It had been a hectic few weeks at college and I was so busy that I hadn’t even thought about what to do in Spain over the week before Xmas. I just booked a cheap £100 flight, reserved a £79 car for the week and didn’t worry about it.

In the last week of term, I averaged about 4 hours sleep a night. I snatched a couple of hours before leaving home at 4am for the speedy drive down to London Stansted airport. The airport was packed with Xmas package tourists – screaming kids, confused old people etc. So I was rather surprised to be checked in within 5 minutes, while lines for other flights, snaked around me.

Boarding started an hour before the 8.45am take off. The TV screen said Gate 4. I stepped into the plane, found my seat and had a doze – until a family arrived to say that I was in their seat. We both had 5D seats. The air hostess dressed in her Santa suit was ushered. After checking my ticket she said “This plane is going to Lapland for the day. How on earth did you get through? Someone wasn’t doing their job.” She escorted me back off the plane to Gate 4. Just as I had boarded, my flight had changed to Gate 3. Doh!

Cramped seats with an old couple next to me, but I slept all the way and we arrived at midday (local time), 30 minutes ahead of schedule. As we descended to Alicante airport, the coastal hills looked very scenic in the sunshine.

Alicante is Valencia’s second largest city and is now the main gateway to the Benidorm package holidays up the coast. Long sandy beaches, ugly hotel high rises, a mild and pleasant climate. I was surprised to find it was 20’C after leaving a freezing English morning. I collected my car which was a lime green Nissan something. At least I could always spot it due to its terrible colour.

Photo of Alicante beaches
General Information and Photos of Alicante

I didn’t really have a clue what to do next. But leaving the airport and heading downtown, I spotted a Carrefour hypermarket and decided to stock up on ‘Bob’ food. On my own, there seemed little point in eating out at restaurants. Better to cut costs and live off picnics. The shopping mall was full of Spanish Xmas shoppers. It was identical to any English superstore.

I’ve been to Spain half a dozen times, but I hadn’t been here since 1993. One Xmas I toured the Pyrenees. Another Xmas to Malaga in the South West to catch a train to Lisbon via Seville. A couple of visits to Barcelona. But the entire centre of the country had been untouched by my travels.

Despite feeling dog tired, I decided to head towards Madrid 400km inland and see where I ended up. Once through the hills, I entered the province of La Mancha famous for Don Quixote. La Mancha is Spain’s largest region, encompassing five provinces and its image is of a parched, arid landscape. The flat landscape with no crops growing was broken up by isolated sleepy towns and villages. Even the highways were pretty empty which suited me.

“Travelling between Madrid and Alicante, you’ll pass through Albacete Province, one of Spain’s more forgettable corners. Hot, arid plains for the most part with a dull provincial capital, Albacete” (Rough Guide). Actually, I found the scenery quite pleasing – it wasn’t flat like Australia’s outback and the cultivated and irrigated farmlands with bright red soil, were occasionally broken up by clumps of woodland.

Photo of typical La Mancha scenery

I was used to it getting dark in England by 4pm, but it was still light and Albacete had nothing to offer, so I looked at my guidebook and made for Cuenca; a fast run 90 minutes away. As I approached the modern city centre, I spotted the Hostal Cortes. For 29 Euros, I got a lovely warm room with a bath and TV (all in Spanish) an was able to park around the corner. The male receptionist looked rather surprised when I appeared soon after in my running gear for an evening jog.

The city centre was both full of Xmas lights and Saturday evening shoppers or locals just taking in the atmosphere. As I plodded out of town, I learnt the Spanish for “who is that fat bastard?” But I bet noone else jogged 90 minutes that evening.

Sunday December 19th

The room was piping hot and remembering how hot it had been yesterday, I appeared downstairs in my T-shirt and shorts. When I opened the front door, I discovered the streets covered in frost and the locals wrapped up in winter gear. A trio of girls all screamed in laughter at me and pinched my arms. “Frio?” (cold?) they asked. N, but I felt a real prat for forgetting how cold the plains get in winter. The car temp said 0’C.

The old town of Cuenca (Cuidad Antigua) stands on a high ridge looped to the south by a river and the modern town. Old Cuenca is literally a cliff hanger. Houses, some dating back to the 12th Century are sculpted into and dramatically overhang the cliffs above a deep gorge. The vintage old town with a cathedral and some museums made an ideal lookout and you can see for miles into the province of Castile, yet the cliffs themselves act a natural fortress.

What brought me to Cuenca were the Casa Colgadas; three adjoining 15th Century houses whose balconies are cantilevered (look it up) on the steepest cliff above the river. In the early morning mist, they and the surrounding old yellow sandstone buildings perched along the cliff top looked spectacular in the sunshine. It was quiet and peaceful – a hidden treasure of Spain that you will never have heard of. I took a brisk stroll up to the cliffs and basked in the sunshine.

Great Photo of of Cuenca town
Photo of Cuenca’s Hanging houses
Another Photo of Cuenca’s Hanging houses

I also drove along the scenic twisting mountain drive north of Cuenca to Cuidad Encatada (Enchanted City); a series of “spectacular rock formations” (but not a patch on Turkey’s Cappadocia region). There were many locals out jogging this route, while I guiltily passed them in the car, snacking on crisps and chocolate for breakfast (as you do). I liked Cuenca. It was very Spanish, yet it had its own uniqueness. I had forgotten how beautiful Spain can be.

I pushed onto Madrid over a 100 mile stretch of dry Castilian landscape. Whenever I can, I like to take in Capital cities on a Sunday – it is more relaxing, you can park and watch the locals at leisure. I found it strange, that considering I have visited most European capital cities, I had never visited Madrid.

It became the capital simply through its geographical position at the centre of the Iberian peninsula – despite the fact it is 300km from the sea and perched on a 650m high plateau – freezing in winter and burning hot in summer. Consequently, t took a series of Spanish kings to ensure Madrid’s survival and development.

Now 5 million strong, you enter it on fast roads through an ugly stream of concrete block suburbs, but once you reach the centre, there are a lot of impressive (architecturally) buildings. “As you get to grips with the place, you soon realize that that it is the inhabitants that are the capital’s key attraction” (RG). A lot of Madrid was touched upo for its role as the 1992 European Capital of Culture. Despite the fact that every parking place in the city seemed occupied, I was able to park for free only two blocks from the major tourist attraction of the Prado Museum.

On a warm (14’C) sunny December morning, I first explored the Parque Del Retiro. Since it was a Sunday, half of Madrid seemed to be there, dressed in their Sunday best. There was a scenic boating lake and a series of children’s puppet shows going on. Up the road was the Puerto de Alcale, Madrid’s answer to London’s Marble Arch – one of the ornate ‘gates’ to the city. Built in the 18th century, it was the largest in Europe at that time.

Photo of the Alcale Arch

Nearby at the Plaza de Cibeles stood an imposing white wedding cake building; Madrid’s main post office (Palacio de Comunicationes). Built between 1904-17, it was the best building I saw in Madrid and I never got to look inside which apparently is equally impressive. Awash in a sea of traffic in the centre of the plaza was a fountain and statue of the goddess Cibeles which survived the Spanish Civil War in the 1930s by being completely sandbagged. I always like to take in ‘free’ sights in any city and the Museo Naval was one of them. It was packed full of models, charts and navigational aids from the Spanish voyages of discovery. I looked for a Visitors Book to add “Sir Francis Drake 1, Spanish Armada 0.

Photo of Madrid’s Main Post Office at night

Along the way, lay the gigantic Museo del Prado – Madrid’s premier attraction and one of the oldest and greatest collections of art in the World. Opened in 1819, it houses all the finest works collected by Spanish royalty and other wealthy buyers. 1500 of the 7000 pictures are on permanent display. The museum’s highlights are its Flemish collection (including most of Hieromymous Bosch’s best work) and its incomparable display of Spanish art – Valazquez, Goya and El Greco. There is also a huge section of Italian painters (eg Titian). Today, there was also a special display of Ruben’s work (Flemish). I haven’t been to a major European art gallery since Vienna in 1998. I used to love trawling through the endless galleries, usually as an excuse to drool over the young female visitors pretending to be sophisticated. Maybe I have grown out of it. I found the Prado an endless and rather tedious collection of mostly religious paintings. There were no English translations and no ‘free tours’ which really help you appreciate what you are looking at. So for 2 hours I trawled through 2 floors worth of stuff, noted that Spanish girls aren’t as good looking as I remember and yawned a lot. Sorry!

Photos of Prada Museum Paintings

The other sights I wanted to see lay right in the centre and I drove along the main streets. At least the Spanish drove better than the Italians in Sardinia. The main shopping thoroughfare (Puerta del Sol) were packed with Xmas shoppers. This area was originally the centre of Habsburg Madrid. The Puerta del Sol marks the epicentre of the city and Spain, since all distances are measured from here. There was a statue of a bear pawing a bush – the city’s emblem.

Photo of Madrid’s Bear Statue

It took ages to find somewhere to park and I ended up behind the new Cathedral. Such was the lack of available parking that any space had a black man standing there, obviously trying to bribe any shopper. I parked down the road away from the hawkers and walked back.

Calle Mayor, the main street of the medieval city was a splendid street with lovely 19th Century buildings. It lead to Plaza Mayor. Set back from the street and entered by stepped passageways, it appears all the more grand in its continuous sweep of arcaded buildings. It was completed in 1619 after 30 years of construction during the reign of Felipe III, who sits astride a stallion as the central statue. The square with its hundreds of balconies was designed as a theatre for public events, for example, the executions by the Spanish Inquisition, crowning of Kings etc.

Just before Xmas, it was more down to earth with a bazaar for festive decorations and religious regalia. It was packed with shoppers and this year’s fashion seemed to be to buy and walk around with huge black wigs piled high around your head. It looked like a convention for the old TV cartoon series ‘The Hair Bear Bunch’. Some of the city’s oldest taverns were nearby, obviously explaining why people felt the need to buy the gigantic hair.

Finally, I popped into Madrid’s newly inaugurated cathedral – Nuestra senora de la Almudena. This was planned centuries ago, bombed out during the Civil war and eventually opened for business in 1993 by Pope John Paul II. A Neoclassical bulk that seemed brand spanking new. I had never visited a “new cathedral” before and while aesthetically pleasing, it lacked the ambience by centuries of history that most cathedrals ooze out of their walls. I’m sure if I flew over to Madrid for a long weekend, I could have explored it more thoroughly and taken in some nightlife, but ultimately, it was just another European city and nothing really stood out.

All the cheap accommodation in Madrid lies up tiny alleyways and there is nowhere to park a car, so I decided to get out of town. It was easy enough to escape the city along motorways – the problem was that all directions were by road number only with no city names. I headed out for 20 minutes before I realised that I wasn’t going where I wnted to and double backed into the city to catch the Toledo road heading south. Toledo was to be my major destination on this trip and only an hour south from Madrid, it made sense to stay there. Upon entering the town, there were hotel signs everywhere and I pulled in at the Toledo Hostel about 20 minutes from the old centre. It was a new establishment – clean, warm, another bath and TV and I could park the car right outside.

Monday December 20th

“The lack of historical monuments in Madrid is more than compensated for by the region around the capital. Within a radius of 100km are some of the greatest cities of Spain. Above all, there is Toledo, which preceded Madrid as the Spanish capital. Immortalised by El Greco who lived and painted there, the city is a living museum to the many cultures – Visigothic, Moorish, Jewish and Christian – which have shaped the destiny of Spain” (RG). It’s a city redolent of past glories and is packed with sights. Consequently, the tour parties all descend here from Madrid, but during my stay, I only came across half a dozen.

In a landscape of abrasive desolation, Toledo sits on a rocky mound isolate on three sides by a looping gorge of the Rio Tajo. Every available inch of this outcrop has been built upon: churches, synagogues, mosques and houses are heaped upon one another in a haphazard spiral which the cobbled lanes infiltrate as best they can.

Brief history: The Romans captured it in 193BC. Taken by the Visigoths who made it their capital, it was already an important cultural and trading centre by the time the Moors arrived in 712. Moors, Jews and Christians subject to Moorish rule lived together in relative equality until a Christian king ‘re-conquered’ the town in 1085 and made it his capital. But cultural tolerance prevailed and the Jews and Moors were allowed to stay. The ‘Golden age’ ended abruptly in the 16th Century with the transfer of the capital to Madrid and after the Inquisition had expelled all Moors and Jews). It declined as a city until 20th tourism rediscovered a medieval intact.

On Mondays, many attractions are closed but part of the city’s charm is that it’s a place to wander and absorb without overdosing on the ‘sights’. On the right hand side of the old city gate was a new escalator which allowed you to be carried up in stages into the old city. It was well designed and camouflaged so that it did not stick out like a sore thumb – covered in the grassy verges above it. I spent four hours ambling around without a map to see what I came across. I was a little put off by the ceaseless traffic that roared along the cobbled streets. The noise and constant looking out fort he cars while crossing lanes removed some of the ambience.

General Photos of Toledo
Photos of Toledo’s Streetlife

San Juan de los Reyes was a superb church, bizarrely festooned with the chains worn by the Christian prisoners from Grenada released on the conquest (over the Moors) of their city. Inside was an outstanding double storied cloister with elaborate ceilings. Up the road lay the Synagoga de Transito (1366) (closed). Next door was the Casa del Greco, the house where the artist El Greco lived for much of his time in Toledo (closed). Outside both of these were photos of the interiors so I did get some idea.

“The outstanding attraction of Toledo, outshining even its cathedral, is El Greco’s masterpiece “The Burial of the Count of Orgaz””. Housed alone in a small annex to the church of Santa Tome, it depicted the count’s funeral at which saint Stephen and St Augustine appeared to lower him into the tomb. “It combines El Greco’s genius for the mystic, exemplified in the upper half of the picture where the Count’s soul is being received into heaven, with his great powers as a portrait painter and master of colour” (RG). I snuck in between tour parties and then listened to tour guides explain the painting which was highly illuminating. I left feeling rather guilty that I had glossed over the rest of El Greco’s work in the Prado yesterday. More exploration up and down the narrow cobbled streets. I don’t know what I saw, but the whole medieval town seemed to gell together as a wonderful historical monument.

I explored the narrow streets, passed the endless souvenir shops (swords seemed to be the big thing – based on Toledo’s reputation for steel). The Cathedral was closed as was the bluff, imposing El Alcazar. There has probably always been a fortress at this commanding location, but the present building was resurrected after being destroyed in the Civil war in 1936. You can see it for miles outside Toledo.

Photo of Toledo’s Alcazar

Since it was another lovely sunny day (14’C), I decided to take off in the afternoon 60 km southwest of Toledo along the flat, fertile plains to Consuegra which has the most picturesque and typical of La Mancha settings, below a ridge of 12 restored windmills. They share the plateau with a ruined castle. There are so many ruined castles in La Mancha, I lost count. They have been restored because of the Don Quixote legend.

Photo of La Mancha’s Windmills

Back in town, near dusk, I decided to have a jog and followed a jogger over an old bridge and up a long windy road (Carretara de Circunualacion) above the gorge that overlooked the jumbled mess of Toledo’s old centre across the river. It was a spectacular view. Running one way for 45 minutes, I was able to look out over the city with the falling sun and on the return, the lights all appeared and it was a completely different view of the city by night. Very recommended if you fancy a night time walk or drive. It emphasized how imposing Toledo must have looked at its height of importance.

Photo of Toledo bridge (start of run)
Excellent view of Toledo (seen on my run)

Tuesday December 21st

There was no way I was leaving Toledo without seeing the Cathedral, but I had been told it wouldn’t open until 10.30am. Outside the hostel before 9am, I found every car window covered in thick ice. It was freezing. I took a spin around my jogging course to get photos of the fabulous views of the hilltop skyline dominated by the Alcazar and the cathedral’s spire. I continued on and was amazed to discover another beautiful old stone arched bridge across to the old town. Toledo is certainly one of those places you need to thoroughly explore.

Toledo’s biggest problem is its traffic. The roads surrounding the old town seemed to be constantly gridlocked and parking is a nightmare. Any piece of ground had someone charging for it. I returned to the hostel, parked up and walked back in, taking different alleyways up to the centre. Two Japanese tour parties and endless parties of Spanish school children filled the streets. The good news was that the Cathedral was open when I arrived at 10am. The bad news was that inside, it was a construction site with the major spectacles off limits.

Despite the hype, the Cathedral was something special. A robust Gothic construction which took over 250 years to complete (1227-1493), it has a richness of internal decoration in almost every conceivable style, with masterpieces of the Gothic, Renaissance and Baroque periods.

Inside the Cathedral, the central nave is divided from four aisles by a series of clustered pillars, supporting the vaults, 88 in all (not that I counted them). There is magnificent stained glass throughout, mostly dating from the Fifteen and Sixteenth Centuries. At the physical heart of the church, blocking the nave is the Coro (choir), itself a panoply of sculpture. The covered wooden stalls in the two tiers could hardly be seen behind the construction barriers.

The Capilla Mayor stood directly opposite. “Its gargantuan altarpiece, stretching clear to the roof, is one of the triumphs of Gothic art, overflowing with intricate detail and fanciful embellishments. It contains a synopsis of the entire New Testament, culminating in a Calvary at the summit” (RG). Again, a barrier had been erected and when I sneaked behind to get a better look, the sole labourer doing sod all said something and waved his finger as a no. He then learnt “Bugger off, I’ve come all the way from England to see this. Go and make a cup of tea or something”.

Directly behind this main altar was an extraordinary piece of fantasy – the Baroque “Transparente”. It was wildly extravagant in the kind of over the top bad taste Catholic type of way with its mobile cherubs sitting in fluffy marble clouds and designed with a window near the roof to let the sunlight show it off. There were over twenty chapels around the walls and an impressive quadrangle of cloisters outside. Two Japanese girls slowly took in the Cathedral. I wondered what they were thinking. Japan has nothing like this. Despite the construction, it was one of the best Cathedrals I can ever remember seeing and I was glad I had made the effort.

Photo of Toledo’s Cathedral entrance
Photo of Toledo’s Cathedral
Another Photo of Toldeo’s Cathedral
Photo of Inside Toledo’s Cathedral

I re-entered the traffic jams (at 11am?) and left Toledo for Avila in the Northwest. The twisty but fast road passed many towns all with their own ruined castles on hilltops. Escalona’s castle was massive but a broken shell (not in the guide book). Leaving the plains behind, mountains appeared, lush green forests, beautiful scenery – Spain always surprises me with its emptiness but then contrasting beauty.

Two things distinguish Avila (140km from Toledo); its eleventh century walls, two perfectly preserved kilometres of which surround the old town, and the mystic writer Santa Theresa (who?), who was born here and whose shrines are a major focus of religious pilgrimage.

Photo of Avila’s City Walls
Another Photo of Avila’s City Walls

Approaching Avila, the old city walls looked very impressive, but were rather offset by the surrounding modern town which seemed to swamp them. But when I got closer, they were a fabulous site – with 88 towers (not that I counted them. What is it with Catholics and the number 88?). The walls were ordered by Alfonso VI, after his capture of the city from the Moors in 1090, and it took his Muslim prisoners only 9 years to complete. They must have worked hard. The old city within was hardly Toledo, but had a relaxed ambience with some nice old Romanesque churches and various memorials to Santa Teresa. Inevitably, the Cathedral was closed.

So I headed west along a beautiful twisty road, with forests of wind machines covering the hillsides (on the way to Cueva – I counted on one hillside – the Spanish have obviously gone in for wind power big time – they were everywhere) which climbed up to 1500m and down again. One local with his horse and cart.

In the foothills of the Sierra de Guadarrama, I had come to see one of Spain’s best known and most visited sights – Felipe II’s vast monastery – the palace of El Escorial. As the largest Spanish building of the Renaissance (built 1563-1584), it is simply enormous; rectangular, overbearing and severe and from the outside, it resembles more a prison than a palace. It looked like a bastard child of Blenheim Palace in England and the Louvre Museum in Paris, but with very little exterior decoration. The massive spartan paved courtyard in front of the main entrance was big enough to grass over and play a game of football with a full sized pitch (obviously with the advantage of bouncing the ball off the walls of the main building).

Impressive Photo of El Escorial Complex
Photo of One side of El Escorial
Interior Photos of El Escorial

From the outside, despite the freezing winds, it was really impressive, with a backdrop of mountains, which was just as well because the major sights inside were closed. Part of it is now a private college and I snuck in past a security guard for a hunt around (echoes of schoolchildren behind massive closed doors). So I failed miserably to tour Felipe II’s Royal Apartments, the Basilica, the library etc etc. But I was happy enough with the overwhelming exterior. There were a collection of giant nativity scenes nearly made by the children which was nice.

It was 4pm and my final destination was Segovia. In my guidebook, a sketchy map told me that if I headed towards Madrid, there was a road heading north (eventually). The ‘eventually’ never appeared. Zooming down the fast highway, there were no signs and when I could see Madrid’s high-rises looming on the horizon, I decided to cut my losses. I double backed and returned to El Escorial, back past the bloody edifice for the umpteenth time, and headed back to Avila on the same road.

It cost me an hour of daylight. The interior car temperature which had never risen above 6’C all day, started to drop. Huge clouds appeared on the horizon – it felt like snow was about to fall, especially when it was 1’C at 5pm. Back in rush hour Avila, I had a choice – hole up here or take a gamble on Segovia 60 km north. I decided to break my rule of finding a cheap hostel in daylight and go for broke. I figured I could reach it by dusk and there were bound to be loads of hostels.

So I tackled the trucks and the big car, small dick BMWs, Audis and Mercedes that were up the rear end of my Nissan Micro (doing well at 140kph) until they could pass. I reached Segovia just as darkness descended – just in time for a grid-locked rush hour. I then proceeded to spend an hour trawling the city for a cheap hotel. The old Roman aqueduct looked spectacular under spotlight. I trawled around the old city, narrow cobbled lanes and went round in circles. Finally, I saw a sign for a hostel 8km back towards Avila. So I retraced my route and found it in a tiny isolated hamlet. Or rather, I found it closed. The friendly owner attempted in Spanish to direct me to the cheapest place in Segovia - which I found. Hotel Corregidor was a 3 star hotel.

It was 8pm. I was sick of hunting and when the friendly receptionist said the price was 43 Euros. I both gasped and said what the hell. I didn’t feel like driving all the way back to Avila. So I lived it up for a night.

Wednesday December 22nd

‘After Toledo, Segovia is the outstanding trip from Madrid. A small relatively small city strategically sited on a rocky ridge, it is deeply and haughtily Castilian, with a panoply of squares and mansions from its days of Golden Age grandeur, when it was a royal resort and a base for the Parliament’ (RG).

I was 10 minutes walking distance from one of its most splendid sights – the Roman Aqueduct that stretches 800m between cliff faces and at its highest point, some 30m above the Plaza de Azoguejo. Remarkably, the double decker edifice stands without a drop of mortar or cement. Built around 1 AD, I have no idea how the Romans did it, but it is still standing despite the traffic threatening to undermine the whole structure.

Photo of Segovia’s Roman Aqueduct

From here, I just followed my nose and explored the lovely old sandstone buildings and narrow streets. It was a quiet frosty morning and the locals clad in winter gear, went about their lives, breathing steam into the air. The Playa Mayor was the central square, with the old town hall within a stone’s throw of the massive cathedral. It was the last 17th Century Gothic building in Spain and the architects went to town by having tall stone pinnacles and flying buttresses tacked on to every conceivable point. They obviously spent the money on the size of the place and exterior because inside it was surprisingly bare and very cold.

Photo of Segovia’s Plaza Mayor and Cathedral

Around the side alleys off Playa Mayor, I came across a few other delights: There were lovely small churches with tall towers – San Martin, with its covered portico, a fine arched tower and Romanesque aspect; San Miguel oozed history, with its old paving stones and bare walls that had been given a Baroque face lift, centuries after Isabella la Catolica was proclaimed Queen inside in the 15th Century. Old palaces built by the wealthy nobles looked unchanged outside, despite the centuries that had rolled past. The exteriors were covered in a local plaster decoration – a bit like artexing the walls instead of the ceilings. The Plaza San Esteban had a superb 5 storied tower.

I passed through the old Jewish quarter with its Synagogue (now a church) and finally found the Alcazar. ‘An extraordinary fantasy of a castle, with its narrow towers and flurry of turrets, it will seem eerily familiar, having served as the model for the original Disneyland castle in California’ (RG). Wrong! Disneyland was modelled on the Mad King Ludwig's fairy tale castle, at Neuschwanstein castle in southern Germany (As featured in the ‘Chitty Chitty Bang Bang’ movie). It is a bit of a sham because although it dates from the 14th Century, it was almost completely destroyed by a fire in 1862 and rebuilt as a deliberately over the top version (hyperbolic?) of the original. But set at the edge of the city walls, it had a wonderful panorama over the valleys below – including Vera Cruz – a strange 12 sided church built by the Knights Templar in the 13th Century.

Excellent Photos of Segovia’s Alcazar, Aqueduct and Cathedral
Photo of Segovia’s Alcazar from Outside City Walls

I liked Segovia. It had character and I was glad I had spent the night here to catch it at its quietest. The evening views of it last night while driving around were also marvellous. On the way back to the hotel, a Spanish Generation X youth approached selling a newspaper. He was jabbering away. ‘English’ I said, hoping this was a polite refusal. ’Learn to speak Spanish, man’ he argued. I took the typical British attitude ‘Why? English is the International Language, even on the internet’. ‘What about Chinese – that’s the most spoken language’ he ventured. ‘So why are you talking to me in English?’ He sloped off highly offended. I have attempted to learn Spanish. I just haven’t used it for a long time.

Late morning, I hightailed it back to Avila, which seemed to attract me like a magnet. There had been a smattering of snow overnight which covered the plains in icing sugar. From Avila, I crossed a very flat landscape for 140km west to Salamanca with little idea that this would turn out to be the secret treasure that I unearthed completely by accident. I had decided to visit it based on one line in my guidebook ‘Salamanca is the most graceful city in Spain’ (RG) How right it was.

For four centuries, it was the seat of one of the most prestigious universities in the world, and despite losing this reputation in the 17th Century, it has kept the unmistakable atmosphere of a seat of learning. It is still a small place, untouched by the piles of suburban concrete which blight so many of its contempories and is given a gorgeous harmony by the golden sandstone from which the entire old town seemed to be constructed.

Good Slide Show of Salamanca’s Sights

Two great architectural styles were developed and see their finest expression in Salamanca. Churrigueresque (say that after a few beers) was named after a 17th Century whizzkid who liked his huge, flamboyant altarpieces in ornate Baroque from. Plateresque came earlier, a decorative technique of shallow relief and intricate detail (named after the art of the Silversmith). Salamanca’s native sandstone was soft and easy to carve and ‘Plateresque art cuts across Gothic and Renaissance frontiers’ (RG). Whatever that means. What I do know is that the decorative facades on the Cathedrals, churches and University buildings took my breath away from the immaculate detail.

I was able to park for free on the outskirts and walking in, the city’s architectural legacy seemed endless; two cathedrals, one Gothic, the other Romanesque vied for attention with Renaissance palaces and gems of Plateresque decoration. The Plaza Mayor was apparently ‘the finest in Spain’ (RG) and the surviving university buildings were tremendous – all of them distinguished by the same warm golden sandstone. Later on, while driving around looking for a hostel, I stopped at the much restored Roman bridge, 400m long, which had a stunning panoramic view of the old city skyline, bathed in the red and oranges of the setting sun.

The grand Plaza Mayor is the hub of Salamanca life. Everybody seems to pass through its bare central expanse (bullfights were staged here until 1863), enclosed by one continuous four story building decorated with iron balconies and medallion portraits. Nearby stood the vast Baroque church of La Clerecia and opposite stood a strange 16th Century mansion ‘Case de la Conchas’ (House of Shells), so called because its facades were decorated with rows of carved scallops, symbol of the pilgrimage to Santiago.

A short walk brought me to the Renaissance entrance to the University which was the ultimate expression of Plateresque. The façade was covered in medallions, heraldic emblems and a profusion of floral decorations. I spent 10 minutes trying to spot a hidden frog said to bring good luck and marriage within a year to anyone who spots it unaided (so I’m afraid girls, you’ll have to wait a bit longer!). Inside the old lecture rooms were arranged around the courtyard (I couldn’t see how they got 7000 students into these – obviously, they were flunking classes 500 years ago!). There were numerous other University buildings all around – which from the outside still showed no signs of wear and tear after centuries of use. It was very different from Oxford in England – but the biggest improvement was that there was no traffic allowed in the old town, so a peaceful tranquillity enhanced the pleasing aesthetic sights.

The two cathedrals were next door. The Catedral Nueva (new one) was started in 1512 as a declaration of Salamanca’s prestige and acted as a buttress for the old Catedral which was about to collapse. The main Gothic – Plateresque façade was equally dazzling to the University’s in its wealth of ornamental detail. The Catedral Vieja (old one) is dwarfed by its neighbour. It had a distinctive dome shaped like segments of an orange.

Photo of Salamanca’s New Cathedral

More impressive for me was the ‘Convento de San Esteban’ whose façade was another faultless example of Plateresque art. Divided into three horizontal sections, it was covered in a tapestry of sculpture. Along with all of these, there were streets of beautiful sandstone mansions and palaces. Outstanding.

Another Photo of Convento de San Esteban

Midway through my explorations, I destroyed another camera (6 months old). A film refused to rewind and I was forced to find a dark place and stick my camera in my bag under my coat and attempt to extract the film and rewind manually. Hunched over in a corner, I was surprised noone came to ask me what I was up to. I drove to a local hypermarket and purchased another camera and was back on the trail of the sights within an hour. It was a wonderful place to photograph. I was also able to find a cheap hostal (Hotel Barcelona) on the edge of the old city.

Thursday December 23rd

Before I left Salamanca, I took one last stroll around the old town. The Plaza Major was already busy and the morning sunshine was hitting the church spires and taller buildings illuminating the golden sandstone.

By 10am I was heading south towards Caceres 140km south. It was the start of a long days driving. The undulating road was fast over the green plains and rocky hummocks. I entered the province of Extramadura – the cradle of the ‘conquistadores’, men who opened up the new world for the Spanish empire. Remote before and forgotten since, Extramadura enjoyed a brief golden age when the heroes returned with their gold to live in a flourish of splendour. I had come to see Caceres and Trujillo which both preserve entire old towns built with conquistador wealth, the streets crowded with the ornate mansions.

When I entered Caceres, it just seemed a large modern town. I drove through the busy midday centre and could see no evidence of the old town. It was only when I had given up and started to head for Trujillo that I spotted the old town on the tallest hill overlooking the new town and doubled back to park outside the old city walls. I discovered an almost perfectly preserved wall town, the ‘Cuidad Monumental’ packed with mansions (‘solares’) which had been declared an UNESCO World Heritage Site in 1986.

Photo of Caceres alleyway

The centre was the Plaza de Santa Maria, flanked by the Casa de los Golfines de Abajo mansion (where, incidentally, Franco had himself proclaimed ‘Generalisimo’ and Head of State in 1936), the Palacio Episcopal and the Gothic church of Santa Maria – Caceres finest. Inside, behind the altar was a fine 16th Century carved wooded ‘retablo’. While I took this in, the priest busied himself with setting up a nativity scene for the Xmas mass. I climbed up to the Plaza de San Meteo, the town’s highest point flanked by the church of Mateo, another Gothic structure.

The nicest thing about the old town (apart from the lack of traffic) was that dozens of storks had built nests on top of all the church towers, or roofs of the mansions. They would snap their beaks together very quickly in unison with their partner to produce a strange tacking noise. The storks have been here for centuries (obviously not the original ones) and it gave the old town a nice touch.

Apart from the storks clacking their beaks, the only other sound was a Spanish busker playing flamenco guitar and singing Spanish songs – his beautiful voice echoes around a plaza bathed in sunlight.

I moved onto Trujillo, 50km east and isolated between the hills, it looked rather spectacular with the old churches poking up over the rest of the small town. The Rough Guide called Trujillo “the most attractive town in Extramadura; a classic conquistador stage set of escutcheoned mansions, stork topped towers and castle walls” which I agreed with, even if I didn’t know what ‘e escutcheoned’ meant. The modern town hardly imposed on the old sections much of which looked virtually untouched since the 16th Century. Francisco Pizarro, the conqueror of Peru was born here and there is a statue of him on his horse in the Plaza Mayor, a grand square, overlooked by a trio of palaces and churches and ringed by half a dozen cafes and restaurants, in the lovely warm sunshine.

Photo of Francisco Pizarro Statue
View from Trujillo’s Plaza Mayor

The Palacio de la Conquista was the grandest of Trujillo’s stone mansions, with its roof adorned by statues representing the 12 months. Diagonally opposite was the bulky church of San Martin and adjacent was the Palacio de los Dugnes de San Carlos – home to a group of nuns. The chimneys on the roof “boast aggressively of cultures conquered by Catholicism in the New World – they are shaped like the pyramids of Aztecs, Incas and others subjected to Spanish rule” (RG).

I poked around other parts, but nothing equalled the Plaza Mayor. It looked like a nice place to stay by since it was only 3pm, I decided to make tracks for Cordoba. It was probably 350km southwest, but I thought I’d give it my best shot and on the main Seville road, I took no prisoners, overtaking everything, with speeds ranging between 140 -160kph. There were no traffic cops (though I had escaped a few radar traps that morning). It was a perfect late afternoon for driving; clear blue skies, not a cloud in sight. The car temp read 15’C outside. More sheep, cattle and olive trees. I burnt my fuel up and luckily on reserve l came across a garage in the middle of nowhere. Then back on the road again.

I was surprised to arrive in Cordoba at 6pm on the dot. Its not often you can do 350km in 3 hours on non motorway roads. They should use these roads for car commercials (the ones with no traffic on the).

It was still light and I decided to hit the first hostel I could find. I saw one tucked down a backstreet, parked nearby and checked into the Magdelena Hostel owned by an old man. I was offered a small bedroom with shared facilities for 13 Euros. What a result. Especially since I was the only guest. I had crossed half the length of Spain in one day and still taken in some sights.

Friday December 24th

I was awoken by the owner coughing up 40 years of smoking from his lungs. Another beautiful sunny day, crisp, but not freezing. Today, Cordoba is a minor provincial capital, but it once the largest city of Roman Spain, and for three centuries, it formed the heart of the western Islamic empire, the great medieval caliphate (look it up) of the Moors. I had come to see the greatest sight from that period – the Mezquita, the grandest and most beautiful mosque ever constructed by the Moors in Spain. It stands right in the centre of the city (near the Guadalquivir River), surrounded by the old Jewish and Moorish quarters and is a building “of extraordinary mystical and aesthetic power” (RG). Enroute, I explored the charming alleyways, low lying houses and small plazas. The orange trees were full of ripe oranges.

Cordoba’s domination of Moorish Spain began in 756, thirty years after the Islamic conquest of Southern Spain. Started in 796, three rulers all called Abd ar Rahman (I, II, & III) concentrated on building and enlarging it over. By the 10th Century when Cordoba reached its zenith of importance (and the Moors kicked serious butt), it was the largest, most prosperous city in Europe. At its most glamorous stage, the Mosque contained 1293 marble columns, 280 chandeliers and 1445 lamps.

The good news is that if you arrive before 10am, it is free (but it is still well worth the 7 Euro admission). As you approach it from the tiny lanes, you are confronted on the outside by huge thick bulky sandstone walls with no windows, just huge wooden doors. When you enter, you find yourself in the ‘Patio de los Naranjas’, a classic Islamic ablutions courtyard which preserves both its orange trees and its fountains for ritual purification before prayer. Exterior Photo of Cordoba’s Mesquita (old Mosque)

When you finally step inside the Mosque, you are thrust into a forest of supporting pillars. The original architect had many columns at his disposal (from the old Visigothic cathedral and numerous roman temples), but there weren’t tall enough, so his solution was to place a second row of square columns on the apex of the lower ones, serving as a base for the semicircular arches that support the roof and also put in another horseshoe shaped arch above the lower pillars. The arches were alternate brick and stone creating a red and white striped pattern. I was taken aback by both the endless numbers of pillars and arches and also the simple but unique design.

Photo of Cordoba’s Mesquita (old Mosque)’s Interior

I was also surprised that the guard did not ask to search my bag, but I guess Muslim terrorists are not going to blow up their best monument in Spain. And you were allowed to take photos with flashes.

On one side, I found the Mahrab, which indicated the direction of Islam (and therefore prayer) and which had amplified the words of the prayer leader. But guess what? Those Catholics had to have the last word. It took 300 years to get around to it after they had beaten the Moors, but in 1523, they decided to build a cathedral within the mosque! Right in the centre, squats a Renaissance cathedral coro which while looking very impressive, looked completely juxta-positioned to the functions of the Mosque. Even King Carlos V who caved into pressure and helped finance it said “You have built what you or others might have built anywhere, but you have destroyed something that was unique in the world”. Too true.

Photo of the Mahrab inside the Mesquita

Even more bizarrely, a Catholic service started while I was in there. The choir’s beautiful voices echoed around the pillars. There were a dozen priests all dressed in their finest purple and white gowns and hats. They took turns to climb the pulpit, lead the spare congregation in song, sermon or wave smoking incense bowls around.

As I mooched around for nearly an hour (it was that good), a couple of Japanese tour parties arrived. Being Japanese, they were hi-tech. Each member of the party had a remote control earpiece. The female guide would talk normally into a headset microphone and they could all hear what she was saying – something I’d never seen before and so much better than the Spanish tour party I passed where the guide attempted to shout over he sound of the choir. I wonder how long before we see every tour party using these. What a great idea. It had been a long drive down to Cordoba, but I think the Great Mosque was the highlight (and there were many) of my tour.

I had an even longer drive to get back to Alicante for my flight home and spent the next 6 hours tackling 500km across southern Spain. I decided to head south to Grenafa. The slow twisty road passed numerous towns set in hills with their sandstone castles and churches gleaming in the sunshine. I would have loved to have stopped and explore some, but I just didn’t have the time. None of them were in the guidebooks which was even better – hidden treasures of Spain. I was slowed down by having to drive through the centre of small towns, where little old Spanish women would cross the road at a snail’s pace, without giving any indication that they were going to cross. I nearly flattened a couple.

It was very dry agricultural land. The hills were covered in miles of olive trees. Then out of nowhere, the hills bordering Grenada were covered in thick snow – looking very un Spanish after all the dry parched landscapes I had driven through. They looked spectacular. Granada is both one of Spain’s largest cities and one of its most visited. The RG said “If you see only one town in Spain, it should be Grenada”, but I had visited it back in 1991 on a day trip via train from Malaga and I was glad that I didn’t have to deal with the sprawling urbanisation that littered the valley.

From here, I picked up a great motorway that took me across the whole of southern Spain, through scenic orange and yellow hills. The towns were larger and unlike the endless miles of desolation across La Mancha there seemed to be urbanisation everywhere. The motorway fortunately bypassed it all.

Between Murcia and Alicante on the last stretch, the digital traffic signs said (in Spanish) “22 deaths on this road New Year 2003”. As I motored along, I saw red lights flashing on the other side of the motorway – a car had overturned (how do you do that on a straight road?). The ambulance had just arrived to rescue the occupants. Behind it stretched an endless stream of stationary traffic. They would be stuck there for hours. Happy Xmas!

Arriving in Alicante, still looking like the non descript coastal town I had left 7 days ago, I checked into a Formula 1 Hotel which I seen on my first day advertising rooms for 25 Euros. I had never stayed at one. The concept is simple – you vuild a plastic hotel with no atmosphere or character outside the centre in an industrial estate. When you check in, you don’t get a key, you get a security code for the door. The room is basic – a bed, a table, a sink, a mirror and TV. Clean but characterless. The showers are outside so when you leave your room, you have to take the security code, where in the plastic cubicle, you have to hit the water button every 10 seconds or it shuts off. How I missed Marlboro Man in Cordoba. I think if you stayed in these on successive nights, you’d forget what country you were in apart from the TV programmes.

Arriving at 5.30pm, I decided to have a jog. It had been 4 days since my last in Toledo. 2500km of driving, eating all the wrong food and 6 hours behind the wheel today. My legs felt like led weights. Good job I had plenty of wine and beer to finish before tomorrow.

Saturday 25th December

So its Xmas Day and its 7am and you have 4 hours before you have to turn up at the airport. What do you do? I decided to have a jog to find the sea. I ambled out with my pot belly and wine burps and pottered along the roads. I was surprised to see both a bus service running and the garbage men emptying the rubbish bins. The streets were pretty deserted. Eventually I reached the coast, where promenades were being sprayed down with water and ran along with the fresh sea air in my face. After an hour I thought, time to turn back, but got the alleyways mixed up. As long as I’m heading up hill I will eventually retrace my route. An hour later, I had no idea where I was and I had no money. I tried a local walking his dog, asking ‘Formula Uno Hotel?’. He looked dumbfounded. Then a Shell Garage. He looked it up on a map and drew me directions. The good news was that they were clear and concise. The bad news was that it took me another hour to jog back to the hotel. Ye gods – a 3 hour jog on Xmas Day?

Back at the hotel, I rushed a shower, packed and made for the airport only 5km away, dropped off the car and checked in. The flight left early and we arrived back in a deserted Stansted airport an hour early at 2pm. After picking up the car, I was at my brother’s before 4pm for Xmas dinner and lashings of alcohol.

Conclusions: It had been over a decade since I had visited Spain and six years since I’d toured a European country (Sardinia excepted). I was pleasantly surprised. Despite all the ‘best in the world’ attractions I have seen, Spain certainly has a lot to offer if you are into history.

Madrid to me, was just another capital city, but the sights I saw in Toledo, Salamanca, Segovia, the various old hills towns and the Great Mosque in Cordoba really made me feel as if I was discovering the real Spain. Of course, my visit was fleeting – get there, see the sights, move on. I never stayed still. You don’t when you travel alone. Xmas seemed to pass me by. The shops were full of the usual tat, carols, TV ads, but I wasn’t part of it. I never am.

It never rained during my entire Xmas week; sunny skies everyday! It was easy, enjoyable driving. Tour parties were rare and I usually had the sights to myself. Many were closed but you don’t need to pay money just to take in a place. The more I travel, the more I just wander around to see what I can find. I get rather selective on the paid admissions.

As an Independent traveller used to SE Asian prices, it was a shock to cope with European prices. The flight and car were cheap enough. Petrol was cheaper than in the UK. Accommodation was about the same as the UK (expensive). Cheap food and wine helped offset the accommodation and the amount of petrol I burnt up (2700km). I’m sure it must be different in the summer; endless tourists, nowhere to stay, higher accommodation prices – so I can thoroughly recommend a Xmas trip to Spain.

I’ll need another visit to do Northern Spain before I consider I’ve seen everything I want to see. Who knows when. What I do k now is I have to brush up on my Spanish!