Night visions of Cordoba

This alluring Spanish city contains a glorious fusion of Christian and Islamic cultures – and experiencing it after dark adds a new dimension By night, while most visitors are tapas-hunting in taverns or toe-tapping to the castanets of flamenco dinner shows, the medina's quietened alleyways surrender new insights into the caliphate of Moorish Al-Andalus. And this is when I adore Córdoba. I've long enjoyed nocturnal strolls here in this Andalucian city: the tinkling fountains reverberate along cobbled lanes; marmalade-orange trees cast shadows on dimly lit, whitewashed walls. And now a night tour of Córdoba's treasured Mezquita – the most glorious mosque ever built to western Islam – offers another dimension to exploring the city after dark. The Soul of Córdoba tour has been years in the making. It's had to satisfy formidable twin obstacles of Unesco World Heritage status – under which the historic centre and Mosque of Córdoba is protected – and a precious Roman Catholic hierarchy. The result is a classy affair of subtle lighting rather than a swashbuckling son et lumière with flashy lasers. I joined the 9.30pm tour starting at the cathedral's imposing western gate just opposite Restaurante Bandolero, where I'd just finished some salmorejo, Córdoba's signature gazpacho. The tour kicked off within the Mezquita's immense orange-tree courtyard with a grandiloquent audio-visual presentation (the audio part of which was delivered down my headphones by booming vocals not unlike those of Brian Blessed). In a nutshell, it told how Caliph Abd-ar-Rahman I began the mosque's construction in 785 after the Moorish invasion. Successive caliphs then enlarged it over five centuries until Ferdinand III reconquered Córdoba in 1236 and reconsecrated the mosque for Christendom. From 1523, the interior received a Christian makeover (a fact that had previously struck me as perhaps the greatest act of baroque vandalism in history). Our guide then led us inside the immense zulla (prayer hall), which was once capable of holding 40,000 worshippers. During previous visits I'd been so spellbound by the symmetrical perfection of rows of red-and-cream horseshoe arches supported by hundreds of marble and granite columns that I'd failed to absorb other architectural nuances. The tour's carefully targeted lighting opened my eyes to new wonders, such as the exquisiteness of the Byzantine-inspired mihrab (the niche in the wall of a mosque that denotes the direction of Mecca), the design and colouring of which cannot be fully appreciated during normal daylight. Mosaics of inlaid glass and tiling, and marbled mouldings of Arabic script with floral and geometric motifs in emerald-green, gold, purple and yellow, leapt from the walls like an eye-boggling stereogram. Above the mihrab a honeycombed octagonal dome hovered like a cosmic jellyfish. Yet this is now very much a Catholic cathedral. I'm sure I saw three visiting Capuchin monks breathe a sigh of relief when the guide led us towards the more Catholic parts of the building. Despite chapels neatly dovetailed between earlier Islamic arches, the mosque's holistic symmetry was irrevocably altered by the controversial 16th-century addition of the ornate transept and choir. Even the visiting Holy Roman Emperor at the time, Charles V, was reportedly disturbed by the mosque's desecration. However, as the guide pointed out, without the church's patronage and restoration the whole mosque might either have been razed or crumbled to pieces. Perhaps I was being a little too harsh on this Catholic Grand Designs concept. I'll admit the lightshow did trigger a partial conversion towards their alterations, as beams picked out the arabesque intricacy of the marble latticework and inlay of the royal chapel where Christian kings lay buried. Such detail clearly paid homage to the Mudéjar – the Moorish people and their artistic techniques, which continued to flourish in Córdoba under Christian rule. Meanwhile, as piped Latin hymns wafted around the skyrocket baroque altarpiece, the lighting lingered on the extraordinary choir stalls' broodingly dark West Indian mahogany, highlighting exquisite craftsmanship. The vaulted ceiling above, star-bursted with angels and cherubs, could have been pilfered from the Sistine Chapel. Then it was back to my accommodation, a newly refurbished property called Las Casas de la Judería, in the Jewish quarter, which has its own complex history. Discoveries of Roman floors and Moorish foundations had routinely held up the long renovation of this labyrinthine medieval inn with its seven patio gardens. During the day, the streets of Córdoba often feel refreshingly uncrowded, at least by comparison with the other great civic gems of Andalucia, Granada and Seville. With no international airport, this is not a city you are likely to pass through en route to somewhere else. I spent the next day peeling away Córdoba's palimpsest layers: the Museum of Archaeology with its decapitated Roman statues and gladiator coffins; a 14th-century Mudéjar-style synagogue built before the Jewish expulsion in 1492; and the 10th-century caliph's hammam. After lunch I recalled the Moors' passion for bodily self-indulgence with a lengthy dunk in heated pools (alongside a jasmine oil massage) at the Arab Bathhouse on Corregidor Luís de la Cerda. It was the perfect cure for my aching feet (Córdoba's cobbles are often unforgiving). Come evening, it was back to my nocturnal meanderings, as I joined a regular evening walking tour known as Paseos por Córdoba, lead by tour-guide Ana Recio. Weaving tales of legend and history, Ana led us down dark passageways narrow enough to shade locals from the fierce summer heat. She took us to places that take on a new energy at night, such as Plaza del Potro, which four centuries ago was a seedy hangout for the ruffians frequenting its inns. This included Cervantes, who briefly resided here and drew character inspirations for Don Quixote from the area. At Santa Clara Convent an actor wearing a toga delivered a rousing soliloquy in the guise of notable local Roman, Lucius Seneca. The convent, we were told, was once a Visigoth church, then a mosque; but in the still evening air, one of its most alluring aspects was that it was deliciously quiet – the coach parties having long since departed. The same actor reappeared half an hour later at the Chapel Mudejar San Bartolomé, having undergone a hasty conversion to Judaism; this time he was kitted out as a rabbi. The tiny chapel was a hidden gem embodying Córdoba's Hispano-Islamic fusion. The chapel's nightlights illuminated golden and blue walls resembling starry skies, glazed azulejo tiles, and stucco inscriptions praising Allah – not your average Christian décor. "This is typical for Córdoba," commented Ana. "A Christian place of worship, built in the Jewish quarter, of recycled Roman stone and decorated by Muslims."