A corner of Andalucía

A version of this article appeared in The Irish Times

YOU WOULDN'T really have put money on it. A handful of Muslim Berbers landing in Gibraltar and successfully taking on the might of the Visigoths — the Germanic tribe who had ransacked their way across Europe during the Dark Ages.

Most people would have backed the Visigoths to wrap up any hand-baggy matters like this in a matter of weeks — these were the same Visigoths, after all, who had replaced the Vandals in Andalucía. Yes, the Vandals.

But in the event it took close on 700 years for Christian Spain to give the Muslims their marching orders. During those seven centuries Islamic rule created a golden era, the fruits of which still adorn Andaluz culture, music, architecture, character and even looks.

Here in the furnace heat of southern Spain, Islam and Christianity meshed with Jewish and Gypsy elements to form one of the richest cultures Europe has ever known – from 700 AD for the following several centuries this was the centre of civilisation.

But then matters began to unravel. Bickering within the state was exacerbated by a threat from two quarters — a new wave of Berbers in the south wanting a piece of the action; more seriously, the Christian Reconquest from the north had begun.

Carmona — inside the walls

IN CARMONA I had reason to consider these matters at first hand. My lodgings were at an old Moorish fortress above the town.

This former Castle of Carmona, surrounded by the fertile plains of Seville, was home to Pedro the Cruel, King of Castile in the latter half of the 14th century. Now, you needed to work hard to earn yourself a stand-alone title for cruelty in mediaeval Spain. However, Pedro’s reputation seems well-deserved; his business affairs were conducted with an imaginative vindictiveness so that even his contemporaries would say, “Ah here, come on Pedro — you can’t do that.”

But he did.

The Castle of Carmona thus witnessed many harsh deeds; one in particular has a contemporary resonance. During Pedro’s reign a visiting Arab dignitary was foolish enough to rock up wearing what was the largest ruby in the known world.

 Pedro, somewhat predictably, had him cruelly murdered. He then nicked the ring from the corpse, subsequently giving it to Edward the Black Prince — by this time a good mate. Eventually the ruby became part of the British Crown Jewels, wheeled out to this day on all State occasions. Its value is estimated at about £10million, although so far there's been no claim from its former owners. *Touch wood, fingers crossed etc.

The site of this dark deed, the Castle of Carmona, is today a Parador Hotel. Its great sandstone walls, complete with bastions and decommissioned murder-holes, have witnessed centuries of clamorous history. But the ghosts of the past all seem well-behaved today; the castle slumbers on in its hillside fastness, its guests treated to lavish comfort and gracious living.

And nary a thought about having their jewellery nicked.

From the Castle I made my way down a narrow, winding, pebbled street — following in the footsteps of Moors, monks, sinners, the odd saint; even in the sandal steps of historical celebrities such as Julius Caesar.

I entered the town through the crumbling Seville Gate, of Carthaginian origins. But look closely: yes, those add-ons are Roman — you know you’re somewhere old when a building’s refurbishments are from the Roman Empire. 

History is long here, and the events of the Reconquest — followed by the Inquisition — still echo through the town. In Carmona, churches, convents and monasteries— all with intricate tile mosaics, carved woodwork and ornately sculpted stonework — look down on the citizens. The 14th century Church of San Felipe in Renaissance Mudejar style  still has its minaret visible; it was, in another life, a mosque. Nearby, in the Convent of Santa Clara, the nuns make laudable use of their time. As well as praying for Carmona’s sinners, they make delicious desserts and pastries.

In particular, try the polvorones, a local type of shortbread which, were they not made in a convent, I would have suspected may well be narcotic.

On the tapas trail

By now, myself and friend had reached the main square, shaded by jacaranda trees, bougainvillea and oleanders. But sadly, we could find no hint of the tapas bar that was the very finest in all Andalucía, we had been assured. There are several of these in Andalucía.

Now, I’m very fond of a good tapas bar. Truth to be told I’m reasonably fond of a bad one. And I’ve been to a few ropey ones in my time, from Cadiz to Salamanca. Basically serving olive oil with bits and pieces in it. Although tasty with it.

But when one comes along with such high recommendation, well, it had to be visited.

In halting Spanish I asked a local chap the way. He muttered it was ‘complicado’ as well as ‘bueno’, and set his drink down to walk us through the maze of streets — down steps, past icons of saints behind glass cabinets, through ancient archways, and of course past more churches.

The Church of San Pedro (15th century, with tower that’s a replica of the Giralda bell tower of the Cathedral of Seville) looked gaunt and glowering in the evening light; the Convent of the Immaculate Conception shimmered with beautifully decorated tiles; the Iglesia de San Bartolomé with its astounding wealth of Mediterranean weeds growing out of crevices in its walls, still had late-night customers popping in.

To make conversation, as best I could, I remarked to our ad hoc guide that there seemed to be no scarcity of religious establishments hereabouts.

“Demasiado,” he replied laconically: too many. And of course there are; but this is by design. After the Reconquest, head office at the Catholic Church wanted to make their point very forcefully and show every Jew, Gypsy, Moor, Berber, Arab and indeed Christian — who their undisputed boss was. Money for this project was no object, with priceless swag arriving from the Americas courtesy of the conquistadors.

 The tapas bar

Finally, there it was, our destination, the Taberna el Zahori in La Calle de la Costanilla de la Pozo Nuevo. Just down some more stone steps, through a couple of wrought-iron gates, across a courtyard, and there you are.

We thanked our guide, whose name I didn’t catch. Pedro the Helpful maybe.

The tapas, I might add, were beyond reproach.

But that’s hardly a surprise; even bog-standard tapas bars here will serve you a meal fit for a king, even a very cruel one.

At the Taberna the specialty was sopa de picadillo, spicy chicken soup. This was followed by a portion of meltingly good serrano ham, partridge from the mountains, patatas bravas and more wine than was sensible. The Andaluz beef cecina was accompanied by torta de aceite, a local specialty bread made with lots of olive oil, sesame, and anise. Oh, in case you’ve always wondered, cecina means "meat salted and dried by means of air, sun or smoke". The word is related to the Spanish cierzo or north wind. So, meat dried by the northern wind. A few more glasses of rioja, and I’d have been waxing as poetical as that about the custard flan we had for dessert. 

CARMONA is Spain in Andaluz overdrive: flamenco, sherry, top tapas bars, carousing till el estupido o'clock, and more churches than you could reasonably shake a crozier at.

If you like your abroad hot, historical, Catholic and sensuous, stick Carmona on your itinerary next time you visit Spain. You might find it difficult to leave.

Hotel Alcazar del Rey Don Pedro

(Parador de Carmona)

Carmona, Seville

www.paradores-spain.com

 Double rooms from €89