There is more to Andalusia than the much visited Seville and Granada and its famous Alhambra. A true Andalusian will tell you that they are born within sight of the River Guadalquivir.
Islamic art and architecture built in those centuries have survived where once Muslim, Jew and Catholic lived happily side by side
I travelled to Córdoba, through olive tree plantations that shimmered in the summer haze only intermittently broken by fields of yellow-headed sunflowers. This quiet backwater had a rude awakening in 711 when the Moors invaded and the ruling emirs of Omea and Damascus made Córdoba the capital of their kingdom.
The Muslim Moors’ Al-Ándalus under the Caliphate rulers was a leading cultural and trading centre for Spain and the Islamic world.
The Great Mosque of Córdoba is the second largest in the world, a calm oasis within the old city with an orange orchard at its heart. The colonades of pillars suport stunning carved arches.
Commissioned by Emir Ab dar Rahman in the eighth century it was later converted for Christian worship, giving the present day Mezquita Cathedral a mix of Moorish, Renaissance and Baroque styles.
The Alcazar de los Reyes was the base for King Ferdinand and Queen Isabela during the siege of Granada between 1482 and 1490. The murky waters of the river still flow under the multi-arched Roman bridge that leads to the Almodovar Del Rio.
Within the La Juderia and San Basilo Quarters, Islamic art and architecture built in those centuries have survived where once Muslim, Jew and Catholic lived happily side by side.
Now the hallways of homes are mosaics of bright tiles and blue buckets filled with flowers. This is the origin of the Spanish word ‘patio’, meaning ‘backyard’ in English usage.
The 12 courtyards and large garden of the Viana Palace are an excellent tribute to the patio culture.
The city is tied to its folklore, such as the story of the mulatto woman who disappeared before her jailers’ eyes during the Spanish Inquisition. Or the story of the Pamplona ivory casket that held the parchment prophecy that stated ‘the proud people of Córdoba will find a giant horse hidden in a cave, to flee the city if attacked, faster that any of the horses of Lord Caliph’.
As I walked the dimly lit alleys, the still night air gave the city a mystical quality.
Next day I travelled eight kilometres eastwards, to visit a family with firm roots in this wondrous part of Spain. At the ancient Royal Stud of Yeguada Almuzara (www.yeguadaalmuzara.com), the rolling pastures are surrounded by stone walls built by King Felipe II, with views to the ruins of the Medina Azahara.
My host, Ángel Peralta Astolfi, is a real-life vaquero, an Andalusian cowboy who rides the noble, high-stepping Andalusian horse with Arabic bloodlines.
I saw the tack and garrocha wooden pole used to herd the fighting bulls that are bred on the ranch, before Ángel showed me the stud animals in the stable block. In the far distance the bulls, mares and foals were on the range.
In the cooler months, the animals put on a show of natural horsemanship – rounding up the bulls, performing high-stepping routines and bringing in the foals.
Ángel’s girlfriend, Pilar, also joins in the fun – she dances Sevillanas, a local dance in syncronisation with the horses.
A modern house has now replaced the original Roman villa, but the previous owner and matador had used the Roman bath to practice with a bull.
I was invited to stay for lunch and how could I possibly refuse?
What a shame that few of the millions of tourists that visit Malaga each year bother to venture the one-hour drive north to this oasis
After being introduced to Ángel’s mother, we sat at a table under the shade of a mulberry tree and over a leisurely lunch we talked of the Andalusian way of life.
Gazpacho soup was followed by fried fish with salad, all very traditional in this area, while we drank good Jerez sherry cut with white wine, a concoction that is around 30 per cent proof.
Pilar is from Córdoba and Ángel from Seville – a perfect mix in the region where all the girls learn to dance and the boys to ride. Ángel is named after his famous grandfather who was a rejoneo, a bullfighter on horseback.
With time passing, I had to journey back to the station in Córdoba with my kind hosts. Stopped at traffic lights, they both clapped the Flamenco palmas to the music. It is in their blood.
“You must come back,” they both said. I will try to return for the Seville April Fair, when horses, music and dancing make for one long party week, with the riders dressed in the well-cut traje corto and the women in their spotted flamenco dresses.
I travelled south to Antequera, ‘the ancient one’, with temples dating back 5,000 years. I climbed to the Berber fort, the Alcazaba, through streets of whitewashed cottages that must be an artist’s dream to paint.
The white tower offers panoramic views, and I noticed a rock formation that stood out from the red earth.
According to local folklore, a Christian boy and his Muslim girl ran there to evade their angry families.
Determined not to be parted, they jumped to their death from Lovers’ Leap rock.
Due to its proximity to Malaga, Cordoba and Seville, wealthy traders built grand homes in Antequera.
The main church of St Sebastian is home to la Virgen de los Dolores statue and I stood before the forlorn figure, tears streaming down her face.
Later, at the still-used bullring, I visited the museum that tells the story of the local folk hero matador Julian Lopez, known as ‘el Juli’.
As the sunflowers turned their heads to follow the passage of the sun, Andalusian life went on.
What a shame that few of the millions of coastline tourists that visit Malaga each year bother to venture the one-hour drive north to this oasis of cowboys, culture and wild wolves that is the real Andalusia.