calm in cordoba

The moment I stepped into my Airbnb in Cordoba, I felt an instant pang of regret. Not because I was catfished by the listing pictures or because there was a furry uninvited guest scurrying in my bed.

I felt regret that whispered “damn, I’m gonna have to leave this place someday😢”.

My Airbnb host, Monica, brought out a map of the town and marked twenty-three places to visit—from a quaint old restaurant that only serves one dish, to the ancient Roman bridge dating back to 1BCE. Then, she ushered me into the future, urging me to download an app to lock the door—an app that failed me twice. So was it back to the future or forward to the past?

Anyway, the setting was immaculate—tiny, cobblestone streets, rugged stone stairs that were uneven in size but equally beautiful, and an orange tree that arched its back to flaunt its fruits onto the balcony. The air was infused with notes of citrus and a chorus of chirping birds. Strangers welcomed me with smiling eyes. I was hooked. Yet something else was about to deepen my infatuation with the town.

This might be a testament to how dramatic I am but I’ve started to describe my life as oriented around a single experience I had in Cordoba. It’s become a clear, pivotal point that arranges my life into two parts—”before” and “after” said event.

I took daily showers on this outdoor balcony🥹.

I should have named my friend

Each day, the sun would stream in and gently nudge me awake. I’d backflip out of bed—who am I kidding—and saunter over to the balcony. With the tacit encouragement of the morning sun, I’d do a few stretches. Not enough to improve my flexibility but enough to check an item off the to-do list. Then shower time— the heat warm enough to burn the memories of any bad dreams, the light bright enough to beam positivity into my spirit. The kumquat tree offered its first fruit to me as a reward for those half-arsed stretches.

Remember, I’m a tropical baby who has lived in the foggiest, cloudiest city for six years. A city where the sun is a fairytale told to adults who still believe in Santa. So being woken up by the natural sunlight and taking those showers on that balcony was a near-transcendental experience. On my last day there, I took an extremely long shower—I had to commemorate the breakup with a fitting farewell.

The next time I had to do that hideous thing—take a shower in a regular bathroom—a rigid, confined space with electrical switches that turn on artificial light—it was rather depressing.

All in all, I loved my time in Cordoba. A few other highlights:

Salmarejo is weirdly good?

tastes better than it looks, I promise

I’m not a cold soup guy. Honestly, I can’t remember ever having one. The concept seems bizarre in my brain. I long for the hot, aromatic punch of a good hearty soup. Something that grabs you by the collar and wakes your senses up. I was raised on Nigerian pepper-soup. And I’m convinced I could bathe in tom yum—I can’t prove it but I’m sure the lemongrass would do wonders for the skin. I’m partial to a good ramen, pho or tortilla soup. You get the gist.

So I shouldn’t have liked salmarejo—it doesn’t look appetizing. Bright orange? That cartoonish color is a bit too similar to the stuff that shoots out of college students during fresher’s week. It’s also not “cooked” so it’s basically a smoothie of local tomatoes, sherry vinegar (optional), rustic bread, garlic and quality extra-virgin olive oil. I’m the guy who religiously removes raw tomatoes from sandwiches so how could I like this?

I don’t know but it was delightful. The kick of acid from the tomatoes and vinegar brought it to life. The bread gives it body and an upright posture. The garnishes, those roughly chopped bits of Serrano ham and egg vary the texture. And it all comes together quite well. You can tell the ingredients were fresh and not poured out of a can. I’m glad I tried it.

Beautiful doors

Without a hint of shame, I went on a spree photographing the doors of Cordoba. I can’t explain exactly why they appealed to me such. Maybe because they were brushed in beautiful hues of brown and I’m such a sucker for earth tones. Maybe it was the individual expression on something usually so mundane and overlooked. I mean, look at the picture of that Pharmacy and compare that to the entrance of your local Walgreens.

I was going to do some metaphorical waffle about how doors represent new beginnings and I’m on sabbatical so you know I’m exploring new worlds and all that jazz. But I’d rather let the beauty of the doors speak for themselves. Don’t judge me too harshly for my photography skills. I’m too impatient with the camera.

What makes a tourist attraction?

Cordoba is so small and cute that the iron statue above qualifies as a tourist attraction. The scene depicts a grandmother teaching a child how to do some chores. Initially, I was a bit uh, underwhelmed by this given I had walked thirty minutes to be enveloped in what-I-imagined would be a beautiful park.

But there’s a simple beauty in this scene. There’s an empty chair, an open invitation for you to take a break amid the blooming splashes of red and pink. I later found out the square is homage to the caretakers of the courtyards and the patios of the city. And every year, during the first weeks of May, Cordoba residents open their private patios to the public. So the statue grew on me.

Roman bridge

Obviously not my pic, but I was here! Shoutout to Alex Chaves on Unsplash

I walked over this bridge multiple times, each time slower than the last. Trying to take in the beauty and the 360 view around me—the water, the green, the palaces in the distance, the little restaurants and sangria just off the road, the sea of pedestrians waling in admiration. I learned The Romans built the bridge in 1BCE but it’s been rebuilt multiple times since then. Much of the current structure is from the Arabs reconstruction in the 8th century. It was a sight to behold.

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