Karen's Version: How Toledo Broke my Heart

Yesterday, we stood in line for an hour at the Atocha train station in Madrid to buy tickets for today’s journey to Toledo. I had dreamed about this day trip; I marked up my Foder’s Spain 2009 with earnest little notes, and then carried with me a list of the places I wanted to visit. The ancient edifice I most wanted to wander through … the one on my list which is highlighted and underlined and written in capital letters … was the Mezquita del Cristo de la Luz in Moorish Toledo. But I also wanted to see the Alcazar, the Mozarabic chapel in the Cathedral, the two synagogues (Santa Maria la Blanca and Sinagoga del Transito), and at least a couple of the other churches and museums.

So we set out this morning.

The Ave train from Madrid to Toledo was fast and smooth; we left at 9:20 and arrived at 9:50. Naturally, we didn’t have a tour guide … who needs one? We bought a map in the train station and set out for the city center. I was so excited! I began the trek into the city with Bill as a sweet, enthusiastic historical tourist, sincere and eager to see the famous Spanish city wherein the three great religions, Judaism, Christianity and Islam, had lived together in harmony for a time. I left Toledo at the end of the day a different person.

Maps, we learned, after stopping at the tourist center for a second one, are useless in Toledo. The streets are very poorly marked … they are winding little cobblestone alleys and often beautiful, but they don’t go where the maps say they will go. People actually live within the city center … and they don’t like tourists. The city seems to me to be designed to extract as much money from each visitor … and to yield as little of itself in return … as possible.

After trudging for a long time from the train station with very little help in the way of directional signs (we laughed along the way at other couples like ourselves, huddled, heads together, over a map), we finally followed a tour bus up a hill and through a city gate. We walked around and around a building that looked like it might be the Alcazar … there was a sign that said Alcazar. We even went inside but … it was a Biblioteque. Or else it was the Museo del Ejercito (Museum of the Army). We were confused. Finally, I approached a tour bus driver. “Donde esta Alcazar?” I asked. He laughed and pointed to the Biblioteque while he shook his head … “Nunca!” Oh. There is no tenth century Moorish citadel now, not really. There are a couple of walls that look old, but most of it is modern. That photo on Wikipedia? It doesn’t look like that now.

On to the 15th century cathedral, which took an hour to locate. And €14 to enter. It was full of tour groups, and we independent types had to wait in a separate admission line. When we finally gained entry, we were told no photos were permitted … even without flash (I snuck a few anyway, just to prove a point). Now, I am a cathedral lover, as you know … but this one had bad karma: hideously overwrought; snarling guards stalking around; desperate fanny-packing tourists everywhere. We escaped after about 10 minutes ($1.90/minute, not counting the official guide which, of course, I bought. “Tiene esto en inglés? No. Solamente en espanol.”)

By now, Bill was already highly annoyed (colonel style), and so I mentally cut my want-to-see list down to the two synagogues and the Mezquita. Eventually, we bumped into the Jewish quarter and found the synagogues … each €6 to enter. The 14th century Sinagoga del Transito was very disappointing. It’s really just a Jewish museum with stuff imported from all over Europe and very, very little remaining of the actual Toledo synagogue. It was Disneyesque. Slightly better, but only just, was the early 13th century Santa Maria la Blanca (synagogue converted to a Catholic church). Here, too, photos were forbidden … and I took them anyway. There was more remaining of the actual synagogue, but again, ragged authenticity had been sacrificed in the name of perfect reproduction.

Spain could take a lesson from Turkey in terms of both historical restoration and courtesy.

I mentioned that Bill was a wee bit unhappy before the expensive and dissatisfying experience in the synagogues. Unfortunately, as we were wandering around through the labyrinthine streets(okay, I was wandering … Bill was orienteering) looking for a place to eat on the way to the Mezquita, I saw a little off-the-beaten-track shop with beautiful damascene plates in the window. I decided I wanted to price them in the hopes of buying one. Well, I did buy one but it wasn’t fun since Bill was not in the mood to shop. Not at all. By this time, it was 2 p.m.-ish and he was hungry and thoroughly disgusted with Toledo. We took our plate and found an outdoor café in which to eat. After we sat down and began munching the bread (we were starving), we looked at the menu. We were horrified. Tripe … pig’s knuckles … all manner of comida horrible. I finally chose soup with noodles (broth, noodles, that’s all) and Bill had some type of thick soup made of lentils in oil with ham (ham, ham, ham). I had a glass of wine and Bill had a cerveza. Our bill came to USD 43.00. Yes. Forty-three dollars. For that. We were still starving, but we had the Mezquita yet to discover. I promised Bill … and myself … that the Mezquita was worth everything else.

We found it eventually. It’s very small and it was under renovation. Covered with plastic and scaffolding. I approached the workmen. “Por favor, donde esta la Mezquita del Cristo de la Luz?” They pointed to it. I asked, a little desperately, in English, but using my best sign language, “Can we go inside?” Oh yes, they assured me, smiling. At 3 o’clock.

Billy and I found possibly the only sanctuary in Toledo. A tiny café tucked into a corner near the Mezquita. We sat outside under a palm tree, on a patio warmed by the sunshine … we admired the tile roof and the music while we drank a glass of wine and waited. When it was just a little after three, we went to the Mezquita, which was now totally obstructed by a construction vehicle and blocked by people wearing hard hats. I crossed the street to the tourist shop, where a sign had just been posted in the window:

Esta tarde
La Mezquita Del Cristo de la Luz
Permanecera cerrada
Causa:
La colocación de las losas de la calzada romana


I confess that I cried over the Mezquita, standing outside on the sidewalk. I suppose now I will never see it as it was, even last week. Old, crumbling, lovely and true, with its Moorish voices intact. Even the construction men had lied to me, telling me that it would be open at 3 when they knew it was closed to the public. That just seemed so unnecessarily unkind.

We walked out of Toledo then, but I still snapped a lot of photos as we left. My photos are gorgeous. You would never know from looking at them that Toledo, Spain has a cold, dead heart. I walked into the city this morning so happy, but I left it in tears.