Conquest
Welcome to my random musings about the world, on a weekly-to-occasional basis.
Where we are: We’re in Valencia, staying in a hotel in the ‘City of Sciences.’ It’s a bit of a palate-cleanser after the palpable, thought-provoking history of Andalusia. There is a historic center in Valencia (complete with Roman-era ruins, of course), but in all honesty, I’m enjoying our views of the science museum and oceanographic center. We briefly (for about 3 seconds) considered eating Thanksgiving lunch at the Hard Rock Cafe, but … nah. I don’t miss stuffing and pumpkin pie quite that much. But I hope my readers in the US had a lovely day!
Conquest
We visited the Seville Cathedral yesterday; it’s all the things one would expect of a famous European cathedral: gigantic, awe-inspiring, ornate, beautiful.
When I was small, I had a love-hate relationship with cathedrals. I thought they were beautiful, but in the UK of my childhood in the 70s and 80s, they were usually drafty and cold. Stained glass windows and walkable labyrinths were mildly entertaining, but having to be quiet and still (and not allowed to just plop down on a bench and read) was excruciating. The only things that ever really captured and held my attention were decapitated statues—there are quite a few of those in British churches and cathedrals, reminders of the violence that accompanied the Protestant Reformation in the 16th century. (Violence in the name of religion: always bad, in my opinion.)
There is a statue in the Seville Cathedral, though, that is unlike anything I’ve seen in any other cathedral: it’s a larger-than-life representation of four pallbearers, all of whom appear to be clerics, carrying a coffin on their shoulders. I had no idea what it was when I first passed by, and there was a crowd of tourists taking photos, so I kept moving.
Like all the other churches and cathedrals we’ve been to in the last couple of weeks, the Seville Cathedral oozes wealth and power. When it was built, it was the only cathedral larger than Istanbul’s Hagia Sophia. There are golden ceilings and a massive silver altar. The intricacy and workmanship of the stonework is breathtaking. The cathedral was deliberately constructed, during the Reconquista years, over the bones of a grand mosque; the Giralda tower that now houses the cathedral’s bells was once a minaret. Now it’s the symbol of Catholic Seville. The ticket booth is situated in a beautiful internal courtyard—the ‘patio of oranges’—that was once the ritual ablutions area of the mosque.
Eventually, after a couple of hours of wandering and ogling and breathing in incense, I sat down in a pew to rest my feet. Something I had skimmed the night before was tickling the back of my mind, so I asked The Google—where is Christopher Columbus buried?
That huge statue, with the mob of tourists clustered around—that is (maybe, possibly, arguably) the final resting place of Columbus, or at least, some of his bits.
I went back over to the statue to get a better look, and to contemplate … the phenomenon. I can’t think of a better word. Columbus is a thing here; a rockstar, perhaps.
I had no idea. Perhaps that was naive on my part. He wasn’t even Spanish! But my elementary school history lessons came flooding back while we were in Granada last week, and I remembered that it was Ferdinand and Isabella’s backing that made his first voyage possible, so I guess Spanish reverence for him makes sense.
It was, after all, that first voyage that ultimately opened the floodgates of conquest that brought New World wealth to Europe. Perhaps it’s fitting that Columbus is (maybe, possibly, arguably) buried under the ostentatious arches of the Seville Cathedral.
Take care,
Lisa
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