Most critics consider Bernard Fall’s book on the decisive French defeat at the battle of Dien Bien Phu the best that we have. It describes in detail the bloody event that ended France’s imperial adventure in Indochina and set the scene for American involvement in Vietnam. What made me notice it in a bookshop all those years ago was its title, “Hell in a Very Small Place.” It’s a very good title and since seeing it, I have come to think of it often. It is true that much evil and hardship happens in small places. But it’s equally true of the opposite, and for anyone visiting Spain it’s made clear if you visit the former capital, Toledo, situated near Madrid. How could so much faith and greatness come out of such a small place, virtually the size of an American theme park?

Since its founding in the Bronze Age, Toledo has been a setting for the many civilizations that took their turn in rising and falling. It was not only the capital of Spain in the 16th century but the whole empire. It could be argued that it was the center of the world, its hand gripping the torch that inevitably gets passed on to the next dominant world empire that comes along. My fascination with Spain’s Golden Age and the Counter Reformation sees me making the pilgrimage several times a year from Madrid where I live.

For me its greatness, its very essence, is in the detail, the small expression of something very big. And my favorite place is not its incredible cathedral but a tiny church and convent in an out of the way plaza.

El Convento Santo Domingo El antiguo. If you see only one thing in Toledo, this will give you an idea of what happened there. A small number of Cistercian Nuns live and work there and the church and museum is open to the public. I will not go through its treasures in detail but suffice to say that it contains El Greco’s first commissioned works of art in Spain. His attachment to the place is confirmed with his tomb being there, partly on display. The sisters expressed their surprise and pleasure in having a convert from northern Europe among them. After several visits I spoke to one of the sisters for the first time on Saturday.

As is often the case there, I was the only visitor, walking and praying, in the kind of absolute silence that the modern world has made impossible.

Hours later and I’m going back to Madrid, on a train full of noisy tourists and day trippers. Going back to a world empty in content, but huge, with all its manifestations and superstitions presented in big, screaming letters. So near to, yet so far from, a small place of Faith and Beauty.