toledo

My spirit and soul have been realigned and rejuvenated…and al it took was one beautiful trip to the Spanish countryside...well, kinda countryside. We went to Toledo, a city of 70,000, but nature is still very dominant there and the modern part of the town is built away from the historic part, which when entering, makes one feel as though they were stepping back in time—if one can ignore flocks of tourists with cameras and cars lining the narrow stone streets.
We, my friends Yelim and Sarah and I, started our adventure by climbing down a rocky hillside to sit on the bank of the river. Oh! How I’ve missed the river. The subtle flow and seamless eternity of water rippling on the surface as it passes over the rocks and ridges of the bed is enough to satisfy me for a lifetime. We sat near a very old bridge that had one large arch that spanned the river. The entirety of the bridge was created by stone and rock. It was very old and very beautiful. Through the arch one could trace the curve of the river to where a dam had been created and the water curved left slightly and then curved back right with a small and rapid decent. The water did not curl or have large rapids, just a subtle change and increase in velocity from the peaceful flow of my location. Back grounding the dam and the river were the steep Spanish hills that dominate the country side. The hills were beautiful. They rose and fell in steep descents and some rose to platues with nearly vertical drops. The steep slopes were amazing—with stone rising out of the sides and boulders protruding in gray and black, like the design of marble, all in excellence. But, they marble stones were juxtaposed with lush green grass, even in the these winter months. Truly a beautiful spectacle. Rising green hills, the boulders of gray and black, the river in a gorge separating the vista into two equal hemisphere of beauty.
And yes, there is more to say of the nature I saw sitting in one spot along the river. When I turned my head and looked north up the river, the hills were worn and beaten and were not lush and green with green hills and marble boulders, but were exposed with entire mammoth sides of red clay foundation. The opposing colors were amazing. Red and black and gray and green and the steady flow of the murky river. Within forty five minutes of my arrival I felt my soul had been repaired.
And, obviously, this does not even begin to cover the grandeur of the city itself. The buildings and the narrow streets and the monuments which dominate the historical district of Toledo. I was stunned by the beauty of Madrid. But, undoubtedly, Madrid does not compete with the majestical and historical beauty of Toledo. A small bit of background on Toledo, I don’t know much. When the Moors ruled Spain, Toledo was the capital…I think. And they allowed the catholics and the jews to live in piece along side them in the city of Toledo. So, architecture of all three conflicting religions still exist in harmoniously in the city today. Which, is very very old. Much older than anything in Madrid. I’ve discovered how modern of a city Madrid really is, in comparison to much of spain. It hasn’t always been the capital…not even close to it.
I don’t know how to accurately write what I saw. For I saw too much, and understood too little. I stood on a wall that surrounded an old castle, protecting the royal family from whom ever may have wished them harm, with platforms for watchmen to survey the valley below. The stone of the wall was crumbling on the outermost areas. I had to take a piece lying on the ground with me. We wondered through a tiny neighborhood with stereotypical, in the best sort of way, Spanish and medeterinian design. The streets were very narrow and neighbors, one standing on a second floor terrace, the other sweeping the stones of her entry way, called and talked loudly and laughed together. Continuing through the neighborhood, I thought we were on a road for cars when a set of stairs interrupted the road, which turned erratically left into another cramped neighborhood. The roofs of the houses were red and rounded tiles, long in length and short in width…again, as I’ve always imagine medeteranin architecture. Well, the tiles were once red. Now, most were decaying with time and weather, and splints of red paint remained, but mostly were a dull, very dull, orange with areas of no paint at all. But, I did not have a hard time imagining what all the tiles had looked like, in all their glory, a century (or more) ago. This is one amazing thing about being in the historic section Toledo. Being able to imagine yourself in the era when all of these buildings were in their finest. I may have been a Spanish knight for an afternoon, or a boy who only had the simple pleasures of life long before electricity complicated all we know. I did run on the tops of old stone walls that lined the sides of roads.
We saw grand cathedrals, at least 400 years old with busts of angles and jagged spires and statues of saints and Christ carved into the sides of the building. WE stood in a courtyard of a huge old mansion—it had white pillars that supported a large runway that stood twenty feet above. In the corner was a well with a cobble stone foundation. In one room of the mansion was a small art exhibit featuring art of the cult. Which had phenomenal pieces portraying the betrayal and crucifixion of jesus Christ. And others portraying the betrayal of St. Tome. And one gigantic piece of a queen whose face was hidden in a shroud of shadows and darkness but hose elegant dress was fully displayed in the light. The room also had parchments, decrees, and hand written letters from the ancient kings and artists of Spain. That was a pretty cool sight. An actual letter written by the king himself.
After seeing so much, which my pictures and words could never do even a quarter of the justice they deserve…Europe has to be felt with the body, there’s an aura and energy that these buildings exhale. But, after seeing so much, we went to a little Cuban restraint, where the owner was sleeping in the corner and the waiters at first did not want to seat us and def. did not want us there once we were in. But, oh well. We ate a good meal, though I have no idea what I ate, and we shared a pitcher of sangria. We laughed with the lightened spirits of the adventurous day and the uplifting wine and we toasted three separate times to life and adventures and uncertainty and friends and knowledge and to “bitch pig” (which is an inside joke none of you know).
After the wine and sense of courange and adventure it enables, I onged to see still even more…this after seven or eight hours of aimless wondering, climbing up and down the steep hills of Toldeo and seeing oh! so much. We hiked yet another hill to the military academy, which is now like our west point, and has been a fine academy for many years. It was sunset and the orange and reds and purples of twilight hung beautifully in the sky. At the bottom of a steep hill which led to the academy, there was a ledge of natural hill and grass I climed up to. It rose drastically higher than the rode itself, so by the point I walked the length of 100 meters that the rode was, I stood thirty feet above the road. From there I could see clearly across the gorge that divided the city and river at the bottom. I was high enough to see over the trees of the valley and looked directly upon the old castle, which is now a library, sitting on the highest point across the gorge. The setting son was directly behind the castle and the glorious twilight colors jutted out on either side of the castle. A military policeman yelled from the academy, “No! No! No!” letting me know to get down from the peak and back to the road. So I called back, “No?” as though I would comply fully, and then raised my camera to take a picture of the castle and sun set. The officer yelled even more ferociously as I raised my camera, “NOOO!” and I again called back with compliance in my voice, “Oh, okay,” and stood there long enough to take a photo of the vista before returning back down to the road.


And, on a completely unrelated side note. I found an English based magazine which writes reviews of the arts, entertainments, and clubs of Madrid, for which I’m going to write concert reviews. I’m very excited about this prospect of getting to know Madrid much better, and finding a group of friends, some Spanish, some British, some Brazilian and some American, who are all interested in arts and culture. I’m beginning to find a niche in my new home.

huzza!
jake.