The Valley of the Fallen

The monument, known as “El Valle de los Caidos” in Spain, was constructed by Franco not long after the end of the Spanish Civil War. He said it was meant to be a national act of atonement and reconciliation for the lives lost in the war.

It is located about 30 miles north of Madrid, and only a few of minutes from our campsite. We pay the small entrance fee at the main road and drive the 4 miles up to the car park. First observation is that it’s clearly not a valley: we’re 3,000 feet up near the top of a hill! On the hill summit, noticeable for miles around, is a 500 foot cross, the tallest commemorative cross in the world.

We follow a path around the rocks to the basilica, a huge Catholic church hewn out of solid rock under the cross. Before entering, we take in the scale of the external edifice and its stark grandeur. It is the style known as international classicism that was also favoured by other dictators of Franco’s era.

 Just to appreciate the size of it, that’s Jane stood by one of the columns.

Over the door is a Pietà, based on Michelangelo’s in the St Peter’s, Rome, but here Mary looks more like the Grim Reaper from a distance.

We step inside. It’s vast; the excavated dimensions are larger than St Peter’s but to avoid any conflict a large unconsecrated area was partitioned off at the entrance. It took over 18 years to build and according to some sources employed some forced and prison labour. No photos allowed inside so the next few pictures are sourced from the internet.

The following photo is the altar, just visible at the far end in the above picture.

The remains of 40,000 Civil War victims of both sides are interred in the monument. In fact, the only person buried here that did not die in the war is Franco himself. His tomb is the other side of the altar cross in the previous photo. Although the Catholic rules allow him to be buried here because he promoted the construction of the building, public outcry has resulted in his imminent reburial in Madrid this June.

A most imposing but rather severe impression was left by the basilica. However, there were gentler places like this garden.

We’re not done yet! There’s a monastery, too, built in the same style. The cloisters have that same powerful military look, something the Templars would have been comfortable with.

The monastery buildings on the far side of the square seem less dominating. Perhaps it’s the forest background.

The monastery is positioned on the other side of the hill hollowed out for the basilica and, it would appear from the door in the photo, it punches right through. That cross looks even more imposing from this side, if that’s at all possible.

There is no doubt that the Valley has immense presence, but it has been the centre of controversy since Franco’s death in 1975 as more representing Franco’s victory than an even-handed memorial to the loss of life during the Civil War (1936-39).

A thoroughly interesting experience.

Out and About

Not all activities merit a separate blog so this final entry is a hotch-potch of things we’ve done that are hopefully worth a few words and photos.

To start with, the amazing wind-blown sandstone shapes of Bol Nuevo. Two photos of these natural sculptures follow, with people in for scale. The meerkat head shape just to the right of centre on the skyline has a crack on its “neck” so could topple soon a strong wind.

Bol Nuevo beach is also worth a picture as it’s wide and sandy: lovely for families. There’s also a campsite right on the beach. So why aren’t we staying there? Answer: small pitches and little privacy.

We often mention the town of Mazarron, but it’s actually two places separated by 5 miles of open country. There’s Mazarron town, and Mazarron  port. The port is closest to our campsite and contains the best shopping anyway. It’s also got some great bays, for example:

The port has a huge Sunday market. I can’t claim to be a fan of markets but this market has the best churros ever. These are deep-fried flour based savouries. This is what they look like, in the pack on the table.

Mazarron town isn’t that exciting, just another Spanish town, but there are some nice views looking at the town in its setting.

But how do you get nice views on a walk on a drizzly day? Surprisingly, some did pass muster. Changing this snap to monochrome seemed to reflect the day really appropriately.

The zig-zag path to then descend to sea level was interesting- bear in mind this was used as a vehicular road.

The last one dull day photo: the military road, connecting the gun batteries with a landing stage where supplies were brought in. The road finishes about 10 metres above sea level and there’s no sign of a jetty. Either it’s been washed away or they’d be waiting for a high tide of tsunami proportions!

From drizzle to torrential rain over Easter. This is the kind of sky we saw between deluges.

The aftermath of the storms saw great channels gouged out of the earth, gravel and dirt roads.

Occasionally you look at something and wonder. Why would you put a pedestrian crossing from a pavement on one side straight into a wall? Rudi’s nipping along before he’s crushed by a passing vehicle- and it’s a busy road.

We’re on the move in a few days to El Escorial north of Madrid. A most enjoyable time spent here as usual. More blogs to follow.

The Mines of Mazarron

Mining in this region has a long history stretching back to the Phoenicians in the 3^rd century BC. It was afterwards an important mining area for the Romans. Documentary evidence of mining operations in Mazarron dates from 1587. By 1840 there were more than 200 shafts here with production peaking between the 1860’s and 1940’s. Mining ceased in 1969.

That’s a tiny potted history. When the mining companies packed up in 1969 they took the contents and equipment of value and left all the rest, now at least 50 years old and falling steadily into decay.

We’re here not to try and explain how it all operated – and impossible task for us- but to marvel at the scale of it all and the colours of the spoil heaps and standing water that reflect the different minerals mined here: lead, zinc, silver, copper & iron. The rough entrance road gives an idea of what’s on offer, with the spoil heaps to the right of the road.

The road soon leads us to a group of partially ruined buildings looking like an abandoned village, which in a way it is.

 This structure could be mistaken for an ancient temple.

Hazards to watch out for are pits. The one below is about 10 metres deep and has an attractive yellow sludge in the bottom.

Now here’s a bit of mining kit we all recognise- a pit head. You need to watch out as it’s falling to pieces. The shaft is still there although partially blocked.

And this complex is like a medieval castle film set.

With a bastion wall.

Here’s the incredible changing puddle. From this angle it’s definitely red, against a striking backdrop of shades of yellow.

From another angle it’s now purple.

On a hill lies a ruin that’s a squared-off Stonehenge lookalike. Perhaps mining here has a longer heritage than we thought!

But we keep coming back to the huge spoil heaps. These are so colourful, and a suitable place to end our visit.

Bullas and Wine

Our friends Jan and Marjon who live here permanently are taking us to Bullas, a town that lends its name to one of the three Denominación de Origen (DO) wine regions in Murcia. This is the equivalent of the French Appellation d’Origine Contrôlée (AOC) and is meant to signify wines of superior quality, i.e. those you don’t clean your paint brushes in.

We’re visiting Bullas to check out its wine heritage, and start at the Tourist Information Office that is also the wine museum. When we arrive, there’s a power cut in progress and much apologising from the information desk as we can’t therefore do the museum tour. But luck is with us and electricity is restored even as the info lady is apologising.

The tour starts with a presentation of the Bullas DO region and its natural suitability for producing high quality wine. A film in an adjacent room shows mystic wine-associated images from the region. Bullas produced everyday wine until the 1980’s when new wineries with modern equipment justified the DO status in 1994.

The real meat of the museum is downstairs in the original early 19^th century cellars of the Melgares de Aguilar family. We descend.

A display shows artefacts connected with wine culture in past ages, including the iconic Roman statue of the “Child of the Grapes” visible in the above photo. However, the displays are mainly geared to showing how wine was produced when the cellar was functioning as part of the winery, and this is the most interesting part.

First job: pick the grapes. Then transport them to the floor above the cellar where they are crushed, originally by treading and pressing but latterly done mechanically. The grape juice then ran down pipes through the upstairs floor into channels in the cellar and was distributed into earthenware jars set in the cellar floor. The example below uses water.

There were 112 of these earthenware jars laid out as in the next photo giving the huge total capacity of 350,000 litres.

Finally, after 4 months fermentation, the wine was manually pumped out, some into oak casks that would give it a distinctive flavour.

After the museum we go the house of Don Pepe Marsilla in another part of town. This family owned the museum winery. The house dates from 1723, but was extensively updated in 1900 by Don Jose Marsilla. The house is preserved in its 1900 format with original décor and period (but not original) furnishings.

A guide takes us from the museum to the house which he unlocks especially for us; thereafter he hands over to the hi-tech installed guide system where the imagined voice of Don Blas Marsilla, Don Jose’s son, or the maid’s voice, describes each room and aspects of their lifestyle. They speak in beautiful Oxford English. We start in the study with Don Blas.

As the voice is pointing out features in the room, the lights dim and brighten to highlight those features. All very sophisticated, but it gives us photographers a problem because no sooner have you pointed the camera to take a shot when the lights go out. So the picture above looks like Don Blas needs to put another peseta (the currency at the time) in the meter.

The 1900 refurbishment owes much to the Modernist movement in Spain of that time. This corresponds to Art Nouveau elsewhere in Europe. The hall and staircase are an example.

However, the main bedroom still retains that heavy furniture look that could almost be Medieval. Hope the large cross hanging over his head is well secured to the wall.

The dining room is traditional with a highly decorated (modernist?) ceiling, barely visible in the photo. It is noticeable that, although the house is extensive, the rooms themselves are all quite small.

The most remarkable feature of the house for me was the flooring which I could relate to Art Nouveau I’d come across. Please note that I beat the light dimmer in this photo!

The house kitchen again wasn’t that grand or spacious, but a bit bigger than our caravan kitchen.

Back to the vino. The house had its own winery with a full-size wine press and the same earthenware jar fermenting arrangement as in the museum cellar.

There were racks of original drinking utensils, and basket and rope woven items. This next photo shows how they made rope-soled shoes. We’d call them espadrilles. The loose rope is on the floor, coiled up on the table and then shaped into a shoe sole. The canvas upper is stitched on and- bingo- a shoe for the servants or workers.

The commentary was at pains to describe the house servants as well looked after and happy. It seems that Don Jose’s son, Don Blas, was especially keen on employees’ welfare. This would be well above average treatment from  landowners of that day as Spain retained a basically medieval land ownership, i.e. in the hands of the gentry, that had never been modified by an industrial revolution, so many workers on the land were little more than serfs. This subsistence poverty drove Spanish workers increasingly towards left-wing politics which finally erupted in the Civil War of 1936.

The day opened a window into Spanish life Jane and I knew little about, and a lifestyle very different from the Costa economy we are familiar with. Thanks for a very interesting trip.

The Fridge Door Walk

This is a new walk for most of us, so we rely for directions on the confident recollections of one old hand who takes on the walk leadership.

We start by following a residential road parallel to the campsite. A friendly greeting from some pot-bellied pigs on the way, so worth a photo.

The road takes us onto scrubland at the back of the campsite from where we follow a pipeline. Presently we pass some bee hives. Thinks: good for a photo, but at that very instant we are attacked by the bees, and they mean business. We run as we try to brush them off, but are all stung. I have two stings on one ear and one on the other. But we’re all ok, throbbing a bit, but it maybe gives us a “we survived this ordeal together” bonding, and a tale to repeat at every opportunity.

But that mysterious title, the “Fridge Door Walk?” Well this is the fridge door and it marks the start of the walk proper. It doesn’t matter that it may not be a fridge door as the name is already set in stone.

Ever wondered what happens to the rejected tomatoes from all these plastic greenhouses? Look no further than these heaps dumped right by the fridge door. This is your golden chance to start up the ketchup factory you've always dreamed of.

And our leader’s happy: he spots a path, and off we go through the esparto grass. Walkers dislike esparto as the ears embed themselves in clothing and socks and then poke into your skin, scratching as you move.

It is soon apparent that the route we need is higher up so we climb through the undergrowth to reach it. Not bad going now we’re on it: there’s a steep gorge hidden in the shadows on the left in the next photo.

The track was no doubt constructed to service these agricultural terraces, next photo, in a previous age. It’s all overgrown now and hard to imagine how they managed to produce a crop yield worth having from this rough, rocky hillside with limited rain. 

Having passed the terraces, it’s about here that fortune deserts our leader- and by implication the rest of us. The path disappears. We head for a distant dirt road through scrub, now not just esparto grass but woody shrubs and thorn bushes. Like this.

The next photo is dead ordinary: a dirt road, and one we all knew. But what a welcome sight. Easy home from here.

We’ve collected some deep scratches to go with the bee stings and picky esparto ears. There are some great walks in this area but this isn’t one of them. Even without the hazards, we all agreed it wouldn’t have delivered much of interest. Super talking point though!