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.
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