Bella Italia

Sunday March 2 - Thursday March 6, Rome and Ravenna, Italy
Sunday
Ian and I arrive in Rome in the late afternoon. What should have been no more than a thirty minute taxi ride from the airport into the city takes a staggering two and a half hours. The main route had been closed off because of an accident causing complete chaos. “Mamma mia! Tutto bloccato!” our driver informs us, and on several occasions along the way he crosses himself muttering under his breath whilst shaking his head.

Monday - Tuesday
We are here to film at St. Peter’s Basilica, which has entailed negotiating no less than three separate sets of permissions beforehand from London. Filming inside the basilica itself, filming in St Peter’s Square, and finally the right to put a tripod down just outside Vatican territory facing St Peter’s from a slightly greater distance on Italian territory.
The final paperwork and payments all have to be made prior to filming in offices in the Vatican (having first been vetted by the colourful Swiss guards), and then further away at the Comune di Roma, where it comically takes no less than three people to process, sign and stamp a six page document before handing it over.
I had forgotten how simply vast St Peter’s is. Conveying its enormous scale on film is almost impossible. On entering the building the eye is drawn down to the focal point of the interior, Bernini’s monumentally tall bronze canopy known as the baldacchino which stands over the altar. It's 98 feet high, the same height as a substantial building such as Rome's Palazzo Farnese, and yet it fits comfortably inside Michelangelo’s vast dome which rises above it.
TU ES PETRUS ET SUPER HANC PETRUM AEDIFICABO ECCLESIAM MEAM ... (You are Peter and on this rock I build my Church) ... reads part of the inscription of Christ’s words to Peter in gold lettering over 2 metres high around the base of the dome. Of course the pun doesn’t work in English, but it does in French, Italian and of course Latin. I look up musing on what the equivalent English first name would have to be. Rock perhaps, as in ... Rock Hudson? It doesn’t quite do it. (Diana famously called Paul Burrell her rock of course.)
The following morning our wonderful interviewee speaks movingly about what St Peter’s means to him. Monsignor Roderick Strange was a student priest in Rome for much of the 1960s. More recently he was a chaplain at Oxford University for some years, and has spent the last ten as Rector of the Pontifical Beda College in Rome.

When we have finished our interview outside we are accosted by a local busker who, for no apparent reason, seems keen to let off steam and rant for some time at us about Berlusconi amongst other things. It is a little difficult to disengage ourselves from him politely (he is like the ancient mariner), but he could of course have a point about Berlusconi.

Later that afternoon we leave Rome for Ravenna, a drive which takes over five hours, departing Rome in warm sunshine only to encounter snow and hailstones just three hours later on the final tortuous stretch of road beyond Florence.

Wednesday - Thursday
It is freezing in Ravenna and our hotel resembles a mortuary. Our interviewee, a local art historian, Verdiana Conti Baioni, tells me that it was once a mausoleum, which only goes to confirm the ghostly feeling of the place.
The Basilica di San Vitale, however, is more than worth the journey here and the sub-zero temperatures. It is a tour de force. Here is a legacy of 6th century mosaic work arguably without equal anywhere in the world. Images, almost certainly decorated by Greek artists, include the retinues of the Byzantine emperor Justinian and his belly dancer-turned-empress wife Theodora. Sex and power at the court of Constantinople. And the vibrant colours – the gold backgrounds, the rich green meadows and deep blue skies – are dazzling. We think of the period when these mosaics were done as the dark ages, and yet San Vitale was a breathtakingly original departure and is quite simply exquisite.
In contrast with the distinctive octagonal shape of San Vitale, the next morning we film also at San Apollinare Nuovo built only a little earlier but in the basilican form with a long nave and side aisles (one of which helpfully has a tall scaffold tower obscuring a large section for restoration work). After those of San Vitale, the mosaics at San Apollinare Nuovo are the finest in Ravenna. One of them depicts urban scenes of the city, a reminder that Ravenna was once the capital of the declining Roman empire for more than seventy years in the 5th century and was later an important outpost of the Byzantine empire. It’s hard to believe today that this city’s career was so remarkable. It declined slowly and gracefully in the following centuries to be overtaken largely by Venice, and indeed it’s perhaps because the city was little heard from for a thousand years that most of Ravenna's art was left in peace.
It is still inhospitably cold and windy as we leave, and I am looked at with disbelief when I tell the hotel that we will be returning to significantly warmer and brighter weather in London.

And despite the blog editor's strictures ("enough food already"), the culinary highlight of the trip would have to be, for those that are interested, a small family-run fish restaurant that we came across in Rome’s Borgo Pio. “You have discovered Rome’s best kept secret,” an obviously well-heeled fellow Roman diner tells me. There are photos on the walls of a plethora of Italian celebrity regulars past and present, including Fellini and Marcello Mastroianni. I’m not sure I should reveal to you where it is, but I could be persuaded.
(Linda Zuck)

2 days in Singapore

Wednesday February 27 - Thursday February 28, Singapore
It's Wednesday so it must be Singapore. The excellent Julie Delpy movie 2 Days in Paris has brightened my 12-hour flight and I arrive at a sparkling Changi Airport.

The reason for my visit is a visionary piece of Islamic architecture, the Assyafaah Mosque (pronounced Ash-ee-far). Designed by Tan Kok Hiang, the principal partner of Forum Architects, it's a building which aims to converse with the traditions of Islamic architecture while simultaneously embracing the values and aesthetic of contemporary Singapore. Having spent much of last weekend filming at Istanbul's more conventional Blue Mosque, I'm intrigued.

The schedule is extremely tight. HD camera equipment is a rare commodity in Singapore and its consequent hire-costs mean that we'll have to shoot everything in a single day. The forecast is promising clouds, gloom and rain.

To steel myself for the next day, I meet up with an old university friend, Nick Handel. An advertising executive, Nick provides a few useful pointers to the Singaporean mentality -- "it's looking to establish itself as the Switzerland of Asia." "Here you wear your wealth on your sleeve." Certainly the high level of cleanliness, efficiency and countless shopping malls appear to reinforce his conclusions. Nick also kindly indulges my passion for cliché -- we head to Raffles for a Singapore Sling (overly sweet, overly red and overly priced, but of course you still need to order one).
The day of the shoot, and it's an early start. We've decided to employ a local crew rather than take Ian out with us and so at 6.15 am, Malaysian-born camerman Yaw, and the Singaporean driver James arrive at the hotel. We head to the Esplanade (part of Singapore's waterfront) to catch the early morning sun and film some establishing shots of the city. There's more sunshine than I dared hope, and three-quarters of an hour later we're driving to the north of the city to the Assyafaah Mosque.
The mosque is immediately arresting by virtue of what's not there. No conventional minarets, no dome and seemingly no sides to the construction. It feels inclusive, relaxed, informal -- as much social centre as religious building -- an impression confirmed in an enthusiastic welcome by the mosque's manager, Abdul Aziz Awang.
Yaw warns that we won't have the sunshine all day so we take advantage of some bluish skies to film wide shots of the building. It's an opportunity to examine the mosque with a little more care and to think through some further questions with our interviewee, the mosque's architect , Tan Kok Hiang. There's also the chance to meet Micky, the affable sound-man for the day. But of course it's all working a little too smoothly. Blue skies, methodical cameraman, on schedule...
In this case, it's sound which proves our undoing. A surprise for seemingly everybody, a women's conference has been organised for the morning and the Imam's voice is amplified throughout the entire building -- there will be no chance to film the architect on site. We're all disappointed -- particularly as we've just met Mr Tan and have found him to be passionate, charismatic and extremely well-versed in religious architecture. Fortunately, he's gracious and agrees to be filmed in the open air amid the heat and humidity.

Except that next door to the mosque, three pile-drivers have started their thunderous rhythm. Micky goes to the construction site to see whether they'll take a break, but to no effect. It's no win -- Mr Tan has to be away by 11.30 and we're left to choose between deafening amplification and the pile drivers. The pile drivers win-out and we film the interview outside.
Without wishing to flatter the architect (or the film we're making) too outrageously, Mr Tan proves a fantastic guide. He talks through the tensions of a non-Muslim designing an Islamic building. He explains about the absence of a dome (Middle-East tradition, and impossible to maintain amidst the rigours of the Singaporean climate). He enages us with his decision to embrace the Arabesque in much of the design and he's frank about the challenge of working with an artist to realise the single minaret. Chatty and charming, we enjoy a very good couple of hours in his company.
The rest of the day, we're filming details of the interior and it's an opportunity to see the mosque in use. I'm incredibly impressed with Mr Tan's design -- the ablutions space is sleek, stylish and beautifully achieved. The mihrab and sloping qibla feel modern and relevant and there is a community feel to the building -- a breeziness and lightness -- completely different to the other mosques I've visited.
The day rushes on. Yaw applies himself tremendously and takes infinite care over his framing and moves. We break for a quick noodle-lunch and then it’s another three hours of filming interior details.
6pm comes and we rush to Orchard Road, a sort of Singaporean Bond Street to film shoppers and brand-names -- it's just a notion that we might be able to contrast the Assyafaah Mosque with the commercialism of Asia's Switzerland. We'll see...

We wrap at dusk and I head to my friend, Nick's house for supper. It’s not a late night -- Nick's wife is heavily pregnant and I'm flying out early next day. A taxi is ordered and right there I have the smallest insight into life in Singapore. "Your taxi will be with you in exactly four minutes." Sure enough, four minutes later, the taxi arrives. Only in Singapore. (Seb Grant)

Mosques, minarets and meze

Saturday February 23 - Monday February 25, Istanbul, Turkey
"You see these wires? They're connected to a bomb and I'm going to kill British people."

The man fixed his eyes on our cameraman.

"Good idea," responded our cameraman. "I'm South African."

This little exchange occurred in 2003, the last time Illuminations filmed in Istanbul. We were working on a BBC/Canada co-production entitled The World in Art and we had been accosted while shooting in the Sultan Ahmed Mosque. Five years on and we are filming there once again.
Istanbul is, without doubt, one of my favourite European cities: jaw-dropping architecture, incredible food (particularly the sauces, meats, fish and bread), a complex history -- and a generous, warm-hearted, proud population. We (Ian, Nonie and myself) are delighted to be making the journey. (Sorry, but this isn't just one of those paragraphs written to mitigate an uncomfortable opening story.)

Arriving late from Budapest, we are met at the airport by our fixer's colleague, Tunjay, and taken to our hotel just across the square from the mosque. One late meze supper later and we have agreed to meet early to film the sun rising from behind the minarets.
Time-lapse sequences (which can be sped-up to make time pass quickly) are frequently shot by resentful cameramen in isolated surroundings, at unearthly hours in challenging temperatures. Not this one. The hotel's breakfast room overlooks the Mosque and we enjoy the perfect view while stuffing our faces with exotic mueslis, fresh bread, juices and a few Turkish sweets. Oh yes, and of course there's the mosque...Frequently known by tourists as the the Blue Mosque because of its interior blue ceramic tiling, the Sultan Ahmed Mosque is one of the must-see attractions of Istanbul. There is little question of its remarkable contribution to the Istanbul skyline -- constructed between 1609 and 1616, its six 60-metre minarets challenge the dominance of its older neighbour, the Hagia Sofia.

All sorts of myths have grown up around the disproportionally high number of these minarets (most mosques have four or less). One of the most popular is that the architect Sedefhar Mehmet Aga misunderstood Sultan Ahmed I's instructions for the design and confused the word "gold" with "six" -- in Arabic the words are phonetically very similar. At the time the Sultan was accused of presumption -- only Mecca had six minarets -- but Ahmed I eventually pacified his critics by financing the construction of a seventh minaret at Mecca.
Expounding truth, and exposing myth, our interviewee for the mosque is Dr Feridun Ozgumus, a Byzantine expert who is able to talk in great depth about both the Sultan Ahmed Mosque and the Hagia Sofia. I should have been smarter about picking interview locations (just too much human traffic) but once we're settled in the interior of the Blue Mosque itself, I feel that the interview becomes far more focussed and intimate. Feridun is extremely open in talking about his faith and what it means to actively worship in this incredible building. He's also kind enough to explain the various rituals involved in the Islamic act of worship. Interview complete, there's just time to snatch some final interior shots before we lose the sunlight. We enjoy a late supper and retire early.

The next day, Sunday, and we spend the morning filming at the Hagia Sofia. The building predates the Sultan Ahmed Mosque by almost a thousand years and yet to my eye, it's the more remarkable of the two buildings -- and this despite extensive scaffolding supporting the main dome.
Perhaps I'm just more accustomed to an ecclesiastical aesthetic - the Hagia Sofia was formerly a basilica before being transformed into a mosque (and now a museum) but somehow the proportions feel more appropriate - and yes, I suppose I've grown used to appreciating something figurative in buildings of worship (there are some exquisite mosaics still left in the first floor gallery, and on the ceiling and above the mihrab).

We spend the morning filming there and hear rather a good story about the scaffolding -- there's a popular rumour that the scaffolding will never be taken away; not because the restoration process is endless, not because it's structurally supporting the roof -- but simply it's a means of preventing any discussion on whether the museum should be returned to a place of worship. It's an engaging theory.
The afternoon and our fabulous fixer, Munir, pulls off something of a coup; he arranges for us to go to the top of the central minaret of the Sultan Ahmed Mosque and take some shots of Istanbul and the Hagia Sofia. It's a real privilege, although once we're gasping for breath on a pitch-black stairway, we feel slightly less grateful. The views though prove worth it -- and when we get our feet back on the ground, we're exhilirated. Finally, there's a dash for the ferry which takes us across to the other side of the Bosphorus - partly to get some shots of the skyline and partly to boast that we've visited Asia.
Prague, Budapest, Istanbul - it's been a sensational experience to film in all of these cities, but on the final morning, the real pressure kicks in… what to buy other halves at the end of a shoot? For a trip like this one, somehow the airport shop just won't do. (Seb Grant)

Filming and fine dining in Mitteleuropa

Sunday February 17 - Tuesday February 19, Prague, Czech Republic
“This would be so perfect,” we agreed, “if one was here on a romantic break.” It was a twilit Sunday evening, an hour or so after landing, and Ian, Seb and I were wandering through the Old Town Square in Prague and marvelling at the extraordinary ancient buildings surrounding us. As it was we there for a shoot for the Judaism film.

Prague’s architecture is multifarious and fascinating. Romanesque, Baroque and Gothic buildings sit cheek-by-jowl with an Art Nouveau part of the city, the ‘Josefov’ area, which is the old Jewish Quarter. And right in the middle of the Josefov area is the Old New Synagogue. It is a wonderful, compact Gothic building from the 13th century and the oldest active synagogue in Europe. Josefov was a Jewish ghetto from the 12th century until 1848, when the Jews were granted permission to move out. By the turn of the century the old ghetto had become a slum and was in such a decrepit state that it had to be completely demolished, bar six synagogues, the old Jewish cemetery, the Ceremonial Hall and the Jewish Town Hall. These buildings now make up the “Jewish Museum” of Prague. They remain proudly in situ in the Jewish Quarter, although they are now somewhat dwarfed by the lofty Art Nouveau buildings that usurped their previous neighbours.
Contrary to what the constant trail of tourists might suggest, the Old New Synagogue is more than an important element of the “Old Jewish Town” tour. It is still an active place of worship and of gathering for Prague’s Orthodox Jewish community. Through filming with our contributor, Jakub Svab, we learnt about the history of the building and equally importantly about how it functions as a synagogue today. A tour guide and the Head of the Synagogue Assembly, Jakub was a great interviewee. He has attended the synagogue since he was a boy, had his Bar Mitzvah there and was married there. From his named seat he was in a more than qualified position to share with us the honour he felt to be worshipping in such an historic structure, but also to reveal the challenges of worshipping in a building put up 700 years ago.
Other highlights of our shoot here seemed to involve spending our limited free time sampling the local gastronomy. On our first evening in Prague, our main course included Czech beer, a whole roast duck for Seb, a gigantic portion of crispy “pork knuckle” for Ian and no less than two marinated chicken breasts for me. That of course was before the traditional selection of dumplings and cabbage. We swiftly learned that starters are not a necessity here.

Wednesday February 20 - Friday February 22, Budapest, Hungary
After two days in Prague we flew to Budapest, where our next location was the Dohany Street Synagogue -- a magnificent, unique synagogue built in the Moorish style, and currently the largest synagogue in Europe.
The sun was shining on our first morning there as we were let into the complex by a friendly maintenance man called Alexander. Alexander, who spoke no English, remained our companion throughout our filming at the synaogue, and by the end of two days we had developed quite an advanced level of dialogue with him, consisting of sign language, smiles and a sprinkling of German. On arrival Alexander let us enter the synagogue from the bimah, the elevated platform at its centre. As we went in all three of our heads craned up in awe. The building is enormous and even in the semi-darkness the structure, the ornamental designs, the patterns and the chandeliers were incredibly impressive. Casually, one by one, Alexander flicked on all the light switches and slowly the synagogue lit up to reveal its full glory.
During our first day of filming general views of the synagogue we decided to see if any of the inhabitants of the nearby high-rise buildings might allow us to film a shot from one of their windows. Several hours of climbing staircases and trying to doorstep slightly suspicious Hungarian homeowners later, we thankfully stumbled across a girl in a travel agent who kindly decided to adopt our top-shot challenge. Seb and I adopted what we hoped were our most charming and innocent facial expressions and without saying a word we followed our kind helper as she went from office to office and house to house, trying to find someone with an appropriate window.
Eventually she left us at a doctor’s surgery. The doctor spoke little English but what he lacked in linguistic finesse he made up for in mesmerising facial hair. He communicated something about his room being busy at the moment but we could get five minutes inside as soon as it became available. For the next twenty minutes Ian and I shared his waiting room with a group of sick Hungarians slightly nonplussed by our pile of kit and general air of expectancy. Occasionally the outside bell rang and I found myself opening the door and pulling apologetic facial expressions to Hungarians who came in and directed questions at me. Just as we were about to give up and seek out an alternative location, the doctor emerged from his room and gave us permission to film. Phew.
Our contributor for the Dohany Street Syagogue was a wonderfully warm and open rabbi called Robert Frolich. Brought up as an Orthodox Jew, Rabbi Frolich was very aware and honest about the varied architectural influences on the building and consequently some Jews’ criticism that the it resembles a church rather than a traditional synagogue. Indeed the Rabbi made it abundantly clear that nothing about the synagogue’s design is typical at all and he explained very interestingly how the church-like structure and Moorish design elements were introduced to make the building more accessible and familiar to a greater number of people. His ethos regarding leading such a large congregation was also surprisingly liberal, revealing that he was quite happy to have his massive congregation chatting amongst themselves during his services, just as long as they were there and happy to be part of the synagogue's community. Indeed, after spending time in that glorious building and with the rabbi it easy to see why they would want to stay that way.
The comedy moment of the Budapest trip would have to be our meal out on the second night. Ian and the Time Out Guide were charged with the task of finding us a choice restaurant at which to sample authentic Hungarian cuisine. We jumped into a taxi to go to our exciting surprise destination. Not only did our taxi smell curiously of wet dog, but our chain-smoking driver spoke as much English as we did Hungarian (none) and had no idea how to find Ian’s restaurant. “Small street” we just about deduced from some choice gestures -- but really his slightly baffled face spoke volumes -- which we finally understood as he pulled up. He dropped us off in Buda (we were staying in Pest), at a restaurant beside some tram tracks in a deserted middle-class suburb.

Outside lights on and tea lights expectantly lit on every table, the restaurant was completely empty. Our waitress spoke no English and simply giggled. At one point in her attempt to communicate mid-giggle she led us to believe we might have teeth in our soup -- until we realised she meant garlic, which of course is tooth-coloured! When our return taxi came to pick us up, we were pleased we’d eaten authentic Hungarian food in a non-touristy restaurant but we were just as happy that two more customers had arrived and our smiley waitress had some other people to giggle with. (Nonie Creagh-Brown)

"The protean shapes of faith"

Thursday, February 28, London
Seb, Ian and Nonie have returned from a filming trip to Prague, Budapest and, as one of Ian's fine photos illustrates, Istanbul. We will post from each of these locations in the next few days, but meanwhile here are some wise words about travel from Colin Thubron, from his recent (and excellent) Shadow of the Silk Road:

Sometimes a journey arises out of hope and instinct, the heady conviction, as your finger travels along the map: Yes, here and here... and here. These are the nerve-ends of the world...
A hundred reasons clamour for your going. You go to touch on human identities, to people an empty map. You have a notion that this is the world's heart. You go to encounter the protean shapes of faith. You go because you are still young and crave excitement, the crunch of your boots in the dust; you go because you are old and need to understand something before it's too late. You go to see what will happen.

Taj Mahal? Been there, shot that

Sunday February 17 - Tuesday February 19, Agra, India
"Mehtab Bagh. Mehtab Bagh."

It's golden hour in Agra, India. The hour before sunset so precious to cinematogaphers the world over.

"Mehtab Bagh. Mehtab Bagh."

We're chasing the light, all too aware of the sinking sun. And we're racing in a minibus through streets crammed with tuk-tuks, carts drawn by bullocks, colourful lorries, battered buses and a swarm of motorbikes. Every so often our driver Ramesh leans out of the window demanding directions.

"Mehtab Bagh. Mehtab Bagh."
No-one seems to know how to direct us across the Yamuna river to the gardens with a view of the Taj Mahal at sunset. But somehow we find the bridge, a narrow, two-lane iron structure (with a railway above) built under the Raj and seemingly not mended since. Traffic hurtles towards us as we manoeuvre around anything that presumes to move more slowly than our camera car.

Then, after one wrong turning, there's the sign and then an official at a gate stopping us from taking the car any further. We jump out and hump the gear down to the river bank. Across what at this time of the year is little more than a stream ("you should see it during the monsoon!") is the magnificent mausoleum of the Taj Mahal, with soft sunlight rounding the curves of its white marble.
Truth to tell, we're just a few minutes too late. A glimpse of the Taj's domes from the road had shown them glowing a subtle orange, but now the sun has sunk a touch too low. Nonetheless the sight beats most tourist vistas and cameraman Nandu shoots happily, catching reflections and snatching the red globe as it sinks away.
I arrived in India yesterday morning, travelling on the same flight as Paul Merton. He has come for a 9-week shoot for a Five follow-up to last year's Paul Merton in China. Paul travelled first-class. I didn't. But then again I'm only here for three days.

Having met up with Ramesh, we do the four hour-plus drive to Agra. I was last in India (as a tourist) more than twenty years ago, but India remains India. We stop for a moment and there's a monkey on the car and a man wanting money for a photo. There are beggars at every traffic light, camels on the highway and an unrelenting soundtrack of horns.
Monday morning Ramesh and I drive to Fatephur Sikri, the extraordinary city built by Mughal emperor Akbar in the late sixteenth century and abandoned after only 14 years. We meet our Indian crew, Nandu and Subu, and scope out the vast mosque here -- which is one part of the story I've come to shoot. The only frustration is that because a previous crew damaged the building in some way we're not allowed to use a tripod inside the courtyard. We try persuasion, tricks when we think the guards are not looking, as well as other means, but we have to make do with the camera on the ground, on ledges and Nandu's steady shoulder.
Another problem is that our contributor, a cultural historian who was to talk with us about the Taj Mahal, has had a bereavement in her family, and so we have to to find a replacement in Agra in the next few hours. The resourceful Ramesh makes it happen.
That evening there's the frantic drive to Mehtab Bagh and next morning we're at the Taj Mahal main entrance at 8am. What of course you never see in documentaries is the palaver of getting past security, especially if you have camera equipment. There are soldiers with guns everywhere. The kit is subjected to a detailed scrutiny and we, like every other visitor, are patted down for concealed weapons. The process, like so much in India, is both rigorous and ramshackle.

Inside, jostling with the crowds, there's an intensity to the way everyone needs to have their picture taken with the Taj. And there is perceived to be one perfect spot, dead centre, for which people constantly compete and for which -- when we manage to manoeuvre the tripod there -- we receive disapproving looks and not-so-subtle shoulder barges.
Filming is permitted only from a single wide platform just inside the entrance to the garden. Our two minders make sure we don't trespass any further forward, and then when we start the interview, we're only one question in before one of them challenges our permit. "No casting," it states on page three of the form but, the minder says, the interviewee is "casting". No, no, we all argue, "casting" refers to drama shoots. My plea that I have flown thousands of miles for this moment makes little impact, at least until Ramesh takes him away for a quiet word and an understanding between them. We film the interview.
Despite all this, the mausoleum -- completed around 1648 by emperor Shah Jahan in memory of cherished wife Mumtaz Mahal -- is a magnificent sight. Serene, glowing, glorious. Looking at it, staring at it on our monitor, and then walking around (beyond where the camera can go), none of the minor hassles mean a thing. It is, simply, a sublime achievement of faith and beauty. (John Wyver)

Mr Church and Senora Superwoman

Tuesday February 5 - Friday February 8, Cordoba and Toledo, Spain
Tuesday, 10pm
It’s probably not the most auspicious start to a tightly packed three day filming schedule to find yourself pleading with the Guardia Civil at Malaga airport not to lock up your camera equipment overnight. We had meant to drive straight to Cordoba, but were to be thwarted. The customs officials had finished their shift for the day, and they needed to check our equipment to assure themselves we weren’t importing it from Tunisia into Spain. “We had a bit of trouble in Tunisia too,” our cameraman Ian Serfontein reflects, “but nothing as officious as this.”

Wednesday

Twelve hours later we find ourselves, after a night at the local Ibis Hotel, back at the airport negotiating with customs and finally being allowed to head two hours north to Cordoba.
We’re here of course to film the great Mezquita which dates back to 784 CE and was the most magnificent of over one thousand mosques in the city in Islamic times. It was enlarged in stages under successive rulers and was at one time the second largest mosque in the Muslim world. It is most notable for its giant red and white double arches and forest of over one thousand columns. I had arranged filming permission with one Rafael Iglesias (Mr. Church no less) who turns out to be far more pleasant and amenable in person than I had imagined. But lunch is an important business in Spain, and we are to come back at 3pm when he would be ready for us.

This still leaves us three hours to try to capture something of the disorientating mystery of the enormous warehouse-sized prayer hall. Unfortunately, whole parts of it had been sectioned off for building renovation with unsightly barriers. How also to convey the uniqueness of this building, which after the ‘Reconquista’ quite literally had had a highly decorated Catholic cathedral inserted into the middle of it, when the nave too is undergoing serious restoration works? “I don’t know if I mentioned about the scaffolders who arrived two days ago” remarks Mr Church casually. He hadn’t.
We are only allowed to stay until 6pm, soon after which there would be a service for Ash Wednesday. A large area of temporary seating for the congregation has been installed amongst the forest of columns in part of the mosque space as a makeshift cathedral in the absence of the real thing, spoiling, from a filming perspective, yet another section of the building.

These challenges aside, possibly the most irritating thing about filming inside heavily visited religious buildings has to be the constant flashing of digital cameras. Mr Church kindly stops tourists coming in after 5.30pm, and we have the luxury of the final half hour of the place to ourselves. This has to be one of the great pleasures of these trips: the enormous privilege of experiencing some of the world’s finest buildings in total peace and quiet.

Later, walking through Cordoba’s medieval backstreets to find a restaurant for dinner, we come upon an elaborate Catholic Ash Wednesday procession filling the air with incense.
Thursday
The next morning, after filming the large courtyard filled with orange trees we meet our first interviewee, the cathedral’s arch canon whose surname is Cumplido, which roughly translates as “complier” given that cumplir means to comply. I wonder whether in order to work at the cathedral you need to have a suitable surname.

Our elderly interviewee lives up to his name, and takes a hard line when asked if he sees the building as a symbol of interfaith understanding. Not in the least. After all, as he points out, the site still has the remains of the original basilica built by the Visigoths before the Moors conquered. Many of the columns and other building materials were taken from the remains of the basilica and re-used, and for him the building is a sacred Christian place. It is a cathedral and not a mosque, we are reminded. He has absolutely no time for the story of Emperor Charles V’s reported comment on finally visiting the cathedral after having authorised it to be built. “You have destroyed something unique,” he is supposed to have said, “and replaced it with something commonplace”. Did Charles V think he had made a terrible mistake? “That comment is a myth. He didn’t say it,” our arch canon tells us with absolute certainty and not a little irritation.

Our second interviewee teaches history at Cordoba University. He is a delightful man. Amongst other things he tells us that the double system of lower horseshoe arches and higher semi circular ones inside the mosque functions as a Roman aqueduct, with channels for rain water to be drained away from the roof. He is also very much of the opinion that if the cathedral hadn’t been built inside it, the building would have fallen to the fate of Cordoba’s other mosques, and would in all probability not have survived.

By now it is mid afternoon, and after driving across the river for a view of the mosque, spoiled by a large green crane directly in front of it, we leave Cordoba for the four-hour journey due north to Toledo. After an hour or so the car experiences some difficulties, and we find ourselves pulling into a garage in Guarroman, which is not anywhere you might normally choose to make a detour to. A “guarro” is a pig in Spanish, and is also used to mean “dirty old man”. Next to the garage there is, somewhat appropriately perhaps, a brothel with flashing neon signs of women in compromising positions. Fortunately the mechanics fix the car and thankfully we don’t have to spend a night in Guarroman which had been looking for a brief while like a distinct possibility.

We finally arrive in Toledo in time, thanks to the late Spanish dining hours, for something to eat before retiring.
Friday
The filming of two synagogues and an interview to accomplish today. Toledo is a beautiful walled hilltop town about an hour south of Madrid, and was one of the former capitals of the Spanish empire. It has a wealth of important historical buildings and enjoyed a golden age, known as La Convivencia, when Jews, Christians and Muslims lived together harmoniously. The tolerance was such that the religions almost blurred into one another and the two synagogues we have come to film bear witness to that.
The Santa Maria la Blanca synagogue, finished around 1200, has a plain interior dominated by horseshoe arches. It is a beautiful space, and feels more like a mosque than a synagogue. It was built for the thriving Jewish community by Moorish master builders and decorators. In contrast, the Transito synagogue, built some 200 years later, has no arches or pillars and is a large rectangular space with a richly decorated blaze of Hebrew inscriptions which integrate Koranic verses and Hebrew psalms and an intricately carved ceiling. Again designed and decorated by Islamic builders, it is now a museum of Sephardic culture.
Our interviewee, an elegantly dressed art historian at Toledo university, looks too young to be so accomplished an expert on the history of the period we are interested in. She tells us about the two different synagogues in some detail and explains how Toledo became a unique and important centre of learning and translation at this time, with prominent scholars of all faiths exchanging texts in philosophy, science, mathematics and theology. After the interview, she kindly offers to take us back to her house so that we can film a view of the old Jewish quarter from her roof terrace. Her front door is ajar and we walk up some steep stairs past her kitchen and living rooms. The building feels as though it must be at least 300 years old. “I need this large house as I have so many children,” she tells us. It hardly seems possible that she has any children at all. I ask her how many. “Seven” she replies. She has trouble remembering whether she is 36 or 37, and one by one her children arrive home, spanning in age from 13 to 1. They are all immaculately well-behaved and greet us with impeccable manners. She explains that it suits her very well to live within Toledo’s walls as it is completely safe – hence the front door which is always open. As we take leave of our host, who also tells me she is chairing a major commission for the government on tourism in Spain, I tell her she is a superwoman and I truly believe she is. (Linda Zuck)