Córdoba 1

G's itinerary and mine would intersect again a week later in Salamanca in my clockwise circuit of Spain. It was a cold morning and I was glad of breakfast to warm the blood in my veins. The bus driver had a little icon of Mary above his place. Córdoba is at the apex of a broad triangle with Granada in the east and Sevilla in the west. Highways run east-west and north-south so the most direct route between Granada and Córdoba is N-432, a secondary route in Andalucia. The road was twisty and we passed many villages with narrow streets. Outside of those we met rural traffic such as trucks and tractors. Olive plantations were all over. There were fields of sunflower, starting to bloom, and fields of wheat. At a 10 minute stop in Baena I got a small can of Coke in exchange for a coupon which every passenger had received. Sopa de letras (word soup) is Spanish for crossword puzzle, I noted from a newspaper.

At Córdoba I walked from the station to the old city, got lost in a maze of streets and did a couple of circles. Finally I found the youth hostel, but it had been booked out by a group. It would be the only Spanish YH I would attempt to stay at; there weren't many. The tourist office was closed but I got a map of the city. The first hostal couldn't accommodate me but I was accepted by Hostal Mari. The owners, an elderly couple, were curious and asked for una moneda de Australia. Unfortunately I had disposed of my small change before leaving so I gave them a Dutch guilder. The ground floor room looked like it had been their son's before he went off to university, or maybe to work elsewhere, as the shelves had textbooks. There was no sink in the room and the bathroom was in the courtyard.

My first impressions of Córdoba were not favourable. It was crawling with tourists of all nationalities and Córdoba wasn't handling the influx well.

After the siesta I ventured into the evening air to see the city. Everybody, but especially young people, seemed to be out—it was Saturday after all—and they were well dressed. At least the package tourists and their buses had left and restored the city to the locals.

This is a Roman arch I encountered in my perambulations.

There seemed to be a large gap between the expensive establishments and the cheap eateries. I wandered through many streets without spotting anything suitable. I was tempted to try the caracoles (snails) at one place. Maybe the next day. Finally, just as I was about to give up and get a fast burger, I spotted a pizza parlour. The minestrone tasted like it had come out of a tin, but the pizza was reasonable. They didn't know how to make a good tomato base though.

Flamenco was widely heard; every tourist restaurant seemed to offer a performance. I had bumped into a dance troupe as I left the information centre that afternoon.

Even by midnight the streets of the old quarter and the Judería (Jewish quarter) were still very much alive with strollers.