Life’s a Quiche

Lorraine

For the benefit of the folks at home, our parents in the United Kingdom, we drew a slice of quiche on the back of the postcard. This was our way of making a familiar reference to the region of Lorraine.

We were sketching the quiche early on a hot, drowsy late summer afternoon in Nancy. Residents who weren’t yet near-horizontal on the terrasse of a café were shuffling past with their clutch of fresh, Sunday baguettes. A small proportion of these bread buyers couldn’t wait until they got home: they had already torn off and were chewing the exposed end. This is something I have always, despite myself, found totally sacrilegious.

The sketch turned out to be a near-masterpiece, rendered with understated hatching in black biro. Lightly browned on top with a just-right coverage of lardons and a tangy, roasted cross-section of tomato on top, this inky quiche looked good enough to eat.

A week or so later, during a ‘phone call after the postcard had arrived at its intended destination, my mother declared that she thought the picture was of “some kind of map”.

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Metz

Even though barely more than 50km from the border, Metz doesn’t betray any German influence, though the city has changed hands a few times in the last century and a half.

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Despite thus being an historical symbol of intra-hegemonic dispute, Metz bucked the trend by being the city over which the first international handshake in space occurred, between American and Russian astronauts in 1975.

The lofty cathedral of St Étienne almost seems to reach into space too.

Narrow and incredibly high (the nave is tenth tallest in the world), it has occupied an elevated position overlooking the Moselle river since 1220, though construction was not completed until three centuries later.

Harmonising with the gothic architecture are the bright, richly-coloured stained glass windows, some of which are the work of the artist Marc Chagall.

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Nancy

While Metz is a solid, medieval sort of place, neighbouring Nancy is cut from very different cloth.

The rather elegant appearance of the city was marked thus indelibly by one of history’s more curious figures, Stanisław Leszczyński. King of Poland twice, Leszczyński eventually abdicated in a payoff deal that gave him the Duchy of Lorraine.

In the centre of the wide square that bears his name, Stanisław’s statue points North, presumably in the direction from whence he came. Whatever his unusual origins, this remarkable feat of urban planning joins two distinct parts of Nancy in a delightful way, providing a focal point for the city at any time of day.

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The square was allowed nevertheless to fall into disrepair or even disuse at times during its history. It’s hard to believe when looking at the results of the recent 9.5m euro restoration that for forty-odd ignominious years, Place Stan’ served as a car park. Today it forms part of a UNESCO World Heritage site that was our fifth visit to such a site this year.

Something to do with Lotharingia

Mosaics on the ceiling of the Aachen Dom

When Charlemagne died in early 814, he left behind him the strongest empire known to Western Europe since that of the Romans. Barely a generation later, it had been dissolved.

The wholesale division of territories among the royal issue led to weakness and fragmentation. In the case of the Carolingian empire, the sum of the whole had been greater than the parts.

Nevertheless, this carving up of land gave us a prototype of modern Europe. The transition from tribes to feudal kingdoms to nation states had begun.

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Valkenberg

Where the plains of Flanders spread east towards the Rhine, the land rises in sudden bursts in a series of wooded valleys. As we saw in Geraardsbergen, hills in this part of the world are prized assets. In Valkenburg, the ruined castle sits atop one such steep incline above the houses, cafes and shops.

With a long and painful history of sieges, the latest of which is being mounted by determined tourists, the town has settled into a quieter pace of life after centuries as a major city of Dutch Limburg.

Maastricht

This fine city, cleaved by the great river Maas (to Belgians, it’s the Meuse), was no easier to navigate in the car despite the fact that J passed through here on her Grand Tour in 1996.

No matter, for we eventually managed to park and headed into the streets on a hot summer’s afternoon. In the Vrijthof, there appeared to be a boules tournament in progress. We later learned that this is a major international event, as far as the game of boules goes, anyway.

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As we paced around, J’s memory occasionally sputtered into life like a knackered engine. She would remember the minutest detail while the general topography mysteriously eluded her.

We lunched at Brasserie Britannique, not because we were missing Britain, but because I had spied a rather natty looking croque madame and, less importantly, it brought back memories of the UK’s rather naff diplomacy in ‘92.

For no Briton over the age of, say, 20 (except perhaps J with her memory being what it is) will hear the name Maastricht without remembering something about the Treaty of the European Union signed there, whose rubric included the foundation of the Euro.

That was also the beginning of a slow, ugly decline for the Conservative Party, the resuscitation of which may be complete in 2009 when Britain will vote to rid itself of the cretinous Gordon Brown and cronies.

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Aachen

It may be somewhat unfair to suggest that, apart from its marvellous Carolingian heritage site, there isn’t much else going for Aachen, or Aix-La-Chapelle as it has also sometimes been known. That’s just how it seemed to J and I as we arrived from Maastricht during the late afternoon.

Charlemagne liked the hot springs so much that he stayed and ruled his empire from here every winter from 768, living late into his 60s. It is strangely edifying to imagine perhaps the greatest leader of the Middle Ages gingerly dipping his toes into the 70-plus degree waters.

Subsequent kings of the Holy Roman Empire were crowned in Aachen throughout the course of the next half-millennium at the world-famous cathedral he founded, about which more in a moment.

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Indeed, the city’s history is long, distinguished and notably cosmopolitan. It sits on Germany’s border with Belgium and the Netherlands. In modern times, it is twinned with two other heavyweight cathedral cities, Toledo and Reims. More dubiously, it is also twinned with Halifax, West Yorkshire.

Aachen Cathedral

The great kaiserdom was one of the earliest, and one would expect one of the more easily acknowledged, proposals for UNESCO World Heritage status. Stepping inside, we began our fourth visit to a UNESCO site this year.

Built in 792, this is the oldest cathedral in Northern Europe. With a richly diverse mix of architectural styles and decoration, it is certainly one of the most beautiful.

The beautiful interior dazzles visitors, in contrast to the simple, rather sober, marble throne on which Charlemagne sat in one of the upper galleries.

The lofty, domed Palatine Chapel dominates the overall plan. The chapel was Charlemagne’s own chapel and it appears to have been modelled to some extent on the basilica of San Vitale in Ravenna, a building the well-travelled King probably knew well.

Córdoba

Cordoba

Containing some 500,00 inhabitants, tenth century Córdoba was home to Europe’s largest urban population.

The Caliphate, a dynasty of Ummayad rulers exiled from their Syrian homelands, held sway over rich hinterlands that supported first the consolidation, then expansion of their influence across al-Andalus and the Maghreb.

A legacy of learning

Whilst its scientific and cultural exploits were renowned at the time, the activities sponsored and hosted by the Caliphate remain one of our strongest links between the ancient and modern worlds.

Some of the greatest works of history, philosophy, linguistics, science and medicine were restored and translated, forming a 400,000 volume library in this singular capital of learning.

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War and peace

Under the Caliphate, it is generally considered that Jews, Christians and Muslims lived in peace and relative harmony in Córdoba during this period. This assertion, based as it is on the undeniable fact that so much was achieved academically, has been challenged in recent times.

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What is more certain is that, if within the walls of Córdoba there pervaded the conditions for peaceful commerce and congress, then outside the Caliphate waged war against its enemies with considerable frequency.

Mezquita de Córdoba

Córdoba’s finest symbol of the Muslim era is the Mezquita, whose state of preservation is little short of extraordinary.

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Built on the site of a Visigothic Christian church from 784AD onwards, the Mezquita remains one of the largest mosques in the world.

Outside the main building containing the mihrab and musalla (prayer hall), the beautiful courtyard includes an orangery added in 987AD and several fountains, flanked by a portico probably built during a later period.

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In the bright light of a spring morning, the bell tower - which encases the former minaret of the mosque - shines golden against an azure sky, casting an ever-shortening shadow over the cobbles below.

Entering the musalla, it takes a moment to become accustomed to the dim light. Then at once, the view is filled with the distinctive, alternating red and white brick arches.

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The pattern demands so much attention that the viewer tends to be deterred from acquiring a proper sense of scale about the building, a curious effect that applies equally to photographs of the same.

The mihrab unusually faces south, instead of southeast in the direction of the Kaaba in Mecca. There are several extant theories that seek to explain this anomaly, not least one that describes the Caliphate’s intent to avoid facing the region from whence it came in exile. Whether out of defiance or shame, the origin of the motive is unclear.

The Caliphate eventually weakened and dissolved into a collection of emirates (taifas) during the eleventh century. Once the Christian Reconquista gathered momentum two hundred years later, it would be only a matter of time before Córdoba fell. After 1236, a succession of Christian features was appended to the (re)consecrated Mezquita with often incongruous results.

Today the city of Córdoba is a UNESCO World Heritage Site.

Andalusia

Illuminated by the sunlight of southernmost Spain are the last traces of a great state whose grandeur and importance seem disproportionate to its lack of prominence in European history.

Perhaps the footnote status of Al-Andalus is partly due to being sandwiched between Roman civilisation and the discovery of the “New” World. Still more likely is that this near-mythical tale of a golden era of Muslim rule might otherwise take the polish off the Catholic resurgence that brought about the former’s end.

The coming of the Ummayads

Andalusia

Inspired by the example of the prophet Muhammad, the Ummayad Caliphs rapidly expanded into territories far beyond their native Syria. In April 711, an Ummayad army under the command of Tariq ibn Ziyad landed at Gibraltar (”Rock of Tariq” = “Gibel al Tariq” = “Gibraltar”). Within eight years, the Ummayad army had taken possession of lands beyond the Pyrennees, after which its progress was finally checked.

There followed half a millenium of Muslim rule. It was a time of enlightenment, of civilised life and - to some extent at least - of cultural and religious tolerance.

However, the course of empire never runs smoothly, and whilst the Ummayads gained Al-Andalus, they would quickly lose every other territory in their power. A revolt by the rival Abbasid family unseated them from their Syrian seat in 750, leaving surviving exile Abd ar-Rahman I to fight his way to pre-eminence in Al-Andalus.

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Behind him, the Abbasids of Baghdad now planned his downfall from newly-won Africa, but the emboldened Ummayad routed the force sent to defeat him and planned to take Baghdad. Revolts preoccupied Abd ar-Rahman I and his plans were never realised. In later generations, the Ummayad Emirs and Caliphs of Córdoba sought to outdo Baghdad’s splendour instead.

From Córdoba to Granada

While Abd ar-Rahman I was concerned with consolidating the strength of the nascent Emirate at Córdoba, it would be a further two centuries before successor Abd ar-Rahman III could expand it. Swelled by victories against the Abbasids and Fatimids in North Africa, and in open defiance of a weakened Baghdad, he declared himself Caliph of Córdoba in 929.

The Caliphate dwarfed its neighbours, a collection of struggling, minor Catholic kingdoms, but spared by diplomacy and allowed to thrive on trade relations these kingdoms would not remain feeble for long. In the meantime, the threat of civil war had begun to loom over the Caliphate.

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In the early decades of the 11th century, the disastrous outcome of this internal strife was the division of the Caliphate’s lands into a series of smaller states, each of which were more manageable targets for the increasingly boisterous and ideologically united Christian crowns. To defend themselves, these taifa kingdoms turned to their Muslim neighbours in North Africa for assistance. Inevitably they paid with their sovereignty and the taifas were briefly reunited under Berber rule.

Despite initial successes, however, the Berber newcomers could not stem the tide of Spanish kingdoms that resented their presence. In a cataclysmic battle at Las Navas de Tolosa near Jaén, the kings of Castile, Aragon, Portugal and Navarre defeated the Caliph al-Nasir and the map of Al-Andalus began inexorably to shrink into the southeastern corner of the Iberian peninsula.

Dissent among the Spanish permitted the continuation of Muslim rule from 1232 under the Nasrid dynasty for another quarter of a millenium, albeit confined to Granada and its environs. Yet it was only a matter of time before the Christians would return. When the marriage of Ferdinand and Isabella (of Aragon and Castile respectively) effectively united Spain, for the Nasrids there was nowhere left to turn but the sea.

The new invasion

In the Middle Ages, the tracks and trails of Western Europe filled with pilgrims headed for Lourdes, Santiago de Compostela, Jerusalem and other holy sites. As Chaucer makes plain in The Canterbury Tales, it wasn’t long before the leisured and the curious swelled the ranks of the pious. These fakers were the original tourists and their dust had barely settled when the Grand Tourers and the Baedeker devotees followed on to discover the beaux arts of Europe.

In 1967, the Spanish peseta was devalued and the drop in cost of living drew people from all classes to seek their own stories of sun, sea, sand and sundries in the high-rise hotels of Benidorm and the Torremolinos. When the Costas filled with foul-mouthed, heavy drinking sunburners, the British seaside turned quiet, then desolate.

For some folks, two weeks in Lloret was never enough. And if we consider the history of humanity, where there is demand, there will be supply. So from Alpine ski slopes like bottled spring water gushed forth that peculiarly un-British form of contract known as “timeshare”. Poolside holidaymakers were encouraged by a limitless supply of slickback shirtsleeves fresh out of the Essex College of Selling to take the plunge. In they dived and their trunks of money would be embarassingly lost.

In the present era, we have the Internet and people prefer to go direct. To a British enclave, using a British estate agent abroad and the foreign limb of a British bank. Old habits die hard.

Andalusia today is cosmopolitan in a way that the Caliphs would never have imagined. Visitors to the ancient pueblos blancos of the high Alpujarras are just as likely to find an English academic grabbing a few days’ peace between Trinity and Michaelmas, or a retired German hikenut in precariously short shorts following the goat trails.

El Poniente Granadino

Reasonably distant from bent builders, crooked councillors and false profits is the Poniente Granadino, the last border of Al-Andalus, where steep slopes are occupied by rows of olive trees or higher up, by thick snow.

The Poniente borders the provinces of Córdoba, Málaga and Jaén and produces some of the world’s finest olive oil. J and I stayed in a small converted stable about ten miles north of Loja, near Ventorros de San José.

El Torcal

El Torcal is a nature reserve west of the Poniente and above the town of Antequera. It is one of Europe’s most outstanding examples of Karst topography.

There are three trails from which visitors can choose. J and I arrived relatively early on a very busy day. It was actually hard to leave the park with all the vehicles heading in.