No Salamanders in Salamanca

Gearing up for my trip to Bologna, Italy in a couple of days and reviewing all of the fantastic treasures this not-so-well-known city has to offer (!!), I was reminded of another humbled university town I have been fortunate enough to visit twice now – Salamanca, Spain.

Salamanca is located in Castilla y León, a Northwestern Community of Spain, approximately 120 miles west of Madrid, and just 50 miles east of Portugal. Its historical origins as a city began with its founding by a Celtic tribe, the Vettones. In the 3rd Century, B.C. Hannibal led the Carthaginian army and its elephants into the region and laid siege to the city, until he ultimately lost to the Romans.  The city’s prime location then became an important commercial hub for the Romans. They fell as well, and thereafter, the Alans took control of most of what is now Portugal, calling it Lusitania and enveloped Salamanca into its grasp. Then came the Visigoths, followed by the Moors in the 8th Century. Its location made the city a prime battleground between the Christians and Muslims, and the parental struggle led to a massive depopulation of the area for a time. In 939, after the battle of Simancas, Christians won the day and resettled the area.

In the 12th Century, Salamanca established its claim to fame as an academic center, with the University of Salamanca – the oldest university in Spain. The University became one of the most prestigious academic centers in Europe, and in the 16th Century, its distinguished scholars began to redesign concepts of law – pulling away from medieval doctrine and embracing natural and moralistic law (life, liberty, and property) – and explore more controversial views on science and anatomy.

Following the 17th Century of decline and the 18th Century of rebirth, the city faced the Napoleonic wars in the 19th Century. They won the battles, causing a serious setback for the French, but in a sense, they lost the wars. The western quarters of the city were all but destroyed. In the 20th Century, the city embraced its long held, staunch dedication to the Nationalist Party during the Spanish Civil War, and immediately supported Franco’s rule. For this reason, the city became the de facto capital, and in 1937, it became the signing place for the decree establishing the official fascist party and naming Franco as Generalissimo.

In 1988 the old city was declared a UNESCO World Heritage Site, and in 2002 it was a European Capital of Culture – a title it shared with Burgos. Today, the city is responsible for producing over 16% of Spanish Language instructors, and its university brings together an economy swimming in over 30,000 diverse minds.

Salamanca took me by surprise. I had been dragging my feet about coming here all year because I just did not see the appeal. I had already been there, and I did not fall in love. How was I to rekindle an affair that had never found its spark. In truth, all I remember about my last visit there was one day of endless, monotonous tours and one day of staying in bed with an excruciating migraine (and the reminder of what good friends and travel companions I had with me; while I stayed at the hotel alone and miserable, they bought me a snow globe to add to my international collection). Either way, it just did not sound exciting, and I was still reeling from the grueling cross-country trip we had just completed. But this trip was not all about me – Jonny wanted to go, and everyone except for me loves the place. And on second glance, it was definitely worth the visit.

After a torturous three-hour train ride to this western city (torturous because apparently Salamanca is a prime destination for “despedidas de solteros” – Bachelor and Bachelorette parties…), we got settled at our airbnb, and began our old city explorations with a Parisian Breakfast stop. We felt like college students as we ordered pizza-filled croissants and coffee and sat out on the steps of a faded tan building to people watch while we gulped it all down, appropriately setting the mood.  

Satisfied and energized, we crossed the narrow street before us to enter “Casa de las Conchas” (house of the shells). 

Casa de las Conchas was built in the 15th century under Rodrigo Arias de Maldonado, with Gothic, Moorish, and Italian influence. It is named for its over-400 scalloped shells carved into the brown stone walls of the exterior, said to be the symbol of the Order of Saint James of Santiago, and of love.

The building now serves as a public library – and a tourist site – from 9:00am-9:00pm on weekdays, and from 9:00am-2:00pm and 4:00pm-7:00pm on weekends and holidays. It is also free to enter and explore the courtyard, the beautiful balconies, and a second floor which, on our visit, was hosting an interesting photography exhibit.

I remembered visiting this famous stop the last time I came to Salamanca, and all I remember from it was my depressing disappointment – for the way it was fantastically described, I expected real seashells to be covering every centimeter of its interior. Instead, it was stone, and from a distance, it seemed to resemble the dimples of my parents’ very old couch. The closest thing I got to what I had imagined was a beautiful chandelier, unceremoniously placed in a corner that I almost missed. I have to be honest – I did not understand the point last time, and the appeal of this building was no clearer the second time around. Oh well, it was free.

We decided to add a little more direction to our lives and meandered to Plaza Mayor to pick up a map from the tourist center there. 

The Plaza Mayor of Salamanca is located in the heart of the city, and it was constructed out of sandstone in a baroque style in the 18th Century (1729-1755). For its first one hundred years of existence, it was used for bullfighting.

Every town we go to has a Plaza Mayor, but I think this one is Jonny’s favorite – and probably mine as well. For starters, it is immense. Second, it is just absolutely beautiful. 

Along the tan (if you have not noticed, this entire city is... tan), arched, halls encasing the plaza, medallions carrying the face of different famous persons emerge, some with evidence of there once powdered-blue backgrounds framing the white, distinguished faces, and others with just no face at all remaining. 

In the middle of these balconied, four-storied walls emerges a beautiful city hall with a façade where royals stand proudly, carved into the same, monotone material as the rest of the building, patiently awaiting the clock at its center to strike and the bells to begin chiming. My favorite element was the statues at the top-most part of this façade, peaking over its highest, square point, watching the people below with a deep interest. We returned to the plaza that evening for some drinks and to watch the stone ignite with a luminescent, golden hue as the sun began to set.

But before we relaxed, we had more sightseeing to do. With our map at the ready, it was now time to visit the two cathedrals of the city – aptly named the “Cathedral Vieja” (Old Cathedral) and the “Cathedral Nueva” (New Cathedral). 

The Old Cathedral (Catedral Vieja de Santa María) was founded by Bishop Jerome of Périgord, in the beginning of the 12th Century, and it was dedicated, as its name suggests, to Saint Mary of the See (Santa Maria de la Sede).  Deriving influence from styles that dominated throughout its construction, which lasted until the end of the 14th century, the Old Cathedral carries strong Romanesque and Gothic elements.

The layout of the Old Cathedral is that of the traditional Latin cross (t-shaped) with three naves, or aisles, running the length of the building. The altarpiece looked markedly old to me – over fifty paintings arranged in neat gilded rows – but in reality, this work was not completed until the 15th Century by Nicolás Florentino. It was at this time a fresco of the last judgment was added to the domed ceiling of the nave, reminding church-goers of the prophesied fate of the world.

A cloister, accessible from the front through the right arm of the Latin cross, was what I found most fascinating about the Old Cathedral. This portion of the building was constructed and decorated in the 13th and 14th Century, and throughout portions of the hall, remnants of its origins still remain. As we walked along the sandstone halls, we encountered numerous chapels filled with tombs. Very uplifting.

In 1520, less than two hundred years after its completion, the city determined the Old Cathedral would be demolished to make way for the New Cathedral that was underway. However, the people of Salamanca did not seem keen on waiting over two hundred years to worship, so they kept the Old Cathedral intact, and ultimately, they decided to connect the two buildings. It is for this reason the left nave leading to the altar of the Old Cathedral is narrower than the right, and the left arm of the cross-shaped layout is practically non-existent.

The New Cathedral was constructed between 1513 and 1733, and with this lengthy passage of time, its design transcended the decaying Gothic style to embrace baroque influences. 

In 1755, the Great Lisbon Earthquake, with a magnitude ranging between 8.5 and 9.0, struck the Kingdom of Portugal, mimicking the political tension of the region, and literally dividing the city of Lisbon in half. Known as one of the most deadliest earthquakes in history, it influenced not only writings throughout the centuries to come, but also the structural integrity of the New Cathedral. A second, optional tour through the towers of both Cathedrals - an exhibition called Ieronimus - shows an artist’s graphic recreation of the split that was caused by the earthquake’s after effects in the Cathedral. 

While the interior of the building is as beautiful as any other Cathedral, the real draw of the building is the facade, and the astronaut sculpture that has astounded and amused its discoverers. Despite knowing its actual origins, some have convinced themselves that this had to be the work of aliens. In reality, it was the work of Jeronimo Garcia. When restoration work was done, Garcia “signed” his talents with the contemporary motif of an astronaut as a symbol of the 20th Century. 

We had a lot of fun looking for the astronaut on the building, and while perusing the Cathedral’s outside walls, we discovered some other, less modern, though quite interesting motifs throughout the chaos of sculpture work. 

There must be something about Spaniards and a bird’s eye view of the cities because nearly every place we have visited had some enormous tower or platform that tourists flocked to and climbed, breathlessly and often precariously, to look down on the city they were just standing in. Salamanca was no exception. 

Through the Ieronimus experience (found in some small door around the corner from the main entrance of the Old Cathedral), we were able to climb several winding and terrifying staircases, and for the first time, climb all over the roof of these two beautiful buildings. 

After watching a recreation of the Lisbon Earthquake, we determined it was time to leave these high, narrow corridors and relax on the ground with a few drinks and people watching. The day was coming to a close, and we needed to keep our minds sharp for the intellectual immersion we were about to experience. 

I dub this the staircase of temptation. The sculptures along the railings were made to serve as a reminder to men about the evils of females and sex. We are a dangerous being. 

The University of Salamanca was founded in 1134 and was given a royal charter by King Alfonso IX in 1218, making it the oldest university in Spain, and the fourth oldest university in Europe. 

When we came to take our tour, we had the option of having an audio guide for a small extra fee. We figured it would be worth it, but the woman warned us that if we spoke Spanish there was no need for it. We wanted English, and upon forking out the extra cash, we were a bit perturbed - if you speak English, there is also no need for it. The signs are in both languages, and the audio guide is not very good. 

This painting was done on the sandstone walls in the corner of a more secluded area - to remind men they should refrain from "relieving themselves" in the hallways... apparently public urination was a big problem around here.  

I had no idea the last time that I visited this school that it had been a school of legal studies. I pondered (biased) what brilliant minds passed through these halls and sat in these uncomfortable looking chairs. In current times, the University is not as prestigious as it had once been, and that is a bit of a disappointment for me. I had long imagined a Harvard-like feel in the area, given the novel discoveries and theories that echoed through the building in the 12th Century. 

When you go to Salamanca, the whistling men throwing helicopter toys into the air throughout the touristy parts of Madrid are replaced with raspy voiced men and frog key chains that make your brain want to explode. The reason - another where’s waldo experience searching the motifs on the facade of the University. There, you can find, if you look closely, a frog on a skull. Jonny remarked that, if he did not know that that is what it was, he would have thought the skull had an unfortunate deformity. Either way, students would say if you found it, you would have good luck on your exams. We were not sure when that luck expired, so for Jonny’s future studies, we were sure to look upon the frog before moving on with our day. 

Find the frog for good luck! 

We spent the rest of our time meandering the picturesque streets, and exploring the park under the 1st Century Roman Streets.

As a sort of grand finale to our incredible and revitalizing trip, we indulged in a restaurant I think your life would just not be complete without - La Hoja. 

Duck two ways

Beef Cheeks de Morucha (Morucha is the amazing beef raised in this region)

Mushroom Risotto

Iberian Ham stuffed ravioli - I did not wait for the picture, they were too good. 

Salamanca is known for its cured meats, but in my opinion, it should be known for this restaurant. the food was beautiful, and writing about it a month later, my mouth is watering. Time for me to get some breakfast. 

And we'll never be royals - Palacio Real de Madrid

When I finished kindergarten (by the skin of my teeth), we had a mini-graduation ceremony in our auditorium. We all had to get up and say what we wanted to be when we grew up. I wanted to be a princess. Of course, I was far from unique, and by the time I was asked to stand in front of a slew of families, teachers and other students, two other girls had already claimed the throne. I did not want to be an usurper; I was already embarrassed enough standing on the echoing stage and sufficiently nervous about making such a definite commitment at such a young age. And so, standing before everyone, I declared that I wanted to be … a gym teacher… My parents were shocked, my gym teacher cried, and I cringed internally. I really just wanted to be a princess. 

Flash forward twenty years, and my wealth of knowledge on the subject leads me to believe I really was picking the better option of the two when I stood on that stage. Being a princess in real life seems to have a lot more to do with politics and which cousin you need to be sold - I mean married off  - to and how many baby boys you can bring into the world, than dancing in fancy ball gowns, being whisked off your feet by a handsome prince, or singing to furry woodland creatures. But, it is always still fun to imagine what it would be like to wield that kind of power. And there is no better place to indulge in the fiction of it all than an actual royal palace. 

The Palacio Real de Madrid, the largest palace in Europe when considering square footage of just the palace itself (1,450,000 sq ft), was constructed between 1738 and 1755 under King Philip V’s orders, after a fire destroyed the “Old Alcázar” in 1736. In 1764, King Charles III became the first King to take up residence in the new palace. Its last regular inhabitants were Alfonso XIII and Manuel Azaña (president of the second republic). Now it is only used for state ceremonies, and the royal family resides at Palacio de la Zarzuela on the outskirts of the city. 

To get to the Palace, we took the metro to Ópera, which opens up onto a plaza that confronts you with domineering theatre and opera buildings all around you (and a Foster’s Hollywood!). From there, we trekked past the towering salmon-colored building, and looking to our left, we caught our first glimpses of the lavish edifice and Plaza de Oriente - a park-like plaza lined with ancient rulers in pigeon-topped white marble, gardens and a giant fountain, making your final steps to the palace feel as if the red carpet has been rolled out before you. 

In truth, I have never been all that impressed with the Royal Palace. It’s too modern, too lavish, too over the top, and all-in-all, it lacks the sentiment of authenticity. In fact, on one of my first visits there, I made the unfortunate discovery that the plates displayed in one of the rooms we were touring, had price tags on them...

But, my distaste for this palace aside, it is probably still worth one’s time to visit – and if you are lucky enough to be a resident of Europe or a student, there are several times in the evening when it is free to enter. A word to the wise: if you want to get in for free, come no later than 40 minutes before it would open for such guests. The line gets out-of-control long as the time gets closer, and it moves slowly when the gates open because everyone must pass through security. Make sure you bring your passport or residency card as well to take advantage of this free opportunity.

Once you successfully pass through the entrance-way, stop at the bathroom because you have been inhaling water while the sun beat down on you in line for forty minutes, and store your belongings in the lockers (€1 deposit), it is time to start exploring!

We left the entrance section of the building and encountered an enormous plaza of giant grey stones, with nothing other than some beautiful lampposts decorating its interior. The palace itself wraps around this square in a U-shape, with an elaborate iron wrought gate keeping the lowly commoners out. Beyond the enormous gate, we could look upon the adjacent Cathedral, where royal weddings and baptisms have been held. 

After this brief pause, we headed towards the center of the U-shaped structure, through a bare, stone hallway and turned right. Immediately, we were smacked in the face with the grandest of grandiose stairways leading visitors to the palace’s gaudy interior. A giant marble staircase that wrapped around itself with a second flight of marble stairs marked the start of open-mouthed stairs and owl-eyes. White, stone lions greeted visitors at the turn of the steps. But with the chaos of a golden, heavenly fresco swimming across the ceiling above us and the mural paintings covering the windows and the curtains taller than any reasonably sized room and the vases bigger than my childhood bedroom, the lions were almost easy to overlook. Take caution walking up the stairs; no one is looking where they are walking!

Unfortunately, here is where the pictures of the interior cease. The palace must have some unnecessary concerns that people might capture and attempt to recreate the interior designs of the building. Maybe the real concern is they don’t want anyone to know how visually painful each room becomes until they get you in the door. Whatever the reason, I respect it, and you will have to take my word on it – it is an experience of over-stimulation, so brace yourself.

Royals were apparently very concerned in this country with having everything match, and the result is dizzying. After passing through a narrower room of giant fireplaces and enormous rugs, and pausing in my favorite room – one filled several chandeliers hanging far from the ceiling by what appears to be cloth as well as some beautiful busts created in a strategic combination of different colored marble – you encounter the dressing room. This room is, insane. Deep green vines with occasional spurts of dark flowers emerge along eggshell white walls, twisting their way towards the center of the ceiling, and imprinting themselves on each piece of furniture therein. Large mirrors on the dressers create more distortion of the chaos that surrounds you, but in your effort to escape the images your mind cannot withstand, you are plunged into rooms that only continue to astound the eyes. A royal blue room with darker blue letters of the royal family embroidered in its silk walls, a small golden room with dark brown, wooden furniture, a purple smoking room with vibrant patterns emerging out of the square paneled walls, a room made floor-to-ceiling of porcelain, and so on. If you survive this circus, and the crowds pushing all around you, you will find relief from the crazy uniformity in the throne room. The throne itself – not so impressive, but for the black stone lions playing with black stone balls at the foot of each seat. The dining room is out of this world – a table with hundreds of chairs, five glasses to each of the hundreds of plates, and silverware I would use inappropriately. Perhaps the most enticing draw to this not-so-humble abode is the display of a complete Stradivarius quintet (highly valuable string-instruments made from the dense wood of trees that grew during a mini ice-age, and embellished beautifully along their perimeter). Then again, it’s not for everyone (cue the board German boy on a class tour who decided to spruce up his hair in his reflection on a Cello…), and if so, perhaps the table made out of a countless variety of semi-precious stones in the next room, or the prior king’s declaration of abdication signed on display across from the coronation jewels will do it for you.  

Escaping the lunacy of the interior with time to spare, we paused under the arched and open arm of the U-shape structure opposite the entrance to take in the sights of forest-gardens where prostitutes have been known to frequent in recent history before ducking into the not so well advertised, but included, armory. Again no photos.

This was a fun armory to peruse, and it is considered one of the best in all of Europe, particularly because its contents date as far back as the 15th century. It is filled with armor used in battle of course, for horses and men, but it also showed various weapons, shields, and decorative armor for the young royals. We could not get over how short people used to be, and we marveled at how anyone could possibly see out of their helmets.

Finally, it was time to pass through the gift shop and head out – the free visit to the interior of the palace was coming to a close and we were hungry.

Hanging out in Cuenca

Why anyone would decide, of their own volition, to build a house supported by, well nothing, is beyond me. But several people did decide to do just that, and it is for that reason Jonny and I took the 45-minute high-speed train to Cuenca for a day-trip.

Cuenca was an uninhabited region until the Muslims captured the area in 714 and viewed it as a highly strategic location. They built a fortress there, and they called it “Kunka.” The area quickly became a city known for its manufacturing and agriculture, and it grew prosperously. Then, starting in the 11th century and continuing through the 12th century, the area became hotly disputed. The Reconquista was spreading, and in 1177, the area fell to Alfonso VIII. Textile manufacturing and livestock helped the region continue to prosper, and no surprise here, a Cathedral was built.

When Carlos IV forbade textile industries in the 18th Century in order to prevent competition with Royal Tapestry Factory, Cuenca’s economy, and thus its population, declined dramatically, only to be made worse by the war for independence against Napoleon’s troops, whereby the city itself was largely destroyed. It was not until railroads were built in the 19th century and the timber industry began to succeed that Cuenca saw any form of hope. But then, in 1874 another war affected this once overlooked region. The city was taken over by Carlist troops during the Third Carlist War and the damaged city descended into a further state of disrepair.

To mark the beginning of the turbulent 20th Century, the Cathedral’s towers collapsed, affected most of the facade of the building. The century progressed forward with rural poverty and violent attacks on the Church, including murders of its members. During the Spanish Civil War, the city became part of the republican zone and was taken in 1938 by Franco’s troops. Post-war saw many of its inhabitants emigrating to northern Spanish regions and other countries. The city finally started to recover in the 1960’s and it even began to extend its territorial limits. The population and economy are now seeing signs of growth with an influx of tourism. It was declared a World Heritage Site in 1996 and continues to see promises of growth in the future.

When we first arrived by train, we disembarked from a small station and had to take a bus to the actual city. When Jonny made our plans for this trip, the information he had indicated we could take a bus straight to the heart of the old city from the train station. In reality, we rode the bus to the end of its line, and we were dumped off in some shabby and worn down neighborhood. The plastic on the multi-colored storefront signs were chipped. Graffiti, as usual, painted our way. Most buildings seemed in desperate need of a fresh paint job – or simply demolition. Was this the Cuenca people raved about? Surely not. The one upside – pale pink signs guiding our way towards the “Casas Colgadas” (Hanging houses) with ease. We wandered through this less than charming area, miffed, until we finally started seeing signs of hope, as we drew closer to where we meant to be, houses began to line the steep cliffs that towered over us. Now this was the adventure we were looking for. A tiny stream of the clearest water guided us to the start of a steep incline. We grabbed a map from the helpful tourist cubicle, braced ourselves, and began to trudge up the hill.

So the walk was not nearly as bad as I thought it was going to be, but it was a hill, nonetheless. It was worth every step, and the breathtaking sights I encountered made me forget any strain on my legs or sweat on my back. We had finally arrived.

Standing at the top of the hill, we paused to marvel at the picturesque buildings that had drawn us to this humble city in the first place – the hanging houses. The hanging houses (Las Casas Colgadas) were built over the steep rocks that descend into the Huecar River gorge in the 15th century. The three that have come to symbolize Cuenca are all that remain of this once-common living arrangement. Now they are a restaurant and an abstract art museum, and other than the great views of and from them, there was not too much more to say or think about them. I wondered what else we would do with the remaining seven or so hours in this small town, when we had taken in the sights before lunchtime. I quickly discovered that these houses may draw people in, but there is so much more that Cuenca has to offer – we just had to cross an ominous bridge to get there.

The Puente de San Pablo (Bridge of Saint Paul) was originally built between 1533 and 1589 over the gorge defining this city, in an attempt connect the Convent of St. Paul to the rest of the old town. It was made of stone, and probably would have given the one in Ronda a run for its money. When the original bridge collapsed in the early 1900’s (something Jonny was smart enough to talk about after we crossed it) the one that is now standing was constructed, this time made out of wood and iron, and supported by the remnants of the old bridge. It stands forty meters high, and upon looking down into the gorge, its subtle movements gave me an intense bout of vertigo. But oh my, the views.

After that high adrenaline walk, we had officially made it to the old city and it was time to explore. Passing through an old archway and through a quiet plaza, we found our way into Plaza Mayor, a long square entered through an impressive archway with a road passing through it and less than impressive restaurants marking its path (never eat in a plaza). One building impossible to overlook was Cuenca Cathedral.

As mentioned earlier, Cuenca Cathedral was built between 1182 and 1270, with its front walls and towers being rebuilt in 1902 after they had collapsed. Alfonso VIII’s wife Eleanor had a strong influence on its design, and it was created in the Anglo-Norman Style (think a high, flat, false front with towers). I was not keen on visiting yet another Cathedral. This country has too many and no matter how hard I try to distinguish the beauty of each one in my mind, they all run together in an overwhelming cacophony of vaulted ceilings, elaborate choir stalls, demonic looking cherubs, titanic stone pillars, over-the-top naves with their majestic domes, and so on. Too many chapels, too much history, it all is a blur.

But this one seemed different. The outside of it, though it had already been seen in pictures, impressed us, and before we knew it we were paying to see what else was inside. I am glad we did.

The Cathedral had a slightly different layout, some crazy ceilings, an easy to listen to audio guide, and best of all, a live choir rehearsing, filling the air with angelic and uplifting music that set the mood perfectly.

Several renovations were made to the building over the centuries, but my favorite addition to this 12th century Cathedral was the stained glass windows put in place in the early 1900s. The city had a competition among artists for the best ones, and several designs were chosen, meaning they were not perfectly harmonious. They also were more abstract, seeming to align with the strange feel of this town. The winners for me were these wavy blocks whose colors evolved in an ombre style, and when the sunlight hit them, they filled the room with their color like those of Sagrada Familia. It was ethereal.

After lunch, we decided to cool off in the tunnels of Cuenca.

We saw a couple of pictures of these tunnels on a brochure we had received, and I think we were both pretty excited to see what lie within this mysterious surprise. We picked up our tickets at the Tourist Center located just outside of the Plaza Mayor (note - it closes for a nice long lunch), and waited until five minutes before our scheduled tour to line up down the hill in front of an iron door built into a cliff along a decently busy road. We handed over our tickets, donned our hairnets and hardhats (a good idea in retrospect because I repeatedly whacked my head on the walls as I looked around), and in no time our tour began… Our all-Spanish tour, in a very heavy Spanish slur, by a very quiet-voiced woman, with a crying baby echoing down the bare stone walls. My Spanish got us nowhere and for the very limited and disappointing walk in the naturally air conditioned tunnels, we stared blankly at the rambling woman while I eyed with suspicion some rather creepy spider webs. After each 10 minute section of her speech I would turn to my expectant husband, standing ready to be impressed with my translations and information and tell him “there were aqueducts.”  He was not impressed. It was fairly cheap to get in - less than €3.00 - but essentially a disappointment for how short it was and how uninformed we were when we stepped back out into the glare of the evening sun. 

Our next stop was one we would not have decided to endure, but for the fact that we had purchased a tourist card pass, and it was included on there. We popped into the Museo de Semana Santa, saw a multitude of pewter staff-toppers, watched videos of Holy week processions, and in less than twenty minutes we departing from the three-roomed museum, heading to our next destination.  

Our day was quickly drawing to a close, and aside from wandering the beautiful streets of Cuenca with their narrowed roads, colorful and tall buildings, and charming old Spanish men, we had one more stop to make – Museo de Arte Abstracto Español (Museum of Spanish Abstract Art), located in one of the beautiful hanging houses that had greeted us that morning.

The Museum was opened by artist Fernando Zobel in July of 1966 after restoring the home to house his collection of paintings and sculptures spanning the 1950’s and 1960’s. It originated with a collection of a dozen sculptures, a hundred paintings, and scrupulous care over which works would be chosen for exhibition. Contrary to the traditions of other museums, this one was very selective about the donations it would receive, focusing on quality over quantity. Through a series of mergers and purchases, the museum, and its collection, expanded greatly, and the permanent works are rotated through. An average of 40,000 visitors stop by the museum each year, but for me it is hard to tell whether that is because of the art, or the location.

I have to say, I did not really enjoy most of the art here. I thought I would have been ready after the lessons learned from Bilbao’s beautiful and strange works. However, this just did not affect me in the same way. Some of the paintings were cool, most of the sculptures were obscure. The building, however, was worth paying to go in, with its beautiful views dangling over the gorge and its labyrinth of white walls and staircases. Unfortunately, you cannot stand out on the terrifying balcony separating you from a 40 meter drop into rocks and trees (trust me, Jonny tried). But again, the views are excellent.

Cuenca was humble, charming, and fairytale-esque. It took me by surprise with every corner we turned and each threshold we crossed. If I could do it again, I would always visit the Cathedral, and I would forego every other stop we made, but only because wandering the streets was enough marvel and enjoyment to fill a lifetime, and museums were just museums.