Toledo’s Medieval Mystique

His specialty was handmade knives and swords. He claimed to make them here in his shop and to be one of the few--if not the last--such artisans in Toledo. The two fingers missing on his right hand lent weight to his claim, as did the unfinished sword leaning against the anvil in the small courtyard.

I came across the nondescript shop on Calle del Salvador after spending the better part of a Saturday morning late last July getting lost in Toledo’s narrow medieval streets. Each lane gave way to an even narrower one, twisting and turning and tapering until I could stretch out my arms and touch the buildings on either side of me. A couple of times I had to retreat into doorways as cars swooped around blind corners.

As a student of medieval Spanish literature, I have long wanted to visit this city of 65,000. Toledo is 45 miles south of Madrid, an easy trip--easy enough to see the cathedral, completed in 1493, and many of the city’s museums and monuments in a day.

But even for people without an academic interest, one day isn’t enough. Toledo is more than monuments. It is Spain’s capital of fine steel craftsmanship, once the home of the painter El Greco, and a vibrant center of Christian, Jewish and Muslim medieval life--a place of poetry and drama that forms an integral part of the Spanish identity.

“People always come to Toledo--winter, summer, every day of the week,” the knife maker said. “That’s because Toledo is unique, like Venice or Rome.”

He spoke matter-of-factly, infused with the same municipal pride I encountered many times that day. Toledans are convinced theirs is the most significant--and most fascinating--city in Spain. And although many might disagree, I did find plenty of justification for that notion during several day trips this summer.

Toledo has always rated high in the Spanish imagination. It was the capital of the Visigothic kingdom from the 6th century until the Moors invaded in 711. The town remained under Muslim control until 1085, when it was conquered by Christian King Alfonso VI.

After the conquest, Christians lived in uneasy peace with their Jewish and Muslim neighbors. In the 13th century, King Alfonso X of Castile took advantage of the city’s multilingual and multicultural character to establish his Escuela de Traductores de Toledo (Toledo School of Translators). Philosophical and scientific writings in Arabic and Hebrew were translated into Latin and Castilian Spanish.

As I walked into town from the train station, I could see a large hill rising from the Tagus River (Rio Tajo), studded with stone churches and tiled roofs and capped like a crown with the four-pointed peaks of the ancient Alcazar. The huge square fortress, built by King Carlos I (Holy Roman Emperor Charles V) in 1535 and rebuilt several times since, last saw military action in 1936. That’s when it was all but destroyed at the start of the Spanish Civil War as republican forces attacked nationalist rebels holed up inside. By the end of the 72-day siege, the fortress had been reduced to rubble but the nationalists emerged victorious.

The dank and dark basements survived the attack, but most of what greets visitors today is a reconstruction. The upper floors contain a military museum that outlines the history of the Spanish armed forces from the Middle Ages to the present.

It was at the Alcazar that I discovered my camera was broken. I fumed my way through the building and finally sought a spot to calm down on the banks of the Tagus, which flows by the city in a wide semicircle.

I was particularly interested in the Tagus because I had recently read works of the great Renaissance poet Garcilaso de la Vega, who had a soft spot for Toledo. He was one of the first Spanish poets to successfully adapt Italian poetic modes to the Castilian language. He aspired to be the Virgil of his time and wrote lengthy pieces in imitation of Virgil’s pastoral poems, filled with cavorting nymphs and lovelorn shepherds. Rather than set his poems in a mythic Arcadia, however, he set them here, along the banks of the Tagus.

I set off to explore the riverbanks. I hiked down the steep hillside, past ruins of long-tumbled buildings, and came to the river, shaded by fig trees from the afternoon heat. Near the 13th century San Martin Bridge, I realized I was approaching Bano de la Cava, the legendary bathing place where Rodrigo, the last Visigothic king of Spain, first laid his lust-filled eyes on the skinny-dipping Florinda, daughter of Count Julian.

Early ballads indicate that Florinda was a ward in the king’s palace. One day Rodrigo watched as she bathed in the river. Whether what followed was rape or seduction no one knows, but it was serious enough to enrage the count, who vowed to avenge his family’s tarnished honor. He enlisted the aid of the Muslims in Morocco. This, according to legend, is what provoked Moors to invade in 711.

Bano de la Cava turned out to be a small ruined tower hugging the river. Another path led up the hill, through the San Martin gate and back into the city. I found myself thinking of “Lazarillo de Tormes,” the first of many great picaresque tales that recount the adventures of vagabonds.

Lazarillo is a boy who bounces from master to master and city to city, learning the secrets of survival on the streets of 16th century Spain. At one point he works in Toledo, hauling drinking water up the hill for four years before calling it quits. As I trudged up the slope in the summer sun, I understood how the job would take its toll.

Catching my breath after the climb, I found myself at the Monastery of San Juan de los Reyes, commissioned by King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella in 1475. A tour costs only 200 pesetas (about $1), so I went in to look.

The ticket seller commiserated with me about the demise of my camera. “Hombre,” he said, “in most places that would not matter, but to not have a camera in Toledo is a tragedy.” He wanted me to revisit Toledo once my camera was repaired. “By your third visit, you’re practically a Toledan.”

I said I was a student of Spanish poetry and had just been down at the river reliving Garcilaso. His eyes brightened as he pressed a pamphlet into my hand. “Becquer wrote about this place,” he said.

I looked at the pamphlet. The Romantic poet Gustavo Adolfo Becquer did indeed write about the monastery. Gushing with enthusiasm, as Romantics tend to do, he wrote that the monastery “cannot be considered any less than one of the most worthy to receive the attention of the thinkers, the artist and the poet.”

He may have been right. The gorgeous square cloister, built in 1510, boasted detail work that could be mistaken for lace if it were not made of stone. I stopped and gazed at the garden in the courtyard--lush green contrasting with gray stone, the bright sun juxtaposed with the cool shade of the cloister. There was a stillness here, a sort of peace.

Relatively few people were interested in the monastery, compared with the hordes descending on the cathedral that afternoon. The latter, near the center of town, is the seat of Spain’s highest-ranking archbishop. It’s the city’s grandest site, a vast and awe-inspiring building with about 800 stained-glass windows. Construction started in 1226 and continued for more than 250 years.

I paid about $4 for a ticket to the cathedral’s sacristy museum, a glorious (if haphazardly arranged) collection. Vestments, some dating to the 14th century, cram the glass display cases along with handwritten Bibles, chalices and other objects. Titian, Velazquez, Ribera and, of course, El Greco cover the walls, the paintings seemingly hanging wherever they fit. The display lacks cohesion, but the religious iconography still resonates.

The main draw at the Iglesia de Santo Tome, a few blocks southwest of the cathedral, is El Greco’s painting “The Burial of the Count of Orgaz,” regarded a masterpiece of Baroque art. Here, El Greco (1541-1614) united heaven and earth in one magnificent painting. The shimmering, luminous colors and forms depict the appearance of Christ, the Virgin and various saints at the burial of Count Orgaz, who paid for most of the building’s construction in the 14th century.

Down the street I came upon the Sinagoga del Transito, one of two remaining synagogues in Toledo. This one, built in the 14th century and considered to have the most elaborate Mudejar interiors in the city, is now a Sephardic museum. (Mudejar refers to Muslims living under a Christian king.)

Exhibits recount the arrival of Jews in Spain; their life under the Romans, Visigoths, Moors and medieval Christians; the start of the Inquisition; and the Jews’ expulsion from Spain in 1492. I didn’t have time to visit the other synagogue, Sinagoga de Santa Maria la Blanca, which predates Transito by almost two centuries.

I began to appreciate why Toledans have such a deep attachment to their city--a reverence of sorts. As I waited to enter the monastery of San Juan de los Reyes, a couple buying tickets ahead of me asked, “Can we take pictures?”

Perhaps the ticket seller was only joking, but when he responded, I detected a note of seriousness in his voice: “Only if you’re a good photographer.”

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GUIDEBOOK

Touring Toledo’s Medieval Maze

Getting there: The nearest major airport is in Madrid, about 45 miles northeast of Toledo. From LAX, Air France, American, British, Continental, Delta, KLM, Swissair and US Airways offer connecting service (change of planes). Restricted round-trip fares start at $668.

To drive from Madrid to Toledo, take Highway N401. Nine trains make the 1 1/2-hour trip from Madrid’s Atocha station daily; the one-way fare is about $4. For details call RENFE, telephone 011-34-902-24-02- 02.

Where to stay: Parador Nacional Conde de Orgaz, Cerro del Emperador, 45002; tel. 011-34-925-22-18-50, fax 011-34-925-22-51-66. One of the nicest hotels in the area and part of a state-run chain. Doubles start at about $95 per night.

Bulevar Hotel, Ronda de Buenavista 23; tel. 011-34-925-25-56-48, fax 011-34-925-25-56-80, Internet https://www.hotelbulevar.com. Kitchen in each room. Doubles about $72 a night.

Los Cigarrales, Centra Circunvalacion 32, 45004; tel. 011-34-925-22-00-53, fax 011-34-925-21-55-46. Doubles about $30 a night.

Where to eat: Asador Adolfo, Calle de Granada 6; local tel. 925-22-73-21. A beautiful spot close to the cathedral. Dinner for one with wine runs about $35.

Hostal del Cardenal, Paseo Recaredo 24; tel. 925-22-49-00. Popular restaurant in a quiet hotel. Dinner with wine about $15.

For more information: Tourist Office of Spain, 8383 Wilshire Blvd., Suite 960, Beverly Hills, CA 90211; tel. (323) 658-7188, Internet https://www.okspain.org.

Toledo Tourism Office, Plaza del Ayuntamiento, 45003; tel. 011-34-925-25-40-30, fax 011-34-925-25-59-46.