Dateline: Carmona, Seville, Andalusia, Spain. Posted October 23, 2008

Julius Caesar wrote of Carmona’s inarguable beauty and what remains today in the town’s many mansions, convents, palaces and churches is an ever-continuing tribute to what Caesar called “the morning star of Andalusia.” This tiny, charming village is steeped in Moorish history and is dominated by the crumbling walls of its ancient Alcazar.

Built atop a strategic plateau, it is now the home of the Parador Nacional Alcazar Rey Don Pedro.

Within the ancient protective walls, the parador captures the spirit of past and present.

Through the granite and marble lobby, one enters an elegant atrium framed with unadorned Mudejar columns. Beyond is the bar and restaurant with pyramidical 20-foot ceilings and carved Moorish panels. Intricate copper and tin lamps hang from huge chains over the flower-filled tables. There’s a connecting stone veranda that, like the entire parador, overlooks a vast, sun-beaten plain and the clear, cool waters of a beautiful swimming pool below.

My room was simple; delightfully decorated in hand-woven fabrics, heavy oak furniture and local crafts. There was also a television, bar/refrigerator, air-conditioning, and a direct-dial telephone. The granite and marble bath was modern and attractive. Best was the private terrace overlooking the flatlands. (NB: only the rooms on the fourth floor have terraces.)

I walked the three stories and 60-odd stairs down to the pool.

Half of the guests were American, the rest were European and South American. All were in the spring of middle age, very cosmopolitan and casual. I chaise-longued with a glass of wine, a grilled sandwich, and a new novel that I never opened. From the pool, the sun begins to sink behind the ramparts about 8 pm; a good time to start thinking about dinner; this is Spain, you know.

I dined at 9:30; fresh warm bread, olives, sausages, serrano ham and butter arrived immediately. I started with a good Andalusian gazpacho (orangier than I’m used to but wonderfully full of garlic, onions, peppers, cilantro, and croutons), and followed with a plate of delicious, braised squid stuffed with vegetables, rice and shellfish. The main course was a characterless ragout of veal (unless you’re in a large, luxury hotel avoid the tough-as-boots beef and veal in Spain), then a nice flan for dessert; nothing spectacular, but satisfying nonetheless.

I spent the rest of the evening on my breezy terrace, hypnotized by an amazing sight. All over the plain, farmers had set fire to their harvested fields, and the earth and sky became one as the sparks rose to mingle with the stars. Julius was right.

Next stop, Evora, Portugal.

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