Toledo doesn’t smell.

Ever had the feeling that you’re out of place somehow? Not unwanted or marginalised; you’re just in a space where you don’t belong. It happens to the best of us at one point or another, so don’t worry if you’re pretending that it has never occurred to you.

Well, I felt like that in Toledo. Lovely town, don’t get me wrong, but it’s not for me. It’s not the steep flight of stairs we had to walk to get to the base of the town, nor is it due to the horde of medieval re-enactors taking selfies on one of the city wall’s turrets. The latter certainly didn’t made things any better, but it’s more than that.

It’s a long way, to the top (if you wanna see Toledo).

The little I knew about Toledo before setting foot within its city walls had to do with the following keywords: blades, Middle Ages, bulls. The image one concocts by combining these terms is nonetheless fascinating, almost primeval, if you like. Reality, however, hit me like a brick. OK, not literally; it is a fantastic city, but it simply didn’t click and probably never will. Its cultural heritage is rather considerable (mind you, I’m from Rome, Italy), and the number of things to see makes up for a whole weekend out and about in that beautiful scenery.

Not all those who wander are lost.

But if one compares the town with Granada and Cordoba, which we had just visited, well, this place just doesn’t have the same vibe. Its polished allure attracts a crowd I am not part of, the craftsmanship Toledo was known for has now veered towards the luxury side of the spectrum, and the centre of the city is full of jewellers. If you know me, definitely not my crowd.

In Toledo, each landmark seems to underscore this sense of detachment. The Monastery of San Juan de los Reyes, with its intricate façade, feels less like a testament to history and more like a backdrop for endless photographs. It was my favourite place, I have to say, but it was built by King Ferdinand II of Aragon and Queen Isabella I of Castile to commemorate a battle (the Battle of Toro) against Prince John of Portugal who, in turn, celebrated the anniversary of the same battle for years to come. Basically, a late-season draw, but I guess more bloody lively. A few die, but everybody wins, in the end.

San Juan de los Reyes. A closter.

Toledo showing off. Mudejar ceiling artistry.

The synagogue of Santa María la Blanca, steeped in history, now stands more as a silent museum than as a vibrant centre of a once-thriving community. Originally known as the Ibn Shushan Synagogue, it is a sterling exemplar of the Mudéjar architectural style. Erected in the 12th century as a synagogue and later consecrated as a church, its stark white interior and forest of horseshoe arches create a serene, almost ethereal atmosphere. However, what strikes the visitor is the absence of figurative imagery, consistent with… Islamic art, standing as a testament to the rich tapestry of medieval Spanish history, where cultures and religions coexisted and profoundly influenced each other. Once again: confusion; not chaos.

Santa María la Blanca.

Santa María la Blanca.

As we walk the streets, we see that the famed Toledo swords, once symbols of formidable craftsmanship, now appear more as souvenirs than as pieces of art. The Bridge of San Martín and the Puerta de Bisagra, though impressive in their architectural grandeur, somehow lack the lively soul that ancient structures often exude.

Where is my mind?

Where are the supermarkets? Where does one buy dishwasher soap? And what about toilet paper? Nowhere to be found. I’ve never visited, but I’m sure Disneyland, too, is devoid of the aforementioned essentials. My dear extraterrestrial visitor: look for toilet paper, if you want to find human beings. Take note.

This sentiment also infuses the city's culinary scene. Restaurants, while purporting to offer traditional fare, seem to have modified their flavours more to appease tourist palates than to uphold culinary authenticity. Their version of 'sophisticated food' comes with an unexpected twist — quite literally. We ate fried calamari right opposite the Cathedral, where I spent my time trying to lick the ammonia off the food.

I was high on ammonia when I took this video. She wasn’t.

Even the local marzipan, though delicious, feels like it has been commodified for mass appeal. Why, Toledo. Why?

And, no, Jesus Christ hola-hooping will not make me change my mind. The artist, a Neapolitan, told the council that “the circle represents the cycle of life” and they bought it. Lovely.

JC playing with the cycle of life. That is NOT a hula-hoop.

Although…

In sum, this city, with its undeniable beauty and rich history, still fails to resonate on a deeper level. It's as though Toledo, in polishing its image and catering to a certain kind of tourism, has lost a bit of its soul. This is not to say that it lacks charm or worth; it's just that, for some, the city feels more like a well-staged play than a living, breathing community.

So, as we drove away, leaving the city lights behind, I couldn’t help but muse on the irony of it all. Toledo, so majestic from a distance, so lacking in the chaos and clutter of real life up close. A beautiful illusion, much like a meticulously crafted set on a movie stage, where the plot is predictable and every medieval stone is perfectly placed. But life, as we know, is often found in the unscripted, in the supermarkets and soap aisles, and in the authenticity of the everyday. And Toledo, for all its splendour, seemed to have missed that memo.

We wish you were here. Greetings from Toledo.

A dachsund’s view of Toledo at night.