Plazas and pebbled tapestries in Córdoba

Córdoba is jam-packed with treasures from its storied past. It was exhilarating, and overwhelming.

One moment I was admiring the pretty flower pots climbing whitewashed walls and then I turned a corner to be confronted by a stretch of the massive Game of Throne-esque wall that encircled the city in Roman times. Another day I unexpectedly walked under an archway into the huge 17th century Plaza del Corredera (similar to Plaza Mayor in Madrid without the sculpture of a king on a horse and far quieter). Exiting the other side of the rectangular plaza I was soon face-to-face with the remains of a Roman temple from the 1st century. Eleven Corinthian marble columns piercing the blue sky.

Surprise.

The streets themselves were surprising (and surprisingly easy to get lost wandering them). The cobbled streets would taper or morph into stairs or simply end.

One day I heard a curious squeaking sound, like rubber grinding on itself. A police car had slowed right down, almost grinding to a halt, as the tires literally were grinding on the smooth stone curb. The driver’s hand reached out and tucked in the side view mirror.

Most often I found Córdoba’s narrow streets would lead me to a plaza. There were an astonishing number. I felt like I would step out of one plaza and directly into another. In some cases I did: two plazas joined at a corner. Many were small and intimate, adorned with a water fountain and a couple benches. Others were larger and had space for a cafe under a leafy canopy. Still others were in front of the city’s many churches (like San Lorenzo, below).

No matter the shape or size, I was struck by the artwork under my feet. It was like a gorgeous tapestry. Instead of fabric, the designs were made of smooth black and white pebbles nestled tightly together. The intricate mosaics were varied: geometric forms, waves and curly-cues, vases and watering cans, flowers and plants.

A tree!

Surprise. I stepped into Plaza Seneca.

The Roman philosopher Seneca was born in Córdoba (4 BC). He was a stoic philosopher like Epitectus (see A crafty lesson). The sculpture of Seneca was tucked into one corner, and well worn. Headless, toeless, handless. The creases of his toga blackened by dirt of the ages. He would have held a scroll in his left hand but it was missing with no hand to grasp it. (See photo above, at the gates of Almodovar, for an intact sculpture of Seneca.) The striking feature of Plaza Seneca was the bold pebbled tree on the ground. Its black roots and branches reached across the entire plaza, filling up the space, and even stretching into the floor of the fountain located beside the sculpture.

What was the significance of this tree?

I pondered this question as I walked across the tree’s branches and roots. I came up dry. Clearly I am no philosopher.

Later I found this quote by Seneca:

No tree becomes rooted and sturdy unless many a wind assails it. For by its very tossing it tightens its grip and plants its roots more securely; the fragile trees are those that have grown in a sunny valley.

Seneca, Roman Stoic Philosopher, c. 1st century

It reflects the stoic philosophy to frame a challenge as an opportunity to learn. To grow. To become sturdy.

Stoic advice I may not be equipped to give. I am still learning myself. One piece of advice I am more confident to share should you be fortunate to wander the streets of Córdoba someday: Don’t forget to look down! The ground beneath your feet will astound.

Think your way through difficulties: harsh conditions can be softened, restricted ones can be widened, and heavy ones can weigh less on those who know how to bear them.

Seneca, Roman Stoic Philosopher