Back to the holiday snaps, and a Saturday pottering around Cordoba.
As usual, @timofnewbury had beat me here by about 35 years, and had the lovely postcard to prove it;
I love towns where you just walk aimlessly for hours and look for tiny detail; Genoa and Naples (and Edinburgh) excel at that. Mrs RM was less convinced, but determined to get those 20,000 steps in as long as there was 2,000 calories of cake and cool lager somewhere.
We started at the astonishing mosque-cum-Catholic cathedral, hidden among the palm trees by the river.
I’d spent 20 minutes urging Mrs RM to get up early so we could get in at 8:30 and save the admission fee which tells you a lot about my character.
It really is a monumental building,
the collision of Islam and Catholicism beautiful and bewildering.
I loved it,
almost as much as the apple pie and strong coffee at Hygge, which is NOT a Danish cafe.
I never did find out quite how to order the perfect black coffee, that point between espresso and Americano, but this was close.
Cordoba only really comes to life late morning when the day-trippers come to life, like a giant Rye (a duff comparison, but works for me), and most of it concentrates on the few streets around the bridge anyway, so you can wander for hours without bumping into anyone swinging an umbrella behind themselves.
But in the squares the tables out, flogging Cruzcampo and cafe leche,
and tiny shops sell useful things like communion dresses and foam sweets,
and locals gather round secret bars
and drink Bass.
Mrs RM got a bit fed up with me stopping in the north-western streets of the Old Town and going “Oooh look“, and insisted we sat down.
So I did, in the plastic tables of Caracoles 2, outside nondescript Deza supermarket.
Ambar beer, 1.50 euros a half (NFMSS 3.5), and a Katy Perry soundtrack.
But what were those little tapas everyone was bringing back from the bar ?
Oh, snails. Ham and Dutch cheese from the supermarket again, then.