Sunday, July 28, 2013

Hysterical Tourism

As I mentioned in my last post on these pages, Tuesdays the folks here at the Centro des Estudiantes Vacceas in Padilla de Duero, where I am one of  six volunteers helping out at an archaeological dig, take us worker bees out for excursions.  It is part of what makes this such a well-rounded program for anyone interested in history, archaeology and culture.  Basically, they work us half to death in the sere heat of the Spanish Meseta Central for five days at a time[1], give us a day off on Mondays, then take us out to play the next day.  Frankly, Fearless Readers, I cannot think of a better way to spend a month in the summer.

The Atlantic Coast of Northern Spain.  Foggy but beautiful nonetheless.

La Primera Excursión: Romans and Royal Beaches

The first week we went north towards the coastal town of Santillana del Mar in the province of Cantabria in search of cool waters in which to bathe.  On the way, we stopped for a real
The villa at La Olmeda is now safely ensconced inside a
striking new building of which they are justly proud.  Tours
are well-organized, informative, and available in English and
some other languages.
treat for us archaeological groupies and wannabes: the extraordinarily well-preserved Roman villa at La Olmeda in the Province of Palencia.  This was once the 4th-5th century (CE) demesne of some Roman big shot in northern Spain who presided over what several of us decided was nothing less than a proto-feudalistic estate.  This part of Spain was known as the ‘breadbasket’ of the Roman Empire because of its fertile farmlands devoted to cereals, and therefore it attracted Romans to colonize the area, build huge latifundia, and make a mint exporting grain to the ever-voracious and restive Roman citizenry (‘bread and circuses’, remember).  As the empire was beginning to crumble from both internal rot and external threats, the remnants of Roman authority began to improvise some form of order out of the threatening chaos.  What we saw, I feel, was the germination of a new form of social-political organization: an economic unit comprised of a large estate run by a landowner ensconced in an impressive, elegant and luxurious house, who rented out land to tenant farmers to grow crops for local and export markets, and provided a small local security force to keep the peace.  The system seemed to work pretty well for a time, but frankly, it was downhill from there on out all over Europe.

Just one of the striking mosaic floors gracing the Roman villa of La Olmeda.
This one features mythological and hunting scenes.
(This is a good counter example for those who take for granted the idea that progress is linear and goes only one way – forward.  This villa had indoor plumbing, central heating, and used concrete extensively in its construction.  When European civilization collapsed – for that is exactly what happened after the fall of the Roman Empire – these innovations were lost for a millennia and a half.  The Romans even developed a form of concrete that hardened under water in order to construct seaports; this 2,000 year old technology has yet to be matched.  Ordinary folk had to create myths to explain the presence among them of these edifices which, even in ruins, they couldn’t fathom building themselves.  But I digress…).

Dining room with underfloor,
hypocaust heating.
Historical speculation aside (and, to be honest, that period of time is a bit hazy to me), what we saw way cool.  This was a site some unusually wise farmer discovered one day while doing some work on his land sometime in 1968.  I say he was wise because, against his own economic interests, he decided it would be neat to see if the pretty mosaic tile floor he had stumbled across amounted to anything and called some archaeologists in to take a gander.[2]  Sure enough, after some digging, and some more digging, over the years they uncovered mosaic floor after mosaic floor delineating the entrance, hallways, a huge formal reception hall, several dining rooms (one with under-floor heating called hypocausts – something we are only now getting around to emulating), and many whose function was up for speculation.  All of this surrounded an inner courtyard with a fountain supplied by water piped in underground.  In the back of the house was a large bath area with changing rooms, sauna, steam rooms, a ‘tepidarium’ with merely warm water pools next to the big hot 
Part of the facade of
the 12th C Colegiata de
Santillana del Mar.
Medieval Spanish
churches are built like
fortresses.
water bath.  It was all supplied with water piped in under the tile floors and heated by a nearby wood-burning furnace.  Very sumptuous indeed. 

After Las Olmedas, it was on through the Cantabrian mountains to the northern coast and a former royal spa town called Santillana.  Although it was very foggy, the coast was beautiful and the fine sand beaches were broad.  Some of us braved the cold Atlantic waters, including your Intrepid Traveler, and eventually the sun came out and we basked a bit and had lunch.  Afterwards there was some walking around the old historic district and thence to our last stop, La Altimeria caverns. with vibrant Paleolithic art on the walls and ceilings, this is Spain’s equivalent to the Lascaux caves in France.  Although the original cave is closed to the public now to conserve it, the replica they have built looks and feels real enough and it was well worth a trip. 

Thus our first excursion.  It was such a full day that we got back to the Center past 1:00 am; as a result, we were granted an 8:00 wake up for work the next day, rather than the usual 6:00.  Yay.


The Atlantic surf of the Cantabrian Coast at Santillana del Mar.  Though
it was cool-ish and foggy, some of us did venture into the water,
 including Your Intrepid Traveler

Aqueduct in Segovia.  Yes, the stupid arm gesture again...

La Segunda Excursión: More Romans and More Royals

Our second Tuesday excursion wasn’t quite as far-ranging geographically or temporally (no Paleolithic art this time round), but no less interesting and instructive.  We headed south towards the big central mountain range called the Sierra de Guadarrama.  There, perched in the foothills north of the mountains, a good 1,200 feet higher in elevation than Madrid to the south, lies the city of Segovia.  Thanks to its higher elevation and cool northern breezes, Segovia was a favorite place for the royalty and other notables of Madrid to summer.  They were not the first to realize this, however.  The Celtic Vacceans had a settlement here, and then the Romans made it a regional power center from which to control northern Spain.  It was so important for the Romans that they built a tremendous acqueduct to supply water to the
Segovia boasts two of my favorite things about
Europe.  Café Culture, and Really, Really
Old Architecture.
military camp they established there.  Construction of the aqueduct was begun under the Emperor Domitian (81-96 CE) and runs 11 miles to bring fresh, mountain spring water to the city.

(Another example of reverse-time.  The aqueduct is a marvel of engineering and is still studied today for its innovations.  Allowed to deteriorate during the middle ages – after all, who needs water piped into your house? – and partly destroyed by the Moors at any rate, it underwent restoration under Isabella and Ferdinand and then again in the 19th century.  With the Romans forgotten, medieval locals had to invent a myth about a young water-girl and Satan to explain the presence of this impressive piece of infrastructure.  But, again, I digress…). 

The city is built on a high prominence that is boat shaped – the broad stern is where the aqueduct enters the town, while the imposing Alcazar (citadel) dominates the prow of the ship and thereby the surrounding territory.  It has been fought over for millennia – the city was taken by the Moors and largely abandoned by its citizenry when the Umayyads invaded the Iberian Peninsula starting in 711 CE, then it was retaken in 1079 by King Alfonso VI of Castile-León during the reconquista.  Once repopulated it became something of a boom town in the late middle-ages as it controlled major trade routes involving wool and textiles; it also boasted a sizable Jewish population.  The Jews, however, were kicked out in 1492 by Queen Isabella, whose coronation as Queen of Castille-León took place here in 1475.  At any rate, by 1600 it had a population of 27,000, quite sizable for its day, before it underwent a drastic decline in the 17th century (today about twice as many people live in Segovia as did in 1600). 
 
Two examples of the squat little towers of Segovian aristocratic palaces
 in the Plaza del Juan Bravo. (Perhaps more on him...later.)
Speaking of Queen Isabella of Castille-León and her husband Ferdinand of Navarra (okay, so I’m only now speaking of him), they had something to do with the look of the city of Segovia.  It seems that during the middle ages the local gentry were prone to feuds that reached the level of mini-civil wars.  As a result, the nobles of the town built fortress-like palaces complete with towers to keep an eye on rival families (this also happened in other European medieval towns, perhaps most famously in Florence).  When Isabella and
Like all medieval towns, Segovia favors pedestrians over automobiles
Ferdinand married and united their two kingdoms, thereby creating the nascent modern state of Spain, feuding nobles were the last thing they needed.  Their goal was to complete the reconquest of the rest of the peninsula from the Moors which had begun shortly after the 8th century invasion from North Africa (a goal which the dual monarchs achieved in 1492 – that date again) and create a unified, Catholic Spain.  Nobles quarreling amongst themselves was definitely not part of the game plan, so Isabella[3] ordered the aristocrats of Segovia to lop off their towers.  So, as you walk the streets of the old town, you are constantly reminded of this powerful woman by the sight of these funny-looking, truncated towers sort of sticking up from the corners of massive palaces.   

The old, historic quarter of Segovia, like any other medieval town, is purely a walking city.  Pedestrians definitely take precedence over the few cars who struggle up its inclines and down its narrow, meandering streets.  If you ever make it there, plan on at least an entire day to see the main sites.  We spent some time at the aqueducts, then walked up the hill to the old town and wandered from the stern of the city to the prow, stopping along the way to take pictures and to visit two main sites: the massive, late flamboyant gothic pile of a Cathedral, and the Alcazar.  Both are worth a visit and neither costs an arm and a leg. 
 
Late, flamboyant gothic.

The Cathedral was built starting in 1525 to replace an earlier church which had burned.  The outside is a riot of gothic psychedelia; it is an example of a late version of gothic called, appropriately, flamboyant.  Looking at its forest of ornate spires and its projecting gargoyles, I think I see where the 19th-20th century Spanish architect Gaudí might have got some of his inspiration.  The only nod the exterior gives to the contemporaneous Renaissance style was the addition of a dome instead of skyward-projecting main spires.  However, once you enter, there is an immediate contrast.  The interior is serene simplicity, with graceful, unadorned
arches supporting the ceilings far above.  In the side chapels, however, which were paid for by the local hoi-polloi as private chapels and mausoleums, there is ample evidence of the questionable taste of the rich; they are dominated by baroque and rococo art and sculpture with heavy emphasis on gold gilt decoration and such.  Unfortunately, photography is not allowed inside, and being a timid Midwesterner, I tend to follow the rules. 

Window in the Alcazar
Next it was on to the bow of the ship and the Alcazar.  Again, worth a visit if you are into massive, hulking castles – which I am, of course.  The tour of the inside takes you through about a dozen or so impressive rooms with ornate ceilings and plenty of evidence of its partly Moorish history – try as they might, the Spanish could not quite erase the Mujedar style of the original Muslim citadel.  There are the usual paintings, royal apartments, a couple of rooms with medieval and Renaissance weaponry, and a permanent exhibit on the history of the Spanish artillery corps.  The view of the surrounding countryside from the battlements on the prow of the castle is quite impressive as well.

Have fun stormin' the castle!  (Sorry, couldn't resist)
Remnants of Moorish fresco in one of the staterooms of the Alcazar de Segovia.

After dinner in Segovia, we headed for our last stop of the day, the La Granja palace in nearby San Ildefenso.  Up in the foothills just south of the city, this was the site of a favorite hunting lodge of Spanish royalty.  It was surrounded by forests teeming with game; vistas of mountain peaks all around tempt the eye.  Then, in the 18th century, King Philip V, who was a grandson of the French King Louis XIV (known as the Sun King and also famous as the builder of Versailles), got homesick and decided to build a down-home place to hang out at.  What you got was a sprawling ‘mini-‘ Versailles, complete with extensive formal gardens out back with dozens of fountains sporting fanciful mythological gold gilt statuary etc etc.  The tour of the palace is okay – they have the most amazing tapestry collection ever – but once you’ve seen one over-the-top humongous rambling palace filled with 18th century antiques, scores of ceiling paintings from Greek and Roman mythology and high windows and French doors overlooking the grounds, you’ve seen them all.  Okay, so it’s worth a stroll through the royal apartments, but the real draw of the place is the gardens.  Plan on spending a good couple of hours wandering the formal paths, gawping at the ornate fountains, and marveling at the folly of man.  Frankly, what the fuck?  I mean, both of these powerful men (Louis XIV and Philip V), inherited these wonderful, peaceful, rustic hunting lodges surrounded woods and
Frankly, what the fuck?
nature and they loved visiting these quiet retreats so much that they decided that the thing to do was to rip out enough trees to build a ginormous, deluxe palace with hundreds of rooms filled with ornate furniture and ceiling art of questionable taste, and then to put the rest of the forest to the axe to in order to make way for a vast, manicured, formal, regimented garden complete with plumbing, and then to invite half the aristocracy of Europe over for parties that lasted for months.

Tomorrow’s excursion is purely local.  We are headed for the nearby provincial capital of Valladolid, location the university for which we archaeological volunteers have been nominally toiling, and a city with sights of its own.  About which, of course, more later…. 



[1] I am mostly jesting of course.  The field work is indeed at times tough, arduous work which I nonetheless find fulfilling.  Then there is the pay-off when you start finding really cool, really old stuff and get to break out the little tools and brushes – what fun!  However, about that, more later…
[2] For most farmers, construction companies, developers, etc, the last people they would call in such a situation would be meddling archaeologists who might declare the site of historic importance to world culture blah blah blah and halt all work indefinitely.  The owner of the land on which La Olmeda was discovered, Javier Cortes Álvarez, once again demonstrated his altruism in 1984 by donating the estate to the provincial government of Palencia.

[3] It was Isabella who ordered the lopping of Segovia’s towers partly because the town fell within the boundaries of her original domain of Castile-León, and partly because she wore the pants in that marriage, or whatever they wore back then.  If you wonder why she had the upper hand (aside from her strong personality), a quick look at a map of Spain will demonstrate that she brought into that powerful union roughly twice as much real estate as did her husband.

4 comments:

  1. Was the cereal chereos or corn flakes back then?

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  2. I cannot imagine, especially after seeing the photos, of viewing so much in one trip. I would be breathless the entire time, and thusly loose consciousness. And have to stay another day - to recover. I'd work on the next Monday. A worthy exchange.

    Your photos are delightful and writing informative as ever. I learned a new word that I shall never use - demense. Thank you for that. I find the extended arm so inviting

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    Replies
    1. Thanks, Toni! I am glad you like the silly extended arm, 'Andrew Presents' thing I do. Although, in the Segovia pic it looks like I'm cordially inviting one and all to plunge off the cliff to the base of the Aqueduct!

      The excursions were indeed exhausting. Frankly, when we arrived at about 5:30 pm at the Granja Palace, I was tempted to simply take a nap in the lovely park out front, but of course I didn't, and hugely enjoyed the visit.

      Delete