Islamic Architecture in Andalusia

During my four and a half years at UC Berkeley, I somehow managed to double major in Public Health and Near Eastern Studies emphasis in Arabic Language and Literature. In the latter, as I was learning Arabic I had taken quite some classes on both ancient and modern Islamic civilizations, impacts, and history. With only one last L&S breadth left to graduate, I decided to complete it through studying abroad in my last summer before starting graduate school.

I somehow had applied to and then switched between three other study abroad programs before I came across Imagining, re-Envisioning the Urban Setting, and ultimately selected this program. And this by far has been probably the most beneficial experience to end my undergraduate career (even despite not being an architecture major), as things I have came across in classes through lectures, textbooks, and research were actualized in person throughout the program. I was able to witness, touch, learn further in depth, and feel a more emotional connections to the various historical Islamic sites we have visited.

My first experience was with the Rabita in Guardamar del Segura. The Rabita is an Islamic monastery that dates back to the tenth century, and is one of the most well preserved ancient Islamic sites in Spain. As Ester, the on-site archeologist, was going in depth describing the site containing about 28 small, basic rooms each with a protruding square thought to be a prayer cell, I thought back to 2016 to Dr. Hatem Bazian’s Sufism class. In this course Dr. Bazian goes in depth on the various orders, historical and modern context of the spread of Sufism throughout the world, including Andalusia Spain. Upon inspecting the remains of these urban spaces, I specifically remembered his descriptions of living quarters of Sufi schools and the lifestyles and practices of Sufi mosques. How in many orders, Sufis would attempt to live very modestly, from the clothes they wore to the quarters they lived in, to avoid any distractions from their worship and love of God. Ester informed us of how the Rabita may have been a site of pilgrimage, as visitors would etched into the walls praises and prayers to God for safe travels. I then recalled how there were students that would travel to schools where they can learn Sufism from certain sheikhs, or the scholars and sometimes founders of certain orders. And I remembered how Sufi scholar Ibn al-Arabi had a very significant influence in Andalusia Spain. I asked Ester if there has been any thought that this could be a site of a Sufi school, to which she confirmed that there have been a few researchers that theorized that. Ester and another archeologist then guides us to the middle of the site in where there is a quote in Arabic on the wall, and they ask if I’m able to read it. It was extremely worn down over the past century, but there were a few words that I was able to read. And although it is premature to declare the Rabita as a site of an ancient Sufi school and far more research needs to continued to be done , even being able to draw on previous knowledge to come to plausible conclusions on the site was indescribable. Through this experience I felt like I had a connection to this (former) urban space, which easily made it my favorite site we visited in Spain; that was until went to Granada.

I had always seen pictures the Alhambra even before I knew of its name or the city it is in, but it wasn’t until I began my studies at Cal though, that I became familiar with Granada, Through numerous mentions, lectures  and discussions held in various classes, I learned of different aspects Andalusian history and/or people. But to be able to witness and experience something in person is incomparable to any classroom in this case. While in Granada I was able to visit the Alhambra two days in a row, and on both I rented out an audio guide and attempted to cover the entire site. I noticed immediately how respectful it was in presenting the Islamic history of the site, without utilizing underlying Islamaphobic rhetoric like with our previous tour guide in Valencia did. And I came to realize that it was one of the very few urban spaces that I felt was truly accessible through cultural means — that is as long as you can get a ticket to pass through the entrances. It was apparent that the caretakers of the Alhambra made it so that all felt welcomed and respected through the information they shared, and accomplished presenting information without tokenizing or creating a spectacle of the Muslim community and its history. The impacts of this can be seen through the representation of guests and how they were engaging with this urban space, which I found most intriguing. Out of all of Spain, I saw and/or (over)heard the most Muslims and Middle Eastern/North African (MENA) people in Alhambra, as it seemed that they made up almost half of the guests visiting. And through my own engagement with the space, I overheard countless segments of conversations where visitors would share information and discuss about the space in Arabic, English, and Spanish (and countless other languages spoken there that I do not understand). It was at that moment, that these visitors seemingly blended amongst the rest of the guests as they too were able to experience, explore and enjoy the site and establish a connection to Granada. It was beautiful to be able to witness diversity in a shared experience, and if I could only ever visit Spain again it would be to visit Granada once more.

Yasmeen | ياسمين

calles de Guardamar

"It is expected that once seen, an abandoned stone wall, the pong emerging from the ground or a great maple beside a river, that it would prove difficult to eliminate these from the mind, and thus, that there they would remain, spinning in one's imagination, waiting to see what can be done in concert with them. This is the magnet of such elements, of elements with a degree of attraction, such that we cannot forget them and that continue to reemerge in our mind." (Small Encounters, Juan Domingo Santos, 2000).

At the mercadillo, Festival de Moros y Cristiano, 1:30am outside a bar called La Boheme, I stood at the synapse where the structural met the social. From daily walks to extravagant fyre festivals, I began to gain a better understanding of the urban space nested within the coastal beach town of Guardamar. For six weeks, I observed the process by which the town compressed and decompressed, by which institutional parameters fluctuated depending on social gatherings. Rituals and festivals make up the very fabric of this town and very quickly, it became obvious how much power they had in altering and transforming the urban space in a very efficient way. 

Alejandro calls the mercadillo a parasite that attaches and detaches itself to infrastructure in a cyclical fashion. Beginning at 7 in the morning, the market takes over intersection by intersection, establishes its network of services, and promotes its goods to meet the needs of the population. As a parasite, the mercadillo demonstrates a symbiotic relationship — the exchange of goods meets the needs vital to Guardamar’s community and population. The movement of cars is obstructed as tarps wrap around street lights and stalls and tents of all sorts consume every inch of the sidewalks. Once inside, all you hear is aggressive and loud fruit vendors; you see everything from shoes to ham of a lethal size to fruits and clothing; you smell the indelible smell of rotisserie chicken; you taste the sweat on your lips as even the tarps are not enough to shade you from the sweltering sun of a typical summer afternoon; you feel the wheels of the old grannies’ carts hit your ankles. Space is cramped and condensed. My sole source of navigation relies upon my memory of which fruit stand occupies which intersection, which ham truck would lead me down the road to the square, which end of the block had clothing stands and a smaller crowd, and which African stall was closest to Movellan which was a block away from the Pension. Like thresholds, stalls like the rotisserie chicken stand mark the borders of the market. By 2pm, metal posts are dismantled, tarps folded up, merchandise collected and boxed away, and everything is shoved into the back of a large truck that drives away into who knows where, ready to return for the following week at the same time and same place. Layer upon layer gradually stripped off the streets, people disperse, and crosswalks and sidewalks decompress and expand into its former mundane state. Within six hours, the visage of the streets has gone through its weekly routine cycle. 

Like the mercadillo, the Festival de Moros y Cristianos repurposes mundane streets into a beautiful experiential space. White plastic chairs line the street and light decorations hang between light posts. Hundreds of people of all ages dressed in garments of the Moors and Christians march down the street with extravagant floats for four consecutive nights. The landscape of the town is transformed to accommodate this annual celebration of their history and heritage. The line of chairs shape and articulate the public space. It forms thresholds by delineating the boundaries for speculation.

In the evening and late into the night, tables spill out from the restaurant front onto the road. Motor vehicles are once again denied access onto the roads as families and friends fill up the tables. Grandmas pull out their plastic chairs and small couches onto the sidewalk to have a chat. From the residential neighborhoods to the beach boardwalk, people gather for ice cream or drinks. Restaurants close when people leave. Coming from a fast-paced, profit-oriented, capitalistic society, Spain's culture of creating community through leisure and festivities was shocking to me. Guardamar was a breath of fresh air.

What I learned from the program is that you can't understand architecture or urban space without understanding rituals, society, families, and people. Architecture is not just hollow structures or models. The language of architecture is one inextricable from humans. It is a combination of art and storytelling. Agnes Varda once said, "If you open people up, we'd find landscapes." When I first got off the bus, Guardamar was a little underwhelming. I wondered what Alejandro saw in Guardamar that prompted him to host a majority of the program in this small and seemingly average town. But it didn't take long for this town to become the little gem Juan Domingo Santos was talking about in the beginning quote. It has been a week since I left Guardamar yet the town still remains spinning and reemerging in my mind. Although I spent six weeks there, it feels as though I've only grazed the surface of the town. That being said, I don't think I know enough about Guardamar since I think it would require actually talking to its residents to get a comprehensive feel for the town. So maybe this is all just ignorant word vomit romanticizing/valorizing a place that holds immanent inequality. Either way, it was a drastic change from Oakland/Berkeley.

As I reminisce on time in Spain, my heart can't help but swell up with sentimentality!!! Knowing myself, the longer I stay at a place, the more attached I get. So really, with a two month program, I played mYSELF. Anyways, hasta luego Guardamar.

- janie

Mercadillo: https://youtu.be/4LFn6jJJcz8

Franco's Living Legacy - Brianda Cerda

Franco's Living Legacy: Power Dynamics in Architecture of Guardamar

The first day in Guardamar, I met the thought that I would encounter most. I dipped my toes in the water for the first time, expecting it to be freezing cold. But it wasn’t. It was warm. I looked to my left and saw the most picturesque view of what I had always expected of and thought of as a beach home. A line of pastel colored houses lined up on the sand, a step away from the sand and steps away from the water. I couldn’t believe the aesthetic beauty of it. And they weren’t even trying that hard. I liked that they were peeling, and some were falling apart (although then I thought they only appearedto be falling down and were not literally falling apart). I loved the nature in that. I hesitated to leave, but I knew darn well that was a sight I would never forget either way.

The next few days, I kept thinking about it, wondering if my classmates had seen it. Since then, we had never gone there as a group. I wondered if unlike the rest, southern part of the beach, it was a sort of hidden gem that only the locals visited. I never understood why it was less popular. Why no one else had grown attached to it if they had indeedseen it. I returned to that part of the beach occasionally. And when I would leave, I would always ask myself why I hadn’t tried to walk up the line of houses. I never did. 

Perhaps, it was that the water allured me so much, that I couldn’t wait, and I instead immediately gravitated to it. Or maybe, it was that the close proximity of the houses to the water made me feel like if I did walk through, I’d be violating someone’s privacy. After all, someone owned/owns those houses. 

I did, however, try to buy myself some time in one of these houses. As in, I looked online to see if any of these houses were available as Airbnb’s or for rent. I had actually considered booking one to stay at for our independent travel week (much travel, I know). But I found nothing. It was as if they didn’t even exist. And I looked. Very hard. 

It somehow came up one day as I was talking to Alex. My eyes widened as I heard, “illegal”. Duh, I thought, there’s a reason I had fallen in love with the sight, with this crazy idea that I could own a house so close on the beach. Because nowhere else, at least that I know of, is this a thing or at least is this allowed. These houses were an exception, and the homeowners, exempt. Why, you may ask? 

Legend, aka Alex, says that these houses, constructed as a barrier for the sand, were given to people who held high political power from Franco’s dictatorship. These could be the politicians themselves, relatives or friends. Since then, the houses have remained with those people of power. 

Collapsing houses

This is not pretty. It is unfair. Not to mention, illegal and dangerous. The beach should be public to all, but these houses are an impediment. Spain like the US has laws regarding how close you can build on the beach. The Ley de Costas (1988) rules a zone of 500 meters to be public, and an available walkway. The city has tried to get the owners to move out and let go of the houses, that can fall apart any second, but the powerful owners continue to make renovations and fix their homes up. Thus, this has delayed the process for the city to reclaim the homes and get rid of them. They simply cannot kick them out! Houses have already fallen down, and in those cases, the city will clear them up; hence, the random holes between houses. This is such an interesting power dynamic that the city has not been able to overpower. Water has been seeping into the houses’ structures, and eventually they will fall, but till then, it seems like the city has no choice, but to wait. 

When we walked back from the dunes through the beach, I myself saw the inconveniences this causes. We had walked a good distance before we had to go back onto the paved sidewalk. The beach was separated by a wire fence. It was blocking a structure that had collapsed. Since then, the rest of the walk down the beach was blocked by the houses. In retrospect, I don’t remember how I would’ve walked back down to the beach. I don’t remember any openings. But I do remember seeing people on the beach at some point along the walk. It seems the only way to reach that point would’ve been to enter through where I had first encountered the beach, which was a few blocks down. It was completely blocked off. 

I got to peek into a few of the houses. They all seem to have the same layout, with magnificent views of the ocean. However, many owners shut their doors as soon as they saw me peeking in or attempting to take a picture. I understand the ladder would be a reason to do so. (Oops). 

Rare footage of house layout, angry lady walking to shut the door, rightfully so

I got to speak with one of the residents, thanks to Iris, our amazing and powerful GSI. We tried to get information out of her, but she was very closed off. She told us to check the posters which were outside the houses on their walls. Then, I guess when she figured out, we weren’t trying to be confrontational, just curious, she said almost in a whisper (loose translation) – “It’s hard to get a place here as most of us have owned these houses through generations. People from outside can rarely own or rent them. We all know each other and are a family, so it would be hard for an outsider to get a hold of one. Even people who rent the houses are part of us, they are people the renter knows and trusts and/or are related to. So, no, it’s hard to find one of these on the market or for rent/available”. 

Iris asked me if I wanted to ask any more questions, and scared of being disrespectful, I said no. But what I really wanted to know was where she stood in the power dynamics of this all. Did she know Franco, or was she at all related? If so, how? Or what politician did she know? Was she just wealthy? In other words, how did she end up living in one of these houses? Iris and I said we’d return to interview other residents, but we never did. I hope to return one day to do so. Will the houses have fallen down by then? Till then, those magnificent houses illegally parked along the water are an apparent reminder of the power dynamic that often plays out in urban spaces. A professor once said that architecture has always been controlled by the powerful, for the powerful. A privilege usually only available for the wealthy. But I am excited to see how a new generation of designers challenge that. 

Independent Week

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A week for relaxation. A week with no worries. A week to explore.

That’s what the independent week was for (right???). A group of ten, including myself, were set out to see the most we can. Here’s how it went.

Two weeks before, we had originally planned for Budapest, Prague, and Vienna. That quickly changed by looking at the ticket prices. We all started throwing in new ideas. This time, with a quick raise of hands, we finally agreed to go to Amsterdam, Berlin, and Prague. Some of us had already gone to these places and were willing to go again and show us around and give the rest of the group any recommendations they had.

Keep in mind that when we started planning this trip, we have only known each other for 2 weeks. Why did we choose each other? I don’t know, I guess we liked each other enough to believe that we won’t get too tired of each other. We already traveled with the whole program for 2 weeks so we had an idea of who we all were and we were all starting to get comfortable with each other.

            Planning was the most efficient when everybody was in the same room, each with their laptops. Together we looked for flights, housing, and transportation. Having a Google sheet with all the information was super helpful (thanks to the well-organized queens of the group) and would totally recommend! We were all on the same page on what we were willing to pay for transportation, housing, and tours and which cities were known to be more expensive. In total, we booked 2 flights and 2 bus rides. In addition to that, we took public transportation such as trams and buses. And we weren’t late for any of them! There was also just one cancellation with one person but that was resolved quickly.

            In Amsterdam, we booked a 10-person room and to be honest, I’m not sure why we thought that was a good idea. In Berlin, we got 3 doubles and a quad in a hotel. For some reason, they messed up the rooms so what we booked is not what we got. We ended up with triples and a double. We still don’t understand to this day how that happened. In Prague, we booked an Airbnb that was an apartment with 2 rooms, a triple and double and 4 beds out in the living room. All of these locations were pretty good except the 10-person room. Even if it’s cheaper, I would say that it’s not worth it. Especially if you’re all sharing one bathroom. Wasn’t the best idea but oh well.

            We kind of slacked off on planning day by day. We fully planned out Amsterdam and a little bit of Berlin but since we were in Granada with the program as well, it was harder to get everyone in the same room to plan more for Prague. Regardless of how much we planned, I think we fulfilled each city. In Amsterdam, we went to the Van Gogh and Rijks museums, we went biking to the outskirts of the city, and went to multiple street markets. In Berlin, we checked out the Brandenburger Gate, The Reichstag Dome, and the cathedral. Finally, in Prague, we walked across the Charles Bridge, through Old Town Square and within, saw the astronomical clock. Going from city to city, it was evident on what type of travelers we all were. Some of us liked to plan every minute while others didn’t care about a schedule and it was interesting seeing that dynamic.

            All in all, we had fun. We made new memories, walked many miles, and got even closer to each other. I got so much out of this trip that I can’t seem to put into one cohesive thought and maybe that’s the representation of this trip itself. I learned that I should bring clothes that are able to mix and match more to bring less, to check the weather right before you leave, to bring medicine to treat nausea, dehydration, and allergies. I also learned to not book a 10 person room, to wander around more on my own, to treat myself, to be organized with my things, that Orange’s sim card sometimes doesn’t work everywhere in Europe, and that apparently I look like I’m from Brazil(???). But most importantly, I learned to be even more grateful for the people around me. Cause without them, the trip wouldn’t have been the same.

To be honest, I really didn’t think I was going to be able to do what I did anytime soon. There were so many times where I couldn’t believe where I was and I was proud of the fact that I had the guts to study and travel in abroad. Any kind of traveling requires some form of a plan. And sometimes things don’t go according to plan. But that’s okay. It’s all part of the experience.

So.

Did we relax? Not really. Was it worry-free for us? Not always. But did we explore? Most Definitely.  

- Sully

Not According to Plan

I had written this post on paper yesterday night, but between then and now, it’s disappeared. I went looking for it in the common room, and our room, and other people’s rooms, and the terrace but no luck. The post is missing.  I also thought the portable speaker had been lost. We took it to the beach, and I didn’t bring it back. A few days later, it showed up again. We took it to the beach, and again I didn’t bring it back. This time, the speaker didn’t make its way to me. I had thought it was lost forever. Yesterday, sifting through closet by accident, I realized the speaker was in our room that entire time. I broke the glass of my watch in Valencia. I sat on the adapter for GoPro camera and broke it while trying to nap on my bag. I’m not worried about the things in life that don’t go to plan. I move on, but this trip has reminded me that moving on when it involves other people’s time isn’t the same. I’ll keep it in mind when involving myself into other people’s lives.

Marc

the White Walls of Guardamar

Sitting here in the common room, on the black drab and draped couch, with the gray wallpaper of fake cedar wood paneling, bronze coated stools, and a black curtain covering the window door, I catch the pure light reflecting off the white walls of the buildings across the pension. Why do I often sit in the common room? The light keeps me in a daze. The white has developed a patina and the walls have cracks seeping through, and all this creates a composition. I’m reminded of Mark Rothko’s paintings and his search to find emotion through color. Each layer provokes a reaction, and the layered whole recognizes the complexity of our emotions. Work through one layer and the others still offer another process. Watching the sunlight rise and fall on these walls is a dance, and the form of the buildings is a stage which allows for certain tricks and angles of light to perform. I wonder if we’re looking for patterns. Sitting on the benches on the beach promenade, underneath the shade canopy, watching the waves crash, why do we feel compelled to look, and why does it provoke a moment of reflection? Is it the incongruent repetition where we know it’ll crash but not in the exact way. Why can I look at the wall for hours when the maximum I can look through social media is a few minutes even if both are stimulating in their own right? I wonder if the notion I hold about color allows for the trance? Maybe deep down I believe white is about purity, whatever that may be, and each time I look, it beckons for a response of how I view myself to that nebulous standard. I am still sitting on the common room couch, and all this was written while looking at the wall, and most of what I’ve produced in Guardamar has been with the assistance of those white walls. I feel I won’t find these answers through logic so that’s why I’m pursuing a degree in the biology field. Maybe I’ll find answers there, although I don’t imagine the white walls of the lab room will provide similar inspiration.

Marc

Frustrated gym rat

I wish I could contribute something more insightful and meaningful to the current conversation but my experience in Guardamar has been positive with the exception of the gym situation in Guardamar and throughout Spain.

First of all, most gyms in Spain operate during the most inconvenient hours. Even in larger cities they do not open until 9 am, when most people begin their workday and close at around 7pm. So you can’t get an early morning gym session to start the day. Saturdays hours are typically open from 10am- 3pm, leaving a small window in the day to get a workout. And apparently no one in Spain workouts on Sundays, I have yet to find a gym that is actually open on Sundays although their websites advertise that they are.

Second, the cost to workout at most gyms for a single session is typically upwards of 7 euro, which I am sure turns away many tourists from working out on their vacations.

Third, I am sure that someone has already covered this in an earlier blog but I feel that this needs more attention. Obtaining food with the perfect ratio of protein and carbs is important for living a healthy lifestyle therefore they need to stop overloading meals with carbs. Every meal that I’ve had in Spain thus far has always been high in carbs i.e. potatoes, pasta, or bread while lacking protein. I feel that I am constantly having to find various sources of protein to ensure that do not run a protein deficiency.

I hope that this is useful to someone or in the very least entertaining.

Rodrigo Ramirez