakfast condiment. On the tree they are certainly beautiful, however, and they themselves are another remnant of al-Andalus’ Muslim past.

The first oranges were brought to Spain by Muslim traders around 1000 AD. They flourished in the hot climate of southern Spain, and provided ample shade in public and private courtyards, and along city streets. The oranges were exotic rarities in Europe, and their bold color added greatly to the lush, ornamental gardens that were carefully cultivated in Muslim Spain as places of retreat and reflection. These fruitful and lush gardens were made possible by Muslim advancements in irrigation during the medieval period. The Andalusian oranges and their springtime blossoms were often featured in Islamic poetry for their beauty and lovely smell, which was often made into perfumes.

Maegan Stanley

Mosque-cathedral interior, showing arches

May 10 was the first full day we spent in Spain, and we began our exploration of Cordoba with a guided visit to the Mosque-Cathedral. This site is perhaps the most indicative of the inter-religious interaction that took place within medieval and early modern Andalusia. The very first religious structure built on the site was that of the mid-6th century Visigothic Christian Basilica of San Vicente, whose ruins we could glimpse through a glass panel on the floor of the Mosque-Cathedral. The mosaics visible in the basement were still partially-preserved, and imagery of the Holy Trinity could still be seen.

Abd al-Rahman I then built a mosque on the site once Muslim Umayyad power was solidified in al-Andalus in the mid 8th century, which he intended to rival the great mosques found in Damascus and Jerusalem. This goal was a result of the innate power struggle between different caliphates across the globe, as well as the cultural struggle between the cities of Damascus and Cordoba which both claimed to be the world’s center of culture and learning. When the mosque was built, it used recycled material to speed along construction, which included the Visigothic material from San Vicente. It was easy to see such changing materials and building inconsistencies as we walked through the oldest part of the mosque. As Cordoba’s population and power grew, the mosque was expanded further – first by Abd, al-Rahman II, then by Abd al-Rahman III, then by Al-Hakam II, and then finally by Almanzor – until the interior became a cavernous wonderland of endless, striped arches.

Then, as Christian power reclaimed Cordoba in the 12th century, the mosque was re-dedicated as a cathedral under King Alfonso VII. In the 14th and 15th centuries, the Royal Chapel and then the great gothic nave were added. Something that continuously fascinated my classmates and myself as we toured al-Andalus was the accepting nature that Christians had towards Muslim design and decoration, despite their intolerance for the Muslim faith’s presence on the Iberian peninsula. They eagerly adopted rather than replaced Muslim structures, such as the Mosque-Cathedral – and even employed mudejar artisans to continue rather than disrupt the style in future additions.

By Jordan Diamond

Towering cathedrals and skyscraping minarets shape the landscape of Andalusian cities, incorporating religious aesthetics into residential and industrial communities. Seville, home to the world’s largest gothic Cathedral, begs travelers to embrace the city’s Christian character. Notably missing from this architectural framework is the legacy of the city’s and region’s former Jewish inhabitants.

Catedral de Sevilla towers over the former Jewish ghetto.

Given the rich Jewish history we’ve studied in class, I was struck by the overwhelming – or rather, underwhelming – lack of Jewish homes, synagogues, or community spaces. Standing in the shadows of Seville’s Cathedral, within the boundaries of the city’s former Jewish ghetto. One had to wonder how the ghetto’s residents felt looking at the massive towers in front of them: did they know their vacated homes would one day serve as restaurants and hotels? I quickly realized that the Inquisition was more than an effort to weed out Jews, but an effort to erase Jewish culture.

Sites of Sephardic memory, then, are an intentional effort to reconcile Spain’s racist and antisemitic past. Throughout Andalusia, small gold circles reading “Seferad“ (Hebrew for Spain) marked sites of Jewish interest. Many of these sites, though, have been so reformed over time that they didn’t resemble their former Jewish natures anymore. Walking through the city’s commercial district (where I bought the cutest striped shirt), our group stumbled upon a Jewish history museum. Venturing away from itinerary, I was surprised to find relics of an erased Jewish past: Hanukkiot, letters, and biographies of notable Sephardic figures.

Joaquin Turnia y Areal’s painting depicts Jewish exile from Spain.

Lovingly deemed “the Second Jerusalem” by some Sephardic Jewish exiles, emigrants remembered and revered a land whose leaders that didn’t hold the same regard for them. Joaquin Turnia y Areal’s painting, seen in the museum and pictured below, depicts the Sephardic exile. I was reminded of the exile narrative in much of Jewish history, starting with the exile from Jerusalem.

This art, and other remnants of Jewish life throughout Andalusia, were deeply moving, and I’m grateful for the chance to experience this land, culture, and memory.