Diego Rivera and Frida Kahlo House-Studio Museum

The studio and home of prolific artists Diego Rivera and Frida Kahlo at the Museo Casa Estudio Diego Rivera y Frida Kahlo wows as a striking example of 1930s Mexican modernist architecture. 

You definitely have to tour Casa Azul and Anahuacalli Museum — but this site is also worth visiting if you have time.

When Wally and I talk to friends about our travels in CDMX, the conversation often turns to the places we’ve seen, and the places on our list for our next trip. 

One of the places I’d been wanting to visit was the Museo Casa Estudio Diego Rivera & Frida Kahlo, the former home and studio of two of the city’s most revered artists — though I’d argue that Frida has eclipsed Diego in fame since their deaths in the 1950s. It felt like a fitting comeuppance for how he treated her. But more on that later. 

“Whenever Frida wanted to visit Diego, she had to pull herself up an exterior floating staircase and cross a narrow footbridge.

Diego had specifically requested this to make it difficult for Frida to enter his studio (and see his adulterous dalliances). 

Their tumultuous relationship undoubtedly checked the “it’s complicated” box. ”

San Ángel: An Escape From the City

The historic house museum is located in San Ángel, an enchanting neighborhood southwest of Mexico City. Once a separate municipality, San Ángel served as a retreat for wealthy families who built grand country homes to escape the chaos of city life during the rise of the Industrial Revolution. Ancient lava flows shaped this rugged terrain, where its cobbled streets and colonial estates were eventually consumed by the ever-expanding sprawl of Mexico City.

Duke and Wally stand on the terrace by the walkway that connected Diego’s home to Frida’s.

We planned our visit to coincide with the Bazar Sábado, a weekly market held on Saturdays, where artists and artisans set up shop and sell their wares. 

Our Uber driver dropped us off at the museum’s entrance on Calle Diego Rivera. As we waited for our guide, we couldn’t help but notice valets dressed in traje de charro, the traditional attire of mariachis, running past us in pairs. They were undoubtedly heading to the entrance of the nearby San Ángel Inn to park arriving cars. Known for its restaurant, the historic inn is a favorite dining spot for both locals and tourists, especially on weekends.

O'Gorman's Mexican fence post cactus barriers (and modern aesthetic) pissed off his traditional neighbors.

Wally and I walked to the front of the property, which faces Avenida Altavista. In our opinion, the best view of the two buildings is from across the avenue. On the left is the big house, a boxy white and red structure with a distinctive sawtooth roof and water tanks, which once served as the residence and studio of the plus-sized muralist Rivera. 

It’s linked at roof level by a narrow walkway and contrasted by the little house, the vivid blue home on the right, which belonged to his unibrowed surrealist painter wife, Kahlo.

The building that now serves as the restrooms originally functioned as a darkroom for Kahlo’s father, Guillermo.

Not the Blue House: The History of Diego and Frida’s San Ángel Studio Home

When the site opened at 10 a.m., we met our guide, Fernanda, in the museum’s courtyard. She resembled a proto-punk Japanese schoolgirl, with her nose ring and dressed in a long-sleeve white shirt under a black sweater, grid-pattern miniskirt fastened with oversized buttons and shiny black loafers. Joining us were a couple from Alabama celebrating their pandemic-postponed honeymoon and a towering white-haired man on a business trip from Germany who had added a day for sightseeing. 

Before the tour began, Fernanda asked how many of us had visited Casa Azul, Kahlo’s family home in the boho Coyoacán neighborhood. She explained that a lot of visitors show up here thinking they’re about to see the Blue House.

“It’s important to understand the difference,” Fernanda explained, “because that’s the house where she was born and where she returned after divorcing Rivera in December 1939.” 

She continued, “Here, there isn’t much furniture — it’s more of a photographic history. But what makes this site significant is the architecture of these three buildings.”

Our charming tour guide, Fernanda, was an expert on O’Gorman, Rivera and Kahlo.

Kahlo only lived here for six years. The couple moved into the home in January 1934 after Rivera was essentially forced to return to Mexico following the controversy surrounding his mural at Rockefeller Center, Man at the Crossroads. The mural, which included a depiction of Vladimir Lenin, led the Rockefellers to order its destruction and terminate Rivera’s commission. Rivera later re-created the mural in Mexico City. This version, titled Man, Controller of the Universe, can be seen at the Palacio de Bellas Artes murals in Mexico City.

Kahlo and Rivera remarried in December 1940, a year after their divorce, at San Francisco City Hall in California; however, she never returned to San Ángel. Her declining health made it more practical for her to remain in the beloved house of her childhood, la Casa Azul, which now serves as a popular attraction. This house offers a comprehensive glimpse into her life, showcasing her furniture and personal belongings. Rivera, however, lived in the studio home until his death in 1957.

In 1981, the National Institute of Fine Arts (INBA) acquired the houses from Rivera’s daughter, Ruth Rivera Marín, and, after nearly 16 years of restoration, it opened to the public. And three decades later, INBA acquired the Cecil O’Gorman House and incorporated it into the museum campus.

You can imagine Juan O’Gorman’s bold modernist design didn’t go over so well with the neighbors, who lived in colonial-style homes.

Cecil O’Gorman House 

Thanks to his interest in sports, Juan O’Gorman was the first to discover that the pair of tennis courts belonging to the San Ángel Inn were for sale.

In 1929, the aspiring 24-year-old architect purchased the plot at 81 Las Palmas, now Calle Diego Rivera, using money he had earned as chief draftsman at Carlos Obregón Santacilla’s atelier. 

He then began constructing a revolutionary dwelling inspired by Swiss architect Le Corbusier, whose work he had studied at the Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México (UNAM). The design adhered to the principle that buildings should be created solely based on their purpose and function. 

Nearly a century later, the structure remains one of the earliest examples of functionalist architecture in Latin America. Its stripped-back, utilitarian design was radical for its time, standing in sharp contrast to the surrounding 18th century colonial homes.

An exposed concrete spiral staircase swirls up the side of O’Gorman’s house.

By 1930, O’Gorman had completed the Cecil O’Gorman House, which, according to his autobiography, he designed as a home and studio for his father. 

But that’s not the whole story. 

His father, the Irish painter Cecil Crawford O’Gorman, was an avid collector of colonial art and antiques. He already owned a spacious hacienda nearby and had no interest in downsizing to the modernist glass box that his son had built. In reality, it’s likely that O’Gorman designed the house to showcase his architectural ideas and intended it to serve as a prototype for low-income housing, though the project never came to fruition.

Elevated on pilotis, slender columns that raise the reinforced concrete structure off the ground, this innovative construction method eliminated the need for traditional load-bearing walls, allowing O’Gorman to incorporate an entire wall of articulated glass windows. 

Access to the second floor is provided by an external spiral staircase, but unfortunately, it was closed during our visit due to the installation of an upcoming exhibition.

We weren’t able to go upstairs in the O’Gorman House because they were setting up for a new exhibition.

Like Rivera, O’Gorman had socialist inclinations and sought to challenge the norms of his time. He wasn’t just building a home — he was making a declaration of functionalist design amid the traditional architecture that characterizes much of San Ángel.

The neighbors were said to be outraged, demanding that his architectural degree be revoked. 

The locals didn’t care for the home’s curb appeal, either. Enclosed by Pachycereus marginatus, a tall columnar cactus, also known as Mexican fence post cactus, and landscaped with agaves, it reflected the aesthetic of an indigenous Mexican village rather than the prevailing manicured European style.

Rivera, on the other hand, appreciated O’Gorman’s vision. He commissioned him to construct a similar pair of homes for himself and his wife, Kahlo, on the adjacent lot. 

A model of the property inside the O’Gorman House.

Inside, what formerly served as the dining room and kitchen now holds a glass case with a scale model of the trio of buildings as well as a series of photographs by Cristina Kahlo-Alcalá, Kahlo’s grandniece. Among the photos are images of the hospital gowns Kahlo wore during her stays at the American British Cowdray Hospital in Mexico City, on which she often used to wipe excess paint from her brushes while she painted.

These doodles became the mural Entre Filosofía y Ciencia by O’Gorman.

In 2012, the museum’s restoration team uncovered the sinopia, or preparatory sketch, for the fresco Entre Filosofía y Ciencia (Between Philosophy and Science) on a layer of lime plaster beneath where the completed mural by O’Gorman originally stood. The fresco was purchased by Banco Nacional de México in 1957 and, when it’s not traveling, can be found in the Museo Foro Valparaíso.

Recall that Frida had leg and back issues, and imagine her having to walk up and down this floating staircase onto her roof and then across the walkway to get to Diego’s house.

Frida and Diego’s Complicated Relationship 

After we exited the Cecil O’Gorman House, Fernanda directed our attention to the floating staircase perched on the exterior of Kahlo’s house. Its tubular steel handrail leads from the second floor studio windows to the rooftop terrace. We couldn’t believe anyone would have used those stairs — especially Kahlo, whose chronic health issues significantly impaired her mobility. 

As a child, Kahlo contracted polio, which left her right leg weakened and deformed. Then, as a teenager, she was in a horrific accident when the bus she was riding collided with a trolley car. The impact left her with a fractured spine, and a handrail pierced her body, entering through her back and exiting through her pelvis.

RELATED: 9 Fascinating Facts About Frida

Yet, whenever she wanted to visit Rivera, she had to pull herself up those stairs and cross the narrow footbridge. Rivera had specifically requested this particular feature from O’Gorman to make it difficult for Kahlo to enter his studio (and see his adulterous dalliances). 

Their tumultuous relationship undoubtedly checked the “it’s complicated” box. It was a marriage strained by mutual jealousy and infidelity. Rivera didn’t fit society’s standards of handsome — Kahlo nicknamed him el Sapo-Rana (Toad-Frog) — but his fame, confidence and charisma made him irresistible to many women. 

Tour groups meet in the small courtyard in front of Diego’s house.

Rivera’s House and Studio

In my opinion, the most fascinating part of the museum is Rivera’s house. It still contains some of the original furniture and artwork from when he lived there. 

The bedroom has a set of small windows high on the wall, which limited the amount of direct sunlight and helped keep the room cool. Next to the bed, there’s a pair of shoes, an enamel bedpan and a leather suitcase sitting atop the woven coverlet, awaiting its next trip. An articulated gooseneck task lamp and a small bust of Chairman Mao sit on the olive green-painted nightstand, with a watercolor landscape by Rivera hanging above it.

Diego’s bedroom

Like his bedroom, the studio was mostly left as it was at the time of Rivera’s death. The main section, with its double-height space, was perfect for large works and transportable murals. The design facilitated easy handling of the panels, allowing them to be moved in and out of the studio through the folding windows.

Our favorite pieces among the personal items were Rivera’s collection of larger-than-life cartonería (papier-mâché) figures. Known in Mexico as Judases, these brightly colored effigies, with features like oversized or abnormally small heads and stubby limbs, commanded the room with their massive presence. Originally, these figures were depictions of Judas Iscariot, the apostle who betrayed Jesus Christ. Rivera’s collection includes devils, skeletons and other fantastical creatures, which were traditionally burned, exploded or flogged on the Saturday before Easter. 

Some of Diego’s collection of papier-mâché Judases in his studio

Many of these larger-than-life-sized effigies were created by the Mexican folk artist Carmen Caballero Sevilla. One Holy Week, Rivera visited the Mercado Abelardo Rodríguez and was impressed with Sevilla’s Judas figures and invited her to work in his studio in San Ángel. (He admired the working class, which is why he often wore overalls.)

Cool metal skeletons covered the walls.

Diego collected handicrafts like these Judases.

Brushes and trays with reserves of dried paint remain exactly as Rivera had left them, offering a glimpse into his creative process. Among them were shelves with jars of pigments that reflect his color palette — including Paris Green, a highly toxic emerald green powder made from copper and arsenic. 

Diego’s paints line the shelves of his studio but have long since dried up.

There are bookcases filled with pre-Hispanic and indigenous folk art. On one of the easels was a painting of the Latin American actress Dolores del Río, who was rumored to have slept with both Rivera and Kahlo. 

Diego painted Dolores del Rio, a beautiful Latin American actress who is said to have slept with his as well as Frida.

Fernanda pointed out a papier-mâché torito, a little bull, hanging high above us. She explained that this tradition dates back to the mid 19th century. These creations are mounted on a kind of scaffolding that rests on the wearer’s shoulders, stuffed with fireworks like roman candles and bottle rockets, which are set alight as part of the annual festival in the town of Tultepec honoring Saint John of God, the patron saint of (what else?) fireworks makers. 

Sound dangerous? It sure is — but that didn’t stop Fernanda’s brother from participating in one. And he has the burns to prove it. 

Our group followed Fernanda up the staircase to the second floor, where we could take in a full view of the studio. Fernanda explained that this was the very spot where Kahlo discovered Rivera with her younger sister Cristina — an incident that became the proverbial last straw, which led to their separation and brief divorce. It wasn’t Rivera’s or Kahlo’s numerous indiscretions that caused the rift; it was the fact that Rivera was having an affair with her closest confidant.

Just off the landing, we entered Rivera’s private office, a space with a desk and a typewriter and additional bookcases filled with pieces from his prolific collection of pre-Hispanic artifacts, an obsession that can be seen at the Anahuacalli Museum in Coyoacán. 

Diego’s typewriter and some of the pre-Columbian artifacts he loved to collect.

From Rivera’s office, a door opened onto the rooftop terrace and the narrow bridge connecting his former residence to Kahlo’s. However, Fernanda quickly dismissed any thoughts of taking the infamous floating stairs. Instead, we followed her back through Rivera’s office and down the staircase to the courtyard below.

Frida’s house leaves much to be desired — but at least O’Gorman painted it the vibrant blue of her beloved family home, Casa Azul.

Kahlo’s House

Our group paused outside Kahlo’s house as Fernanda pointed out an interesting feature: a carnelian red painted garbage chute extending from the second floor, connected to a steel drum barrel. Its purpose? To collect kitchen waste.

By this time, the site had grown much busier, with dozens of visitors streaming in and out of the buildings.

The rooms inside Kahlo’s house were noticeably smaller and compact than those in Rivera’s, in large part because there wasn’t an open studio space. Unlike her husband’s residence, Kahlo’s house was devoid of decorative objects or furniture, leaving the space feeling even more austere.

The tiny kitchen exemplified functional design, featuring a concrete countertop with a gas cooktop, a small sink, and the opening of the chute that connected to the steel barrel outside. 

A man from Germany insisted Wally pose for a picture in his bright T-shirt to contrast with the blue of Frida’s house, next to the kitchen garbage chute.

We peeked into the modest bathroom, the very space where Kahlo’s 1938 oil painting, Lo que el agua me dio (What the Water Gave Me), was conceived. Fernanda told us that there weren’t any good spaces for Frida to paint in her home, so she chose the bathroom, which had better lighting. 

Frida’s home is small and dark, so she preferred to paint in the bathroom. One of her most famous works, Lo que el agua me dio, came from this period.

Wally paused in front of a framed letter that Kahlo had written to Hungarian-born photographer Nickolas Muray, with whom she shared a decade-long, on-again, off-again relationship, and read this poignant sentence aloud: “Please forgive me for having phoned you that evening. I won’t do it anymore.”

One of the glass cases in Kahlo’s house displays an open copy of the book Complete Anatomy of Man by Martín Martínez, and included a handwritten dedication from Kahlo to Dr. Juan Farill, the surgeon who performed seven spinal surgeries on her. 

The final room we explored was her small bedroom — a fitting conclusion to our visit. The room was concealed behind thick black drapery that we had to pull aside to enter. Inside, an installation by Cristina Kahlo-Alcalá features numerous lightboxes  illuminating Kahlo’s medical records from the American British Cowdray Hospital. The air in the room felt heavy and still, with the slow rhythmic sound of a heartbeat emanating from a hidden speaker. 

We knew beforehand about Diego and Kahlo’s turbulent relationship. But standing in the dark, claustrophobic space Diego had O'Gorman design as her home was a different kind of gut punch. It was hard not to feel the weight of it — the realization that someone as fiercely powerful as Kahlo could be confined like this by a man who claimed to love her. It really shook us, and we didn’t linger.

Our group poses under the entrance to Frida’s house.

Know before you go

We purchased tickets prior to our trip through a site called Tiqets. At $30 per person it’s definitely more than the $2 price of general admission, but we felt it was worth it. 

Our guide, Fernanda, was charming and incredibly knowledgeable, offering all the insights we could have hoped for about the site. She didn’t shy away from discussing the complexities of Rivera and Kahlo’s relationship either. And even though the tour was scheduled to last an hour, she stayed with us for an hour and 45 minutes, never once making us feel rushed.

The museum is open Tuesday through Sunday from 10 a.m. to 5:30 p.m.

Admission is 40 pesos for adults, while children under 13 and seniors can enter for free. On Sundays, admission is free for everyone. –Duke

Floor-to-ceiling windows opened wide to allow transport of Rivera’s large-scale mural panels into and out of his studio. 

Museo Casa Estudio Diego Rivera y Frida Kahlo

Diego Rivera s/n
San Ángel Inn
Álvaro Obregón
01060 CDMX
Mexico

 

The Architectural Evolution of the Louvre: From Fortress to Museum

Explore the Louvre’s journey from a medieval castle to a world-renowned museum, uncovering its rich history, design changes and cultural legacy.

The Louvre, known for its iconic art collection, houses more than just masterpieces within its walls — it holds centuries of a stormy history and transformation. 

Originally a medieval fortress, the Louvre has been reshaped over the ages into one of the largest and most renowned museums in the world. This journey through its architecture not only reflects changing styles but also France’s tumultuous past. Let’s step through time and experience the evolving grandeur of the Louvre.

Where Did the Louvre Get Its Name?

First things first: Ever wondered why one of the world’s most famous museums is called the Louvre? You’re not alone, and, like many things in history, the truth is a bit murky. There are a couple of theories, though, both equally intriguing.

The first — and perhaps the most vivid — traces the name back to the Old French word lupara, meaning wolf. Legend has it that the Louvre might have started as a hunting lodge, a place where wolves once roamed, or perhaps a refuge for those hunting them. Imagine early Parisians chasing down these wild creatures in the shadows of what would one day house the Mona Lisa.

The second theory takes us in a different direction, connecting the name to the Frankish word leovar or leower, meaning a fortified place or watchtower. And this one holds some weight, considering the Louvre began its life in the late 12th century as a defensive fortress. 

The Louvre’s Early Years: A Fortress for Kings

The year: 1190. Paris is a thriving but vulnerable medieval city. King Philip II, wary of invasion, commands the construction of a fortress to shield the city from foreign threats. 

The structure — thick stone walls, a deep moat — was built to intimidate and protect. The cold, imposing silhouette of the Louvre Castle stood firm, safeguarding the kingdom’s treasures and its people. 

Yet, as the centuries passed, Paris evolved, and so did the fortress. By the 14th century, under the reign of Charles V, the once purely defensive stronghold began its metamorphosis into a royal palace, draped in the elegance of Gothic architecture, with soaring arches and intricate stonework. The rigid fortress had turned into a symbol of royal power and opulence, reflecting the splendor of the era.

Renaissance Transformations of the Louvre

The Renaissance breathed new life into the Louvre, reshaping it from a fortress-turned-palace into a majestic royal residence. 

In the 16th century, Francis I, a king passionate about art and architecture, envisioned a Louvre that would rival the finest palaces of Europe. He summoned renowned architects like Pierre Lescot to reimagine the building. Stone masons carved delicate sculptures, artisans crafted grand façades, and courtyards took shape — where once there had been utilitarian walls. 

The Cour Carrée, a resplendent square courtyard, emerged as a harmonious blend of Renaissance ideals. Classical columns and elegant pediments framed the space, signaling the Louvre’s new status. No longer a fortress of war, the Louvre was becoming a beacon of French culture, preparing to house not just royals, but the world’s greatest artistic treasures.

The Louvre as Museum

Fast forward to the throes of the French Revolution. The palace, once reserved for royalty, was swept into the tide of change. 

Interestingly, the Louvre itself wasn’t invaded or looted in the chaotic way that some other royal properties were during the Revolution. While many royal residences, like the Palace of Versailles, faced mobs and plundering, the Louvre largely escaped such direct violence.

Instead of looting, there was a process of “nationalization.” Artworks that had belonged to the monarchy, the Church and émigrés (those who fled the country) were legally confiscated and transferred to the Louvre. Revolutionary authorities essentially took over the management of the collections, treating them as public property rather than private royal possessions.

In 1793, the Louvre opened its doors to the public as a museum, a gesture that symbolized the democratization of art and culture. Citizens, for the first time, stood in front of masterpieces previously reserved for the most elite. 

Over the years, its halls would expand, as art from all over Europe poured in. 

By the 19th century, the Louvre was undergoing a new transformation — architects like Hector Lefuel extended and renovated its galleries, crafting the museum we recognize today. 

And then came the most daring addition of all: a modern wonder amid centuries of history.

The Glass Pyramid: A Modern Icon

In 1989, I.M. Pei unveiled his controversial masterpiece: the glass pyramid. 

At first, the contrast was startling. How could this sharp, transparent structure belong in a space so rich with centuries of stone? 

Yet over time, the pyramid became a beloved symbol of the Louvre’s embrace of both past and future. Its sleek lines rise from the courtyard like a beacon, inviting visitors into the heart of the museum. The sunlight streams through its glass panels, casting an ethereal glow across the underground lobby, an unexpected harmony of ancient and modern.

Experiencing the Louvre Today

Today, the Louvre could be considered a pilgrimage site for art lovers from around the globe. Housing over 38,000 works, including the enigmatic Mona Lisa and the timeless Venus de Milo, the Louvre offers not just a glimpse into the history of art but also a walk through the very evolution of Paris and France itself. 

As you wander its grand galleries, each wing tells a different story — of kings, of revolutions, of artistic triumphs. The very stones of the Louvre whisper of the centuries they’ve witnessed.

For modern visitors, the experience begins long before entering its halls. With millions flocking to its doors, securing tickets to the Louvre in advance is essential to making the most of your time. Booking your Louvre tickets online ensures not only your entry but also your chance to explore this monumental blend of history and art at your own pace.

Standing beneath the glass pyramid, surrounded by the architectural echoes of past centuries, you’re stepping into a story that spans from medieval fortifications to modern masterpieces. And when you visit, you’ll become part of the Louvre’s ongoing story. –John Cunningham

 

Seville Cathedral: Its Rich History and Stunning Architecture

A complete guide to a major part of Seville history, including La Giralda, Christopher Columbus, royal weddings and the Spanish Inquisition. 

In the heart of Seville stands a cathedral that defies simple description. Built on the ruins of a mosque, this massive Gothic masterpiece reflects the ambitions of a city eager to cement its place on the world stage.

Origins and Construction of Seville Cathedral

Seville in the late 14th century: a bustling hub of commerce and culture, still echoing with the influence of its Moorish past. The city is vibrant, filled with the sounds of merchants, artisans and the ever-present calls to prayer from the towering minaret of the Great Mosque of Seville, built during the Almohad dynasty, which dominates the skyline. 

Yet, beneath the surface, there’s a growing restlessness among the Christian rulers. They dream of an awe-inspiring structure that would not only dwarf the mosque but would also stand as a testament to the power of their piety.

In 1401, that dream begins to take shape. The city leaders, fueled by both ambition and a desire to solidify Christian dominance, gather to discuss the construction of a new cathedral. During one meeting, a church elder boldly declares, “Let us build a church so beautiful and so grand that those who see it finished will think we are mad.” 

The decision was made: Seville would build the largest cathedral in the world, a Gothic masterpiece that would leave an indelible mark on history.

The Transition From Mosque to Cathedral

But before this vision could be realized, there was the matter of the mosque. Built in the late 12th century, the Great Mosque was a symbol of Muslim rule in Seville. With its elegant arches, intricate tilework and towering minaret, it was a marvel of Islamic architecture. 

In the wake of the Reconquista, when the Christian states recaptured territory ruled by the Muslim Moors, the mosque was consecrated as a church. For over a century, it served as the city’s cathedral — but it was clear to the Christian rulers that something more magnificent was needed.

The decision was made to demolish most of the mosque, though the minaret and the Patio de los Naranjos (Courtyard of the Orange Trees) were spared, becoming integral parts of the new cathedral. This wasn’t just a practical decision but a symbolic one, blending the old with the new, and honoring the complex cultural history of Seville.

It certainly wasn’t the first time such appropriation took place. Spain in particular had a tendency to transition from mosques to churches, reflecting the shifts in power over the centuries. La Mezquita in Córdoba, with its blend of Islamic and Christian architecture, is not only one of the most striking but also the earliest example of such a transformation.  

Architectural Challenges and Triumphs

As construction began, the scale of the project quickly became apparent. The builders faced immense challenges, not least of which was the sheer size of the cathedral. 

At its peak, the construction site buzzed with hundreds of workers — stone masons, carpenters, artisans — all toiling to bring the ambitious vision to life. The air was thick with dust and the sound of chisels striking stone, as massive blocks of limestone were shaped into the soaring arches and ribbed vaults that define the Gothic style.

Key Figures in Seville Cathedral’s Creation

Behind this monumental effort were some of the most brilliant minds of the time. Master architects like Charles Galter and Alonso Martínez, among others, brought their expertise to the project. Galter, known for his work on other Gothic cathedrals in Spain, was particularly instrumental in the design of the soaring nave and the intricate stonework that adorns the exterior.

The artisans who carved the statues, the stonemasons who shaped each block, and the laborers who worked tirelessly day after day were all part of this grand endeavor. Their collective effort created something far greater than the sum of its parts.

The Grand Unveiling and Seville Cathedral’s Legacy

The construction of Seville Cathedral, or Catedral de Sevilla, took over a century to complete, with work continuing long after the original architects had passed away. But when the cathedral was finally finished in 1528, it was clear that their bold vision had been realized. When you visit the Seville Cathedral, you can only marvel at its scale, its beauty — and its audacity.

To the average Sevillano, its sheer size would have been overwhelming, a towering monument that seemed to reach up to Heaven itself. Its intricate details — gargoyles, statues of saints and other elaborate carvings — invite closer inspection, revealing new wonders at every turn.

La Giralda: From Minaret to Bell Tower 

The mosque that once stood here was the pride of the Islamic world, and its minaret — the future Giralda — was a marvel of engineering. The city’s Muslim residents would pause in their daily routines as the call to prayer echoed across the rooftops. The minaret was a spiritual beacon, guiding the faithful and asserting the dominance of Islam in the region.

It would remain a spiritual beacon — just for those of the Catholic faith now. In the 16th century, a Renaissance-style belfry was added to the top, transforming the minaret into a bell tower. 

At the very top of the tower stands El Giraldillo, a bronze statue that functions as a weathervane. This figure, representing Faith, stands with one foot firmly planted on the tower, while the other seems to step into the air, as if ready to take flight. 

Because the statue could turn with the wind, the tower itself came to be known as La Giralda, meaning “The One That Turns” or “The Spinner.”

La Giralda also plays a part in the eerie legends of Seville Cathedral, when a scorned bride-to-be cursed the bell tower and all those who dare to be unfaithful in its vicinity.

A Stage for History: Seville Cathedral’s Role in Historic Events

Royal Weddings: The Joining of Crowns and Countries

It’s October 18, 1526. The cathedral is adorned with tapestries, lit by the flickering flames of hundreds of candles. The air is filled with anticipation, as the people of Seville gather to witness the wedding of the century: the marriage of Holy Roman Emperor Charles V and Isabella of Portugal. The union of these two powerful figures promises to shape the future of Europe.

The bride and groom exchange vows beneath the towering altar, surrounded by the highest nobility of Spain and Portugal. The grandeur of the ceremony reflects the power and wealth of the Spanish empire at its height.

But this wasn’t the only royal wedding held in Seville Cathedral. Over the centuries, the cathedral has hosted numerous royal ceremonies, each one adding to its legacy as a place where the personal and the political intersect, where the fate of nations has often been decided at the altar.

The cathedral hosted the royal weddings of Philip II and Elisabeth of Valois in 1559; Philip III and Margaret of Austria in 1599; and Philip IV and Elisabeth of France in 1615, each marking significant political alliances in European history.

The Spanish Inquisition: A Dark Chapter

However, not all of the cathedral’s historical events were moments of celebration. The Spanish Inquisition, a dark chapter in the country’s history, also left its dubious mark on Seville Cathedral. During this time, the cathedral served as a setting for the public sentencing of those accused of heresy, events known as autos-da-fé (Portuguese for “acts of faith” — a euphemism if there ever was one). 

Picture it: The cathedral, normally a place of worship and reflection, is transformed into a courtroom. The accused, dressed in penitential robes, stand before the altar, their fates hanging in the balance. The atmosphere is tense, as the Inquisitors pass judgment in the name of religious purity. 

The results were horrific: Over 700 people were burned at the stake, and more than 5,000 others faced imprisonment, forced penance and the stripping away of their social status. 

These grim proceedings unfolded in public spectacles where fear and fanaticism reigned supreme, forever marking Seville as a place where religious zealotry took its darkest form.  

A Witness to the New World: Columbus and the Age of Exploration

Seville Cathedral also played a significant role during the Age of Exploration, when Spain was at the forefront of colonizing the Americas. The cathedral was the site of numerous ceremonies celebrating the successes of explorers like Columbus, whose voyages expanded the Spanish empire and brought immense wealth and influence to the crown.

One of the most poignant moments in this history occurred in 1502, when Columbus, known locally as Cristóbal Colón, then an old man, attended a mass at Seville Cathedral before departing on his fourth and final voyage to the Americas. 

Standing in the very same spot, you can almost imagine Columbus, weary yet resolute, contemplating the journey ahead. The cathedral, with its vastness and grandeur, must have seemed like a fitting place to seek divine favor before embarking on such a perilous and uncertain journey.

Semana Santa in Seville 

During Semana Santa, or Holy Week, in Seville, the streets fill with processions led by hooded nazarenos from various brotherhoods. Dressed in long robes and creepy pointed hoods known as capirotes that cover their faces, they carry candles or crosses in solemn silence. The color of their robes — black, purple, white, red or green — reflects the symbolism of their brotherhood. Massive, ornate floats (pasos) depicting scenes from the Passion of Christ or the sorrowful Virgin Mary are carried through the streets, held up by hidden penitents called costaleros. The air is filled with the sounds of traditional music or the haunting cry of a saeta, a flamenco-style song, creating a deeply spiritual atmosphere.

The processions begin and end at the cathedral, reinforcing its status as the spiritual heart of Seville. 

A Beacon of Resilience: Surviving Earthquakes and Wars

Seville Cathedral’s history is also a story of resilience. Over the centuries, it has withstood natural disasters and human conflicts that have threatened its very existence. One of the most significant of these was the 1755 Lisbon earthquake, which caused widespread devastation across Portugal and Spain. The cathedral suffered considerable damage, with sections of its roof collapsing and the Giralda tower sustaining cracks. 

Yet, the cathedral was repaired and restored, standing as a testament to the city’s determination to preserve its cultural treasures.

Then, during the Spanish Civil War, the cathedral was once again at risk. The conflict saw many religious buildings across Spain looted or destroyed — but Seville Cathedral was spared, thanks in part to the efforts of local citizens who recognized its importance to their heritage. 

A UNESCO World Heritage Site: Acknowledging Its Global Importance

In 1987, Seville Cathedral was designated as a UNESCO World Heritage Site, alongside the Alcázar palace complex and the General Archive of the Indies. This prestigious recognition is a testament to the cathedral’s global significance.

As a UNESCO site, Seville Cathedral is recognized for its architectural splendor, its historical importance and its role as a center of cultural heritage. The designation also brings with it a commitment to preservation, ensuring that future generations will be able to experience the cathedral’s beauty and history as we do today. The recognition has helped to elevate the cathedral’s status on the world stage, attracting visitors from every corner of the globe who come to marvel at its grandeur and delve into its rich history.

A Symbol of the City

Today, the cathedral stands as a symbol of the resilience and enduring spirit of Seville, a city that has weathered the storms of history, adapted while honoring its past, and emerged stronger each time. –Wally

Centre Pompidou Málaga: A Modern Art Marvel

El Cubo, as locals call it, a museum located in Málaga’s vibrant port, is anything but boring. This dazzling structure, designed by Daniel Buren, houses a captivating collection of avant-garde art.

The surprising multicolored cube on Málaga’s port is a branch of the Centre Pompidou, Paris’ modern art museum.

When I was in high school, my French class took a trip to Paris, and it was there that I first laid eyes on the Centre Pompidou. The building’s exterior, with its industrial ductwork winding up like a scarlet-bellied serpent, and a pair of cherry red lips spouting water in the fountain, captivated my youthful imagination. 

But if you thought the Centre Pompidou was just that quirky building in Paris, think again. The avant-garde behemoth has spawned a sibling in Málaga, Spain; the city famous for its hometown homeboy, Picasso, and amazing Moorish landmarks like the Alcazaba and Gibralfaro, got a bit of Parisian modern art chic.

“The project was initially conceived as a limited five-year venture.

It has proven so successful, Málaga has decided, with Paris’ agreement, to extend its lease until 2034.”

Various sculptures are put on temporary display outside of the museum.

Why Málaga?

The project was initially conceived as a limited five-year venture between Málaga’s mayor, Francisco de la Torre, and the Centre Pompidou’s president, Serge Lasvignes. The French institution agreed to lend its brand name, curatorial expertise and artworks from its Paris HQ to the chic port city of Málaga in the South of Spain. This cultural experiment provided the perfect canvas for the Centre’s first foray outside France. It has proven so successful, Málaga has decided, with Paris’ agreement, to extend its lease until 2034.

Daniel Buren came up with the whimsical design.

The Colorful Genius and Bold Design of Daniel Buren

The Centre Pompidou Malaga isn’t just a museum — it’s a statement. You can’t miss it. Its design is as bold as its Parisian parent’s. But instead of resembling a building turned inside out, the Pompidou Málaga looks like a giant Rubik’s Cube made of glass was plopped down in the city’s port. It’s the brainchild of French artist Daniel Buren, renowned for his use of bold colors and geometric patterns.

Buren takes an in situ approach, which is a fancy way of saying he integrates his pieces directly into their environments, creating site-specific art that interacts with its surroundings. And that’s certainly the case with El Cubo (the Cube), as the Málaga Pompidou is affectionately called. A transparent, multicolored structure serves as the entrance to the subterranean museum space. Its design is a sharp contrast to the traditional Spanish architecture around it, making it a standout landmark. 

Buren’s use of color and light transforms the cube into a dynamic piece of art, changing its appearance with the movement of the sun and the seasons. It’s as much a work of art as those found within. Try walking by at different times (sunrise or night, in particular) to see how light plays upon the façade.

The museum opened in 2015 for a short stint — but it has obviously done well enough to extend its agreement through 2034.

The Pompidou Málaga’s Opening Act

When it first opened in 2015, the Centre Pompidou Málaga was met with a mix of excitement…and skepticism. Art critics and the public alike were curious about how this Parisian transplant would fit into the cultural tapestry of Málaga. But The Guardian gushed, “The Centre Pompidou in Málaga represents a bold cultural experiment, bridging the artistic ethos of Paris with the vibrant spirit of southern Spain.”

Meanwhile, El País highlighted the architectural contrast: “Daniel Buren’s colorful cube stands as a beacon of modernity against Málaga’s historic skyline, symbolizing the city’s commitment to contemporary art.”

Wally and Duke can find modern art to be hit or miss — but the Centre Pompidou Málaga was filled with cool, thought-provoking works.

Art and Exhibitions at the Pompidou Málaga

But the Centre Pompidou in Málaga isn’t just a pretty cube — it’s a treasure trove of modern masterpieces that would make any modern art lover swoon.

The permanent collection is a curated selection of works from the vast repository of the Centre Pompidou in Paris. It spans the 20th and 21st centuries, showcasing iconic pieces from celebrated artists such as Francis Bacon, Frida Kahlo, Joan Miró — and, por supuesto, Pablo Picasso. 

Lipstick by František Kupka, 1908

Bal au Moulin de la Galette by Raoul Dufy, circa 1943

Children and Lanterns by Tadé Makowski, 1929

These works are arranged thematically rather than chronologically, providing visitors with a fresh perspective on modern art movements and their interconnectedness. The themes often explore major artistic movements and their cultural contexts. You might find rooms dedicated to Cubism, Surrealism or Abstract Expressionism. This approach not only highlights the evolution of styles but also the ongoing dialogue between artists across different periods and geographies.

Hollywood Sleep by Jean Cocteau, 1953

Suddenly Last Summer by Martial Raysse, 1936

During our visit, we caught the temporary exhibition Un Tiempo Propio (or Time for Yourself for those of you who don’t speak Spanish), a spirited rebuke of the relentless demands imposed by our digital calendars. Showcasing the works of 90 artists, the exhibit delved into the theme of leisure, encouraging a pause from the daily grind. It served as a refreshing reminder to reclaim our time and disconnect, if only momentarily, from the buzz of notifications and schedules — a true celebration of the art of relaxation and the simple joys of free time.

We Stopped Just Here at the Time by Ernesto Neto, 2002

One of our favorite exhibits in Un Tiempo Proprio was by Ernesto Neto, the Brazilian maestro of the bizarre: We Stopped Just Here at the Time. This artwork was a captivating display of suspended bags filled with aromatic herbs like rosemary, parsley and thyme. The installation reminded me of a forest of hanging testicles (paging Doctor Freud!), creating a whimsical and immersive environment that invited visitors to bask in the earthy fragrances and stare, mesmerized, at the organic forms swaying gently.

Ettore Sottsass’ Flying Carpet Armchair

Sottsass’ designs are somehow retro and modern at the same time, like this minimal mint green cabinet.

We also enjoyed the Ettore Sottsass: Magical Thinking exhibition, which showcased over 100 pieces of Sottsass’ groundbreaking work. These retro-futuristic items in bright colors reminded me of Fisher-Price children’s toys, highlighting the designer’s playful approach. Sottsass was a key figure in the Memphis movement of the 1980s, which revolutionized design with its bold use of color, geometric shapes and whimsical patterns. The postmodern movement rejected minimalism in favor of a more expressive, emotionally engaging style. The exhibit captured this ethos, blending fun and sophistication in a way that made each piece feel both nostalgic and cutting-edge​. 

The Basilico Teapot

Cherry Model Teapot

it wouldn’t be a modern art museum without a creepy clown.

Discovering the Unexpected at the Pompidou Málaga

Duke and I were thoroughly impressed with the Centre Pompidou Málaga, where we encountered a captivating variety of art that was both thought-provoking and immersive. We spent a delightful couple of hours there, exploring the museum’s strange and intriguing pieces, each offering a unique perspective on modern art. The experience exceeded our expectations and was a refreshing contrast to what we consider the less inspiring exhibitions that the Museum of Contemporary Art in Chicago has featured in recent years. 

The variety of exhibits at the Centre Pompidou Málaga ensures that whether you’re a seasoned art critic or a curious traveler, there’s something that will capture your imagination and perhaps even challenge your understanding of what art can be. So, the next time you find yourself in Málaga, make sure to descend into El Cubo — you just might discover your new favorite artist or a whole new way of looking at the world. –Wally

There are lots of different areas to explore at the Centre Pompidou Málaga, but they can all be done in a couple of hours.

The lowdown

The Centre Pompidou in Malaga is located in the city’s vibrant port area, making it easily accessible. 

Hours of operation

Monday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday: 9:30 a.m. to 8 p.m.

Saturday and Sunday: 9:30 a.m. to 8:30 p.m.

Tuesday: Closed (except on public holidays)

Holidays: Open with extended hours; always check the official website for up-to-date holiday hours.

Admission costs

General admission: €9

Reduced admission: €5.50 (available for seniors over 65, students under 26 and large families)

Free admission: For children under 18, unemployed individuals and visitors with disabilities (with one companion)

Special free hours: On Sundays from 4 p.m. to closing, and all day on certain designated dates (such as International Museum Day)

Exit through the gift shop.

Tips for visitors

Advance tickets: It’s a good idea to purchase tickets online in advance to avoid long lines, especially on weekends and holidays.

Guided tours: Consider booking a guided tour to get the most out of your visit. Tours are available in multiple languages and offer deeper insights into the exhibitions.

Accessibility: The Centre Pompidou is fully accessible to visitors with disabilities. Elevators and ramps are available, and wheelchairs can be borrowed at the information desk.

Photography: Photography without flash is allowed in most areas.

Coat/bag check: Leave your bags and coats to make it easier to enjoy the exhibits unburdened.

Gift shop: Exit through the gift shop, where you can pick up some cool souvenirs or gifts.

Centre Pompidou Málaga

Pasaje Doctor Carrillo Casaux
Muelle Uno
Puerto de Málaga
29001 Málaga
Spain

 

Plaza de España: Where History Meets Artistry

Discover the stunning tile alcoves in this iconic landmark from the 1929 Ibero-American Exposition (and a Star Wars movie).

There’s talk that city officials might actually start charging admission because of overtourism in the Plaza de España.

It was love at first sight. Wally and I were instantly captivated by the cuisine, history and diverse architecture of Andalucía, the southernmost region of Spain. On our first trip there, we spent a couple of idyllic days with our friend Dan in Sevilla. We both agreed that when we returned, we’d plan to spend more time in the capital city of Andalusia.

Even the railings of the bridges are gorgeous in the Plaza de España.

Earlier this year, we got our chance and stayed at an incredible Airbnb in Seville close to the Casco Viejo, or Old Quarter, with a rooftop view of the Catedral de Sevilla. One of the places we wanted to revisit was the Plaza de España, which was within walking distance from our accommodation. The city is quite walkable, flat and easy to navigate. Of course, this will depend on your level of mobility and whether you’re willing to walk (we always are).

Unlike other expositions, where most structures were temporary and torn down after the event, the elaborate Andalusia Pavilion was built to be permanent and was constructed using traditional materials such as brick, ceramic, iron and wood.

A Brief History of the Plaza de España

The Plaza de España includes the Pabellón de Andalucía (Pavilion of Andalusia), which was built to showcase Spain’s industrial and technological achievements at the 1929 Exposición Ibero-Americana (Ibero-American Exposition). 

This popular destination is nestled among the trees and flowers of Parque María de Luisa, which was formerly the private gardens of the Palacio de San Telmo. The land, donated to the city in 1893 by Infanta María Luisa Fernanda de Bourbon, Duchess of Montpensier, now serves as the city’s primary green space.

One of 48 portrait medallions from ceramicist Pedro Navía’s Triana studio depicting illustrious figures from Spain’s history, including this one of King Alfonso X “el Sabio” aka the Wise, who ruled from 1252-1284. 

The idea of hosting a fair in Sevilla was first proposed by civil engineer Luis Rodríguez Caso in 1908 as part of an extensive urban development project designed to boost economic growth and improve trade relations with Spain’s former Latin American colonies. 

Construction began in 1914 under the supervision of prominent architect Aníbal González. Unfortunately, World War I interrupted these plans, and delays were further exacerbated in 1918 by a particularly virulent strain of the H1N1 virus, estimated to have claimed 260,000 lives in Spain before waning a year later.

The plaza currently houses numerous administrative offices. Our friend Jo, an expat from the U.K. living in Spain, admitted to us that while the space is gorgeous, it also reminds her of the hours she spent in a bureaucratic nightmare of immigration red tape.

Stunning architecture and rich history come together at the iconic Plaza de España in Sevilla.

Visiting the Plaza de España

The Plaza and Fountain

The monumental structure, covering 538,196 square feet (50,000 square meters), was designed by González in the Regionalist style, which combines elements of Baroque, Mudéjar and Renaissance Revival. The grand fountain, added by architect Vicente Traver y Tomás, rises from the center of the plaza courtyard and was inspired by the Montjuïc fountain in Barcelona. (It was off during our visit due to a severe drought that had lasted for most of the year.) 

The porte-cochère acts as the grand entrance of the Plaza de España, now home to administrative offices.

Flamenco dancers often perform beneath the columned central portico of the Pabellón de Andalucía at the Plaza de España.

Head to the upper gallery for a shaded walk and a great way to see the beauty of the plaza unfold below.

The original plans for the plaza didn’t include a fountain, but town officials insisted on adding one, much to González’s dismay. And according to local lore, that’s why the statue of González, standing at the axis of the pavilion’s crescent, faces away from the fountain.

Local lore has it that the likeness of architect Aníbal González is turned away from the fountain —added by Vicente Traver y Tomás — because he wasn’t a fan of the feature.

The main structure is capped by a pair of domed towers that were originally planned to be much taller. However, concerns arose that they would end up dwarfing La Giralda, the iconic bell tower of the Seville Cathedral. To ensure this wouldn’t happen, they were shortened to 243 feet (74 meters) high — 77 feet less than La Giralda.

The South Tower of the Plaza de España stands about 243 feet (74 meters) tall.

Between 2007 and 2010, the plaza underwent a meticulous 14 million euro renovation, which included the installation of ceramic lamp posts and railings around the canal, restoring the landmark to its former glory. About €5 million was used to replace the pipes and update the canal’s water supply system. While the building’s various government offices aren’t open for tours, you can still admire the interior colonnade and access the upper floor balconies to take in a view of the plaza from above.

In the Córdoba alcove, the hand-painted azulejo mural portrays the moment the city surrendered to King Ferdinand III of Castile. The Torre Campanario of the Mezquita-Catedral de Córdoba is visible on the left, while the Torre de la Malmuerta stands on the right.

The Tiled Alcoves

As you walk around the central plaza, vibrant color is everywhere — every possible variation and combination of greens and blues, ranging from the aquamarine of the shallow shore to the cerulean blue of the deep ocean, with a visual jolt of cadmium yellow.

The outer rim of the plaza’s pavilion has 48 alcoves with plinth-style benches, clad in azulejos, glazed ceramic tiles produced in Triana, a neighborhood renowned for its ceramic artists, across the river from Sevilla’s historic center. 

Among the four dozen tile and ceramic murals representing the provinces of Spain in Seville’s Plaza de España, the painted tiles from Ciudad Real show Don Quixote in armor, as the noble knight he imagined himself to be, preparing to battle windmills alongside his squire, Sancho Panza.

Each shrine-like space is dedicated to a different Spanish province, and includes a tile map of its territory, its coat of arms and a tableau depicting a historical event or cultural scene from the region.

Pillared shelves topped with pináculos, ceramic finials, flank the alcoves. Initially, I assumed these shelves might have been for holding votive candles, but I learned that they once held pamphlets with information about each province during the exposition. 

This vibrant alcove at the Plaza de España features a colorful tableau for Badajoz, depicting King Alfonso IX of León’s recapture of the city from the Muslims in 1230 CE.

Beautiful details cover almost every inch of the plaza, many of which are the work of ceramicist and sculptor Pedro Navía y Campos. His craftsmanship can be seen in the 40 portrait medallions honoring prominent figures from Spain’s history that adorn the spandrels of the porticoed gallery.

Charming rowboats glide across the canal, offering a unique and serene way to experience the beauty of Plaza de España.

The Bridges

The Venetian-style footbridges that gracefully arch over the canal add a picturesque charm to the plaza and beautifully complement the symmetry of the pavilion.

Elegant bridges span the canal, blending Moorish, Renaissance and Spanish architectural styles.

They’re named after the four historical kingdoms of Spain: Castile, León, Navarre and Aragón. These bridges connect the open courtyard to the main building and galleries. Their blue and white balustrades were crafted by ceramist Manuel García Montalván. The administrative building is surrounded by a 1,690-foot-wide (515-meter) moat, where visitors can rent rowboats and leisurely paddle around. Wally and I haven’t done so yet — but we plan to in the future. 

Star Wars fans will particularly love visiting the Plaza de España, as it was a filming location for Theed Palace in Naboo where Anakin and Padmé fall in love during Star Wars II: Attack of the Clones.

Movies Filmed at Plaza de España

The Plaza de España has been used as a filming location for a few well-known movies, including Lawrence of Arabia (1962), where it served as a backdrop for Cairo, Egypt, and Star Wars Episode II: Attack of the Clones (2002), when Anakin and Padme, followed by R2D2, arrive on Naboo and walk through the colonnade of the Palace of Theed. Most recently, it appeared as the palatial complex of an eccentric autocrat in The Dictator (2012) by Sacha Baron Cohen.

Plaza de España, a stunning architectural marvel in Sevilla, boasts a grand semicircular building, vibrant ceramic tile decorations and a serene canal, making it a captivating symbol of Spain’s artistic and cultural heritage.

The Lowdown

While we were exploring, we witnessed a wannabe influencer who clearly expected everyone to move aside as she directed her husband to take a photo of her standing on the stairs as if she were the only one there. When the crowds didn’t clear for her to get “the perfect shot,” she had a meltdown and stormed off, leaving her husband with their baby and stroller to chase after her.

Don’t be this woman. She threw a tantrum when other tourists refused to step aside so she could get her perfect shot.

The Plaza de España is located near the entrance of Maria Luisa Park across from the Universidad de Sevilla (University of Seville) and is about a five-minute walk following Avenida de Isabel la Católica. 

Even the staircases of Plaza de España are adorned with exquisite tilework.

If you’re planning on visiting during the daytime be sure to wear sunscreen to prevent sunburn and bring bottled water to stay hydrated, as the majority of the plaza is open and exposed. 

There aren’t any public bathrooms within the main pavilion, but there are pay toilets in a compact building at the front of the plaza, which cost 60 céntimos to use.

Paseo de Isabel la Católica offers a peaceful stroll amid lush greenery, with Plaza de España on one side and Parque de María Luisa on the other.

The Plaza de España is currently free to enter, but concerns about managing overtourism and the costs of preserving the historic site have prompted city officials to consider imposing an entry fee for non-citizens. 
Whatever the outcome may be, we suggest spending a lazy afternoon admiring this special place. –Duke

 

Las Setas de Sevilla FAQ: Seville’s Wooden Wonderland

Everything you need to know about the futuristic mushroom marvel Metropol Parasol in Plaza de la Encarnación.

One minute you’re walking down one of the shopping thoroughfares of Sevilla, Spain, and the next you come upon a plaza with mesmerizing, undulating woven wooden structures that look like a grove of gigantic mushrooms. It’s as if you’ve stepped into a fairy tale (or a Dr. Seuss book).

That’s exactly why this quirky sculpture, officially named Metropol Parasol, will always be known as Las Setas, or the Mushrooms, to locals and tourists alike. (Sort of like how no one calls the iconic silver sculpture in Chicago by its real name, Cloud Gate — it’s the Bean.)

“It’s as if you’ve stepped into a fairy tale (or a Dr. Seuss book).”

Here are some of the most frequently asked questions about Las Setas.

Why is Las Setas called Metropol Parasol?

Las Setas (aka Setas de Sevilla) is officially named Metropol Parasol. “Metropol” highlights the sculpture’s urban significance and integration into Sevilla’s cityscape, while “Parasol” refers to its umbrella-like structure, which provides much-needed shade in the scorching Andalusian climate.

What is the history of Las Setas in Seville?

The history of Las Setas de Sevilla begins with the need to renovate la Plaza de la Encarnación, which had become neglected. (You’d never know it now, as it’s surrounded by boutique shops and restaurants.) 

In 2004, an international competition was held to redesign the square, and German architect Jürgen Mayer’s innovative wooden structure took the prize. 

The project, completed in 2011, aimed to revitalize the area by combining modern architecture with the preservation of historic Roman ruins found during construction.

Las Setas de Sevilla is more than just an architectural wonder; it’s a lesson in urban transformation. It’s about taking risks, breaking molds and creating spaces that blend the old with the mind-bogglingly new. Sevilla’s got its historical charms — but Las Setas shows it’s also got its finger on the pulse of modern innovation. The once-sleepy Plaza de la Encarnación is now wide awake. 

When was Las Setas built? How long did it take to build?

From groundbreaking in 2005 to its grand opening in 2011, Las Setas’ journey was more of a marathon than a sprint. What accounted for the delays? Blame it on the unexpected yet fascinating archaeological finds beneath its feet. Turns out, building over centuries-old ruins isn’t exactly a walk in the park.

What are the architectural ruins below Las Setas de Sevilla?

Beneath the whimsical wooden canopy of Las Setas lies a treasure trove of ancient history. As the construction for this modern marvel began, builders unearthed significant archaeological ruins, revealing Sevilla’s layered past. 

This subterranean wonderland, known as the Antiquarium, showcases remnants from the Roman Empire, including mosaics, pottery and foundations of buildings dating back to the 1st century CE. Visitors can also glimpse traces of a 12th century Islamic Almohad house, bridging Sevilla’s Roman and Moorish eras.

What inspired the design of Las Setas?

Imagine what would happen if the vaults of the Seville Cathedral and local ficus trees had a baby. That’s Las Setas for you — a unique design that not only catches the eye but also connects nature to urban life.

Mayer wanted the sculpture to be not only striking but functional. “How do you approach a space that’s supposed to become the revitalized heart of a city?” he asked in 032c magazine. “The biggest asset that one can have, for three quarters of the year, is shade. So we tried out different geometric ideas, and in the end we decided on these circular elements that counter and respond to the variables of the square in a flexible way. It doesn’t seem rigid.”

What is Las Setas made of?

Las Setas de Sevilla is made of laminated timber. It holds the honor of being the world’s largest wooden structure, crafted of pine from Finland and coated with polyurethane for durability. 

The intricate honeycomb design consists of wooden lattices draped over columns. More than 3,400 wooden and concrete pieces were fit together like a gigantic jigsaw puzzle.

Who knew a bunch of wood planks could look so cool?

How much did Las Setas cost to build?

The construction of Las Setas de Sevilla cost about 100 million euros — ballooning significantly from its original €86 million budget. This substantial investment covered the innovative design, the use of high-quality laminated timber and the various facilities housed within the structure, including an archaeological museum, a market and event spaces.

Can you go to the top of Las Setas in Seville?

Yes, you can go to the top of Las Setas.

An elevated 380-yard (350-meter) walkway allows you to saunter around and through the parasols, offering dizzying views of Sevilla’s classic rooftops and plazas. The walkway culminates at the topmost mushroom cap, almost 80 feet (24 meters) high, featuring a viewing platform where you can pretend you’re royalty surveying your kingdom below.

Visitors can access this area via elevators housed in the concrete columns of the structure.

How can I buy tickets for Las Setas de Sevilla?

Ready to explore this mushroom wonderland? Tickets to visit the top of Las Setas start at €5 (free for kids under 6), with options to add a sprinkle of virtual reality or a dash of audio guide to your experience for €3 each. 

You can buy them online, or onsite in the lower level.

What are the opening hours of Las Setas?

Las Setas de Sevilla is open from 10 a.m. to 11 p.m., making it the perfect spot for both early birds and night owls. Just keep in mind it’s closed on major holidays — because even mushrooms need a day off.

Where to eat at Las Setas?

The dining options at and near Las Setas de Sevilla are as eclectic and exciting as the structure itself. Here’s a rundown of some spots that range from casual bites to more refined dining:

1. La Mala Brunch: Located right under Las Setas, this gem serves up Mediterranean and healthy bites for a casual brunch or tapas session. Think avocado toast (with oversized wooden mushrooms).

2. Ibericos Vera: Right inside the Mercado de la Encarnación, this stall offers traditional Spanish tapas. Good for a quick, delicious bite.

3. Cervecería La Sureña: Serving up cuisine from the South of Spain, this bar is great for an affordable lunch or evening drinks with a killer view.

4. Tropiqual: Tired of tapas? If you’re craving sushi or steak, this upscale option works for when you’re feeling a bit fancy.

5. La Gorda de Las Setas: Offering Mediterranean and Spanish dishes, this spot is perfect for enjoying tapas with a side of architectural awe.

6. LaSanta: A short walk from Las Setas, this spot serves international and Mediterranean dishes in a casual setting.

7. Burro Canaglia Bar & Resto: Dishes up Italian food in a stylish atmosphere. Perfect for when you’re wanting pizza or pasta.

8. Patio San Eloy: A casual bar serving tapas. Great for a budget-friendly yet tasty meal.

9. Doña Encarna: This chic spot offers traditional local fare that’s even better than your abuelita makes.

10. Virgen Coffee: The best place to grab a quick coffee break, making some of the best lattes in Seville.

11. Tablao Flamenco Las Setas: Combine your meal with a show. Enjoy live flamenco performances along with signature cocktails and traditional Andalusian flavors for an immersive cultural experience.

What’s there to do at Las Setas besides enjoying the view?

Really, Las Setas de Sevilla is a cool urban square to hang out in, people-watch or read on a bench. Children ride bikes and clamber about the small playlot. 

But beyond its spectacular views, Las Setas is a treasure trove of history with the Antiquarium, where ancient Roman and Moorish artifacts are displayed. Tickets are €2.

And don’t miss the light show — a nightly spectacle that turns the structure into a glowing piece of rainbow-hued art.

Where is Las Setas located in Seville?

Las Setas is in the Plaza de la Encarnación, a central square in Sevilla. It’s about a 10-minute walk due north of the cathedral. 

What events are held at Las Setas in Seville?

Las Setas hosts a variety of events throughout the year, including cultural performances, art exhibitions, concerts and markets. The elevated plaza and the shaded areas below are versatile spaces used for different types of public and private events, making it a vibrant community hub in Sevilla.

Why was Las Setas controversial?

Las Setas didn’t sprout superfans overnight — it also grew a fair share of controversy. Critics argued that its modern design clashed with Sevilla’s historic aesthetic. Plus, the project’s high cost — rumored to hit the €100 million mark — didn’t sit well in a country there the economy was taking a siesta. 

And the local Muslim community thought the Mushrooms looked a bit too phallic for their tastes. 

Despite the initial pushback, Las Setas has ripened into a beloved icon of the city, showing that even the most divisive fungi can find their fan base. 

Las Setas: Sevilla’s Fungal Fantasia

So, there you have it — Las Setas in a nutshell. It’s weird, wonderful and unapologetically Sevilla. Whether you’re a history buff, an architecture enthusiast or just someone in search of the perfect Instagram backdrop, Las Setas is a can’t-miss spectacle. –Wally

 

Palacio de Viana’s Secret Gardens

Filled with flowers, fountains and fruit trees, each patio at this overlooked gem in Córdoba, Spain has a story waiting to be discovered.

The Palacio de Viana dates back to the 15th century and grew to include a dozen courtyard gardens, many of which are abundant with climbing vines complemented by a distinctive shade of blue.

Suppose you have a brief stay in Córdoba, Spain, and you can only see two of this charming town’s sights. One, of course, has to be the Mezquita. But the second might be a bit surprising: We think you should head a bit off the beaten path to explore the gorgeous plant-filled patios of the Palacio de Viana. 

We might not have even visited the palace (think of it more as a museum and garden where a series of marquises lived) if we hadn’t had a bit of extra time in Córdoba and asked our friend Jo for a recommendation. She told us that it was impressive, but we were absolutely astounded by the variety and number of courtyards. There are 12 in total, not to mention the massive garden, with each taking you on a journey through the home’s extraordinary history.

The striking entrance onto the Plaza Don Gome was added by Luis Gómez de Figueroa y Córdoba, the 2nd Lord of Villaseca.

Visiting Palacio de Viana

As we set off from our lodgings at los Patios del Pañuelo, it was yet another blazingly hot afternoon in Córdoba, even though it was early October. You’re mostly sheltered from the sun by the narrow winding labyrinthine passageways of the historic center. However, after a 15-minute walk en route to the palacio, the intense heat washed over us as if an oven door had opened. The heat builds up throughout the course of the day, and somehow feels hottest around 5 p.m.

Before entering the historic landmark, Duke and I decided to pop into Taberna de Viana, a no-frills café across the street. We were drawn in by a sign advertising their hot pink dragon fruit smoothies.

The seamless blending of indoor and outdoor spaces gives the palace a beautiful harmony.

Refreshed and hydrated, we crossed the Plaza de Don Gome, the small square in front of the palacio. Because we visited during typical siesta hours, our admission was free. (You’ll find this happens a lot in Andalusia, or that the admission is remarkably cheap.)

The courtyards of Córdoba are a testament to the city’s rich history, influenced by various cultural groups, including the Romans, Visigoths, Muslims and Christians over thousands of years.

A Brief History of Cordoban Courtyards

As with most things in town, it started with the Romans. They loved to sip their watered-down wine while lounging in their interior courtyards, a practice that left its mark on Córdoba and has become a symbol of the city. 

The Muslims introduced courtyard gardens that aspired to paradise. Enter ornate tiles, gurgling fountains, reflecting pools and greenery that evokes a desert oasis. 

And when the Christians conquered Córdoba, the courtyards got another makeover, adopting the in-vogue Renaissance style (a bit of a snooze comparatively, in my humble opinion).

The Courtyard of the Columns is actually the newest of all the patios at Viana.

As time marched on, it wasn’t all sunshine and sangria, and some of the patios fell into a state of disrepair. But there’s nothing like a little friendly rivalry to encourage people to whip their courtyards into shape. Competitions were held, leading to the Fiesta de los Patios — an annual event in May that transforms the entire town into a courtyard carnival. This tradition has been recognized and honored by UNESCO since 2012.

The entrance to the palace is through this charming courtyard, which had large photos of bald women cancer survivors when we visited.

A Tour of the Palacio de Viana

Courtyard of the Gate

This courtyard was the entrance to houses once owned by neighbors, the Torres Cabreras, until it was incorporated into the Palacio de Viana in the 19th century. I particularly liked the cobbled floor. A stone pillar, probably of Roman origin and currently repurposed as a planter, was formerly used as a trough for horses and other animals.

It’s come full circle, since the patio is now used as the entrance to the visitor reception center. We left the palace through this patio, which was exhibiting photos of female cancer survivors.

Main plants: bush lilies, Lady Banks’ roses, calla lilies, bougainvillea, centaurea and geraniums

A date palm surrounded by an arcade of 16 Tuscan columns stands at the center of the Reception Courtyard.

Reception Courtyard

Originally an enclosed courtyard, its present incarnation as the entrance to the Patio de Recibo dates back to the 1500s. This transformation took place when Luis Gómez de Figueroa y Córdoba, the 2nd Lord of Villaseca, married María de Guzmán y Argote, a Cordoban noblewoman. Motivated by the union and elevated social status, he constructed the corner façade opening out onto the Plaza de Don Gome. It was designed to impress and highlight the status and wealth of its noble occupants. Some plants were chosen to maintain their greenery throughout the year, while others flowered in different seasons.

A date palm stands at its center, surrounded by an arcade of 16 Tuscan columns supporting a two-story structure, whose window frames are painted in the palace’s signature color, Viana blue. Its trapezoidal shape (think of a triangle with the top shaved off) is a reflection of the plot of land available at the time.

A tour of Viana starts off with a bang, with the large, dramatic Reception Courtyard.

Back in the day, the lord would have his carriage in the stables and enter under one of the arches, while horses would drink water from a Visigothic baptismal font used as a trough. The corner, where two rows of columned arches meet, was where the carriages came and went.

Main plants: plumbago, date palm, Lady Banks’ roses, bush lilies, night blooming jasmine and bougainvillea. 

Walls lined with potted geraniums are a common sight in Córdoba, and the Courtyard of the Cats was no exception.

Courtyard of the Cats

The adjoining courtyard belonged to the Puentezuela de Tres Caños houses, which were purchased in 1545 by Gómez de Figueroa y Córdoba, the 1st Lord of Villaseca. In keeping with medieval tradition, they were cut off from the rest of the palace and used as rental properties. Families that once lived in these homes used the stone troughs in the courtyard gallery for laundry and drew water from the well.

This courtyard once belonged to the Puentezuela de Tres Caños houses and served as rental properties until the second half of the 18th century.

In the second half of the 1700s, it was integrated into the palace and used as offices for the palace’s administrators. But, OK, where are the cats?! It might be a disambiguation of uñas de gato, or cats claws, a leafy vine with sharp three-pronged tendrils resembling a cat’s claws that help it climb and flourish in the courtyard. 

Then again, it’s easy to imagine it was a favorite spot for kitties looking for food scraps after the Viana family took ownership of the palace in 1873 and installed kitchens in the adjoining buildings. 

Main plants: pink trumpet vines, ivy geraniums, geraniums, carnations, marguerites and purple carpet creeping thyme

The Courtyard of the Orange Trees is filled with centuries-old orange trees.

Courtyard of the Orange Trees

Before the Reception Courtyard was built, this was the entrance to the palace in the 15th century. 

Inspired by Muslim orchard gardens, this courtyard is filled with centuries-old orange trees, surrounded by rounded hedges. These were private spaces where one could sit and think, perhaps pondering the meaning of life. They were designed to mimic desert oases, with water being a prominent feature, referred to in the Quran as “divine mercy” — not surprising considering the arid nature of much of the Islamic world.

The patio was inspired by traditional Muslim orchard gardens.

If you close your eyes and focus on your senses, you might smell the delicate scent of orange blossoms or heliotrope followed by the gentle sound of gurgling water. Remember the original purpose of such an intimate, tranquil space: introspection, communion with the divine and contemplation of nature.

How dapper! The last marquis of Viana would pick a flower from the courtyard every day to put in his jacket’s buttonhole.

But I don’t recommend following the tradition of the last marquis of Viana who lived here. Every morning he’d come to the Courtyard of the Orange Trees to pick a heliotrope flower for the buttonhole of his jacket — I’m pretty sure that picking the flowers is now discouraged.

Main plants: bitter orange trees, white water lilies, calla lilies, Chinese wisteria, pig squeak and plumbago. 

The Marchioness of Viana had these tiered steps built to display her pots of cineraria during the passing of the Virgin of Anguish on Holy Thursday.

Courtyard of the Bars

Courtyards are typically private spaces hidden from the casual passerby, but the Patio de las Rejas, or Courtyard of the Bars, breaks with that tradition. Created by the 3rd Lord of Villaseca, Gómez de Figueroa de Córdoba, it features three Mannerist-style openings with wrought iron railings. These “bars” gave the courtyard its name and offered the public a view of the home’s beauty from Rejas de Don Gome Street. If this seems like a means for nobility to flaunt their status and wealth, you're right. 

Cordoban courtyard gardens liberally use potted plants for decoration, something we hadn’t seen anywhere else.

To ensure greenery throughout the year (important since this courtyard was on public display), the gardeners put citrus trees on trellises along the walls, training them to grow vertically. Tiered steps were built following orders from Sofía Amelia de Lancaster y Bleck (1904-1982), 3rd Marchioness of Viana to display her pots of cineraria during the passing of the Virgen de las Angustias (Virgin of Anguish) on Holy Thursday. 

Additionally, she chose to have her bedroom window face the courtyard from the second floor, ensuring that she’d have the best view of the courtyard.

Main plants: citrus trees, geraniums, cineraria, centaura and calla lilies. 

That’s Madama — the water nymph who gave the courtyard its name.

Madama Courtyard 

Created as part of the renovations that took place during the 18th century, the Patio de la Madama was designed to be admired from inside the palace. Cypress trees frame the fountain at its center, which features a naiad, or water nymph, pouring water from a jug, much like the star sign Aquarius. Calla lilies sprout from pots submerged in the basin. 

The naiad, the madama of the courtyard’s name, gazes toward the windows of the Admiral’s Bedroom (so called because the last Marquis of Viana, who served as an Admiral of the Navy, used it as a guest room when his military buddies came to stay). The Neoclassical style of this intimate courtyard is enhanced by the wrought iron balcony and the Viana blue windows and doors.

If you visit during the summer, jasmine will be in full bloom, covering one of the walls and filling the air with its heady fragrance.

Main plants: mandarins, sweet violets, heartsease, bougainvillea, velvet groundsel and jasmine. 

The large garden at Viana was inspired by those in France. It’s composed of symmetrical, meticulously trimmed hedges designs.

The Garden

In an effort to keep up with the Joneses, or at least the rest of the nobility, the 7th Marquis of Villaseca, Diego Rafael Cabrera (1767-1816), added a French-inspired garden to the palace. The marquis purchased the homes of his neighbors, the counts of Torres Cabrera, and subsequently demolished them to create this expansive green space, covering over 13,000 square feet or 1,200 square meters. The garden includes some of the oldest botanical specimens at Viana, such as the towering white oak that stands over 82 feet (25 meters) high, believed to be about four centuries old.

The grotesque-style gazebo on one side of the garden struck us as a bit ominous.

Well-manicured box hedges form geometric shapes that divide the garden, with a circular pathway surrounding the central fountain. To the far right as you enter the garden is a peculiar structure covered in ivy. We saw other visitors crouching inside it, and I wouldn’t argue with its designation as a “grotesque-style” gazebo.

Main plants: citrus trees, white oaks, Delavay’s magnolias, oleanders, pomegranates, roses, velvet groundsel and German irises. 

Traditional Islamic gardens had pools to aerate and oxygenate the water.

Courtyard of the Pool

At the back of the garden is the Patio de la Alberca, or Courtyard of the Pool, a service area where gardeners work their magic behind the scenes. A greenhouse from the 1960s stands where, in the past, stuffed deer heads once hung — relics from hunts with King Alfonso XIII.

The pool is a more recent addition, transferred to its current location from the nearby Courtyard of the Well in the 1980s. Pools have essential roles in Arabic gardens, aside from offering picturesque reflections: Sunlight aerates and oxygenates the water, which, at Viana comes from the well, before it’s used in irrigation.

Main plants: citrus trees, centaurea, geraniums, carnations, white lantana and corals

The well at Viana connects to an underground stream. It supplies all the water at the palace, nourishing the numerous plants and feeding its fountains.

Courtyard of the Well

An additional service area, the Patio del Pozo, or the Courtyard of the Well, is the water source of the complex. The ancient well, a whitewashed hexagon with brick trim and an iron arch, connects to the Colodro stream, which flows underground and supplies enough water for the entire palace, including its fountains.

The Fuente de Doña Leonor, named for one of the daughters of the 2nd Marquis of Viana. 

Old earthenware jugs used as plant pots dot the courtyard amid bougainvillea and other plants. Look for the mustachioed face jutting out from one of the palace’s walls. It’s the Fuente de Doña Leonor, named for one of the daughters of the 2nd Marquis of Viana. 

Main plants: bougainvillea, chrysanthemums, jasmine, petunias, lantanas and redflush

Plumbago has been trained to grow up the wall in the Courtyard of the Gardeners.

Courtyard of the Gardeners

Rounding out the trio of service courtyards, this one gets its name from being where the gardeners store their tools. (Originally, it was called the Courtyard of the Dogs, for, one imagines, obvious reasons.) Its most noteworthy feature is the wall that forms a vertical garden of plumbago. A window that peers into the Courtyard of the Well, bordered in pretty geometric zellij tiles. In fact, this patio has the most tilework of any at the palace — see how many you can find.

Wally on the Courtyard of the Gardeners

This courtyard reflects a tradition of the middle class: a delightful mishmash of items placed around the patio. Unable to afford statues, the average Córdoban would scatter antiques, archeological finds, furniture, ceramics, plinths and more. Look closely and you’ll spot a church lintel. 

Main plants: plumbago, centaurea, roses, petunias and geraniums 

There’s a sense of quietude when you enter the Courtyard of the Chapel. It’s meant to be a place for introspection before worshiping in the small chapel.

Courtyard of the Chapel

Repetition. Harmony. Tranquility. These are the themes of the stately Patio de la Capilla, or Courtyard of the Chapel, designed to inspire introspection among the shadows of the citrus trees. If it feels a bit solemn, that’s the point: It leads to the private chapel, so silence is encouraged.

Back when this section of the palace was still owned by the counts of Torres Cabrera, this was their main courtyard. Created in the 17th century, it was incorporated into the Palacio de Viana 200 years later.

Archeological artifacts decorate the courtyard — evidence of a fad spurred on in part by the discovery of King Tut’s tomb in Egypt.

The altar of the family chapel

Archeology gained mainstream appeal in the late 19th and early 20th centuries, spurred on by the discoveries of Pompeii and King Tut’s tomb. Placing archeological pieces around your patio came into vogue. This courtyard reflects that trend, with some museum-worthy items placed about, including marble flooring and small statues from Ancient Rome, as well as pieces of columns. 

Main plants: citrus trees, bush lilies, primrose and mind-your-own-business

A beautiful blue and yellow zellij tiled fountain is the centerpiece of the Courtyard of the Archive.

Courtyard of the Archive

Built by the 6th Marchioness of Villaseca in the 1700s, this courtyard is an example of Cordoban Baroque (not the gilded excess found in Baroque churches you might be thinking of). The Baroque aspect is more about a line of vision leading into the Courtyard of the Bars.

This is actually one of the more minimal patios, with hedges along the edges and a blue and yellow tiled fountain in the center. The idea is not to compete with the whitewashed walls of the home and the iconic doors and windows in Viana blue. 

The archives are on the second floor, containing over 300,000 documents.

The second floor is where the palace’s archives are kept, giving the courtyard its name. Over 300,000 documents, dating back to the 12th century, are stored there.

Main plants: mandarins, sweet violets, bush lilies, calla lilies, ivy geraniums and night blooming jasmine

The gorgeous Courtyard of the Columns was created as an event space.

Courtyard of the Columns

The largest and newest of the complex, the Patio de las Columnas was added in the 1980s as a space to host events — everything from poetry readings to theatrical performances, from awards ceremonies to art exhibitions.

Duke dances gaily with the Romany cutout.

Wally strikes a pose with a sassy niño.

Sunlight illuminates the two-tone cobblestone patterns covering the ground, and a long, narrow pool with a chevron-patterned bottom anchors the center of the courtyard. On the left, 11 columns are linked by arches, while the tower of the Church of San Agustín rises just beyond the façade of a house supported by four columns. 

Main plants: jasmine, centaurea, bougainvillea and geraniums 

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Note: Much of this information comes from Courtyards of Viana, a visual guide you can purchase in the gift shop.

There are a couple of rooms you can peer into or wander through at the palace, to see the furnishings of the noble families who lived here.

A Glimpse Into the Lives of Nobility

Throughout our visit, we saw interior rooms filled with gorgeous furniture, objects and works of art, amassed over the five centuries it was inhabited by nobility.

This whimsical Baroque clock was one of the more distinctive pieces we saw at the Palacio de Viana.

The house has been open to the public since 1980. Whether you love gardens, architecture or both, the Palacio de Viana, rooted in local history and filled with flowers, is a must-see for all who visit Córdoba. –Wally

Palacio de Viana

Plaza de don Gome, 2
14001 Córdoba
Spain

 

The Mezquita: Córdoba’s Mesmerizing Mosque-Cathedral Hybrid

The Great Mosque of Córdoba, a UNESCO World Heritage site in Andalusia, endures as a monument to Spain’s cross-cultural harmony. 

Ancient Rome, Islamic Spain and Catholicism all come together in the breathtaking Mezquita in Córdoba.

It’s all about those arches. They seem to multiply into infinity, creating a seeming mirror maze of red and white latticework. It’s one of the iconic images that make Córdoba a must-visit stop on any trip to the south of Spain. 

The Mezquita in Córdoba is the perfect symbol of what Duke and I love about Andalusia. You have Roman influences, Islamic stylings and a Roman Catholic overlay. It’s a magical part of the world, where these three cultures blend together into architecture that can’t be found anywhere else but southern Spain. 

Case in point: Córdoba’s Great Mosque, known as the Mezquita, perpetually rising from its ashes like a phoenix over 10 centuries through a fascinating interplay of Roman, Islamic and Christian construction. 

“King Carlos I lamented his decision to allow the construction of the cathedral, saying, “They have taken something unique in all the world and destroyed it to build something commonplace.”

That’s a bit harsh.”

Parts of the massive structure’s exterior retain their Islamic architecture.

Abd ar-Rahman and the Start of the Mezquita

To understand Córdoba and the history of this amazing structure, we must travel to the Middle East and meet Abd ar-Rahman I, a member of the Umayyad dynasty in Damascus, Syria. Things aren’t going so well for the prince. His family was massacred by the Abbasids, rivals for Islamic rule, and Abd ar-Rahman fled, hiding out in the farthest corner of the Muslim world. That is, the south of Spain. 

He ended up in Córdoba. After wresting control of the city from the Visigoths, Abd ar-Rahman began eyeing the church of San Vicente, the largest in town. Not surprisingly, it had been been built upon the ruins of a Roman temple (you’ll notice a trend). Abd ar-Rahman purchased half of the church from the Christians to start, before eventually buying the rest. 

Then, in 786 CE, he tore down the church to construct his most important project: a massive cathedral mosque. 

The History of the Mezquita

The designers ran with those mesmerizing horseshoe arches, a style borrowed from the Visigoths, placing them atop recycled columns from the original Roman ruins. The distinctive red and white is a result of alternating brick and stone. The repetition of the arches was an attempt to evoke the infinite nature of Allah. I’d say they succeeded. 

“The aesthetics of the new Cordoban mosque, to which Muslims from far and wide throughout history would forever write odes, was typically Anadusian from the start: part adaptation of local, vernacular forms and part homage to Umayyad Syria, forever the source of hereditary legitimacy,” María Rosa Menocal writes in The Ornament of the World. 

“The Cordoba mosque continued to be built, and added to, for the next 200 years, until nearly the year 1000, but the characteristic look of the place, the horseshoe arches that sit piggybacked on each other, themselves dizzyingly doubled in alternations of red and white, were established from the start,” she continues.

Abd ar-Rahman II, great-grandson of his namesake (792-852), expanded the Great Mosque and added a new mihrab, a niche where Muslims face to pray. 

Then, Abd ar-Rahman III (891-961) enlarged the patio and built a new minaret, which stood 130 feet (40 meters) tall. 

All those red and white arches, designed to mimic infinity, are truly hypnotic.

His son, Al-Hakam (915-976), continued his father’s work — in fact, he’s responsible for the most impressive renovation of the space. He had new columns built, alternating pink and blue marble. Domes were added to let in light, while painted wood beams decorated the ceiling. The 11 naves were extended, and a larger qibla wall built (this is supposed to be the cue to facing Mecca, but more on that later). Oh, and there was a secret passage for the caliph to enter the mosque from his adjoining palace. 

Gorgeously painted wooden ceiling beams

At the end of the 10th century, Córdoba had become a bustling city. To accommodate the growing population, Almanzor (938-1002) made the courtyard bigger and added eight naves. These are the most austere of the bunch. Ultimately, the Mezquita could hold 40,000 worshippers. It was the largest mosque in the world at the time. 

It wasn’t just used for prayer, though; it was the center of Cordoban life. Judges made rulings near the mihrab. Teachers taught children under the arches. And traveling pilgrims were allowed to sleep there. 

Religious Reversal: From Mosque to Cathedral

In 1236, King Ferdinand III conquered Córdoba, returning the city to Christian rule. The mosque transitioned to the cathedral of Santa María, even as many Islamic elements endured. The Main Chapel is located under the skylight. 

King Henry II built the Royal Chapel to provide tombs for Castilian monarchs. This was done in the Mudéjar style, a delightful blend of Gothic and Islamic, using Muslim architects and carpenters. 

An area with pointed arches was built to give light and height for the choir as well as the church bigwigs. 

The structure remained largely the same until 1528, when King Carlos I gave permission to tear out the center of the mosque to build a proper cathedral, much to the dismay of many in Córdoba. Turns out he ended up agreeing with them. When the king visited, he lamented his decision, saying something along the lines of, “They have taken something unique in all the world and destroyed it to build something commonplace.” 

That might be a bit too harsh. This is still one impressive place of worship.

The choir stalls were built in the Baroque style of mahogany wood from Cuba. As in many Catholic churches, naves line the walls, containing small chapels. 

(FYI: Much of this history comes from a kid’s book we bought in town: La Mezquita de Córdoba by Manuel González Mestre, with fun illustrations by Jacobo Muñiz López.)

The Mihrab: Where Intricate Beauty Meets Spiritual Significance

While wandering the Mezquita, look for the mihrab. Among the monument’s ornate riches, none capture the cross-cultural transformation quite like the exquisite mihrab, located along the back wall on the right side. It’s considered the most sacred part of a mosque. 

Strangely enough, though, this qibla doesn’t actually indicate Mecca. Instead, it faces south. One theory is that it was a reference to the direction where Mecca would be from Abd ar-Rahman’s hometown of Damascus. Then again, it’s also thought that the streetscape didn’t allow for the qibla to face east as it should have, and instead was chosen to align with the Guadalquivir River.

When Córdoba was conquered by the Christians, they not only repurposed the mosque, they also recognized the mihrab’s beauty and spiritual importance — and actually preserved it! It’s a surprising moment where two faiths coexist within the same sacred space.

Intricate mosaics, geometric patterns and calligraphy intertwine to create a tapestry of colors and shapes that leaves visitors in awe. 

The Patio de los Naranjos: An Oasis of Tranquility

Chances are you’ll begin your exploration of the Mezquita in the Patio de los Naranjos, the Courtyard of the Orange Trees. For one thing, it’s where you line up to buy tickets. 

This tranquil oasis, with its fragrant blossoms and centuries of history, offers a contrast to the architectural wonders inside. And it’s not just orange trees — there are also olive trees, palms and cypresses. 

In its long history, this courtyard been a place for reflection, prayer and community gatherings. And there was a section where Muslims would perform their ablutions, or ritual cleansings, before entering the mosque. 

Visiting the Mezquita

Recognizing the Mezquita’s cultural and historical importance, UNESCO designated it a World Heritage Site in 1984. This status is a testament to the ongoing efforts to protect and preserve the architectural marvel, ensuring that future generations can continue to be inspired by its grandeur.

Pro tip: The early bird gets the arch. 

We went early in the morning to see the Mezquita before mass was held. It’s free, so you don’t need to bother with tickets. (If you don’t go at this time, be sure to get your tickets as soon as possible. They cost 13 euros. I think it’s a good idea to book a day in advance if you have the time, but most travel sites say you don’t need to worry about it selling out. Call me paranoid.)

We figured the pre-mass time was a good way to escape the massive tour groups that would invade the space later in the day. To do so, you don’t go through the Patio de los Naranjos as you normally would. You enter through the Puerta de Santa Catalina. The one downside is that you don’t have a lot of time to explore. Get there right at 8:30, cuz security guards will kick you out around 9:20 so mass can begin. 

This trick is considered the worst-kept secret in Córdoba, so keep in mind that word has gotten out. But it’s still supposed to be better than most other times. If you can’t make it early, or want more time, try booking the end of the day.

More Metamorphoses: Temple to Church to Mosque to Cathedral 

Like the ceaselessly repurposed structures within its walls, the Mezquita represents the fluid nature of Spain’s cultural and religious history. As both mosque and church, this house of worship symbolizes Andalusia’s legacy as a place where Ancient Rome, Islam and Catholicism converge. For over 10 centuries, the awe-inspiring Mezquita has shifted shapes and uses but has endured. That’s typical of this wondrous part of Spain. –Wally

The Richardson Hotel: A Night in a Former Insane Asylum

The hotel brings new life to a Buffalo, New York landmark. But does it deliver? 

I knew we had to stay at this iconic Buffalo building, an architectural landmark dating back to the late 1800s. 

I can still remember the clusters of vacant but majestic buildings of the Buffalo Psychiatric Center, bordering my alma mater. When I was an art student at Buffalo State College in the late 1980s, it had become a daily ritual for me. After parking my car, I would gaze beyond the chain-link fence at the fortress-like structures, imagining the possibilities of their reuse. That was over three decades ago.

In recent years, my dream of exploring the historic national landmark has finally come true. The grounds of the former mental asylum have been reintegrated into the city’s urban fabric and are now known as the Richardson Olmsted Campus. 

“When I shared that we were staying in a former mental asylum with my friends, they quipped, “Aren’t you worried it’s haunted?””

As a Buffalo native returning to visit family in Ellicottville, New York, I wanted Wally and me to add an extra day to revisit my old stomping grounds and stay overnight at the Richardson Hotel. In its previous iteration, it operated as the upscale Hotel Henry, which opened in 2017 but, due to the impact of the COVID-19 pandemic, closed its doors four years later in 2021. 

The 88-room hotel occupies the central administration building and two adjacent wards, which are dwarfed by a pair of twin, verdigris roofed towers, a hue somewhere between green and blue. Additionally, it’s within walking distance of Elmwood Avenue and three world-class museums: the Buffalo AKG Art Museum, the Burchfield Penney Art Center and the Buffalo History Museum, the only remaining building from Buffalo’s 1901 Pan-American Exposition. 

The original campus was 203 acres but is now 42. The largest reduction in size occurred in 1927, when half of the land was used to develop Buffalo State College, Duke’s alma mater.

The Architecture of Madness

But first, here’s a bit about the landmark’s backstory. In June 1871, construction began on a grand new civic project: the Buffalo State Asylum for the Insane. Architect Henry Hobson Richardson designed the innovative facility away from the city center, on 203 acres of farmland, which eventually grew to include 11 buildings. Its parklike grounds were planned by the foremost landscape architects of the nation, Frederick Law Olmsted and Calvert Vaux, whose Greensward Plan won them the commission to design New York City’s Central Park.

The monumental Richardsonian Romanesque asylum looked more like a stately manor than a state hospital. It’s anchored by a large central administrative building with two symmetrical sets of wards extending horizontally in an orderly V-shaped formation, like a flock of geese in flight. Its general layout was determined by Joseph Gray, head of the existing State Lunatic Asylum in Utica, New York, and based on the Kirkbride Plan, a geometric system of asylum architecture developed by 19th century American psychiatrist Thomas Story Kirkbride. 

Patients were segregated by gender and condition: one ward for male patients and the other for females. Those who required the most care were placed at the farthest ends of the institution’s wards. This was done to ensure that patients received the most appropriate care based upon the nature and seriousness of their illness. 

Olmsted applied his skills as a landscape architect to establish a buffer between the asylum and the outside world, aligning with Kirkbride’s philosophy of “moral treatment,” which advocated for a more humane approach to mental health care. He suggested to Richardson that the buildings should be oriented to face southeast, which would enable the spacious corridors to be  filled with natural light. You see, the asylum opened on November 15, 1880 — two years before the commercial introduction of electricity. 

Additionally, Olmsted surrounded the buildings with expansive lawns and trees, fostering a connection between the facility’s interior and its surrounding landscape, both of which were considered crucial for patients’ recovery.

Duke loves his detail shots — and this one is of the Minton tile inside the south entrance portico, the original entrance to the central building. 

A New Legacy 

Although the building was designated a National Historic Landmark in 1986, it wasn’t until two decades later that the nonprofit Richardson Center Corporation (RCC) was formed and subsequently intervened. Their objective was to own and redevelop the architectural treasure. The RCC raised funds to adapt a portion of the site, and the state of New York contributed $76 million to help jumpstart the ambitious project.

Following a seven-year conservation process, the public-private partnership focused on phase one, to reimagine the centuries-old complex by regreening the nine-acre South Lawn and adaptively reusing the central pavilion and two adjoining wings of the Medina sandstone building. TenBerke of NYC, Flynn Battaglia Architects of Buffalo, and Goody Clancy of Boston teamed up to undertake the overhaul, resulting in a boutique hotel, conference center and permanent home for the Lipsey Architecture Center, named for the late Stanford Lipsey, the former publisher of the Buffalo News and a champion for the city’s architectural revival. 

A key aspect of the redesign involved moving the main entrance to the north side of the four-story central administrative building, and enclosing it within a contemporary transparent steel and glass box. 

Fun fact: During renovation, the addition attached to the north side of the central building was demolished, revealing the original terracotta-colored grout between the blocks of muddy pink Medina sandstone. Don’t forget to pause and admire this before entering the hotel. 

When I shared my excitement about staying at the Richardson with my friends, they quipped, “Aren’t you worried it’s haunted?” In reality, the only apparitions I found were some of the aesthetic “improvements” made by the hotel’s new owners. 

The hallways at the Richardson feature warm globe lights and distinctive carpeting that evokes the decay of the abandoned wards.

Staying at the Richardson 

After the closure of Hotel Henry, Douglas Development purchased the property and rebranded it as the Richardson Hotel (which reopened on March 3, 2023). While I can appreciate the new owners’ intentions to establish their own identity, they had acquired a timeless and restrained turnkey property. Why junk it up?

For me, the addition of the porte-cochère was disappointing and feels out of place. It detracts from the commanding lines of the sandstone façade and obstructs artist Dániel Shafer’s graceful, rounded Spirit of Community sculpture. Incidentally, the addition of a herd of Buffalo statues doesn’t help. It’s not surprising, then, that the outdoor terrace that used to be above the atrium was dismantled — after all, who would want to overlook a canopy covered in corrugated steel? 

I’ll say it: I’m not a fan of the porte-cochère, which feels more appropriate for a gas station than a boutique hotel. 

As we entered the atrium, I noticed that the elegant, low-slung seating areas outside of the Lipsey Architecture Center were strangely cordoned, as if to say, “Keep off.” And when I looked up at the modern double glass and metal staircases leading to reception, I was overwhelmed by the number of vinyl decals indicating the check-in location. (Note: This abundance of signage was a recurring theme throughout the hotel). 

I saw the sign…and then some! The overabundance of wayfinding signage at the Richardson made it feel cheap.

I was eager to appreciate the scale and volume of Richardson’s design, but what I discovered were walls covered with oversized canvas photo prints of Buffalo landmarks. There were so many that my eyes didn’t know where to focus. The refurbished grand staircase should have been the centerpiece of the lobby, but instead, had to contend with the decorative stencil work uncovered during renovation and the aforementioned wall art. 

During renovation, Douglas Development uncovered decorative stencil work and replicated it throughout the hotel.

The reception desk is tucked under this impressive staircase.

I can get behind the idea of celebrating Buffalo and its architectural legacy, and I have no issue with historically accurate stenciling — but perhaps they should have considered choosing one or the other, not both. If the goal is to pay homage to the city’s landmarks, condensing it into a gallery wall could serve as a more fitting approach. 

The richly patterned and colored tile flooring in this curved connector passage was made by Minton, Hollins & Co. in Staffordshire, England. 

Considering the national reputation of nearby art galleries, such as the Burchfield Penney and AKG, I found myself wishing Douglas Development continued the rotating art program that Hotel Henry established with Resource:Art. This would encourage visitors to explore the hotel’s public spaces, serve as an additional draw and solidify the hotel’s presence within the city’s museum corridor. 

At least the former asylum’s lofty corridors retain their grand scale. The palatial hallways are anchored with wall-to-wall carpeting in a palette of blues and greens. This color scheme could be a nod to Buffalo’s heyday as a Great Lakes port or the peeling paint of the wards that have yet to be restored. I particularly liked the elegant yet simple circular pendants with milk glass globes suspended from the ceiling. 

Just what the doctor ordered: Our room was cozy, uncluttered and bright.

Our Room: A Cozy Queen for a Couple of Queens

We stayed in a Cozy Queen room on the second floor. I had read that most of the hotel's guest rooms were created by merging three single-occupancy rooms, which were only 11 x 9 feet wide. And staying true to its name, our room was compact and uncluttered, with a queen-size bed, two nightstands, a desk and en-suite bathroom. Given the limited space, a built-in stainless steel rack and cheerful bright yellow ball coat hooks efficiently served in lieu of a full-size dresser. 

The wall art above the upholstered headboard was the focal point of the room, featuring a striking black and white architectural detail of the landmark. Not only was it cool but it also served a practical purpose. The panels are constructed from an eco-friendly noise-reducing wool and wood fiber material. 

Café Calvert was the perfect place to start our day. They offer caffeinated and non-caffeinated beverages, as well as an assortment of delicious sweet and savory baked goods. Tell Jenna we say hi!

Onsite Dining at the Richardson Hotel

Visitors can get their caffeine fix and a bite at Café Calvert, which is exactly what Wally and I did after we dropped our bags off in our room. The café sources its beans from local roaster Overwinter Coffee. In addition to an iced latte, Wally and I shared a peach and blueberry muffin and a cheddar and bacon scone, both of which were delicious. Jenna, the barista who served us, was friendly and helpful. When I asked her for a local lunch spot to go the following afternoon, she suggested Remedy House in the hip Five Corners neighborhood, a highlight of our trip. 

We also checked out Bar Vaux, the cocktail lounge located next to Café Calvert. I had the Across the Pacific and Wally, the Hobson Sour. We also shared a tasty thin-crust mushroom pizza. Despite its high ceilings, the space feels intimate. 

Get a pizza (and great cocktails) at Bar Vaux.

Overall, our stay was pleasant but fell short of my expectations for a luxury boutique hotel. There was no welcome book, TV guide or menus for the hotel restaurants in our room. Additionally, only one of us could use the hotel WiFi; if both of us had wanted to, we would have incurred an additional fee. 

The building features rounded passages between buildings — originally designed to deter putting beds in the hallways.

The upstairs lounge is a nice spot to hang out.

With that said, the hotel has been open for six months and celebrated its grand opening on September 19. It’s my hope that Douglas Development has plans to address cosmetic changes using a more discerning eye and introduce in-room amenities in the future, to fully meet the expectations of a four-star hotel experience. 

Buildings aren’t made like this anymore — let alone converted into hotels. So it’s well worth a stop for food and drinks at Bar Vaux or a visit to the Buffalo Architecture Center to see this gem up close, even if you can’t experience an overnight stay. –Duke 

The Richardson Hotel

444 Forest Avenue 
Buffalo, New York 14213
USA

 

Frank Lloyd Wright and Edgar J. Kaufmann: The Collaboration That Became Fallingwater

Dive into the fascinating story behind Fallingwater, from its geological origins to its current status as a UNESCO World Heritage Site.

The Kaufmanns on one of the balconies at Fallingwater: E.J., Junior and Liliane

Unlike our visit to Graycliff, another Frank Lloyd Wright-designed home, where the weather forecast called for rain but miraculously cleared up by the time we arrived, the conditions at Fallingwater were not so kind. But the steady mist-like drizzle coming down on the rooftop covering the Visitors Center boardwalk didn’t dampen our anticipation for the afternoon In-Depth Guided Tour of Fallingwater. The nonprofit Western Pennsylvania Conservancy (WPC) offers various tours, which include a one-hour guided house tour, two-hour in-depth tour, brunch tour and sunset tour.

Pro tip: Book your tickets at least two weeks prior to guarantee admission to this popular attraction. Weekends fill up quickly. We booked ours about a month in advance.

Our group gathered in the Visitors Center around our docent, who welcomed us to the UNESCO World Heritage Site and introduced himself as Rod. He asked where everyone was from and if anyone had been to any Wright-designed homes or buildings before. As we shared our stories, it became clear that we were among other individuals who held a reverence for the architect’s prolific and unmistakable style. 

Kaufmann’s was once a legendary (and massive) department store in Pittsburgh. It’s now a Target.

Brought to You by Pittsburgh’s Big Department Store

Edgar J. Kaufmann and his wife, Liliane, the couple who commissioned Fallingwater, were also the owners of a popular Pittsburgh department store located at the corner of 5th Avenue and Smithfield Street. Like Marshall Field’s in Chicago, Kaufmann’s was a regional destination for shoppers to discover the latest in fashion, art and design.

In 2005, Federated acquired the store and continued to operate as Macy’s until 2015, when it closed its doors for good. The first floor has since been transformed into a Target, which opened in the summer of 2022. 

The Kaufmanns were wealthy, but they were also beloved in southwestern Pennsylvania. Their department store brought good taste and good design to the area at prices that people could actually afford. They were popular for their business model: They’d rather sell a hundred items at a penny profit each than sell one item for a dollar profit.

The dramatic cantilevers at Fallingwater are Wright’s way of mirroring the sandstone outcroppings in the area.

From Sea to Timeworn Sandstone: A Brief Geological History of the Site 

Rod offered us green umbrellas to take with us on our journey. “From experience,” he added, “make sure it works. Our umbrellas lead a pretty tough life here.” The color of the umbrellas complemented the natural surroundings, a detail that Wright himself would have undoubtedly appreciated. As we followed Rod down the gravel path leading to Fallingwater, he spoke about the geologic history of the site.

He stopped and gestured to the lush, hilly landscape before us. “As we walk down towards the house, I’d like to provide a brief timeline for you,” he began. “We’re standing at 1,400 feet above sea level due to a cataclysmic event that occurred over 400 million years ago.” He continued, “The tremendous pressure of the continental plates colliding caused the Earth’s surface to fold and buckle, creating the long, winding ridges of the Appalachian Mountains.

“However, 600 million years ago, this region was at the bottom of a sandy, shallow inland sea. Over millions of years, the inland sea drained, and the mountains were worn down by wind, weather and water,” Rod said. “The sedimentary deposit that was left behind was compacted and compressed to form Pottsville sandstone.”

Wright first visited the site of Fallingwater with Edgar Kaufmann Sr. to examine the natural landscape. He saw the weathered, horizontal lines of the sandstone outcroppings and referred to this as the “earth line” — and it became the inspiration for the layered stone walls and cantilevered terraces that mirror the natural environment.

Cantilever, you ask? It’s something that projects horizontally beyond its support, like a diving board, firmly anchored at one end and floating free at the other. You’ll see they feature prominently in the home’s design. 

One of the original wood cabins at what became Camp Kaufmann

Setting Up Camp at Bear Run

The Kaufmanns would flee Pittsburgh’s sweltering summers and infamously smoky air for the rolling hills and clear streams of Fayette County, Pennsylvania. In 1916, E.J. Kaufmann, as Edgar Sr. was known, began leasing a parcel of land at Bear Run from the Pittsburgh Freemasons. The grounds included the former Syria Country Club lodge, which E.J. renamed Camp Kaufmann.

Every summer, a third of Kaufmann’s department store employees would visit and stay in one of the many cabins that dotted the property. The camp was a place for employees to relax and enjoy the outdoors. They would hike, swim, fish and play games.

Not a bad perk: Employees of Kaufmann’s department store could go to the camp in the woods and swim under the waterfall.

Used with permission from the Western Pennsylvania Conservancy

In 1926, Kaufmann’s department store purchased the land and cabins from the Freemasons. However, the Great Depression forced it to quickly get out of the camp business. So, in 1933, E.J. assumed ownership of the land with the intent of building a modern weekend home. That same year, he showered his mistress Josephine Bennett Waxman with a quarter-million dollars’ worth of diamond and platinum jewels. The affair fizzled, but made headlines when E.J. attempted to return the jewelry to rival department store Horne’s, which sued him for non-payment.

Edgar jr. (left) worked for Wright (center) at Taliesin in Wisconsin. He introduced the architect to his father — and a beautiful partnership was begun.

As fate would have it, his artistically inclined son, Edgar jr., was studying with Wright at the Taliesin Fellowship in Spring Green, Wisconsin. During that time, Junior introduced his parents to the architect, and E.J. and Liliane decided to hire Wright to design their new home.

When Wright was hired to design Fallingwater, E.J. also commissioned him to create his executive office on the top floor of the flagship department store in Pittsburgh. It’s now on display at the Victoria and Albert Museum in London. 

Used with permission from the Western Pennsylvania Conservancy

A Patronage of Epic Scale 

The Kaufmanns and Wright were kindred spirits. They shared Wright’s conviction that good design could transform the lives of those it touched and believed that architecture should be in harmony with the natural world. Wright was a passionate advocate for organic architecture. He believed that buildings should be designed to complement their natural surroundings, and he often used local materials and natural forms in his designs. He once said, “I believe in God, only I spell it Nature.”

By the time E.J. met the architect, Wright was 67 years old and had not completed a major project in a decade. He was widely considered a has-been by architectural critics — but Fallingwater would mark a turning point in his career.

Talk about a comeback: Wright and Fallingwater on the cover of Time

The woodland retreat in rural southwestern Pennsylvania had already gained international prominence before it was even completed. In January 1938, photographs taken by John McAndrew were exhibited at the Museum of Modern Art (MoMA) in New York City and subsequently published in Architectural Forum magazine. Additionally, Wright was featured on the cover of Time with his drawing of Fallingwater behind him, proclaiming it to be his most beautiful work.

After the success of Fallingwater, Wright’s career took off again. He went on to design over 400 projects, including the Guggenheim Museum in New York. Of these, approximately 200 were built, and about 79 have since been demolished or destroyed by fire. Wright died in 1959 at the age of 91.

Wright and E.J. maintained a lifelong friendship and collaborated on many projects, although only three of them were ever realized: Fallingwater, the guest house and Edgar’s executive office.

Not without my dachshund! Liliane liked to bring her six dogs on weekends at Fallingwater.

The Kaufmanns’ main home, La Tourelle, was an Anglo-Norman style country estate in Fox Chapel, an affluent suburb of Pittsburgh. The family had two options to reach their weekend home. They could take a train from Pittsburgh to the depot at the bottom of Bear Run, where the creek flows into the Youghiogheny River. (The last time the B&O line stopped here was in 1975). Or they could be chauffeured by car. Liliane preferred the latter because she liked to travel with her six long-haired show dachshunds.

Before his death, Edgar jr. entrusted Fallingwater to the Western Pennsylvania Conservancy so it would always remain open to the public for all time.

Fallingwater: A Landmark Legacy

The house that has become an architectural legend was home to tragedy, though. On September 7, 1952, Liliane died of a sleeping pill overdose at Fallingwater at the age of 64. Three years later, E.J. died of bone cancer at 69. Their son, Edgar jr., inherited Fallingwater. 

The Kaufmanns didn’t have the best marriage. Edgar’s infidelities may have led Liliane to take her own life by overdoing on pills at Fallingwater.

Junior worked at MoMA from 1941 to 1955 and was an adjunct professor of architecture and art history at Columbia University in New York. 

In 1963, he entrusted the house and surrounding 5,100 acres of property, along with a $500,000 endowment, to the WPC to protect, conserve and, most importantly, assure that the home remains open to the public in perpetuity. 

Junior was gay and had a long-term relationship with Paul Mayén, a Spanish architect and industrial designer. Mayén's influence can be seen throughout the sunburst-shaped visitors pavilion, which was built under his supervision in 1980 by the Pittsburgh-based architectural firm Curry, Martin & Highberger. The complex complements its natural surroundings and makes great use of materials such as cedar, glass and concrete. I think Wright would have approved.

Paul Mayén, Edgar jr. and friend on the west terrace at Fallingwater. The men had a relationship for over 30 years.

Used with permission from the Western Pennsylvania Conservancy. 

Edgar jr. loved Fallingwater and when he visited Pittsburgh, he would often come and secretly lead tours. At the end of each, Rod told us, Junior would shock the group by asking, “Well, what do you think of my house?” –Duke

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RELATED: Frida, Diego and Fallingwater

Frida Kahlo visited Fallingwater (and seduced a fellow guest there!).

Learn more about her and Diego Rivera’s connection to the Kaufmanns and their iconic home.