Being the Continued Journal of the Travels of Ana Ravaya de Guzman:
The City of Toledo

It rained on our journey by the Iron Caravan from Madrid to Toledo, but
it stopped by the time we reached the old city itself.  When the sun
came out, the city was revealed to us in its splendor.

The old part of the city rests atop a cliff, and the Rio Tajo cuts a
U-shaped path from east to west along the south side, creating a
ravine.  Three bridges (two of them built by the Romans and refurbished
by the Moors and the Christians and still used as footbridges today)
connect the old city to the surrounding countryside,  and the north
side of the old city is protected by good strong walls and guarded by
nine gates, many quite old.

We left the Iron Caravan at a station which is a marvel of "modern
mudejar" architecture. It resembles more a converted mosque than a way
station and has won several awards as a result. We hired a small
carriage to take us to an inn at the center of the old city. When our
carriage swung 'round road on the far side of the eastern ravine and I
beheld Toledo for the first time, I knew I had come home.

Our inn was named after El Greco, the great artist, and is but paces
away from his home, which is now a museum, on the southwestern side of
the city.  The old city is maze of crisscrossing narrow streets and
alleys, many of them too narrow for carriages, and all of these an up-
or a down-hill walk.  This is a city meant to be explored on foot.
There is not a street or alley in this place which does not have some
small treasure to behold or purchase.  Unlike Madrid, it is a quiet
place, conservative, and its people retire early in the evening.  It
does not need a night life; its history is enough.

The buildings here are a mix of mudejar and gothic, with a few
remaining examples of Roman left, especially the bridges.  The Catedral
is a gothic jewel in the crown, its spires and bell tower competing
only with the Alcazar and San Jan de Los Reyes for the sky.  Within are
many chapels which had been commissioned by the highborn families over
the centuries, and some of El Greco's works, the most notable being El
Espolio (Christ being stripped of his raiment).  No matter what your
spiritual leaning, you can feel the agony and humiliation that the
subject suffered in his pale, tortured face.  This painting landed the
artist in the Inquisitor's jail, ironically enough, because Jesus was
placed at a lower level than some of the on-lookers!  Luckily, El Greco
had friends in high places among the more enlightened clergy of the
town, and he was freed to continue his career.

Mudejar is the name given to Moslems who continued to live under
Christian domination throughout the Reconquista, and for the style of
architecture employed by these.  The brick facades decorated with
horseshoe arches and other such devices give this city in particular a
flavor all its own.

My first taste of this mix of styles was at the Iglesia de San Roman,
which had once been a mosque when Alfonso VI and El Cid won the city
from the Moors in 1085.  It was re-built in the 13th century and made a
Christian church.  It was deconsecrated in our century and made the
Museo de los Concilios y la Cultura Visigoda.  Within are frescoes
which evidence the Moorish and the Christian presence, as well as
examples of jewelry and other religious and secular objects.  Arabic
letters and decorations vie with Christian scenes of saints for the
eye. "If you like this," my aunt said, "Cordoba and Granada will leave
you breathless."

Down the southeastern alley of this museum, a lone shopkeeper lives and
works. One small door, one small window and one small sign indicate his
presence.  It can be easily missed if you are looking at the other side
of the street.  This man would surely be a Master of the Laurel among
us, for he makes his living re-creating illuminations upon black
lacquered wood.  He displays his wares in the front room of his small
home, creates them in his workshop just behind, and lives above the
shop. I did not have enough pesetas with me when I discovered his shop,
and when I returned the following day, he was away and the shop was
closed.  I resolve to return to this place one day, make a purchase
well worth the expense, and have the courage to ask his name, as he was
so quiet and intent upon his labors that I feared to distract him.

My aunt and I threaded our way through the narrow streets to the house
of El Greco and to the church of Santo Tome, where we saw more of the
El Greco's works, especially his panorama of Toledo, his renditions of
the twelve apostles,and the Burial of Count Orgaz.  We then stopped
back at our inn for almuerzo (lunch), and then visited the Sinagoga del
Transito (the synagogue and Sephardic Museum), marveling that this
place had survived the Expulsion and was now a testament to the
contribution of the Jews to the Spanish culture.  Another such place
was the much older Santa Maria la Blanca, with its Cordoban-style white
arches within.  In the reign of Alfonso X, the Learned, this place was
a mosque on Fridays, a synagogue on Saturdays and a church on Sundays.
In no other place in Christendom was such a thing possible.

We then walked to the northeastern side of the old city, using a map as
our guide in this great maze, to the Alcazar, to see the old Puente de
Alcantara (the larger of the two old bridges) and the Zocodover, the
main plaza which had once been the horse-trading market of the Moors,
and from which its name derives.  We sat in the plaza eating mazapan
(marzipan) and sipping mineral water as we watched the city flow around
us.  As we slowly walked back to our inn, I stopped at various shops
along the way to purchase mementos of my stay for my friends and
myself.  I lamented that we had such a short stay in this city, and
that the following afternoon we were to travel south to Cordoba, as
there are a great many more places and works of art to admire.  My aunt
lamented that the hilly streets made her feel her years, and that she
was glad she came with me now, as she would surely not have the
strength to do so again.

On the morning of the 23rd I took Master Minolta with me to sketch the
church of San Juan de Los Reyes, which had been commissioned by Isabel
and Fernando in 1476 to commemorate their victory at the battle of
Toro.  The church was the masterpiece of the gothic architect Juan
Guas, and he asked to be buried there himself. I did not have the time
to enter the Isabelline church, but had the good Master sketch details
of the exterior, as well as of the Puente de San Martin (the old bridge
on western side) which was nearby.  This old river is well loved.  Some
verses praising the Tajo were tiled and painted into one of the old
walls near the bridge, in the style of a 13th or 14th century
manuscript.

As my aunt, the good Master and I rode in another hired carriage to the
Iron Caravan, we passed through the Gate of Cambran into the "new"
city, crossed the "new" carriage-bridge of La Cava and took the long
way around the old city, following the Tajo west to east until we
reached a panoramic lookout over old Toledo.  We were so moved by the
sight that we asked the driver to stop so that Master Minolta would be
able to properly depict it.  We then resumed our journey and reached
the way station with time to spare.


from the January 1997 Seahorse