Nueve: Selfies at the Mezquita

Spain’s RENFE trains are magnificent beasts — comfortable, high-speed bullets flying across the countryside. They even rock gently back and forth — so while I had planned to watch the Andalucian landscape pass on my way to Cordoba, I closed my eyes instead.

I had only a few hours in Cordoba, thanks in part to an epic struggle at the train station. I tried to get the latest train back to Sevilla (9:30 p.m.), but I utterly failed at communicating that to the ticket lady. After a vigorous one-sided negotiation, we settled on 7:30 p.m.

Cordoba was once the capital of the Islamic Empire in Spain, called Al-Andalus. At its height in the 12th century, it was arguably the greatest city in Europe, if not the world, home to philosophers like Maimonides and Avarroes. It played an integral role in preserving the Greek and Roman knowledge that was lost on much of the continent during the Medieval period.

Its most famous landmark is the Mezquita, a mosque turned Roman Catholic cathedral considered one of the greatest examples of Moorish architecture. Given my condensed time frame, I decided to make it the focus of my visit.

I arrived around 1:30 p.m., and my timing was poor — the Mezquita was briefly closed for the afternoon and wouldn’t reopen until 3 p.m. After killing a bit of time wandering around the old Jewish Quarter, with streets so narrow that two people can barely pass shoulder-by-shouler, I entered the Mezquita with everyone else who had been waiting for the 3 p.m. re-opening. Like a mushroom ejecting its spores, the crowd immediately dispersed in all directions and began taking photos, filling the dark mosque with flashes of iPhone light.

Magnificent Moorish arches? *point and click*

Random Latin phrases carved into the marble floor? *point and click*

Orange grove in the plaza? *point and click*

Sacred golden altarpiece? *jump in front of it, turn camera on yourself, point and click*

And you know, I was doing the same damn thing (minus the selfie part). Why? I have no idea. The human need to capture events on camera is fascinating to me. I suppose it’s because we are desperate to affix some sort of permanence to our lives, when we know there really is none. My day at the Mezquita is already history, just like Al-Andalus, with new moments constantly arising in its place.

But I wonder how many experiences in my life I’ve been less-than-present for — or wasted, even — because I was so intent on getting that perfect photo.

On my way out I sat on the south steps overlooking the ancient Roman bridge, listened to a street musician play “My Way” on her violin, and — yep — snapped one last picture. Why not? Maybe this is the one that will last.