Today I decided to visit the cathedral. I wasn’t going to go on a Sunday: it’s a sacred space and to invade it with a camera and curiosity felt discourteous. It was only five minutes walk from the hotel.

There was an exhibition of religious art on at the museum, which I inadvertently went to first. I don’t mind – it was thought provoking. And they’d fenced off part of the cathedral and the cloister for the showing – so I was glad to see it as it’s the first time I’ve seen a multistorey cloister.

There was one display that gave any real history to the building, and a model of the floorplan with colours representing the ages of the various sections of building. No one is really sure what was there before the cathedral, other than a mosque, which was replaced as a way to reclaim the space. I enjoy the historical story of a building, how it evolved, what part it played in history – both to the great actors and to the supporting cast. I am not keen on hagiographies.

There was a hell of a lot to see in the exhibition, old chasubles, sculptures, original plans for sections of the building, fabulous illustrated books, and paintings galore from about 1500 onwards, most seemed to be 17th century. Religious painting can feel a little naïve to my eye because it favours symbolism over reality, however there were some that popped into almost 3D – and I do not know how they did it!

I’m afraid some of them made me giggle to myself, like the poor old virgin surrounded by baby heads on wings. Or the countless female breasts on display. Strange how it’s ok to show boobies on full technicolour, but men’s breasts are lucky if they get nipples

After the exhibition, I had to exit and pay to see the rest of the cathedral. I try not to feel irked at it – I am a tourist (the autocorrect replaced “tourist” with “tosser”, which might be more accurate).

I’d had some glimpses of the architecture in the building from the exhibition space, however the rest of the structure was worth the entrance price (for one).

There was a fellow in a cherry picker repairing the distant ceiling, areas of scaffolding, and ladies with mops washing the marble in some of the chapels. These structures aren’t cheap to look after, and I don’t want ours to be the generation that finally lets them crumble. There was something charming about the cleaning ladies having a gossip over their mops.

Initially, the building just felt cool, but as I explored I could smell a light aroma of incense deepening the spirituality of the place.

As I looked around, I felt uncomfortable that there were so many locked spaces. Altars and sanctuaries behind locked bars. And all the glitter and glamour. I thought of the poor and that there’s all this wealth sat here doing nothing. It’s money that cannot be spent. Actually, almost any attempt to extract the value from it would destroy it, apart from the raw materials.

I wanted to find somewhere to sit quiet with my thoughts for a while, and found a chapel with glass doors that enabled me to sit in peace away from the chatter and hubbub and drilling that was going on in the main building.

The smell of incense was at its strongest here – I loved it.

There I faced my feelings about life and my holiday. Gratitude for the chance to get away. Gratitude for my friends and family. And grief for my husband and my mum – both of whom I miss. Mum is gone forever and that’s an unpluggable hole, my ex is, well, not my husband anymore and I miss him a lot at times – especially while I’m away because our shared adventures were such a part of our life together.

After a time, I left the quiet room and the church and rejoined the bustle of the busy city, alive with tourists after the Sunday hiatus.