Reflections on water

The Niger River overflowing its banks at the end of the rainy season serves as a partial barrier to the sands of the Sahara.  Source of life to those living along its banks, the Niger forms a delta, not at its mouth, but in the middle of Mali, bright green fields of rice, the breadbasket of the country.  Its surface teams with pinasses and pirogues, those long narrow, hand-crafted wooden boats that ferry people and products between cities, towns and villages.  This is where women do their laundry; those without water at home come to the river to bathe; herds of cattle and flocks of goats and sheep quench their thirst along this vast stream; fishermen catch fish to feed their families and dry the rest to sell in the markets. 

Away from the Niger it is a different story.  The first activity of  the day, for mainly women and girls, is to walk to a source of water and carry it home in containers balanced on their heads.  A few fortunate ones have sealed wells with hand pumps; however, most go to an open well where they must hoist buckets full of water without the aid of a pulley, the edges of the well revealing deep grooves formed by years of raising buckets with ropes or cords woven from the fibers of baobab bark; some go to a stream and others to an open pond shared with animals.   I always feel conspicuous with my ever present plastic bottle of pure water which costs more than most inhabitants earn in a day, but which I must drink in order to avoid getting dysentary.   The empty bottles are recycled, but not in a conventional way; children fight over them in order to have a container for their water.  A bottle left by the roadside will eventually be claimed by someone herding animals or walking to work in the millet or maize fields. 

Water, the source of life in Mali serves additional purposes in Morocco.  Every mosque has a ready supply of water so the faithful can perform their ablutions prior to praying.  In cities, fountains decorated with colorful tiles often occupy the center of public squares or courtyards.  Each neighborhood in the ancient medinas was required to have a public water fountain where residents could come to fill containers.  In palaces and royal gardens, elaborate systems of fountains were constructed using gravity to move the water from one location to another.  Bubbling, dripping and flowing water provided a soothing sound, a cooling effect in hot climates and a pleasing images.  Not to forget the hammam.- another requirement for each neighborhood along with a mosque, a fountain and a public oven.  This contemporary version of the Roman baths is a social tradition for some families, a necessity for personal hygiene for others.  The wood burning furnace situated  below the hammam heats the water to scalding temperatures while providing residents who have no stove at home with a place to have their food cooked. 

Cross the narrow Strait of Gibralter, a waterway that witnessed the departure of Columbus and other explorers, go up the Guadalquivir River and into the beautiful city of Sevilla for more water effects.  One legacy of the moors was their love for water.  It spouts from elaborate fountains in elegant plazas, drips from moss covered basins in obscure corners, babbles in geometric alabaster sculptures in courtyards of hotels, restaurants and public buildings.  Orange trees in the courtyard of the cathedral are irrigated by a network of small canals leading to the base of each plant.  And then there are the gardens of the Reales Alcazares, the royal palace, where every vista and pathway is enhanced by a water feature, many reflecting the influence of the moors. 

What a pleasure it would be to travel the world without having to buy and carry a bottle of pure drinking water!   Could the day possibly come when everyone would have access to a fountain, a faucet or a well that provided eau potable?  Let's hope that it is not simply a dream.

Ah, Sevilla!

Yesterday I walked throughout the central part of the city, along the Guadalquivir River and took photos, only stopping to visit the Torre del Oro, a tower that has been guarding the city since the moors ruled this city.  My quest for graffiti and street art was successful, walls along the river, under bridges and in a skate park.  I have learned that those who look like they are living on the fringes of society are most likely to have the information I seek.  

No need to ask for help or directions today.  This morning I headed straight to the cathedral to beat the daily crowds of tourists.   Bells ringing in the Giralda, the moorish style tower that originally served as the mineret to a large mosque on this site, and at 30 plus meters was once the tallest building in the world, caught my attention.  I entered a small back entrance and joined a handful of worshippers and small group of elderly priests who were reciting chants.  I had not intentionally planned to attend mass, but suddenly remembered a similar early morning experience in the Granada cathedral.  Mass is still free, but tourists pay an entrance fee!  Sunlight illuminated stained glass windows that sent streams of colored light against flamboyant gothic arches.  This structure, the largest of all gothic cathedrals, and third largest Christian church- after St. Peters in Rome and St. Pauls in London, is breathtaking by both its size and decor.   A massive guilded alterpiece dominates the space behind the high alter while an elaborately carved wooden choir area provides seating for clergy, two gigantic pipe organs with intricate carvings forming its sides.   The remains of Christopher Columbus occupy a prominent place on one side of the nave, his coffin borne by statues of kings.  Beautiful and inspiring,  a perfect place to contemplate life, history, art.  This cathedral is truly one of the greatest religious structures I have visited.  It reflects both the past riches of Spain and the religious fervor of its people.  My mind continues to process the experience- angles, arches, color, gold, space, incense, bells, organ music, robes, statues, echos, silence.  

Outside, I pass a row of horse drawn carriages waiting for customers, cross a small plaza and arrive at the entrance to the Alcazar, once home to moorish califs and today the official residence of the king and queen of Spain in Sevilla.  There is an occasional advantage to being over 65, free entrance this time to the main palace, 4 euros for the audio guide and entrance with a small group to the private rooms.  Here I view a continuation of the moorish art I saw in Morocco, this time with an Andalousian flair, horseshoe shaped arches, elaborately carved plaster walls, intricate woodworking, arabic inscriptions, colorful tiles, more beautiful than the Alhambra, more extensive than the mosques and private residences of Morocco, this residence to untold califs, kings and queens, is a marvel beyond description.  One leaves with the sensation of visual and mental overload.  Fortunately, the next experience entails a walk through the extensive royal garden complex.  Water elements, an important part of moorish architecture and culture, abound, reflecting ponds, tiered fountains with dolphins spouting water, low circular and star shaped fountains from which small amounts of water bubble, often flowing quietly into an ajoining fountain at a lower level.  Stately palms, fruit laden orange and lemon trees, a true arboretum with winding pathways, a labyrinth of royal proportions formed by well trimmed hedges, a rose garden with the last blossoms of summer, pergolas, benches, a gentle breeze, cloudless blue sky, autumn warmth, soft sunlight.  I watch a class of students from the Escuela des Belles Artes, easels set before scenes they are capturing on canvas.   Having taken time to reflect and record my impressions, I will now leave my bench in this idyllic garden, return the autoguide, find a sidewalk cafe where I can order a late afternoon lunch and continue to enjoy Sevilla.