Spain 2011, The Cueva El Aguila

After an undisturbed night’s sleep in the quiet village we woke to a perfect blue sky and expansive views over the countryside and the surprisingly green fields sweeping down towards Talavera de la Reina and beyond that the Montes de Toledo rising through the gathering cloud. Breakfast wasn’t served until half past nine so we had time for a walk into town where we were expecting to see a market in the Plaza de Torres but we must have got our days mixed up because the Plaza was quite empty. We wandered around the streets that were beginning to stir into life and saw the same old men who had been there the previous night and clearly have nothing more to do all day in this tiny place than hang around the main square.

Breakfast at the El Cerro was excellent, just a simple affair of Iberian ham, manchego cheese and toast with olive oil and mashed tomato, called pan tumaca, but it was perfect and reminded us of our breakfasts in Carmona in Andalusia in 2008. One of the hotel staff was very friendly and spoke good English and was interested in our travels around Spain and intrigued that we picked out of the way places like Pedro Bernardo instead of the well known tourist places and we told him that we liked it this way.

We told him that we were driving to Cáceres and he became quite insistent that we should take a short detour from our route and visit the Cuevas El Aguila, the Eagle Caves, in the foothills of the Gredos mountains but we had a long way to go and were not sure if we liked caves enough to go to the trouble. When we checked out a few minutes later he reminded us again to make the visit and assured us that we would not be disappointed so it seemed rude not to go so we set off in the direction that he carefully marked on our map.

We drove out of the Sierra de Gredos which is a mountain range in the centre of the Iberian Peninsula, located between Ávila, Cáceres, Madrid and Toledo and has been declared a regional park. We were on the road to Cáceres anyway so it wouldn’t delay us to long to visit the caves and when they began to be signposted we turned off and irritated the satnav navigator who immediately insisted that we turn around – so we switched her off!

We followed a quiet rural road to a large but empty car park and parked close to the entrance and still not convinced that this was a good idea made our way to the kiosk and paid €7 each entrance and waited five minutes for the guide to take us inside. As soon as he appeared and escorted us underground we were immediately glad that we made the detour because this was an awesome underground cavern, over twelve million years old and inside a great hall of ten thousand square metres and a kilometre of pathway to walk through the great stalactites and stalagmites that rose in majestic multi-coloured columns throughout the cave.

The guide apologised several times for being unable to speak English but we reassured him that this didn’t matter because so much of his narrative would have been superfluous and we could imagine for ourselves what he was telling us. As usual in underground caves he kept pointing out natural sculptures that, with a lot of imagination, had a resemblance to familiar icons – the Madonna and Child (several times), Bulls, Matadors and famous Spanish Kings and Queens.

The temperature inside the cave is constant throughout the year, with an average of twenty degrees celsius and it was this that led to its discovery in 1963 by a group of children who noticed water vapour escaping through a hole in the ground caused by the difference in temperature of the caves and the outside. They crawled inside to investigate and discovered the Aladdin’s cave with all of its natural treasure and a year later the owners of the land, obviously sensing that there was gold in them thar hills, made it accessible and opened it to the public.

It took about thirty minutes to complete the circuit of concrete paths and various viewing platforms and when we emerged back into the daylight we were so pleased that we had taken the advice to visit because this was one place that was certainly worth a detour.

The original plan was to drive to Extremadura and stop at the town of Trujillo but the combination of the later than usual breakfast and the unscheduled visit to the caves meant that our original timings now had to be reworked so we decided to miss Trujillo and drive the two hundred kilometres straight to Cáceres instead. The drive was easy along a delightfully spacious motorway as we drove in a relentless straight line across Spain’s Central Plateau at some point crossing into the Province of Extremadura, the fifth largest in Spain.

Spain 2011, Pedro Bernardo in the Gredos Mountains

We left Talavera de la Reina without too much difficulty except that we emerged from the underground car park onto a one way street and managed to cross the River Tagus twice until we found the road that headed north towards the Gredos Mountains, but once out of the city motoring was straight-forward and the satnav lady seemed to be a lot better than she was a few months ago in Germany so we didn’t have any fall-outs!

As we headed north we began to slowly climb as we entered an area of green scrubland littered with granite boulders where the verges of the road were a riot of red poppies and yellow daisies. Ahead of us we could see the mountains and the tops were covered in a few stubborn streaks of snow in the protection of the shadows where the May sun couldn’t quite reach. We were still in bright sunshine but ahead of us the sky was a dramatic dark grey, brooding, threatening and angry.

A short way out of Talavera we crossed the site of a famous battle of the Peninsula War where Sir Arthur Wellesley (the future Duke of Wellington) won one of his most successful and famous battles. On 27th and 28th July 1809 the Battle of Talavera took place between the Anglo-Spanish army and the French. It was a total allied victory and during the fight Talavera was hardly damaged and Wellesley’s army expelled the French from the city and the surrounding area. The battle is also the setting for the fictional event of ‘Sharpe’s Eagle’ the first book written in Bernard Cornwell’s ‘Sharpe’ series.

The drive north took us into the neighbouring Province of Castilla y Leon and through the little town of Buenaventura, which was closed, and then the climb became more dramatic as we reached almost one thousand metres when we made the approach to the mountain village of Pedro Bernardo. We managed to stay just short of the cloud and the sun was still shining as we drove through several tricky hair-pin bends and into the village and easily found the Hostal El Cerro in the middle of the village on a dramatic bend in the road overlooking the valley below.

Although only two star it was an excellent hotel with a great room, a superb view and with excellent weather the ideal place for an hour or so of sunbathing on the very private terrace. After a while the grey sky started to muscle in and there was a drop or two of rain but inside there was a Jacuzzi to experiment with and relax in and after a half an hour or so it had blown over and the blue sky reasserted itself and there were good views over the rural hinterland with forests of elms, pines, chestnut and hazelnut trees and waterfalls and rivers making the town a scenic paradise.

The origins of Pedro Bernardo are not clear; the original name of the village was Navalasolana, and there is a popular local legend that talks about the leaders of two groups of shepherds, Pedro Fernández and Bernardo Manso. They started to fight and struggled to get the control of the village and finally, the feudal lord of the council came up with a solution and decided to change the name of Navalasolana to Pedro and Bernardo to achieve peace and stop the struggles between the two squabbling bands.

In the early evening we walked into Pedro Bernardo, passing first through the Plaza de Torres and then the Plaza Mayor where groups of mainly old men were sitting in groups and discussing the big important issues of the day. We walked through the twisting narrow streets flanked by crumbling buildings with precarious wooden balconies and barely inhabitable houses and we wandered aimlessly through the streets until we arrived at the church somewhere near the top of the village. It was nothing special and really hardly worth the walk so we made our way back down and stayed for a while in the main square and had a drink had a bar where there was reluctance to serve us on account of the fact that the owner and bar staff were watching a bull fight from Seville on the television.

The Hostel El Cerro was a perfect place for our first night, a rare mix of rustic charm and modern sophistication and we had no hesitation in eating in the hotel dining room. It was only eight o’clock which seemed to surprise the staff but the chef was already there (in the bar) and we tucked in to an excellent Chuletón de Ávila, an excellent cut of prime beef steak that we had enjoyed only last year on a visit to that city.

Although it was still quite early, we had been a long day and had had an early start so after the evening meal we went back to the room and sat on the balcony with a final glass of red wine and watched the stars twinkling overhead in the sky and went to bed optimistic that tomorrow would be another fine day.



Spain 2011, Talavera de la Reina

With an objective to visit all of the regions of Spain and already travelled to the more obvious places such as Andalusia, Castilla-La Mancha and Castilla y Leon it was time this visit to be more adventurous. I have excluded from that short list places such as Galicia, Cantabria, The Basque Country and Catalonia because although we have been there I have become aware that these, although part of the state of Spain, are not really Spain at all and something quite separate and different.

On this occasion we choose Extremadura to the south west of Madrid, which the guide books claimed to be the least visited part of Spain. With no convenient international airport in the Province it was a choice between Seville and Madrid and the best available flights were to the capital about three hundred kilometres away from the cities of Cáceres and Mérida.

In the week before the journey the BBC had been promising rain and cloud which was disappointing so we packed appropriately with rain coats and umbrellas and when we took off from Luton Airport on an early morning flight the sun was beginning to rise in a blue sky and we became resigned to leaving good conditions at home and flying into colder, wetter weather.

Across the United Kingdom and the Bay of Biscay the weather remained clear and then we crossed the coast of Spain somewhere near Santander and we could see the Picos de Europa mountains and the plains of Castilla y Leon and it appeared that we may have been unnecessarily pessimistic but then as we approached central Spain and Madrid the clouds began to build over the mountains and it looked as though for once the BBC was correct.

By the time we reached Madrid however there was improvement and after we had landed and made our way through arrivals and car hire the sun was winning the competition with the clouds for control of the sky and encouraged by this we left the airport and began our journey west. In anticipation of rain we had an alternative plan to drive via El Escorial and visit the Royal Palace but we had been there before and with the sun shining we stuck to our original plan to drive to the city of Talavera de la Reina in the north of the Province of Castilla-La Mancha.

It was about one hundred kilometres for this first leg of the journey and the Autovia was practically empty so we enjoyed a trouble free, toll free, ride all the way to the city, which, with the help of the satnav lady navigator we found easily and parked the Volkswagen Polo in a convenient underground car park close to the centre.

Talavera de la Reina is a city in the western part of the province of Toledo and is the second-largest centre of population in Castile-La Mancha (after Albacete) and the largest in the province, larger than the city of Toledo itself, although the more famous city naturally remains the provincial capital. This means that to a certain extent Talavera is a city with an inferiority complex and this isn’t helped by the fact that it isn’t really a primary tourist destination but we are keen to visit as many Spanish cities as possible and we were not going to exclude it from our itinerary.

We emerged from the underground car park into the heart of the city park where there were fountains and statues and leafy walks leading to the Basilica del Prado where we walked and then got confused looking for the city centre. It was lunchtime and we were hungry so we quickly orientated ourselves and then confident about the direction of travel made our way to the city centre where in one of the satellite squares we found some tables in the sun and enjoyed our first tapas lunch.

During the 15th and 16th centuries, Talavera achieved great recognition, thanks to its ceramics. Wonderful pieces of pottery and Talavera tiles are found in the main museums of the world and in the most luxurious palaces all over Europe. The city is internationally known for its products, which King Philip II used as tiled revetments in many of his works, such as the monastery of El Escorial. The nickname of Talavera de la Reina is ‘The City of Pottery’ and Mexico’s famous Talavera pottery was named after the city. We could have guessed this because after lunch we walked through the old city towards the River Tagus and our route took us past a succession of similar ceramics workshops and shops.

Eventually we reached the river which is the longest in the Iberian Peninsula and the twelfth longest in Europe. It is just over a thousand kilometres long and flows all the way to Lisbon in Portugal where it empties into the Atlantic Ocean. Along its course there are several dams and diversions supply drinking water to most of central Spain, including Madrid, and Portugal, while dozens of hydroelectric stations create abundant power. The source of the Tagus is the Fuente de García, in the Montes Universales, Sierra de Albarracín Comarca. The main cities it passes through are Aranjuez, Toledo, Talavera de la Reina and Alcántara in Spain, and Abrantes, Santarém, Almada and Lisbon in Portugal.

The water was brown and dirty and flowing freely, swollen by all the recent rain that had fallen and we walked alongside it for a while back in the general direction of the car. The sun was hot now and the sky was cloudless so instead of leaving straight away we stopped for a drink in a little café in the park where we had a beer and thanked the BBC for getting the weather forecast wrong as usual!

Spain, Monday Morning Rush Hour in Madrid

It was an eleven o’clock flight from Madrid back to London Luton and Ávila is about one hundred kilometres from the city so I calculated that it would take at most two hours and that we should begin our journey at seven o’clock which would give us plenty of time to make the drive, return the car, check in and do a bit of duty free shopping.

We assembled in the lobby and after checking out walked to the car and this was my first misjudgment because I had forgotten to factor in that this would take at least fifteen minutes. It was a clear morning and the temperature had dropped below zero and the cars parked in the street were covered in white frost and in the distance we could see that snow had fallen overnight in the mountains. Thankfully our car was parked under cover so there was no problem chipping away ice and after we had loaded the bags we were soon on our way.

Although there wasn’t a great deal of traffic at this time in the morning most people were driving carefully on account on account of the icy conditions and progress out of the city and onto the N110 was quiet slow but once there the pace picked up and we drove easily to Villacastin where we joined the AP6 motorway heading towards Madrid.

My plan was to leave the motorway at Guadarrama and follow the route through the national park and then pick up the M40 motorway close to the airport but then things began to go wrong. We left the motorway as planned but ran immediately into a lot of early morning traffic with everyone choosing this time to go to work and the roads that had been clear of traffic on Friday morning when we had arrived were now congested with growling traffic and impatient drivers. To add to this Kim had some difficulty in interpreting the map so I considered it best to return to the motorway which at this point was less congested on account of Spanish drivers reluctance to use them and pay the tolls.

Even now there didn’t seem to be much of a problem but the closer we drove towards Madrid the traffic began to build up and at every junction the flow of traffic stopped dead as two sets of drivers came together and competed for insufficient tarmac. About fifteen kilometres out of Madrid all that I could see in front of me was a ribbon of brake lights snaking away endlessly towards Madrid and I cursed myself for not taking into account that this was Monday morning and probably the busiest time to get into Madrid with people returning to the city after the weekend to return to work. Then I cursed the Spanish highway authorities, BMW, SIXT Rent a car, Easyjet and even poor old Kim for not being able to read the map.

As we crawled along making only intermittent progress the clock on the dashboard started to speed up in the way that clocks do when you are late and struggling for time and I watched with horror as it passed nine o’clock which was the planned time for arrival at the airport. We began to wonder about another night in Spain and how much an alternative flight home might be the next day but then the road split in two and the crawling queue carried on for the centre of Madrid and we peeled off onto the M40 which was moving just a little more quickly now at tortoise rather than snail pace!

Travelling east the blinding sun was directly in my eyes but at least we were following signs for the airport now which made us feel a bit more optimistic but although there were signs they gave no indication of distance so it was difficult to make any mental calculations for an estimated time of arrival. At half past nine we could see planes landing and taking off but they seemed a long way away and we still had to refuel and return the car.

Eventually at a quarter to ten we arrived at the airport but had to find a filling station which meant a detour around a confusing one way system and a drive through three of the airport’s four terminals. Eventually we fuelled up but when things are going badly everything seems to be against you and the something about the BMW security system refused to allow the car to restart and things looked bleak again. After a bit of fiddling and guess work eventually the thing fired into life but then there was another problem trying to find the correct entrance in the car park to return the vehicle. Naturally I took the wrong entrance and ended up in the short stay car park so had to leave and drive around the complete one way system once again to get to the correct entrance.

It was ten o’clock with less than an hour until our scheduled flight time and as I parked the car and unloaded the bags I made a rash statement that I will never drive around Madrid or its airport system ever again but of course I will because we will be flying back there next May when we plan to visit the south west province of Extremadura.

Spain, The Alcázar of Segovia

From the square we walked towards the centre of the old city into the sociable main square, the Plaza Mayor, and followed a street adjacent to the cathedral and walked in the direction of the Alcázar, which is the most visited castle in all of Spain. The route took us through narrow streets past craft shops and churches and eventually brought us out at the north of the city on the top of a rocky outcrop that was the location of the fortress that was begun in the twelfth century and was subsequently occupied by a succession of Castilian monarchs from Alfonso X to Phillip II and Charles III. It has a rather modern appearance because in the nineteenth century it was destroyed by fire but was restored to its present magnificent status soon after.

Segovia and the Spanish tourist board would have us believe that the Alcázar was the inspiration for Walt Disney’s Cinderella’s Castle at Disneyland in California and Disneyworld in Florida but there is no real evidence for this and in fact it is more likely that the famous icon of the Disney empire was inspired principally by Neuschwanstein Castle in Bavaria and several French palaces, most notably Louis XIV’s Versailles although it is slightly possible that the Alcázar in Segovia may also have been an important influence as well.

The last time we visited Segovia in March 2009 there were brilliant blue skies and excellent weather but this morning it was rather cold and miserable and this matched exactly how Christine was feeling so on this occasion we didn’t go inside but instead made do with an external viewing and then walked back to the Plaza Mayor by a different route that took us close to the northern walls of the old walled city with some glorious views stretching out over the plains of Castilla y Leon.

In the main square we looked for somewhere to sit and have a drink but it was really too unpleasant to sit outside so we went to the bar in the Sercotel Infanta Isabel where we were glad to sit down in the warm. Micky, Sue and Kim had a coffee and I had a beer which meant the inevitable tapas but Christine was feeling even worse than before as the effect of the alcohol stubbornly refuse to wear off and it was clear that she was unlikely to make a quick recovery and so the best thing to do was to return to Ávila where she could suffer quietly in the comfort of her room.

While we sat there local people came and went and I began to think about all the reasons that I like Spain and one is that for someone like me on the shorter side most of the people are what I regard as normal size. According to Eurostat the Spanish are the shortest people in Europe and the average height for a man is five foot seven inches and I feel that that is just about the perfect size and it makes me feel comfortable. Officially Dutch men are the tallest at an average of five foot ten inches and although not included in the Eurostat figures the Croatians claim to be an average six foot one inch. We went there last year and I can confirm that they are indeed big lads.

After the drink stop we returned to the aqueduct where the dancing had stopped now and we collected the car and drove back to Ávila. It was overcast but dry but as we approached the city we could see a towering wall of black cloud building up directly in front of us and just a few kilometres out of the city the rain started to fall and we all knew that it was set in for the rest of the day.

Yesterday when we walked through the Puerta de Santa Teresa we had the afternoon sun on our backs but today there was just a steady pitter patter of rain on our umbrellas so we walked quickly through the sodden streets back to the hotel where Christine went immediately to her room and that was the last that we saw of her all day.

Spain, The Aqueduct of Segovia

When we had retired to bed the previous night there had been a clear sky so it was disappointing to wake up to the sound of falling rain and on opening the shutters a full examination of the weather revealed overcast skies and a rather soggy, looking sorry for itself, Ávila. But it was still early so we closed the shutters and slept on for an hour and hoped that it would improve. Sadly this was not to be and when we went down for breakfast it looked certain that this was going to be an umbrella sort of day.

Earlier in the year in Krakow Sue had overdone the alcohol one night and gone to bed feeling unwell but she was at least sufficiently recovered the next day to make it for breakfast but this morning Christine had had so much wine the previous night that she couldn’t face even a cup of tea let alone the fried eggs, tortilla and bacon and she excused herself from the breakfast room as soon as the plates were loaded up and started arriving at the table. The rest of us carried on and had another excellent meal and chatted like Methodist abolitionists about the evils of drink.

Even after we had finished breakfast an hour later she hadn’t begun to improve but although she was clearly unwell she decided that she would still accompany us on the planned drive to Segovia about sixty kilometers away and we all assured her that the fresh air would do her good and she was certain to start feeling better sometime soon.

It was still raining when we left the hotel and walked through the damp streets to the underground car park where we picked up the car and squeezed ourselves into the inadequate seats of the BMW but as we drove out of the city it started to brighten up a little and the rain thankfully eased off. To avoid the toll we took the national highway rather than the motorway option and this being a Sunday morning the road was almost completely empty and it was an easy journey.

To the south of the highway was the Sierra de Guadarrama and on the highest mountain in the whole range, the Peñalara, we could see snow covering the top of its two thousand, one hundred metre peak. The approach to Segovia was spectacular and still some way out of the city we could see it rising from the plain on a convenient outcrop of rock with a spectacular mountain backdrop and the Cathedral and the Alcázar reaching dramatically into the grey sky. The road dropped into the city and we found a convenient underground car park close to the Roman aqueduct.

The aqueduct is the most recognised and famous historical symbol of Segovia. It is the largest Roman structure still standing in Spain and was built at the end of first to the early second century AD by the Romans during their occupation of the Iberian Peninsula to bring water from the Río Frío about eighteen kilometres away and requiring an elevated section in its final kilometer from the Sierra de Guadarrama to the walls of the old town. This elevated section is supported by an engineering achievement of one hundred and sixty-six arches and one hundred and twenty pillars constructed on two levels. It is twenty eight metres high and constructed with over twenty thousand large, rough-hewn granite blocks, which are joined without mortar or clamps and have remained in place for two thousand years.

In the Plaza de Azeguego directly below the final, highest and most impressive section of the aqueduct there was a lot of activity as a band played and men in flamenco sombreros and black capes danced with local ladies and some of the locals and the tourist joined in. We weren’t sure what it was all about but it looked good fun and everyone was enjoying themselves despite the gloomy weather. We liked the Aqueduct and looked all round it from every possible angle. It is one of those structures that make you appreciate just how brilliant the Romans were. The fifteenth century professor at the University of Salamanca, Marineus, made the claim that ‘we should have no doubt that whatever memorable thing we come across in Spain is due to the Romans’ and although, six hundred years later, this can no longer possibly be true at the time it was probably a very fair assessment.

Spain, Ávila City Walls

The agreement was to rendezvous for breakfast at half past eight so it was a bit of a shock when I woke up and checked the time and it was twenty to ten. We washed and changed and rushed downstairs and although the others had waited for some time for us to show up they had eventually given up and gone through without us. I was so glad that we hadn’t missed breakfast completely because the dining room was really special and so was the food. It was laid out on the tables and the choice was overwhelming; hot food, cold food, a selection of bread and fruit juices and local specialties as well. It was necessary to be really disciplined amount portions because it would have been too easy to fill right up with the first visit and not leave room for all the other delicious selections to follow.

Due to this oversleeping incident we were later than usual leaving our hotel to begin the sightseeing but this didn’t really matter because there was a disappointing start to the day weather wise and there was low grey cloud and a chill in the air.

First of all we walked past the serrated edged walls of the cathedral which was designed to serve a dual purpose, part religious and part military because the apse actually forms part of the defensive city walls and then we passed out through one of the main gates that led us to the Plaza de Santa Teresa, the Plaza Mayor of the city, which we found to be unusually quiet for a Saturday morning. What was also strange was that many shops were closed or had unusual and rather random opening hours and there weren’t a lot of people about at all. Micky and I skillfully avoided the main shopping streets and charted a route that took us to the Basilica de San Vincente and then back to the exterior of the city walls.

We walked for a while around the eastern side of the walls which are the best preserved in all of Spain and although they have had some recent renovation still capture the spirit of an impregnable medieval granite fortress. It is two and a half kilometres long with two thousand five hundred battlements, eighty-eight cylindrical towers, six main gates and three smaller pedestrian gates. Ávila was used in the 1957 film ‘The Pride and the Passion’ that starred Cary Grant, Sophia Loren and Frank Sinatra when a group of Spanish nationalists during the war of independence (The Peninsula War) lugged a huge gun up the mountains to attack the city and liberate it from the French invaders.

At the North gate we re-entered the city and strolled through the narrow cobbled streets and through the municipal fish and meat market back to where we had started and with no improvement in the weather looked for somewhere suitable for a later than usual first drink of the day. We came across a charming and traditional little bodega squeezed into the walls of the city in between two high towers and once inside found a table and ordered some drinks and were delighted to find that when they arrived they were accompanied by complimentary plates of tapas.

Spain, Palacio de Los Velada in Ávila

Having finished our tour of El Escorial we left and returned to the town of Guadarrama passing for a second time the Valley of the Fallen but this time not trying to make an uninvited appearance and then we took the quick route underneath the mountain via a tunnel rather than over the top and then a toll motorway towards the city of Ávila where we would be staying at the four star Palacio de Los Velada hotel.

Kim and I had stayed here before on a previous trip and it was so good we had wished it had been for longer than the one night stop over so we were pleased to be returning now for a longer stay. We parked the car in an underground car park outside the city walls and walked to the hotel which is in a perfect location right in the City’s Cathedral Square and we checked into our rooms.

It was about six o’clock and we needed some alcohol that was cheaper tan the mini-bar selection so while the others settled in I left the hotel in search of a mini-market. I walked an awful long way in an unsuccessful pursuit because although there were shops of all types inside and outside the walls I simply couldn’t find what I was looking for. I had almost given up all hope and was returning to the hotel and the overpriced mini-bar when I chanced upon a tiny grocery store and inside there were a few cans of the Spanish beer Mahou and some cartons of cheap red wine which I snapped up and took back to the room.

Where there was a shock in store because there was the most awful racket coming from somewhere in the hotel which filled the room with loud invasive music which made it impossible to relax. Kim went to complain and came back with the good news that the hotel would move us and she had inspected a quieter room in a different part of the hotel so we packed our bags, exchanged the room keys and transferred to the alternative room which just so happened to be on the next floor directly above the first room and, as it turned out, just as noisy, which I found extremely amusing and gave me a good laugh at her expense.

Later we met in the hotel lounge which was the old Palace open courtyard but covered now and laid out with white furniture on a black and white tiled floor and with the two storeys of the hotel surrounding it on all four sides but with running balconies making it feel open and spacious. We stayed for a drink or two and then rejecting the expensive hotel restaurant walked out into the streets in search of somewhere to eat.

It was quite cool outside because Ávila is over a thousand metres above sea level and is the highest provincial capital in Spain. It is built on the flat summit of a rocky hill, which rises abruptly in the midst of a wilderness; a brown, arid, treeless table-land, strewn with immense grey boulders, and shut in on all sides by lofty mountains and this produces an extreme climate with very hard and long winters and relatively short summers.

Wandering through the main squares and back streets there were a number of places to choose from and we eventually agreed on a quiet place tucked into a corner of a small square where the staff seemed pleased to see us because I think we were the first customers of the evening. The food was adequate but not especially thrilling but at least we got through it without any dining disasters (no sea food nasties or that sort of thing) and when we had finished there were complimentary local liqueurs, which I always find very hospitable and then on account of an early start and a very long day we went back to the Palacio de Los Velada for a last drink and an early night.

Spain, El Escorial

El Escorial was bigger than I imagined it would be and when we arrived we had to drive around for a while looking for a car park until we eventually found one quite close to the Monastery. It was early afternoon and everyone was quite hungry so instead of going immediately to the tourist sites we looked for somewhere to eat instead. We found a little café bar with a terrace overlooking the Palace and sat outside and ordered beer and snacks and sat for a while and enjoyed the sunshine.

The Palace at El Escorial was built by King Philip II, who, reacting to the Protestant Reformation sweeping through Europe during the sixteenth century, devoted much of his lengthy forty-two reign and much of his seemingly inexhaustible supply of New World gold to stemming the Protestant tide. He ran his Spanish seaborne Empire which stretched from the Netherlands and southern Italy to North Africa, Latin America and the Philippines from his complex at El Escorial which was designed as a monument to Spain’s role as a centre of the Catholic Christian world.

Since then, El Escorial has been the burial site for most of the Bourbon and Hapsburg Spanish kings of the last five centuries and the Royal Pantheon contains the tombs of the Holy Roman Emperor, Charles V (who ruled Spain as King Charles I), Philip II, Philip III, Philip IV, Charles II, Louis I, Charles III, Charles IV, Ferdinand VII, Isabella II, Alfonso XII, and Alfonso XIII. In 1984, UNESCO declared The Royal Site of San Lorenzo of El Escorial a World Heritage Site and more than half a million visitors come here every year to visit the place.

On every visit to Spain I seem to be visiting a World Heritage Site so when I counted them up I was interested to discover that I have been to sixteen and that is over a third of them. In 2005 I visited Barcelona and saw the works of Antoni Gaudi. Then in 2008 I saw the historic centre of Córdoba, the caves of Altamira in Cantabria, the old town of Santiago de Compostela and the Cathedral, and Alcázar in Seville. In 2009 on the motoring holiday around Castilian cities I visited Segovia and its Aqueduct, the hanging houses of Cuenca, the historic city of Toledo and the old walled city of Ávila.

Even before I knew anything about World Heritage Sites it turns out that I have visited two more in the days of my beach type holidays, although when I went to these places neither of them were yet on the list. In 1988 I holidayed on the island of Ibiza which was accepted onto the list in 1999 in recognition of its biodiversity and culture and in the following year I went to Tenerife and took a cable car ride to the top of Mount Tiede, a national park that was accepted to the list in 2007. I have also visited Benidorm but for some reason that hasn’t yet made the list.

Even though they weren’t World Heritage Sites at the time I visited them I am still going to count them but the final two might be a bit dubious but anyway here goes. In 1984 while driving back through Spain from Portugal I drove with friends through the city of Burgos which was accepted in that year because of its Cathedral, and in Galicia in 2008 while visiting Santiago de Compostela I managed to drive over parts of the Pilgrim Route, which exists on the list separately from the old city itself.

After our late lunch we made our way to the complex of El Escorial which has been described as ‘the oppressive monument of the first totalitarian state in Europe’ and ‘the mausoleum of Spanish power’ and although the expansive courtyard was bathed in afternoon sunshine the grey building did indeed appear cold, vast and imposing and it was easy to see how this dull monolithic exterior came to represent Castilian military virility and the expression of religious might and it certainly wasn’t as handsome as the other Royal Palaces that we have visited at San Ildefonso, Madrid and Arunjuez.

It was too late to visit the interior so we made do with a walk around the outside and a peek into the precisely manicured gardens at the rear. It wasn’t too busy today but on the way out a Spanish man began a conversation with us in perfect English but with a distinctly Teutonic accent. He told us he was a solicitor and originally from Bilbao so I suppose that makes him a Basque rather than a Spaniard but he told us he lived in El Escorial now and he gave us some sightseeing suggestions for our short stay.

Spain, Manzanares El Real

The roads were clear and we made uninterrupted progress around the M40 ring road and then turned north towards our first destination of Manzanares El Real and as we began to steadily climb into the mountains towards the Regional Park Cuenca Alta de Manzanares the cloud began to thin and fairly soon we were through it and the sky was clear and the temperature leapt several degrees to something closer to what we were expecting. We climbed to one thousand three hundred metres and the mountain tops ahead and to the east had a dusting of snow, the harbinger of the winter which can see several metres fall here with villages and towns regularly being cut off.

Eventually we arrived in Manzanares and parked in a dusty car park directly below the huge medieval castle sat on an outcrop of rock that we had driven here to see. But it was lunchtime now and time for a drink so before tackling the steps to the fortress we walked into town and found a pavement bar with outside tables in the warm sunshine and we stopped for a while to enjoy the winter sun. The last trip away was to Marrakech in Morocco where it was almost impossible to buy a beer because of the strict Muslim rules on alcohol so it was good to be back in Spain where there are no such problems and I enjoyed a cool refreshing cerveza!

After the break we walked through the languid square where little groups of men in flat caps and berets were congregating and debating the issues of the day and women were shopping in the small stores around the perimeter. They don’t get many English tourists here, especially in November, so I think one or two of them were surprised to see us as they went about their daily routine.

We found the entrance to the castle and paid our €4 fee (€2 for Christine because she is of a certain age) and then made our way inside through the main gate. The castle has been restored of course, most recently by the Comunidad de Madrid in the 1970s, because only a few years ago it wasn’t in very good shape at all and I guessed that what we were seeing was what Belmonte castle will look like when it too has been restored. I mention this because last year we were in Belmonte in Castilla La-Mancha where some scenes from the film El Cid were shot but the castle was closed at the time and there were some claims here in Manzanares that this too was a location for some of the filming.

Inside the main building we followed a route through a succession of restored rooms with displays of armour and medieval bric-a-brac of dubious originality and then out onto the battlements and turrets at the very top of the building. To the north there were the snowy peaks of the mountains and to the south a stunning view over the Embalse de Santillana which is a recent addition to the landscape of course so wouldn’t have been there in the middle-ages for the occupants of the castle to enjoy at that time. Santillana reservoir, also known as the reservoir of Manzanares el Real, has an area of over a thousand hectares when full, is thirty kilometres long and is a stunning compliment to the natural landscape. The first dam was built in 1907 but this was replaced by a new one in 1969 which at forty metres high doubled the storage capacity of the reservoir.

When we had finished with the castle we left Manzanares and headed for our next stop on the itinerary, the Royal Palace and Monastery at El Escorial, a journey of about twenty kilometres. It was about now that we began to regret the BMW upgrade because this turned out to be a dubious benefit on account of the fact that it was so darned uncomfortable. The bucket seats were narrow, there was little leg or head room and getting in and out was a serious challenge. The suspension was as hard as iron and the driving position was cramped and difficult. In the back the three girls were squashed together because this car is really not designed for five people and we all agreed that we wished we had the Volkswagen. I know it sounds ungrateful but next time I will specify no upgrade to a BMW thank you very much!

Spain, The Search Continues

Since early 2009, as part of our own Grand Tour of Europe, we have been drawn time and again to the Iberian Peninsula in search of the real Spain and in November 2010 we returned once more, flying to Madrid and planning a short three night stay in the city of Ávila about one hundred kilometres north west of the capital city.

Spain was not, generally, part of the traditional European Grand Tour and until the twentieth century only caught the attention of the braver or more rugged of travellers and writers. For many it was too primitive, too mountainous and just too dangerous, prone to violent upheavals, inhospitable weather and without acceptable restaurants or decent amenities. ‘To travel in Spain you need three francs a day and a gun’ said one Frenchman who accompanied Alexander Dumas on a mid nineteenth century trip to the peninsular. For the sons and daughters of the English Aristocracy Spain did not have the sophisticated allure of France, the Renaissance treasures of Italy or even the ancient charm of Greece and very few people ever considered crossing the Pyrenees into a land perceived to be full of fanatical Jesuit priests and lurid tales of bandits and cut-throats.



What a pity because, as I have now discovered over the past two years, they were passing up on the opportunities of marvelling at Baroque Seville, the Hanging Houses of Cuenca, the walled fortresses of Ávila and Ciudad Rodrigo, the historic cities of Toledo and Salamanca, the numerous Royal Palaces that surround Madrid and the rich heritage of Roman and Moorish Spain with the largest remaining Roman aqueduct at Segovia and what was once the second largest Mosque in the World at Cordoba.

Right up until the 1950s Spain was considered to be a place for the courageous because it was different and mysterious with a hostile geography, haughty aristocratic grandees and destitute peasants, Romany gypsies and blood thirsty customs. Travellers and visitors were often inclined not to regard it as part of Europe at all and it was often considered, on account of its Moorish heritage, dark skinned people and unfamiliar customs, as part of Africa or of the east. The Spanish themselves understood this perception of their peninsular and in the 1960s “Spain is different“ used to be the slogan of Spain’s international tourism campaign.

Sadly, even today, for many, Spain means only a fortnight’s karaoke holiday spread out on the golden sands of the Costas with a bottle of sun cream and a jug of sangria without any real attempt to understand the geography, the history or the culture of the country. But for those with imagination and an appetite for an experience of real Spain then the airports of Valladolid, Seville, Santander and Madrid are the places to begin a quest to find the Spain of the shrines, the Spain of the Knights-errant, the Spain of the Mosques, castles and mighty cathedrals as well as the Spain of the real castanet clicking flamenco dancers, Spanish guitars and matadors and bull fights as opposed to the ersatz versions of the holiday resorts.

The Easyjet plane flew over the Spanish coast at Santander and we could see the snow capped Picos de Europa Mountains soaring majestically through the low cloud which then immediately closed in and smothered northern Spain and Castilla y Leon completely. The land was completely obscured from view breaking only over the peaks of the Sierra Guadarrama and briefly revealing mountain towns and villages, rivers and shimmering blue reservoirs. A few minutes later around mid morning we landed in a misty Madrid where the temperature was struggling to reach double figures and after the formalities of border control went straight to the Sixt car rental desk.

Since my complaint about Sixt and winter tyre charges in Germany earlier this year I have been in regular correspondence with the Company Customer Services Manager for the UK and this led to the issue of a Sixt platinum account which gives me certain privileges such as discounted prices, speedy pick up service and on this occasion an upgrade from a Volkswagen to a BMW and we were delighted when we took possession of a shiny white 1 series, left the airport and pointed it in the direction of the mountains and the sunshine.

Cantabria, Liendo and a Festival

So after leaving Castilla y Leon we re-entered Euskadi and then left it just as quickly again as the road sign announced that we were back in Cantabria. The green valley was picturesque without being dramatic and for a time we could have been in the Yorkshire Dales or the Lincolnshire Wolds until we drove through the town that was busy today with a cattle market and horse auction that was attracting lots of people in from the surrounding countryside. We didn’t stop but drove through the middle of all the excitement and after a while were back in Euskadi and then after another short while back in Cantabria where we followed directions to Ampuero and then once again to Laredo.

As we had already seen the seaside end of the town, and the weather wasn’t really suitable for the beach anyway, this time we parked at the other end of the town at the historical centre and walked in. We were looking for somewhere to eat and another of Marta’s recommendations and we followed the road from the Town Hall into the back of the town looking for the bar El Tunel. Marta’s directions were perfect and when we found it we agreed that this was a sitting indoors sort of day so squeezed past the pavement tables and went inside.

The bar was laid out with an assortment of pinchos and we made some choices as the staff tried hard to be helpful with explanations, all in Spanish of course, and it really didn’t matter really what they were because they all looked delicious; and so they were so we had a good selection and a couple of beers and thoroughly enjoyed our late lunch.

When we left the bar we were surprised to find that the sun was out, the clouds were gone and the temperature had more or less doubled. It was shirt sleeve weather now so we took the opportunity to explore the cobbled back streets of the town. Laredo old town was declared a Historic Site in 1970 and is the original town centre dating from the Middle Ages and it still preserves remains of its old original walls. It consists of a network of small streets and large stately houses from the sixteenth to the eighteenth centuries and at the highest part of the town the Gothic parish church of Santa María de la Asunción where there had been a wedding earlier but was firmly locked and closed now.

With the sun on full power we thought it would be nice to go back to the Posada and sit in the garden so we drove back, stopping at a petrol filling station on the way back to buy some beer and wine and after taking a detour to a disappointing viewing platform just outside the village arrived back in Liendo at about four o’clock.

It was delightful in the privacy of the private garden and we drank some wine, played some cards and chatted to a solo traveller from the Netherlands who had just arrived and we just simply enjoyed being in a tranquil environment surrounded by flowers, listening to bird songs and virtually watching the grass grow and a day that began requiring raincoats ended needing sunscreen.

As the sun dipped behind a tree we slipped into the shade we thought we might move the table back into the sun so we took one end each, lifted and selected a new spot and began to lower into position. We lowered and lowered and then lowered a bit more and when we were clearly closer to the ground than we really should be it eventually dawned on us that we only had the table top and not the table legs because the two parts were not attached so we had to return to the original position and hope that no one had seen our little moment of pantomime.

Later we returned to El Roble for a final dinner, choose badly off the menu and had a lamb meal we didn’t enjoy. The owner realised this and although it was our own fault insisted on only charging us half for the meal. We thought that was nice.

After dinner we returned to the village where the festival was in full swing and people in the square were listening and dancing to a group singing Spanish pop songs and we just had to join in. The local people seemed to like this and invited us to join them in their group dancing routines that seemed straight forward enough in a barn dance jigging sort of way and we spent half an hour or so being a part of the community of Liendo. It was a good finish to the day and as we returned to the hotel under clear skies we were optimistic about the next day.

Salamanca and Valladolid

We arrived in the UNESCO World Heritage city of Salamanca just after midday, easily slipped into an underground car park and made our way into the city. On every visit to Spain I seem to be visiting a new World Heritage Site so when I counted them up I was interested to discover that I have now been to sixteen and that is over a third of them. In 2005 I visited Barcelona in Catalonia and saw the works of Antoni Gaudi and Palau de la Música Catalana and the Hospital de Sant Pau. Then in 2008 I saw the Historic Centre of Córdoba, the Caves of Altamira in Cantabria, the Old Town of Santiago de Compostela and the Cathedral, Alcázar and Archivo de Indias in Seville. In 2009 in the motoring holiday around Castilian cities I visited the Old Town of Segovia and its Aqueduct, the Historic Walled Town of Cuenca, the Historic City of Toledo and the Old Town of Ávila.

It was still misty even though the sun was struggling to break through and we walked through cobbled streets and buildings of rich caramel coloured Villamayor stone directly to the centre of the city. Then around the University buildings and visited the public library and after that the centre of the city and the inevitable Plaza Mayor where because it was too chilly to sit at a pavement café groups of men were wandering around deep in conversation discussing the important matters of the day. It was a good Plaza, not the best, but still worth a visit and when we had finished admiring it we left through a stone arch and looked for a bar and somewhere for lunch and we found what we were looking for just outside the square so stopped for tapas and a beer.

As we ate an old lady passed by selling sprigs of rosemary and I didn’t know why until later when I looked it up. Rosemary, apparently, is widely thought to be a powerful guardian and to give power to women and is therefore it is used by many people to ward off evil in the home and bring good guck in family Matters. If I had known this at the time I might have bought some to see if it might improve the weather because the mist wasn’t shifting when we left and went to visit the cathedral.

I should say cathedrals because Salamanca has two, an old one and a new one that are joined together into one massive structure. We paid €3.50 each for tickets to visit and then commenced a tour of the towers and the balconies that involved an awful lot of spiral staircases. It was a spectacular building and well worth the money but it was a pity about the weather because the drab overcast sky and persistent patches of mist spoilt what would certainly have been spectacular views from the top.

After the visit we returned to the streets and walked to the 1st Century Roman Bridge across the River Tormes, which was flowing west towards the Embalse de Almendra that we had visited yesterday and then we abandoned Salamanca to the mist and returned to the car.
Leaving the city we joined the Autovia de Castilla for the one hundred and twenty kilometre journey back to Valladolid. It was too early to go straight back to the airport so shortly after crossing the Douro for the final time and as we were passing it seemed impolite not to visit the city so we left the motorway and headed for the centre. Valladolid is a sprawling industrial city, the tenth largest in Spain and does not feature on many tourist itineraries even though it was the city where Christopher Columbus spent his last years and died. For a big city there was surprisingly little traffic and we followed signs to the centre and the Plaza Mayor and made our way to a convenient underground car park right below the main square.

It was late afternoon and predictably after failing to make an appearance all day the sun was breaking through now and this was good because the expansive Plaza was really very attractive and all decorated and carefully colour coordinated in various complimentary shades of crimson red and the sun settling down low in the west made the whole place feel warm and hospitable. There was just time to walk the main shopping street, admire some fine art nouveau buildings and have a snack and a drink in a café in the Plaza before it was time to go and return to the airport. We felt a bit rude leaving so quickly but if we fly again to Valladolid we shall pay it the courtesy of staying longer.

Back at the airport we returned the car, Kim thrashed me at cards again while we waited for departure, the flight was on time and soon we were back in the United Kingdom and on our way home and as we drove along the M11 and A14 we reflected on what had been three excellent November days in Castilla y Leon.

Sierra de Francia in the Gredos Mountains

Actually as it turned out it would have been a whole lot better if the wind had continued to blow because when we woke in the morning there was a thick mist and the city was completely obscured from view from the hotel windows. It was all rather spooky but above it we could make out pale blue sky so this made us more confident than we really had a right to be about the day.

After breakfast it was still misty so we were forced to abandon our plans to return to Ciudad Rodrigo for blue-sky photographs and set off instead to visit the historical city of Salamanca. Because it was earlier than we had anticipated we decided to take a scenic route rather than the direst Autovia de Castilla. Leaving the city for the last time we took the road signposted towards Béjar in a southeasterly direction towards the Gredos mountains and in particular the Sierra de Francia, one of the ranges belonging to the Sistema Central, the mountain range that separates Spain in two.

At first the road was long and straight as it cut through a flat landscape of livestock farms and woods that were slowly beginning to emerge from the swirling mists of a November morning. As we drove through a succession of quiet towns the sun began to poke through and the sky started to turn blue. After a while we hit the edge of a national park with pine covered mountain slopes and then deciduous woods of alder, oak, pine and ash in splendid autumn finery that made it look like a field of gold. The road became more difficult as we entered a series of hairpin bends with glorious views over the valleys and mountain passes below.

I had miscalculated the driving distance towards our turn for Salamanca and we seemed to keep going forever but the journey and the scenery was magnificent and another valuable Spanish geography lesson. Eventually we reached the road juction we were heading for and turned northeast towards Salamanca. At first the road continued to twist and turn but after a few kilometres we dropped quickly back down to open range and the agricultural plain and started to pick up speed and make good progress.

We drove through fields of grazing avileña negra ibérica cattle, jet black and with nasty looking horns and occassional blanca cacereña, white and apparantly endangered but good meat. Flocks of sheep enjoying good quality grazing grass and oak planations with Black Iberian Pigs gorging themselves on acorns in preparation for being turned into the Spanish gastro speciality Jamón ibérico. We were enjoying good weather now but after about thirty kilometres we ran into a thick bank of fog that blotted out the sun and didn’t shift all the way into Salamanca.

Arribes del Douro y Águeda National Park

In the morning there was a huge improvement in the weather and as we sat by ourselves in the breakfast room sunlight flooded in through the large windows so we finished quickly so that we could start our drive north towards the glacial lakes of the Zamora Province.

To begin with we took a long straight road from Ciudad Rodrigo towards the town of Lumbrales and we scanned the sky nervously as it changed frequently from clear blue to patchy cloud to overcast and back again. Once through the unremarkable little town we entered the Arribes del Douro y Águeda National Park and although the road was straight we were climbing steadily all of the time and eventually we found ourselves in an elevated position above the clouds and that is the first time I can remember doing that since I went to the top of Mount Teide in 1989 on the island of Tenerife. Eventually we arrived in the border town of La Fregenada and then the road descended quickly and steeply through a succession of hairpin bends down towards the Douro and the border with Portugal. The scenery was dramatic as we clung to the side of the mountain and dropped into the bottom of the narrow river valley and once at the bottom crossed the Águeda into Portugal at the same place as it flowed into the Douro.

We drove into the Portuguese town of Barca de Alva and turned north to follow the river on the edge of the National Park. The sun was shining now and the river looked splendid as it reflected the golden yellow of the last of the leaves clinging to the trees and we followed a twisting road for a few kilometres stopping every so often to admire the views. For one hundred and twelve kilometres the river forms part of the national border between Spain and Portugal and is a region of steeply sloping mountains and narrow canyons making it an historical barrier for invasions and a linguistic dividing line between two nations. This was a scenic and dramatic part of the journey, across the river in Spain the river valley was heavily wooded, green and verdant but on the Portuguese side it was carefully managed with fields of olive trees and vines for growing grapes for port wine.

The Douro is one of the most important rivers of the peninsula and has been regularly dammed to provide hydro electricity for both Spain and Portugal. After about fifteen kilometres we arrived at one of these the Barragem de Saucelle and crossed over it back into Spain stopping at a tourist information centre that was glad to see someone and asking for directions along the way. The dam forms part of the hydroelectric system known as the Duero Drops, along with the Castro, Ricobayo, Suacelle and Villalcampo dams of Spain, and the Bemposta, Miranda and Picote dams of neighbouring Portugal.

From the river their was a long climb to the top of the ravine using long raking hairpin bends with magnificent views at every twist and then once at the top the road levelled out and we took a direct route through the National Park towards the town of Saucelle. This was different again, with lush green fields, wild animals and dry stonewalls that made it reminiscent of the Peak District or Bodmin Moor. After Saucelle we continued to Barruecopardo where we thankfully came across a tiny garage and bought some fuel and then struck north again through the park heading for the river and the lakes.

We drove a long time without finding either through a succession of dusty little towns that weren’t expecting visitors at this time of the year and the men on street corners watched with interest as we threaded our way along the route towards our objective. We drove through the towns of Trabanca and Almendra and caught glimpses of water through the trees but it was clear that the water level was very low and there were lots of fields that should be submerged but instead were green and lush and strewn with boulder debris and interesting rock formations.

A Washout in Portugal

It was only a short journey along the Autovia de Castilla and within half an hour we were crossing the border into Portugal. We hadn’t brought our passports with us but this wasn’t a problem and at the border checkpoint we were waved through by the border guards who were more interested in the freight lorries that were passing through. We were heading for the city of Guarda, about thirty kilometres away, but the closer we got the worse the weather became and by the time we arrived the city was completely obscured by grey clouds and drenching rain so we carried on by and continued our drive through a gloriously wooded ravine with spectacular views on both sides. We were heading for the town of Covilhã but as this is one of the highest towns in all of Portugal there was no sign of any improvement in the weather as we drove into the clouds and we really didn’t fancy wandering around in the rain so we turned the car around and returned to Spain.

As we approached the border the weather started to improve and as we crossed through the clouds opened like curtains and shards of sunlight broke through again and for a few kilometres we drove in bright sunshine again and we were pleased to see the black disappearing in the rear view mirror as we returned to Ciudad Rodrigo. On the way we stopped at a curious roadside supermarket, which turned out not to have the things we really wanted but did have an interesting section selling rifles and ammunition.

The sun didn’t last long and when we returned the sky was a milky white and it was quite cool so a little later than planned we looked for somewhere for lunch. This wasn’t easy because it was mid afternoon siesta time so there was not a lot of choice but we found a small place down a side street that was still open where we had some tapas dishes and a cerveza.

After lunch we walked around the honey coloured streets but we had to concede that the fine weather had given up for the day and with cloud thickening all the time in what was becoming a very dreary sky we returned to the hotel where we had a drink in the bar, Kim thrashed me at cards and watched a massive rain storm that made us glad to be inside.

For evening meal we went to the Hotel Conde Rodrigo. It wasn’t open at eight o’clock when we arrived and they told us to come back in half an hour. It didn’t look very busy and I think they rather hoped that we either wouldn’t bother or alternatively would find somewhere else instead. But we weren’t going to be put off that easily so after a drink in the Plaza Mayor we returned and were indeed the only customers in the place. We were glad however that we hadn’t been diverted because the hotel served an excellent menu del dia and at a very reasonable price.

In the night it rained heavily again and there was a dramatic electrical storm and in the early hours of the morning we were worried that prospects didn’t look good for the next day.

Ciudad Rodrigo

As a consequence of a severe Atlantic storm we woke to a hissing wind and dark scowling clouds that the mountains of Portugal had failed to detain storming in from the west. It was mean and moody but there was no rain so that was a bonus. From the hotel balcony it was possible to appreciate just what a land of contrasts Spain really is. This was about as far away from the traditional view of Spain of the holiday brochures as it is possible to get and it was different to from our visit the previous month to Castilla-la Mancha. Here we were getting close towards green Spain in the north with more small farms, livestock, deciduous woods, fast flowing rivers and Portugal just twenty-five kilometres away, which was where we planned to visit later.

Breakfast was a simple affair and as we were the only people in the breakfast room it soon became clear that we were the only two guests in the hotel. Afterwards we dressed appropriately and took the walk alongside the river and into Ciudad Rodrigo. The sky was blue but filling up with dark purple clouds with occasional shafts of sunlight darting through. There was a spiteful wind that stung our ears and although it was a nice walk it was along a very muddy path and we were glad that we hadn’t attempted it last night in the dark.

The path took us along the Rio Águeda, which is a two hundred and fifty kilometre long river which begins to the south in the Sierra de la Mesas, near the Portuguese border and flows through Ciudad Rodrigo and after serving as the border with Portugal for its final few kilometres joins the Douro at Barca d'Alva to the north.

As we climbed the outside of the city walls the wind strengthened and thankfully scattered the black clouds somewhere towards Salamanca to the east and they were replaced with friendlier white cotton wool ball clouds that raced in to take their place. We entered the city through the western gate cut into the fortifications and entered a charming place overflowing with history and character.

This place reminded me of the Richard Sharpe stories of the Peninsular War. In January 1812 Ciudad Rodrigo was besieged by the British Army under Wellington and held out for two weeks before the French forces surrendered. Ciudad Rodrigo was strategically important because it guarded the northern route into Spain for an invading army but it was only a second class fortress with a ten metre high main wall built of inferior masonry, without flanks, and with weak parapets and narrow ramparts. After the fall of the city the Allied troops disgraced themselves by the wanton sacking of Ciudad Rodrigo when many homes were broken into, property vandalised or stolen, Spanish civilians of all ages and backgrounds killed or raped, and many officers were shot by the men they were trying to bring to order.

It was quiet enough today however and once inside the walls we walked to the castle, which predictably is now a Parador hotel, had a look inside and then walked around a part of the walls. A few spots of rain forced us down into the city, past the cathedral and into a tourist information office with the heating set to an unnecessary maximum and then on to the Plaza Mayor in the centre with its warm sandstone coloured buildings, metal balconies and traditional Spanish shops and bars around all four sides.

The weather was changing by the minute and after the little shower the sky was blue with clouds that had no time to stop and spoil it because they were driven away swiftly by the wind. It was nice enough to sit outside at a pavement café and have a drink while we planned what to do with the rest of the day. We hadn’t seen all of Ciudad Rodrigo but we decided to leave some for another day and feeling optimistic about the weather prospects decided to go to Portugal for lunch so we returned to the hotel to pick up the car.

Castilla y Leon

A few weeks after returning from Castilla-la Mancha to the south of Madrid we were returning to Spain and this time to Castilla y Leon to the north of the capital. We had been here in March this year to Ávila and Segovia but this time we were going further north and west, flying in to Valladolid and staying in the small city of Ciudad Rodrigo. We had been looking forward too this because Castilla y Leon is as far away from the coastal strip as it is possible to get and is home to half of Spain’s cultural heritage sites including seven UNESCO World Heritage Sites, over two hundred castles and eleven magnificent cathedrals. It is the birthplace of the Spanish language, which after Chinese and Hindi is the third most common language in the World just ahead of English.

We had a late morning flight and the plane took off into a crisp blue sky with scattered clouds over fresh green fields and autumn gold deciduous woods that looked as though they were lying under a generous sprinkling of brown sugar. As we flew south the clouds increased and there was nothing to see until we began to descend toward Valladolid where they began to break into various patchy fragments and below us we could see large colourful fields, russet, grey, cream and yellow broken now and again by bottle green forests, shimmering blue lakes and occasional villages with ochre tiled roofs.

Valladolid airport is only small with limited facilities but there was a sign apologising for this and promising imminent improvements. We collected a steel grey Seat Ibiza from the Avis rental car office and set off immediately on the two hundred-kilometre drive to Ciudad Rodrigo.

There were plenty of things to stop and see along the way but it was mid afternoon and we were in a hurry to get to our destination so we took the Autovia de Castilla and with virtually no traffic to share the road with had an easy journey all of the way. As it was Sunday and we worried about shops being open we stopped as soon as we could at a motorway service station and bought beer, wine and snacks and then carried on. We were crossing the Meseta, the great central plain of interior Spain, which at two hundred and ten thousand square kilometres makes up forty percent of the country and has an average altitude of six hundred and fifty metres. It is split in two by the Sistema Central, the Guadarrama and Gredos mountain ranges, creating Old Castile to the north (Castilla y Leon) and New Castile to the south (Castilla La Mancha). The northern 'submeseta' is the higher of the two at over eight hundred metres and coming from below sea level in Lincolnshire I worried that we might require oxygen cylinders.

After about half way we passed by Salamanca and we could see its golden coloured cathedrals standing proud and high above the city and after that the landscape began to change. We left behind the pretty coloured fields and entered a different environment of green fields and woodlands and more and more livestock. After a couple of hours of really enjoyable motoring we came to Ciudad Rodrigo, which is the last city in Spain before reaching Portugal, a fortress city built to protect the western border of the country and as we approached we could see the walled city and its fortifications standing on a rocky outcrop in a commanding defensive position.

I knew roughly where the hotel Molina de Águeda was and as we kept an eye open for directions Kim had another navigational fluke and spotted a half hidden sign that signposted our destination. As we pulled into the car park there were a few spots of rain but it came to nothing and there were blue skies above us as we unloaded the car and went inside to reception. It was a very nice hotel indeed located in an old water mill on the river Agueda, elegantly refurbished and surrounded by woods and we had a good room on the front with a nice view of the river and the old city about a kilometre away.

http://www.hotelmolinodelagueda.com/

We rested for an hour, drank the beer and wine and nibbled on the snacks and then prepared to go out for evening meal. We debated whether to walk or drive and decided that driving was the preferred option so drove into the town and being unfamiliar with the street layout made a couple of attempts at parking before finally stopping and walking through one of the city gates into the old town.

It was a pleasant evening, not cold, but the sort of temperature when local people need to put on a coat, hat and scarf but shirt sleeve weather for those of us from northern Europe with thicker blood. We needn’t have worried about finding somewhere to eat because there was plenty of choice and the place was really busy with families out for a Sunday night on the town. We found a lively tapas bar where everyone was watching the ‘You’ve been framed’ bullfighting show that we had seen last month in Chinchón and the place was really hectic. We were the only overseas visitors in the place but we didn’t feel uncomfortable and we found a table and ordered food. Unfortunately they were so busy that they made a mistake with the order and we only got half of it but it didn’t matter, we weren’t especially hungry anyway and at least it made it a cheaper night out.