A Search for Traces
of Spain's Islamic Past
Tor Eigeland*
I set out on my trip to photograph the traces of Spain's Moorish
past by driving south, down the coast from my home near Barcelona.
Valencia In Valencia and its satellite towns of Manises and Paterna
I saw some interesting ruins, though in my opinion they are among
the ugliest towns in Spain.
One attractive aspect of Manises, however, is its ceramics,
especially azulejos--tiles. The Spaniards have never tired of the
tiles that the moros brought. The owner of one shop told me that in
the little town of Manises alone there are still some 200 ceramics
shops or factories. Some, unfortunately, make cheap souvenirs for
the tourists, but others still make lovely traditional ware
There are kilns called moruno, meaning "of the Moors," in narrow,
ancient back alleys which reminded me of the oldest parts of Cairo.
When I asked the owner of a moruno kiln whether it was the original
Moorish one, he said: "Kilns don't last forever
But this one has been rebuilt exactly as the Moors built them, in
the same place, and even with some of the same old materials." He
added, "The Spanish way of making ceramics is based on the Arab
way." The most attractive ceramics of Manises still come out of the
moruno kilns as far as I could see.
Some of it is Islamic- style lusterware, which has a metallic sheen,
in traditional designs carefully painted on by hand. In one shop
several old ladies made friendly conservation with me as they
painted, but they absolutely refused to let me photograph them
Since they were not at all shy, I asked them why. One answered with
a smile: "We're not modern. It is an old custom here." So we left it
amiably at that as I had done so many times in the Middle East.
I inquired about the patterns they were painting. Where did they
come from? Did they have anything to draw from? One of the ladies
raised her hand and tapped her index finger a couple of times on her
head. "It comes from here." Nearby Paterna, as far as I could
discover, had only one traditional kiln, but I also spotted an
interesting old Arab tower
Driving around the town in circles looking for a way to get to it, I
came upon some whitewashed buildings where a narrow staircase seemed
to lead up toward the tower between two houses.
The view from the top was like looking at the surface of the moon.
Surrounding me over three or four acres of land were white- washed,
round chimneys and equally white walls about a yard high, some
circular, some square, all jutting out of the ground. And next to
the chimneys and walls TV antennas were also planted in the earth.
On closer inspection, by leaning over the tower walls, I could see
some big holes. Then I understood. There were underground caves and
the walls on the surface were to prevent dirt, dust and water from
dropping into these air holes. Whitewashed slopes led down from
ground level to an open patio, from which gaily painted doors led
into the caves.
I never hesitate to approach strangers in Spain and I asked one
woman who was passing about the caves. "Oh, the Arabs made them,"
she said, "and that was the old watchtower right over there." She
pointed to where I had been standing a few minutes before
The woman knew people who lived in one of the caves and she took me
to meet them. The cave was spacious, spotlessly whitewashed and
clean; it had two bedrooms, a dining room, a living room and a small
kitchen as well as a battery-operated television and a record
player.
It was attractive and also, I learned, rent free. The owners told me
that their family had lived there for as long as they knew,
"probably since the time of the moros." The Valencia region, as
other areas in Spain, has a highly developed irrigation system based
on the Arab acequias, or irrigation canals.
And just over 1000 years ago in Valencia the Muslims started a
Tribunal de las Aguas--a tribunal that judged and imposed penalties
for any abuse of water rights. One such abuse, for example, would
occur if a man were to sneak water from a canal on a day when it was
his neighbor's day to water his fields.
The tribunal still meets every Thursday about noon on the steps of
the cathedral of Valencia, although the day I went they met
elsewhere since the cathedral is in the process of being restored.
Even with my knowledge of Spanish it was impossible for me to
understand completely what was going on.
The proceedings were held in Valenciano, which is close to the
Catalan language. And the place names and irrigation terms, most of
Arabic origin, were unintelligible to me. This is a region where
almost all the place names are of Arabic origin
Almansora, Almenar, Alcora, Benafigos, Adzaneta, Albucazzar: I am
rattling off some of the road signs in Castell"n Province as I head
north from Valencia, taking a roundabout route to Toledo. Place
names beginning with "guad," as in Guadalquivir, are also Arabic;
Wadi al-Kabir, from wadi, a river valley, and al-kabir, the big one.
There are an estimated 6,500 words of Arabic origin in the Spanish
language. Ole!, the most Spanish of Spanish words is derived from
Wallah! For God's sake! Arabic was full of technical words for
subjects unknown in Europe and for which there was no Latin or
Spanish equivalent, words having to do with crafts such as
carpentry, botanical words and just about the entire vocabulary
dealing with irrigation.
Unaltered or altered, these words passed into Spanish and other
European languages. Saffron, sesame, coffee, alcohol, alkali,
almanac, algebra, zenith and zero are a few examples. Toledo Toledo
is not an Arabic name, but the city is full of mementoes of the
Moorish presence.
Mudejar architecture dominates the city, though it coexists with
Gothic, Renaissance, baroque, and neo-classic styles. I saw a small
mosque built in the year 1000 and the old Gate of Bisagra (Bib Sagra--Gate
to the region of Sagra), and I photographed a group of Christian wor-
shippers who still call themselves Mozarabs and who celebrate mass
on Friday, the Muslim holy day
Explained Don Jaime Colomina Torner, secretary of the First
International Congress of Mozarab Studies: "People even here in the
home of the Mozarabs know very little about them. They consider them
a little mysterious and exotic, and many think they are descendants
of the Arabs when in fact almost the opposite is the case.
The word Mozarab is Arabic, of course. It means literally adopting
the customs of Arabs, becoming Arabized. So it refers to those who
stayed in their places and lived with the Arabs, mixed with the
Arabs and became like Arabs in many things including using their
language.
Except for one important thing. Mozarabs remained Christian and
their liturgy and rites were never in Arabic. These people predate
the Arab invasion, which suggests how very tolerant the Arabs
generally were of Christianity." He added, "Of course there were
pressures to convert, and even times of persecutions, but many
Christians left their faith and became Muslims completely
voluntarily." "How many Mozarabs are there today?" I asked.
"Probably about 4,000 persons, of whom some 1,000 reside here in
Toledo.
The communities have some trouble in developing since Mozarabs only
pass their faith on from father to son. Of daughters only the eldest
has the option of founding a Mozarab home. Younger women, unless
they stay single or marry a Mozarab, lose their status." I went to
the charming little Mozarab church of Santa Eulalia.
I found it simple, lovely, warm and with a certain Oriental feeling.
It had Moorish keyhole arches, and to me, some of the feeling of a
mosque. South from Toledo As I drove on I felt myself getting what I
call "the Andalusia feeling." To me, it is always a good feeling. I
saw more and more whitewashed houses with red tiles. The whole
atmosphere is different in Andalusia, more exciting. The people are
attractive, but darker complexioned; I noticed more Arabic names.
The countryside is gently rolling plains and hills, with abrupt,
sometimes snow-clad mountains as a backdrop.
I saw grapevines, olive trees and a train of gypsies on muleback
with their slim-waisted dogs that reminded me of the graceful
salukis I'd seen in the Middle East. I saw the ruins of Arab
watchtowers on almost every strategic hilltop, and always within
sight of another one.
Few are the villages or towns that do not have an Arab castle
perched on the highest peak, usually, today, right next to the
village church. Cordoba In Cordoba the Christians put a cathedral
inside the mosque. The styles clash totally, yet I still find the
interior of the building one of the few places in the world that
overwhelms me so much I have had goose bumps on my arms when
standing in the cathedral section listening to music or chant and
looking beyond through the cool, silent forest of columns and arches
of the Great Mosque.
There is a magnificent mihrad, or prayer niche, with intricately
ornamented arches and mosaics of gold-flecked glass. The antechamber
has a high vaulted dome with a subtly colorful leaf-patterned
mosaic. Cool, shady and spacious, with orange trees and a fountain,
the patio of the Great Mosque, now as in Moorish times, is a place
for children to play, grown-ups to sit, talk, read walk, contemplate
or rest.
Groups of tourists hustle through but no one pays much attention to
them. In the old quarter of Cordoba where the Great Mosque stands,
an infinite number of things reminded me of the Moorish past. Narrow
streets, glimpses of lovely patios, tiny little workshops and cafes,
and the people of Cordoba themselves.
To me they are gentle, fine, soft-spoken people. They still dress
well and have excellent manners, characteristics which I suppose
date right back to the days of the caliphate. Even the young people
of Cordoba do not conform to the present rage throughout the rest of
Spain and Europe of wearing jeans on absolutely all occasions. But
if I wanted to retain the romantic mood, I shouldn't have walked
outside the Arab city walls. Just a few steps away I came across the
usual nondescript apartment block, automobile- exhaust style of
modern living with its plastic bars, disco- theques and
supermarkets. Cordoba and other Andalusian downtown areas, clogged
and increasingly smog-filled, did inherit one great gift from the
Arabs, and the Spanish have shown their appreciation by taking good
care of it.
I refer to the big gardens of the Moorish alcazores, or royal
palaces. Today, where it is most needed, there is another world of
water, air, space, shade from mag- nificent tall trees and a
profusion of plants and flowers. And no cars. I found that pride in
the Moorish heritage seemed to increase as I got closer to the
source.
A Cordoban craftsman told me: "Many people here appreciate their
Arab heritage. And frankly, that is what sells Cordoba to the
tourists. As for myself, I wouldn't be doing what I am doing if the
Arabs hadn't been here. Cordovan leather was once famous all over
the world.
Embossed leather, I think you say in English. The whole process of
making it is still basically as it was when the Moors made huge
leather cordovans to cover entire walls. They used wooden molds and
a press. Today we mostly make small things such as family crests for
the Americans." Granada As in Cordoba, it is Moorish past that sells
Granada to its visitors.
The director of the Alhambra told me that in 1975 for the first time
the palace had more visitors than Madrid's famous Prado Museum, more
than one million. The tourists in Granada are whisked around the
Alhambra, one tour pushing another out of the way; then they are
taken to the Corral del Carbon, an old Arab funduk, or inn, which
has now been adapted for use by artisans. Then the tour groups forge
on across the main street to two narrow lanes called the Zacatin and
the Alcaiceria where some of the Muslim bazaars used to be.
The quarter has been reconstructed in the old style and is still a
bazaar where handicrafts are sold. The guided tour of Granada is
climaxed with a trip to the Sacromonte, the old gypsy quarter where
visitors can drink and shout "Ole" to their hearts' desire as they
watch third-rate entertainers stamping their feet and clapping their
hands. But to me, Granada is so special that even if I had to visit
it as part of a guided tour and stick to the itinerary it would
still be worth it.
Fortunately, I didn't have to. And given the luxury of a little more
time to wander around quietly, Granada becomes something else. At
dusk the downtown Bibarrambla Square (from Arabic--Gate of the Sand)
is a good place to sit for awhile. The Moors fought bulls on
horseback there, and held all sorts of contests.
I didn't have to wait long before someone appeared with a guitar,
that all-pervasive Spanish instrument that was introduced in Moorish
times. Softly, tentatively at first, an onlooker began to clap a
rhythm to the music. Then another person, I think a complete
stranger, started to sing.
For brief periods, when the mood was not crushed by the curse of
modern Spain, muffler-less motorcycles ridden by ferocious
youngsters, I felt transported into another, gentler, dreamier age.
True Andalusian music without motorcycle accompaniment is not easily
available to a casual visitor on a guided tour. But in Granada I
know a place called Pena la Plateria.
It is a private club for professionals and amateurs dedicated to
flamenco music and dance, but one or two strangers will not be
turned away. Nothing much happens at the Pena till after midnight,
but then great events sometimes occur. Nobody danced the night I
went, but some of the singers and guitar players seemed to catch on
fire.
Tarab was there. The deep, insistent monotony of the cante jondo,
coupled with a strange guttural intonation and a quavering in the
voice produce a strange, almost hypnotic effect. I felt a strong
Middle Eastern influence in the music, though its exact origins lie
in the obscure past.
Granada's Albaicin quarter, greatly changed as it may be, retains
much of the old flavor. It is like a village within Granada, and a
good place for a leisurely stroll. Narrow, cobblestoned streets and
stairways that run up and down, twisting and turning, may lead to a
dead end, to a magnificent view of the Alhambra across the gorge, to
a Morisco or Mudejar house or even to an old minaret In this quarter
people quietly continue the crafts of the old Nasrid kingdom. I saw
craftsmen making marquetry (inlaid wood), brass and copperware,
Nasrid-style lamps and wrought iron.
Others were weaving the traditional alpujarra cloth, and still
others were making fajalauza and cuerda seca ceramics, styles which
have been handed down from the moros. In one ceramics workshop I
watched an old, illiterate man hauling in clay for the day's work.
When he signed his name to the bill it was barely legible scrawl.
His name was Jose but he signed it in the Arabic fashion: Yussef.
Later, strolling into a sweets shop I asked the owner which sweets
he thought might have had a Moorish origin. "That's an interesting
question," he answered. "In the first place the Arabs brought sugar
cane to Spain and thus sugar. Then they planted almond trees. So it
follows that most of our traditional Andalusian sweets, certainly
all that contain almonds, must have an Arab ancestor. We really
inherited a great sweet tooth from the Moors. Have you noticed how
sweet everything is here com- pared to northern countries?" Heading
Home Everywhere on my drive through Spain, but mostly in Andalusia,
I found traces of the Moor's beloved al-Andalus.
And even though I had set out to find the traces I had some
surprises. In the Marismas, a marshy area south of Seville, I saw
men wearing red-checked head cloths which resembled the ghutra, the
Arab headdress. In a little village called Montejaque in the
mountains near Ronda, an old woman immediately covered her face with
a shawl up to her eyes when I glanced at her.
A young boy told me, when I asked the reason why, "Oh, she is my
grandmother. She is nearly 100 years old and she keeps the Arab
custom." Near Murcia I came across a huge noria, waterwheel,
churning away, irrigating some nearby fields. A caretaker who was
cleaning the wheel told me he really didn't know how old it was, but
everyone knew it was built by the moros.
I know that cultural stereotypes tend to oversimplify and I am
treading on dangerous ground, but I can't help mentioning how many
similarities I have noticed in the character of the Arabs I've met
in previous travels and many Spaniards I've come to know. Every true
Arab feels himself to be a king. He may be nobody of importance, but
he has self-esteem and thus has the respect of others
He is proud and highly individualistic. The Arab responds to his
emotions and doesn't care as much about tomorrow as so many
Europeans or Americans do. He is polite and hospitable and has a
streak of fatalism.
Religion is of supreme importance to him. I think I have also just
described a Spaniard. Of course centuries of cultural interaction
leave traces, some clear and visible, others vague and imponderable.
The Moors came from differing cultural backgrounds and the
influences on them in Spain were varied and complex.
Moorish Spain was an integral part of the Islamic world, even though
it had a unique flavor. The bright torch of civilization and
knowledge blazed in Muslim Spain while much of Europe slumbered. But
the light shone beyond its frontiers and it became an important
meeting ground for East and West, a transmitter of classical Greek
learning as well as innovative Muslim thought.
As I headed back north toward Barcelona to begin writing the story
to accompany my photographs I thought about what I'd seen. The
history of al-Andalus may seem today to have happened a long time
ago and to have lasted all too briefly. But I couldn't help
reflecting--in the year Americans were proudly celebrating a mere
Bicentennial--that the Muslim civilization in Spain had, after all,
endured for nearly eight centuries.
*This feature appeared in Aramco World Magazine (Sep-Oct 1976) |
