In Arabic, "Qurtuba"

Our only stop en route to Cordoba last Friday was at one of approximately three rest stops we passed on the 2.5-hour drive. Only about six hours after some of the girls had gotten home the night before, the brightly colored bus reminiscent of summer camp transportation came to a stop no less than two feet in front of a sleeping dog in the parking lot. The change in motion woke most of us and the promise of a bathroom lured the rest. We luckily arrived a crucial five minutes before a crowd of "viejos," or old people, spilled out of another bus. Often, it's great to be tall, but not when tough grannies two-thirds my height throw an elbow to my side in order to cut in line. A friend and I have officially concluded that the viejos in Spain completely disregard line formation (we aren't in India, people!), are particularly pushy, and can get borderline violent in public places. I'm not saying I'm going to be the kind old women who let's people step all over me or needs a young person to walk me across the street. However, as that "joven" willing to let my elders pass me in line with a simple "Puedo ir primer?," I expect a bit more than strategic physical maneuvers from people thrice my age (or *gasp* older!).
Anyway, I thankfully secured a decent spot in the bathroom line, but did walk away with a mild bruise in my side. Shouts of, "figs, almonds, very good!" and free samples of the two consoled my trauma from the viejos. We took breakfast in a spectacular setting amongst rolling hills of olive trees. The whole group of nineteen basked in the strong sun at our long table in the parking lot. We ate tostada- half of a toasted demi baguette or small ciabatta loaf split lengthwise, topped with olive oil made from the trees surrounding us and crushed tomatoes- and washed it down with cafe con leche, and bright, flavorful freshly-squeezed zumo de naranja made with Valencia oranges. It was the best damn breakfast I've ever had at a truck stop.
Cordoba is the sunniest city I've visited in Spain, with an amazing Mediterranean climate that allowed me to wear my sunglasses all day. We spent most of our time in the old part of the city, a once Jewish neighborhood defined by maze-like streets on a diet, rather plain white or brick buildings, and lots of tourist junk. La Sinagoga was our first stop, the ancient synagogue located very close to the sight of the old marketplace, now filled with artisan shops. We saw stunning royal gardens lined with colorful flowers, fish ponds, and peaceful fountains, said to appeal to each of the five senses. My favorite place was La Mezquita, the second largest mosque in the world built under Islamic rule. Under Chirstian rule, however, the mosque became a cathedral and today, the mix of Islamic and Catholic architecture creates a unique religious sanctuary. In one part, you could mistake the ornate paintings of angels on the ceiling for the Sistine Chapel. Throughout the building, traditional Arab design of tall, open arches makes it hard to forget who were the original builders. Being able to say, "I'm going to Mass at the mosque" is only possible in a country with such a rich history of theocracy.
The sites we visited were in wonderful condition, as the city is competing for the title of Cultural Capitol in 2016. An honor amongst historical cities, especially those with UNESCO World Heritage designation, like Cordoba. "Cordoba 2016" banners are plastered across the city, but from what I saw, the sites speak loudly for themselves.