Old Santo Domingo

Church of Santa Bárbara.

As we flew over the northern coast of the Dominican Republic on our way to Santo Domingo, I was excited to look down and take note that we were flying over the Bay of La Isabela. Although from 30,000 feet we couldn't see any detail, I knew that somewhere down there were the ruins of La Isabela, the first European settlement in the New World. 

La Isabela was founded by Christopher Columbus on January 2, 1494 after arriving in the New World on his second voyage. (He had established an “encampment” just 100 miles to the west on his first voyage where he left 38 men, but they were all killed by native Taino.) 

La Isabela struggled to survive and soon the settlers abandoned it in favor of yet another location. On the southern coast of Hispanola, the brother of The Admiral had founded a new city which he named La Nueva Isabela after the previous settlement in the north. In 1495 the name was changed to Santo Domingo. It is the oldest city in the Western Hemisphere of European origin. 

Looking across the Ozama River from the fortress.

Statue of Columbus in the eponymous plaza.

Lying on the west bank of the Ozama River, the Colonial Zone of Santo Domingo gives the feeling of walking the streets of Spain. The architecture is old. There are churches, a cathedral, plazas, cobblestone streets, statues, palaces and forts. I read that there are over 300 buildings that date back to the colonial era. This city proves to be offspring of the Motherland. 

From our hotel we took a taxi to the city center, following what seemed a complicated route of narrow streets cluttered with traffic, single-storied pastel buildings and a tangle of electrical wires strung overhead. At the terminus of Arzobispo Nouel Street our ride came to an end. We paid the driver 200 pesos and quickly emptied out onto a street in Santo Domingo. 

View of the Consistory Palace.

In front of us, beyond an old stone wall, stood the Cathedral of Santa Maria la Menor. I was excited to see this because it was the first foreign cathedral I had seen outside of Europe. My first observation was that it was smaller than most cathedrals I had seen, and perhaps a bit more simple in architecture. That isn't to say it wasn't ornate in its own right. It still had a Gothic fling, several carved statues and other bas-relief designs. The color, a pale brown, reminded me of the cathedral in Seville, a city that was the gateway for many trans-Atlantic voyages. 

The Santo Domingo Cathedral is the oldest cathedral in the New World. It was begun in 1514 and completed in 1541. At one time it housed the remains of Christopher Columbus. The interior is modest in size, but still has a high vaulted ceiling with large pillars coming down between the pews. There are a handful of paintings along with small chapels on the outer walls. As is common in many cathedrals, there are burials of notable people. 

Cathedral of Santa Maria la Menor, also known as Santo Domingo Cathedral.

West face of cathedral.

Interior of cathedral.

Just north of the cathedral is Columbus Park. In the center is a statue of Christopher Columbus pointing into the distance. It reminded me of a statue in Barcelona, Spain at the end of the Rambla where he is pointing toward the New World. On the western side of the plaza, at the entrance of Calle El Conde, is a smaller statue of the bust of Bartolomé Colón, the Admiral's younger brother and founder of the city. 

The plaza was a lively place. Families strolled in the park while kids had fun playing with hundreds of pigeons that flocked to the quaint square. A band played a festive tune. 

Columbus Park.

Bust of Bartolomé Colón, the Admiral's younger brother and founder of the city.

Not far from the cathedral was the Ozama Fortress, located on the west bank of the Ozama River. Built in 1502, it is the oldest military construction of European origin in the Western Hemisphere. 

The stone structure was open to the public and we climbed the stairs of the main tower to a commanding view of the river. With a little imagination I could see what it must have been like over 500 years ago, protecting the city from pirates and other foreign invaders. 

The stone castle not only served as a fortress, but tunnels and dungeons within functioned as prisons. Columbus himself was imprisoned here. 

Ozama Fortress.

Well manicured grounds of Ozama Fortress.

From the fortress we continued northward along Calle Las Damas, a street lined with colonial buildings which just happens to be the oldest paved street in the Americas. We passed the pantheon on our left, and then a small chapel with a campanile on our right before coming to a plaza in front of the Museum of Royal Houses. 

Santo Domingo was particularly alive this evening. Families were out on walks and it appeared as if many were dressed in their Sunday best, as if going to a dance or celebration. Jenelle surmised that many of the young girls we saw dressed up may have been celebrating their quinceañera, a popular event in Latin America that celebrates the girl's fifteenth birthday. 

Young lady dressed up, perhaps for her quinceañera.

Family riding bicycles.

There was street food being sold, but not as much as I had seen in other countries. I found a lady pulling a cart with plastic sampling trays. For 75 pesos I bought a tray that had a croquet, quepa, empanada and a couple other items. 

On the other side of the plaza was another stone building, this one two stories tall with an arched balcony. This one was called the Alcázar de Colón, or Columbus Palace. And, you guessed it, it is the oldest palace in the Americas. 

Commissioned by King Ferdinand II of Aragon, the mansion was built to house Columbus' oldest son, Diego, and his descendents. It also served as a meeting place for conquistadors like Hernán Cortés to draw up plans for their expeditions of conquest. 

Columbus Palace and the Plaza de España.

Plaza Maria de Toledo.

From in front of the palace we crossed the Plaza de España, pausing to watch families out on a stroll with their children. Once again, I couldn't help but to draw similarities between here and the mother country of Spain. Every city in Spain has a Plaza de España, and usually it is the most elegant square in town. It didn't surprise me that the architects of this New World city would pattern it after the old.

Little drummer boy.

Maybe a ten minute walk from the plaza, perched on higher ground, stood one of the most picturesque buildings in all of Santo Domingo. Construction of the San Francisco Monastery began with the arrival of the Franciscan fathers in 1509. 

Once quite extensive in size, containing a chapel and numerous other buildings, the structure has been decimated several times by hurricanes, earthquakes, and ransacked by Francis Drake in 1586. Supposedly at one time the remains of Bartholomew Columbus were buried here. 

Many of the stone walls were still standing, but many have also crumbled, leaving only foundations. With vines crawling up the ancient walls, there was a ghostly aura about the place. Although we couldn't go inside, we were able to walk around the grounds and onto some of the remaining foundations. Sunset was beginning to spread its wings over the crumbling cloister just as a flock of black ravens flew overhead. It was a sight to behold. There were stories—many of them—buried beneath these stones, some to be uncovered by the diligent seeker, with others to stay interred forever. 

Sunset over San Francisco Monastery.

Doorways in the Colonial Zone.

Emiliano Tejera Street looking toward monestery.

A couple days later we returned to the Colonial Zone. It wasn't quite as lively this time. Perhaps that was because it was now Monday instead of Saturday. 

But it was still a pleasant place to stroll. Some of the plazas were nearly empty. It still reminded me of a down-sized version of Spain. Not nearly as old and not nearly as grand, but certainly special in its own right. 

We happened across the retiring of the flag at the pantheon. As the military did their duty and brought the flag down from its pole, all within sight stopped what they were doing and stood in respect. From my short experience, the Dominican people are very patriotic and proud of their country. 

Retiring of the flag.

Pantheon of the Fatherland.

Our final stop of the evening turned out to be my favorite place in all of Santo Domingo. At the north end of the Colonial Zone was the Church of Santa Bárbara. The recently renovated church was constructed in 1537. Some time after that a fort was built around the north side making it one of the oldest churches surrounded by a fort during that period. 

The plaza outside the church was very peaceful. I saw a statue of the nativity, something I'd never seen near a Catholic church. The façade of the church was in different colors, perhaps indicating it was built in stages.

Church of Santa Bárbara.

Nativity outside Santa Bárbara Church.

We didn't go inside, but were able to walk the grounds. Around back was an amphitheater. There were also several statues of what appeared to me to be freed slaves, and Christ on the cross. I don't know the meaning of the arrangement, but would be curious to find out. 

They say that there are several crypts below the church that have recently been discovered, as well as bones in the walls. Below the plaza is supposedly an old cemetery. As we walked we saw no indication of this and no explanation. I wondered if those statues may have represented those whose graves had been covered. 

In 2020 the church of Santa Bárbara became a cathedral. There were several statues in front of the newly ordained cathedral, including the martyr Santa Bárbara de Nicomedia and St. Francis de Assisi.

Beyond the cathedral near the walls of the old fort, we found a beautiful view of the city. The tangled electrical wires were a stark reminder of the chaos that also exists in Santo Domingo. But as I looked down over the charming roof of the church, all I recognized was beauty and peace. ♠

Could these statues represent freed slaves?

 

Sevilla

First impressions are always interesting. When I first traveled to Sevilla, in southern Spain, I expected to find sunny skies and flowerpots on the balconies and terrace-filled streets with tables and chairs and waiters serving gazpacho.

I didn't expect to see the bikes. Bicycles everywhere! While walking down the street, it took a few dirty looks for me to realize that I was walking in their lane. We noticed that many of the bicycles were identical, painted in the same color and donning the same style of basket in front. Each bike wore the same large red fender, each with a white circle and the word “Sevici” inscribed in the middle.

We saw racks with at least a dozen of these bicycles latched onto them. Little by little we pieced together the puzzle, learning that these were bicycles made available to the public, by the city, to encourage public transportation.  “Bike stations” were scattered throughout the city where a person could retrieve a bike from one location and drop it off at another on the other side of town. I kind of liked the idea.

But it wasn't just the cycling that caught my attention. The people in Sevilla were very active. Runners jogged along the sidewalks, school girls on roller blades moved on the paseo, and kayakers streamed along the Guadalquivir River. There were all the pedestrians also, but that is a common occurrence in every Spanish city.

That was my first impression. Of course, there is much more to the capital of Andalusia than just bikers, runners, and kayakers. Seville, or Sevilla as it is known in Spanish, is arguably the most beautiful city in all of Spain. At one time, it was probably the most important city in Spain, also. After the discovery of the New World, every ship with goods from the Americas had to first stop at the river-port in Sevilla.

Giralda Tower

A mandatory destination while in Sevilla is the cathedral. This massive structure is the largest Gothic cathedral in the world. It was built on the site of a former mosque. From the exterior, the most impressive feature is the bell tower. The Giralda, as it is known locally, was originally a minaret of the mosque, and built to closely resemble the minaret of the Koutoubia Mosque in Marrakesh, Morocco. A man would travel up the 343 foot tower five times a day to call the Muslims of Moorish Sevilla to prayer. After the Reconquest, the minaret was converted to a bell tower.

A trip to the top is certainly an adventure. The passageway was choked with people when we went, the right-side traveling up, and the left-side traveling down. There are no stairs leading to the top, but rather a series of ramps. We were told that it was built wide enough that a horse could ride to the top.

Along the way are many peep holes, or windows to view outside. These points allow peeks into the courtyard of the cathedral, as well as views of the roof, and close-up glances of gargoyles.

The very top allows an excellent view below the bell, and also vistas of the city. We could see the bullring, the Alcazar, and some rooftop swimming pools. Far below us, a semi-circle of horse and carriages parked along-side the cathedral. We waited for the top-of-the-hour to hear the bell ring close-up. To my disappointment, it only rang once, even though it was twelve-noon. Perhaps that is in consideration of all the tourists.

A view from the Giralda tower of the cathedral.  The "Patio of Oranges" is visible in the foreground.

This view from the Giralda Tower includes the Alcazar (top left), Archive of the Indies (top right), and the Plaza del Triunfo (center).   The dome, with the blue and white cupola, is above the Royal Chapel of the cathedral.

The main sacristy of the cathedral.

Back down in the cathedral, we walked around the massive interior, admiring the detail and art of the building. The main sacristy contains a gallery of paintings, including some from Francisco de Zurbarán, an artist from Extremadura who was commissioned by the church to create several paintings for the cathedral.

I was also impressed with the main altarpiece, so ornate in gilded decoration that it is difficult to make sense of what it represents. The altarpiece depicts stories from the birth of Christ to his resurrection. One of the first thoughts that crossed my mind was whether any of this gold was brought over from the New World. That is unlikely since the piece was completed in 1480, well before the first voyage of Columbus.

Is this really the tomb of Christopher Columbus?

Speaking of Columbus, he is buried here, or at least that is the belief. In the transept, a statue of four pallbearers, each representing a medieval region that would become Spain, are carrying a sarcophagus containing the bones of Columbus.

The Italian navigator's body took quite a journey after his death in Valladolid in 1506. Three years later it was moved to a convent in Sevilla. In 1537, his remains were transported across the Atlantic to lay to rest in the cathedral at Santo Domingo in the Dominican Republic. In 1795, Spain ceded Hispanola, which included Santo Domingo, to France. Therefore, the remains of Columbus were moved to Havana, Cuba. A century later, it was decided to move the bones back to Spain, and that is where they rest now, in the cathedral of Sevilla.

There is a controversy. In 1877, workers in the cathedral at Santo Domingo found a heavy box of bones with the name of Christopher Columbus on the box. It is now speculated that transporters in 1795 may have intentionally, or accidentally, moved the wrong bones. Modern experts in Spain claim that the DNA of the bones in Sevilla are a close match to his brother's. In any case, two countries claim to hold the remains of Christopher Columbus, and since I was at cathedral in Sevilla, I choose to believe the claim of Spain.

A typical café  in the neighborhood of Santa Cruz.

Sevilla is a city full of atmosphere. Whether it is a flamenco dancer twisting and singing next to a café, or a lone guitarist strumming a tune from Segovia, there is always sound in this Andalusian town. Then come the clapping of horses hooves, consistent prancing combined with subtle jangling of bells and the neigh of a horse. These are the horse-drawn carriages that are all over the city.

Torre del Oro

Gypsies hover around the cathedral and other tourist destinations. At one time, theft was a major problem in Sevilla, and I believe that the Gypsies were a contributing factor. Times are better now, and tourism is safer. But they are still there, trying to capitalize on the weak. We found a group of Gypsy ladies near the cathedral trying to sell “aromatic plants” to unlucky pedestrians. We adamantly refused, having learned our lesson years ago. Later, we watched one of the ladies walk to the building next door, the Archive of the Indies, and gather some more “aromatic plants” from the shrubs near the fountain that the gardener had just trimmed. That was what they were selling!

Spanning across the Guadalquivir River is the Bridge of San Telmo. It stretches from near the Tower of Gold, or Torre del Oro, to the Triana District. The bridge provides great views of the tower and of the boaters on the river. It is also a location where peddlers set up their wares.

One of these peddlers caught our eye. He was a midget and he sold jewelry. Not just any jewelry, but hand-made rings, pendants, and earrings, using not much more than needle-nosed pliers and jewelers wire. He would twist the wire in elegant curls around a stone and form it into whatever the customer wanted. My wife, Jenelle, had seen a shop like this in Granada, but we were unable to buy anything there.

We talked to the midget on our first day in the city, and when we saw him again on the second day, he remembered who we were and was very friendly with us. For 20 € we bought a set of earrings, a pendant with an amber-colored stone set in the center, and a turquoise ring that the midget made personally for Jenelle. Then he threw in another set of earrings, just because we were friendly. What a nice guy!

One of my favorite places in all of Sevilla is the Museo de Bellas Artes. This art museum, housed in a former convent, provides a peaceful escape from the chaos of the city, as well as a look at some of Spain's best art. Some consider this museum the best collection of Spanish art after the Prado in Madrid.

That is saying a lot. Spain has produced some of the greatest painters of all time including El Greco, Goya, Picasso, Dalí, Miró and Velázquez. This museum focuses on many of the Baroque artists and highlights the works of two local painters: Bartolomé Murillo and Francisco de Zurbarán.

Many of the compositions focus on the birth, life, and death of Jesus Christ. It is common for the same scene to be depicted by several artists, each offering the artist's unique interpretation. For example, both Peter Van Lint and Murillo have a picture representing the “worshiping of the shepherds.” Both have common players: the shepherd holding his sheep, a proud mother looking at her baby, a chicken, baby angels hovering in the air, and of course, the baby Jesus. Murillo's tends to be more simplistic, while Van Lint's gives more detail, consisting of more onlookers, including a boy with his dog.

I found it interesting that many of the paintings included a human skull placed somewhere in the composition. This style of art comes from a type of symbolic work called vanitas, or vanity. Used in the 16^th and 17^th centuries, symbols such as rotten fruit represent decay, and bubbles exhibit the brevity of life. In the case of the skull, this represents the certainty of death.

One such depiction in this museum is the painting of “The Temptation of Saint Jerome,” by Juan de Valdés Leal. Saint Jerome is seen on his knees, using all his will-power to reject the temptation of the courtesans behind him who are luxuriously dressed. In front of Jerome is a copy of the bible and a crucifix. Next to the bible is a skull.

My favorite work in the Museo de Bellas Artes is a painting by Maestro de las Medias, an anonymous painter from the 16^th century. Piedad, or piety in English, is a portrayal of Mary Magdalene holding the deceased Christ in her arms. His lips are gray, and body limp. Cracks throughout the canvas offer testament to the age of the painting. The most dramatic detail, however, are the eyes of Mary. They are piercing, loving, and beautiful, all at the same time.

The Temptation of Saint Jerome by Juan de Valdés Leal.

Piedad by Maestro de las Medias.

Cristo Crucificado by Francisco de Zurbarán.

After our visit to the art museum, we strolled back toward the Guadalquivir River. The sun was inching closer to the horizon, casting longer shadows on walls and sidewalks. We passed the bullring, unique in its white-washed color and golden trim. A statue of Pepe Luis Vázquez stands outside. The interior of the ring was closed, so we just perused the outside.

Along the the banks of the river, the local youth were out in high numbers. Many roller-bladed on a bike-path, many of them still in school uniforms. Some relaxed at the bank's edge, dangling their feet over the river. On the water, kayakers were well at work, streaming along the surface.

Around the Torre del Oro, we found many school kids walking around with instruments in their hands. Some carried trumpets and others drums. Random bursts of the horn, or tinkering of the drums could be heard. We couldn't figure out what it was all about. Suddenly, one instrument began to play, and soon they were all playing together. It sounded like an old Spanish folk song, but I was not familiar with it. The music sounded a little discordant, but it was obvious that now they were all playing together. We sat back and listened, enjoying a moment of serendipity.

These teenage boys paint graffiti on a wall on the Triana side of the Guadalquivir River. 

During our previous stroll past the river, Jenelle had noticed paddle boats being rented for 10 € an hour. She suggested this to me, and I will admit, I was a little hesitant at first. I don't know why. Perhaps it is because I don't have a lot of spontaneity in my bloodstream. She nudged me until I finally gave in, and I am glad I did. Our paddle boat excursion on the Guadalquivir River was one of the highlights of our entire trip.

There wasn't a big rush of adrenalin associated with it, nor was there a history lesson to be learned. For one hour, Jenelle and I sat side-by-side and paddled the boat with our feet. I controlled a rudder that steered us. The only thing to be cautious of were the cruise boats and kayakers. But the river was wide, with plenty of room for all of us. The water on the river was very placid. (I'm not even sure if this is truly a river anymore. I think that the true Guadalquivir was diverted years ago, and where we were now was only a canal.)

We paddled toward the bridge of Isabel II. Clusters of people lounged around on the quay near the bridge. We passed beneath the bridge and the steel circular designs on the arch. Above the bridge, tiny-looking people walked across, completely oblivious to us, and going on their way.

After passing beneath the bridge, we made a large, u-shaped swoop in the water and returned in the direction we came from. Now we paddled closer to the Triana side of the river. We watched a group of boys spray graffiti on a cement wall. Vines and leafy shrubs hung down over the stone wall in some places. Above the wall, at street-level, a restaurant had its doors open for the evening. Now, its lights were coming on and customers sat outside on the patio, looking over the river.

We paddled all the way to the bridge of San Telmo before we turned around again, and returned to the place where we began. We carefully inched to the side and docked the boat.

As the sun disappeared deeper and deeper below the horizon, the lights of Sevilla began to emerge. We walked back onto the bridge and found the city magically lit up. The Torre del Oro illuminated splendidly and the Giralda Tower peeked just above the trees. The cruise boats appeared to be docked for the evening. Reflections of street lights shimmied in the river. An ambitious kayaker slithered by beneath the bridge.

Ornate decoration at the Plaza de España.

Next, we walked to the nearby Plaza de España. We didn't have a lot of time, as it was night already, but we couldn't leave Sevilla without visiting one of its major icons. This massive plaza was completed in 1928 for the Ibero-American Exposition World's Fair. It is a semi-circle of ornate buildings, tiles, a canal, bridges, and a large fountain. Attention to detail is given for every last space in the plaza.

Although it was night, the plaza was lit up well when we arrived. There weren't many people, so we roamed freely throughout. This was just another example of the many troves of treasure in Sevilla.

A statue of El Cid on his horse on the Avenida El Cid.  A tower at the Plaza de España is visible in the background.

After our visit to Plaza de España, we walked to another plaza, this one smaller and less conspicuous. Along the route, I marveled at the atmosphere that came alive at night. Horse-drawn carriages still clapped down the street, and the monuments of long-ago Spanish heroes now lit up. We soon arrived at the Plaza de Santa Cruz. On the the west-side of a small square of orange trees stood the Tablao Flamenco Los Gallos, a modest three-storied building with iron-railing balconies. This is where we would watch our Flamenco show. I don't think that a trip to Sevilla would be complete without experiencing good, authentic Flamenco.

We bought our tickets earlier in the day near the cathedral for 30 € a piece. This included the two-hour show and a drink. The show began at 10 pm. This is considered early in the evening by Spanish standards.

The auditorium was small, the stage smaller. There were a total of twelve performers during the evening, but usually only four on the stage at one time: two singers, one guitarist, and one dancer. The stage was lit by a red or white light, with two chairs, wooden beams on the ceiling, and a cast-iron stove for decoration. “Los Gallos” was painted on the wall, along with a picture of two roosters, as if about to engage in a cock fight.

The first dancer was much younger than I anticipated. She wore a polka dot dress with a long train that she always kept lifted as she danced and stamped on the stage. She used a fan, opening it, fluttering it, and waving it with her hands. Everything was done gracefully, and with emotion. When they sang, usually it was with their eyes closed, and almost a cry on their face.

Even when the men danced, they did so sumptuously. They grasped their coat sides, just as the women did their dresses, and waved them seductively back and forth. The men were so good at clicking their fingers that I had to look closely to be sure they were not using castanets. One man was dressed all in black with a bandanna around his neck.

Behind the dancer was the guitarist, his fingers going at incredible speeds. On both sides of him were the singers, one a fat gypsy with a low voice, and the other an awkward slim guy with glasses, singing at a high pitch. At the end of each song, the fat guy would say, “Olé!”

Each performance lasted about fifteen minutes. Between performances they would take a little break, then scramble up the performers and play again.

After two hours, I was completely awe-struck. Like many other things in life, Flamenco is something that has to be witnessed in person to gain the full experience.

It was well past midnight when we returned to our hotel. As we were headed in for the night, others were just beginning, walking in the opposite direction to join their friends. From the third-story balcony of our hotel, I looked down on the street and saw a large group of evening-goers sitting down at a long, rectangular table. They were eating an evening meal. Such late meals are typical here in Spain.

As for us, we were wiped. We had to catch a morning train to Madrid. It was time to close the doors, close the eyes, and try to get a little sleep. It would be a little more difficult to close the mind: the stomping, the clicking, and the castanets would play long into the night.