Arcos de la Frontera is a tiny town on a hilltop in southern Spain’s Andalusian region. We intend to make it our home base for three nights because it is near other sites we want to explore in the area and there is another Parador to stay in (see Road trip in Spain). What is not anticipated is needing to park in a garage 15-20 minutes away from the parador with a very steep uphill walk. The location is stunning but I don’t think I’d stay there again with all of the time wasted hiking back and forth to the car. But look at these views…

I count myself fortunate if only one person per day blows their horn at me. I am a great driver but more cautious since I drove onto that pedestrian street (Just call me One-Way). So now I am paranoid about doing it again and I make sure to read all the signs carefully which annoys the locals, thus the horn honking. 

The drive to Arcos de la Frontera is about as country roads as you can get. The lanes are narrow, soothing, with slightly rolling emerald hills and olive groves and it feels as though we are in the middle of nowhere.

Once parked we pull our suitcases uphill four bumpy blocks and see a taxi so we nab a 5 minute 5 euro ride to the Parador. Worth every penny. Our room has a view of a fortress and cathedral with clock tower that startles me with a deep dong brass bell ringing loudly every 15 minutes. Across the courtyard is the town hall where echoes of a band rehearsal resound with maybe twenty people all playing different tunes and instruments at one time. Church bells, horns, drums, and saxophones, it’s chaos! Expecting peace and beauty after our calming country drive, Susanna and I just have to laugh.

The old part town is small, has a few churches worth poking your head into so off we walk to explore the one next door. We had read that you can visit both churches for a discounted fee so we buy the tickets from the attendant at the door that says “dos (two),” thinking we were getting the deal for both sites. Only the dos is for a tour of the church and a climb to the top of the clock tower! The nice gal that took our money points us to the locked small door that only the hunchback of Notre Dame could fit through without ducking. I whine to Susanna that I’m too tired to climb a thousand stairs, but we paid the euros and it’s too late now as a young man is unlocking the tiny door with clanking prison keys for us to enter. Around and around and around we step, up and up and up and up, me grumbling like a sleepy gerbil and taking my time. It ends up to be one of those surreptitious synchronicities. We get to see the bells that have been invading our ears every 15 minutes, even reach out and touch them. And I don’t know how we managed to avoid being deafened while we were up there, but our timing was perfection. It felt dangerous, unkept, with crumbling ledges, views of the whole area and totally worth every panting step. A very happy mistake.

Winding back down the steps and into the Basilica De Santa Maria we were transported to the 15th century in a small community cathedral that was actually not just a tourist site. Real people worship here, we saw them and there are some lovely paintings and sculptures.

We walk to the second church, Templo San Pedro and arrive 15 minutes before they close. The crocheting attendant had to turn on a few lights for us and we wandered around by ourselves, Susanna grossed out by the relic bones of saints—especially a little girl skeleton dressed up in a gown. It was dusty and musty in there, paint peeling and a bit sad, but it is a church devoted to death and grieving so it fit. We didn’t stay long. 

That’s about all there was to our town adventure. We walked in and out of a few other ancient government buildings but it was kinda a bust off season. 

The Parador is on a lovely cliffside, with amazing views and sunsets. We sit on lawn chairs perched on artificial turf, watch birds soaring the cliffside, drink rosé and play Azul. If you don’t know the game, it consists of colorful tiles and patterns. Susanna got me a travel version for Christmas so when we get some down time we play. We have yet to turn on a television even though there has been one in every room. It’s been so cleansing to be away from the constant barrage of screens and news. 

I have a nickname given to me by the grounds keeper where I work because I don’t always follow the arrows of direction for traffic established on our small campus. “One-Way,” he will say with a smile, “how you doing?”

Susanna and I are both sad to leave Cordoba but the drive to Seville is only 1.5 hours so we don’t hurry away. But in true Lori-fashion, I take a wrong turn onto a wide pedestrian-only esplanade and do not realize it until my black radiator grill is facing a bunch of cafe tables. I just have to laugh along with the gaggle of men smiling and speaking at me through the car window in rapid Spanish and pointing behind me to the street I should be on. 

We pull into Seville without further faux-pas or “paso en falsos.” We are staying in a small hotel a block away from a laundromat so we decide it’s time to do that task when we arrive. After quickly appreciating our cute rooftop room with a little deck, we pack up our sack of dirty clothes.

The laundry is small, only a few washers and dryers but it’s all automated, takes credit cards with the soap included and mysteriously added automatically. As we watch our clothes spin we meet a family from Seattle on a work trip (Susanna also lives in Seattle), so we have a sweet, synchronistic travel chat about things to do in Seville and the young mom recommends a vegan restaurant not far away. When the dryer is just about finished another woman comes in with her bag and proceeds to unpack various things—a quart volume of white-gray hair, small toilet paper roll, a bar of soap—as dirt and weeds trail to the floor. She tells us she is an artist from Turkey living and traveling for a time in Spain. She carried the bar of soap in her jacket pocket lined with soap scum and said the wad of hair was from her horse, but later she said it was given to her from a friend’s horse. She kept up amiable conversation as she pulled the small roll of toilet paper out of the same soap encrusted pocket… “I wish people to stop using so much toilet paper and to bring your own wherever you go.” She said to tell everyone this. So there you go, consider yourself told. 

I love these unique encounters and I do notice less of them as I travel with Susanna. Usually when I am alone there are many more interactions with local people. I’m not complaining, just noticing. My inability to communicate in Spanish is an issue as well. I wish I had studied more before I left but this trip came together very last minute. 

The laundry task done we head out to do our familiar circle of the town. We see the outside of the cathedral and stop for a terrific dinner at Gusto with some great vegetarian options where we sit under awesome black and white vintage photos.

Back to our room we maneuver the small space (I have to slither sideways in the bathroom to fit between the door and sink) and enjoy the roof deck while the sun sets. Tomorrow we will tackle the tourist sites refreshed and dressed in clean clothes but I’m not quite ready to carry my own toilet paper and soap. 

Susanna is up and out to find breakfast in Cordoba before me so we agree to meet at the Palacia Alcázar de los Reyes Cristianos, where we sauntered through the palace walls and beautiful gardens. I must add that it is a joy to travel with my daughter. We are finding our rhythms together and I am grateful for her patience as I stop every few feet to snap another photo, or fix my blistered feet and she lets me take silly photos of her…

We dine alfresco in the sunshine, while the sour orange trees, full of fruit, hang above our heads and a street violinist entertains. Side note: the sour oranges are aptly named in that they are very bitter and considered ornamental in Spain. They are left hanging temptingly on the trees and the locals enjoy watching tourists take a bite, watching their faces pucker with disgust. We heard they taste like tide pods, we did not test this out.

Today we visit Mezquita-Catedral de Cordoba. I had seen dreamy pictures of this place and could not wait to be inside, the anticipation was well worth the wait. 

The beautiful red brick and light stone Moorish architecture captivate as we enter. Created as a mosque in 785, it was remodeled in 1236 when the Catholics took it over, but the combination of all the elements of Moorish, Renaissance, Baroque and Gothic styles made it our favorite cathedral next to the Sagrada Familia in Barcelona. 

In a bit of a daze we leave the cathedral-mosque and walk through the magical streets, watch the sunset from the rooftop and have pizza and gin and tonics at the hotel bar. Cordoba is a place I would love to spend more time, so much beauty in the people, in the architecture and in the landscape.

“To behold beauty dignifies your life; it heals you and calls you out beyond the smallness of your own self-limitation to experience new horizons.” –John O’Donohue

“Castle,” I say as I point out yet another ruin on a distant knoll. And like the quote, “If you drive past horses and don’t say horses you’re a psychopath,” the same applies to castles in Spain. And they are everywhere! Each time I want to pinch myself.

We arrive in Cordoba after three and a half hours of driving, using two gps apps to make the best decisions. Pulling into Cordoba we went to the first recommended parking garage and it was full. Bummer. So off we navigate to the next one, deeper into the old part of town where the streets are one way, cobblestone and VERY narrow. I missed a turn and ended up down an impassible street and had to back my way out, missing parked cars and curbs and pedestrians. Susanna got out and marshaled me backwards onto the correct path. Ugh. Not fun. The pressure from the rental agency to not put a scratch on the car was profound. They said they charge $1250 for each little scratch, and that’s even WITH the extra insurance paid. So we were always on pins and needles. But we made it to the garage and pulled in our mirrors to make it around all the tight corners inside. Driving here is not for the faint of heart. 

Traveling off season has great perks though, less crowding, reservations are easier to book last minute and prices are cheaper on just about everything. We stayed in hotels that I would never have looked at without the great seasonal discounts. One of these was in Cordoba, where we enjoyed our poshest stay. Nothing too extravagant but wonderful quality and in the heart of the action, so walking with my blistered feet was much kinder. It had a lovely rooftop where I could hang out and write and watch the sunset.

Cordoba was also one of the few stays where the landscape was flat and much easier to navigate, quicker to pop back to the hotel for a break midday, or to grab something I forgot, like gloves or passport.

I think I’ve mentioned that dining hours are later than what we are used to. Cordoba is no exception. Tonight we stroll the dark streets, get our bearings, circle the mosque-cathedral and have our first taste of tortilla de patatas (an egg, potato delicacy) that we eat sitting on the back steps of the cathedral while the town strolls by. 

This town is full of happy people.There is so much chatting, laughing, families out late visiting in the streets, it feels festive. And on our walk back to the hotel, we run into crowds stuffing the streets so we could hardly move. Up ahead we see gold glittering and hear a band playing, we are in a procession of people following a relic through the streets! We smell incense and beeswax candles and follow a full band playing dirgy music.

We were swept along for at least 45 minutes (stopping for gelato along the way). It was slow going, the “float” was all gold with a life size Virgin Mary and vases of flowers, and covered with silver and gold. It was heavy and moved very slowly, carried from church to church through the tiny streets that I tried to drive through earlier. 

Back at our hotel we asked a staff member what it was that we saw, and he smiled and said that it is a normal part of their culture to have these processions. He called them religious relics that are paraded through the streets and it is very common but the most unusual thing we have come across so far.

Procession in Cordoba