Finding my home in far off places

 

My experiences with long-term moves have taught me that you cannot truly feel as though you have arrived somewhere, until you leave for a little while. In other words, you need to go on an adventure! When I studied abroad in Toledo, I was not enamored with the experience until I spent a weekend in Valencia. When I moved to St. Louis for law school, I needed to drink in the breathtaking landscapes of Missouri wine country in the fall to feel like a true resident. This time, to become acquainted with my new city, I traveled to the outskirts of Madrid to visit a centuries’ old palace-turned-monastery-turned-UNESCO world heritage site: El Escorial.

 

“El Monasterio de San Lorenzo de El Escorial” can only be described as an elaborate labyrinth composed of a monstrously tall Basilica, a quaint 16th Century royal palace, a morbidly ornate and beautiful mausoleum, and a library fit for Bell in “Beauty and the Beast.” El Escorial was constructed between 1563 and 1584, by Spanish Architects, Juan Bautista de Toledo and Juan de Herrera, under the guidance of King Philip II of Spain, and it functioned as the residence of the Spanish royal family for several years. Madrid had recently become the capital of Spain, and Philip’s father, Charles V had left a codicil in his will desiring such a place be built for him and his late wife Isabella of Portugal to have a final resting place. Escorial was deemed the perfect place as it was near enough to the new capital to hold court. And so, taking the money obtained through the conquests of the Americas, and spending more than they could ever generate, Escorial was commissioned.

 

Described to me as one of the most Catholic places in the country, El Escorial is a manifestation of King Philip’s hard-fought battle against the Protestant Reformation, and Spain’s commitment to becoming the center of the Christian World. King Philip devoted most of his reign to this anti-Protestantism effort, as well as most of the wealth Spain had acquired from the New World. El Escorial was meant to serve as both a retreat and home of the royal family as well as a place for scholars of Catholicism. Today, El Escorial’s Mausoleum serves as the burial site for most of the Spanish Kings from the last 5 Centuries, housing both the Bourbons and the Habsburgs. Tombs in the Royal Mausoleum include Charles V of the Holy Roman Empire (King Charles I of Spain), King Philip II, King Philip III, King Philip IV, King Charles II, King Louis I, King Charles III, King Charles IV, King Ferdinand VII, Queen Isabella II, King Alfonso XII, and King Alfonso XIII. The entire complex is now an UNESCO World Heritage Site that is witnessed by over 500,000 visitors annually.

 

El Escorial is the perfect day trip for Madrid visitors or residents. Only 28 miles northwest of the Madrid Capital, at the foot of Mount Abantos in the Sierra de Guadarrama, it is simply a ride from a cercancias metro station, lasting approximately one hour, and it cost €4.00 each way (€8.00 total per person).  We arrived via metro to the nearest cercancias station to where we are staying - Chamartín (there is also Atocha, Nuevos Ministerios, and Recoletos), and from there we took cercancias line 8. There was a bit of confusion because, in true Spanish form, not all of the signs are clear if you do not know what you are doing, even for a relatively fluent Spanish speaker. While every sign indicated we needed to take the cercancia line 8, nothing was said about which platform this line arrived at, and unlike the main metro lines, multiple lines passed through on one platform. I believe it ended up being platform 6 we needed to wait at. There will be a sign with a list of locations and the platform you need - so look for El Escorial in the list, and simply go to that platform. The trains arrive hourly, which is frequent enough if you pay better attention than we did. Through confusion as to whether we needed to be on cercancias 6 or platform 6, we just missed a train and found ourselves waiting an hour until the next one.“No pasa nada.”

 

Most of the journey on the cercancias is above ground, and if you are lucky enough to travel on a clear day, you can witness beautiful Spanish landscapes. Heading into the mountains, we passed several large farms, some with strange deer-like animals I have never seen before (they looked like muntjack deer with gigantic antlers, and there were hundreds of them!), others with horses, and, some of course, the iconic black bulls.

 

 

Once you arrive at the end of the cercancias line and exit the metro station, you will find a bus that, for an additional (€1.60) will carry you to the top of the hilly landscape, near to El Escorial. We were not sure what this “hill” alternative would be like to climb, so we took the bus as most recommend. It was more akin to a greyhound bus than the city buses we had seen in Madrid, parked outside the metro, unlabeled, with no bus stop or station signs near it. We were initially hesitant that this was the right way, but we watched several tourists hop on, and we asked a random individual in broken Spanish if this was the way to El Escorial. His smiling affirmation was enough for us, and we joined the other bus riders. The hill would have been a minor inconvenience to walk up - it was slightly steep, and we may not have known the exact way there without the driver leading the way - but it looked by no means insurmountable. In just minutes we were at the top of the hill getting our first glances at the beautiful structure.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

We departed from the bus and took a five minute walk to the main entrance, taking in the colorful fall leaves and the large dome of the basilica peeking over the fortress walls. We walked up the most obvious path lined with trees and found ourselves in an immense courtyard whose ground was composed of giant beige bricks. To our left was a tall, long wall lined uniformly with windows, and we followed it around a corner, where we came upon the tourist entrance to the building. It consisted of a sign that said tourist entrance, a couple of Plexiglas doors, and three security guards. After passing through a metal detector and having our bags scanned, we were ushered into a second, smaller hall to purchase our tickets. Frustratingly, there was no sign to be found regarding the price of admission anywhere in this room, nor on the websites we perused while we waited for our turn. Only upon leaving through the same doors we had entered in did we notice a fancy sign in small print high up on the wall where we passed through security. Regardless, we were successful in asking for two tickets, €10 each though we failed in determining if there were any student discounts. (Let me know if you know in the comments please!) We also neglected to purchase an-audio guided tour, as reviews on trip advisor warned against wasting the money. Tickets in hand, we began to explore.

Our self-guided tour within the complex began in a cold, echoing hallway filled with arched passageways and concrete walls. We wandered aimlessly for about one hundred feet before Jonny was told he would have to put his backpack in a locker for the remainder of our tour (and no photos either - Que Lastima). After our brief detour to the locker room, we passed through a narrow stairway that opened up into an architecture museum. Jonny found this section far more fascinating than I did, me having no ability to remotely comprehend a blueprint, let alone one from 16th Century Spain. Apart from the blueprints I gave little credence to, there were several models to examine as well as displays of the actual tools and items (maybe mere re-creations?) used to construct the building. These included not only 16th Century pulley systems for moving the large stone bricks, but also hand-crafted nails of varying sizes, and even glass windows through which it would be impossible to see an image distinctly - all more interesting for the average person, unable to appreciate the technical marvels of architectural design. This section of our tour ended with a limited display of cooking tools and dishes, from three-foot long rusted serving spoons to porcelain crocks decorated in the traditional blue and white designs. I was ready to move on!

We wandered indiscriminately until we came upon the start of a quasi-art museum. There were beautiful and dark paintings lining every wall as if we had stumbled into the Prado. I wish it had become more commonplace to have commissioned artwork so large our ceilings needed to be higher, as these works would have required. They were all, unsurprisingly, depictions of the Holy Family and or popular Biblical tales. We were amused by the images of cherubs looking down over Mary - consisting only of heads and wings, perhaps attempting, though in vain, to provide the illusion they were flying around horizontally. Conversely we were also impressed and felt a sense of foreboding in images that seemed beyond their time in technique. Scenes in the forefront would be clear and vibrant with shadows or faded images of past events looming in the background, allowing the viewer to see a whole story, all at once, almost as if it were an optical illusion with the scene playing out before us. We passed from room to room, finding more and more paintings on the whitewashed walls, for what seemed like hours. Occasionally, we were led down hallways with floor-to-ceiling, narrow windows overlooking a manicured garden, and we would pass through doors that all the unfortunate modern individuals of a more average height needed to hunch through. It was during these times I would feel a rush of excitement at the reminder that I was in a 16th Century Palace. Wrong country of course, but I could not help but feel like I had been drawn into a scene from “The Tudors” walking down these passageways.

From there, we entered into what was the living quarters of King Philip II and his family. The rooms were more plain than I had expected - whitewashed walls with a blue and white patterned tile Spain seems to absolutely love - but artifacts of the time had been arranged in each one to keep us tourists interested. We saw Philip II’s bedchamber where his bed was arranged to look out over the mountains during his episodes of gout , the guards’ room, and the welcoming hall,  but my favorite room here was a long, open hall lined with windows overlooking the hilly, tree-filled landscape below the foot of the mountain. This was where Philip would walk with his children in the evenings, taking in beautiful sunsets. The doors to hall were the most remarkable component of the room. They were truly masterpieces, each in their own right. They were wooden (and of course too short by modern standards), but very thick, and very elaborate. Different shades and cuts of wood had been pieced together to create various beautiful scenes on the smooth surface of each door - flowers, columns in plazas, and birds danced across the spectacular finish. I have never seen anything like it before, and I may return someday just to commission doors of my own or at least retake the picture I was only able to capture in my mind.

Finally, after wandering through the palace, we followed a couple flights of marble stairs down into the Mausoleum (The Royal Pantheon). Several signs ask guests to be particularly quiet through this part of the tour, but I do not know who would be able to even find words upon first witnessing this breathtaking sight. It was beautiful. In this round room, the ground consisted of an elaborate design composed of dark grey and pink marble, and above us hung an intricate, gilded chandelier. Straight in front of us was a beautiful alter. And we were surrounded by caskets set high into the walls and marked with their inhabitant’s names. While I understand the sentiment fully, and while I would never wish to disrespect those laid to rest in this beautiful crypt, I was, for a moment, enraged at the prohibition of photography. Words could never describe how beautiful this room was, and mine fail to capture the intricacies of it all. Of course photos would never do it justice either. But instead of lingering on this, I simply stood and took it all in for myself, as you all should do as well if ever given the chance. Close your mouth, put down the camera, and take it in as you reflect on your brief existence surrounded by these amazing opportunities.

From there, we climbed back up the stairs, and then down another set to continue our journey through a very long crypt. The caskets were often white marble, covered in very elaborate carvings and detail. Above notable caskets hung the family crest, and signs were displayed in English and Spanish to inform you who had been laid to rest there. Each room contained approximately 12 caskets. On top of one very large casket set apart from the rest with its own alter was a grey marble depiction of the individual within, and one room was dedicated to a large, circular structure housing multiple caskets of younger individuals. Throughout, I was partly awestruck, partly creeped out. Indeed, significantly more contemplation had been directed towards the dead than the living in this complex.

 

After making our way through the mausoleum, we passed through a few more halls, each more elaborate than the ones preceding it. Here, the halls were lined with wooden benches (complete with signs begging visitors not to sit - these are 16th Century chairs after all) and the ceilings were covered in murals, again with very religious connotation. These halls led to a tall, exterior hallway, decorated with bright-colored paintings, heavenly scenes on one side, and shuttered windows overlooking a courtyard on the other. Upon reaching the end of this passageway, we found ourselves in an impressive courtyard leading to the entrance of the basilica.

Another moment a camera would have been beneficial, yet again insufficient, was within the titanic basilica of El Escorial. I still prefer the Basilica of Toledo over this one, but Escorial’s is beautiful in its own right. At its very center, high up in the ceiling, a beautiful dome peaked into the sky with windows along its perimeter to cast natural light within the dark stone hall. A few halls branched off of the main church where one could find private chapels and altars to pray and give alms. There, statutes of Mary and paintings of the holy family were depicted. At the back of the main church, above the entrance, was a balcony possessing the church organ and its massive pipes, as well as room for a choir. A mural gazed down over the balcony, so vibrant that it looked almost three dimensional at a distance. Finally at the front was an altar so elaborate that I began to recall the one within the mausoleum. This time, there were more gilded statues and paintings casting a reddish-orange hue over the area. At the top of it was the requisite statue of Jesus being crucified, and above that still, another vibrant mural on the ceiling.

 

When I was in grade school, I remember hearing, and believing, that my church was one of the best. It was beautifully decorated with a gorgeous altar and many statues along the wall. It also had amazing stain glass windows that told the story of Jesus, and two additional altars to the left and right of the main one, always covered in flowers and with a copy of the painting, The Black Madonna. Both of these altars had statues in white stone, but I cannot remember the image clearly enough anymore. I loved my church at St. Adalbert’s, but it could never hold a candle to the ones in Spain. We took one last look at the beautifully foreboding room and marveled at its epic heights. I was only later informed that for several years, in the 16th Century this was the tallest building in the world. I was not surprised. Our footsteps echoed across the grey, stone floor in the open room as we departed the Basilica for our final stop within El Escorial – the library!

After taking in the dark, cold wonders of the Basilica, Jonny and I crossed the courtyard and to our right we found a staircase leading to the library. We traversed several flights of stairs, encountering more short doors on each landing, and hesitating over the deterioration of some of the steps. But after the long climb, we made it, safe and sound. I am in love with beautiful libraries, and the one at El Escorial did not disappoint. We entered a long room with an arched ceiling covered, once again, in a beautiful mural. Along each of the walls shelves were filled to the brim with beautiful and old looking books, and some of the bookshelves had certain books open for guests to view the gold leaf lettering and artwork. In the center of the room, several globes, ancient and inaccurate, lined the path. At the end of this line of globes was a structure resembling what people of the time thought the universe looked like within an Armillary Sphere. Metal wires twisted around the outside, and the Earth, in all of its apparent glory, rested at the center. The library was beautiful, and I would have loved to stay, perhaps forever, to read the books that likely have not been breathed on, let alone touched, for decades, and to do so in such a beautiful and old room. But alas, they were in Spanish, and it was time to leave the building.

  

 

Before departing, we lingered outside and took in the massiveness of the complex and its surrounding environment. Had we planned better, we may have taken a trip to the Valley of the Fallen, which many recommend doing after coming all this way. Instead, we spent some time wandering, looking at the mountains concealed in a cape of fog, and discovering some beautiful, unmarked statues in the small park across from Escorial. After some final, longing glances at the walls that hold many ancient secrets, we turned and headed down the hill to the bus stop, to begin our hour-long journey back to the city, back to our home.