I thought I would hate it. Before I crossed the Roman-Andalusian bridge still Spanning the river’s gurgling rush; the guitar’s Flamenco soothing, reviving, weary feet Before I passed the Courtyard of Oranges and entered – The shadowed hall Mirrored doubled striated palmed arches in red and gold Rank on rank, columns receding into sunsetting eternity Receding into eternal Arabic calligraphy Curling pirouettes in decorated coves. The Great Mosque of Cordoba, Or The Mesquita as its known, In its name an affectionate diminutive … Yet still my finger can trace the Arabic masjid* on the wall. Plonk a church inside a mosque … no that could never work Some kind of…