Ávila - the Town of Stones and Saints

Ávila is a place that fools overlook, and to their utter misfortune, when they seek out an authentic Spanish adventure. Indeed, like Seville is with Andalucia, if you want to feel the true emotion of Castile and León, Ávila should top your lists. Sure, Segovia has impressive ancient plumbing and magical castles and Salamanca has a historic university - and no one will argue that these stops should, and likely will, rank highly on your destination itinerary. But obvious, awe-inspiring entertainment aside, you are missing out. You omit the spirit and true energy of the people of the region. You miss what they hold dear in their hearts and culture. And you will pass up an incredible, 12th Century, near to fully intact medieval wall encasing the city. 

Verraco de piedra, a granite sculpture of a boar from the 5th Century B.C.,
its features worn away by weather and the passage of thousands of years

Ávila is a small Spanish town located in Castile and León, as the capital of the Province of Ávila. It is celebrated as holding the highest number of Romanesque and Gothic churches per capita in Spain, and indeed, it holds one of the first Gothic Churches built in Europe. It was inhabited in the 5th Century BC by Vettones – migrant cattle-herders whose “verracos de piedra” still remain intersperse throughout the region. It was conquered by the ancient Romans for a time, when it likely developed its permanence and Roman shape (square with two main roads intersecting through the middle). Following the fall of the Western Roman Empire, the Visigoths developed a stronghold in the region until repeated attacks from the north by Christian Kingdoms reduced it to a no-man’s land. When Raymond of Burgundy reconquered the area in 1088, he is credited with initiating the construction of the magnificent walls that still stand today. Enclosed within a nearly complete medieval town wall, this 16th Century-esque town was declared a UNESCO World Heritage Site in 1985. Today, the town has come to enthusiastically embrace St. Teresa of Ávila as its patron saint. Teresa of Ávila was a key player in the Counter-Reformation of Spain in the 16th Century, a Spanish mystic and Carmelite Nun. She reformed the order of Carmelite Nuns to regain the contemplative meditation practices it had lost in recent years, and she herself engaged in strict seclusion where she wrote several books prominent in Spanish Renaissance literature. Forty years following her death, she was canonized as a Saint, and she is the patron saint of headaches and ailments. 

I came to Ávila for a very brief visit on a school trip passing through on our way to Salamanca. At the time, it seemed there was not a whole lot to offer a tourist passing through, other than an endless litany of churches and a chunk of wall to climb. Online blogs and TripAdvisor forums on the matter indicated the same sentiment - three hours was the most anyone should ever really need in this tiny town. Anything beyond that, and you risk utter boredom. We, having nothing better to do on the Saturday before Holy Week (Semana Santa) began, decided to make the most we could of this “simple city,” come what may. And with Jonny there, we were always risking an encounter with some worn grassy spot he alleges is a path that would ultimately lead to a mountaintop view three hours later. It turned out that we had no need for spontaneous side adventures. What we expected to be a leisurely 8-hour stroll through a quiet town turned into a lively, jam-packed adventure that left our legs and feet crying for mercy, and our hearts flooded with contentment. 

Our beautiful 19°C day began with a two-hour train ride (sorry no bullet trains to Ávila), twisting and turning through, under and around mountainsides. While most travelers were lulled to sleep by the quiet hums of the train, we set our swivel heads in motion, taking in the boulder-sprinkled fields of cows, the spontaneous swaths of abandoned stone fencing descending with the passage of time, and the jagged mountain peaks reflecting the glare of the sun off of their untouched, now receding, snow-caps. Eventually, we emerged from the sea of mountains, arriving in Ávila . It is approximately a 10-minute walk from the train station to the walled section of the city. However our first destination was el Monasterio de Santo Tomás - a 16-minute walk from the station, located outside of the walls.

EL MONASTARIO DE SANTO TOMÁS

The Monastery was constructed in 1482, built for the Dominican Order, and sponsored by Ferdinand and Isabella (los Reyes Católicos) and the inquisitor Fray Tomás de Torquemada.

The Dominican Order was established in Spain and spread through Europe with an effort to return to religious foundations, leaving the secluded life behind and involving themselves in the community to spread education. They are more-so famed with their overzealous dedication to the faith that led to their key involvement in the Spanish Inquisition, a time where conservative estimates of 130,000 Jewish persons were killed for their beliefs (not counting those estimated to have perished in their dispersal from the country). Some contend the number reaches 800,000 in reality. Fray Tomás de Torquemada, had been Queen Isabella I’s confessor, and he was a strong influence on her decision to marry King Ferdinand II of Aragon, uniting the kingdoms into one country of Spain in 1469. A Spanish Dominican Friar, Torquemada was the first Grand Inquisitor of Spain’s 15th Century attempt, through the Alhambra Decree, to force Christianity upon its Jewish and Muslim inhabitants, and out any pretenders (called Marranos).  Through his role as Grand Inquisitor Torquemada led something of a witch hunt for those who allegedly converted to Christianity but retained Jewish practices (no one would have to ponder for long why pork is such a prominent dish here). Arguably he restrained the actual punishments of the inquisition to a degree, often making the offenders wear pointed hats pictorially displaying their sins to the public. Still, many died under his watch. He died in 1494 and was laid to rest in the monastery. In 1832, two years before the Alhambra Decree was disbanded, his bones were stolen and ritually incarcerated as an ironic display of auto-da-fé (the term used for burning one at the stake).

Los Reyes Católicos are arguably the most well-known royal figures of Spanish history. Spain had been under the rule of the Moors (Muslims) for several centuries before Catholic kingdoms gained a stronghold of the regions. King Ferdinand II and Queen Isabella I’s marriage, as well as the victory in Granada, the final standoff for the Muslim population, sealed the deal for Spain’s successful conversion back to Catholicism. Los Reyes Católicos had only one son between them that survived into adulthood, and hardly for that matter. At age 19, only six months after the marriage to his much beloved Margaret of Austria, Prince Juan died in his father’s arms of unknown causes. Most believe it was tuberculosis, but many rumors about his sexual overexertion also spread. Los Reyes Católicos designated the Monastery of St. Thomas to be their son’s final resting place, and his tomb now sits prominently at the head of the Church, a glowing white, alabaster piece of art as big as a queen-size bed.

Admission to the building came to €4.00 each (no student discounts here) and it included in the cost an audio guide. These are somewhat necessary for your self-guided tour, if you are like us and know nothing about this place. Buying our tickets gave us a glimpse of what we would see and feel throughout the day - people here are very friendly. With a town as small and conservative as Ávila, it seems it could go one of two ways, in the extreme. People could tend to be cold, distant, and unwelcoming, or they can be open, conversant, and friendly. Luckily, Ávila is the latter. People great you with a smile, and they make small talk as they perform their tasks. The visit consisted of a tour through three cloisters, a church and its choir, and two small museums - one on natural science, and the other on Oriental Art.

The Novice Cloister (El Claustro del Noviciado)

The first section you are led to is the “Novice Cloister ” the smallest of the three, and the simplest, with plain grey columns and basic roman arches lining its internal courtyard. Unique to cloisters in general, this Novice Cloister’s courtyard was composed of stone slabs, now overgrown with spongy moss, and an off-center well.

We proceeded through a small, rounded, passageway of red brick, with nothing but a light to guide guests, and into the second cloister: The Cloister of Silence.

The Cloister of Silence (El Claustro del Silencio)

While called the Cloister of Silence pursuant to the  practice of the Monks to walk in silence throughout its halls and courtyard, I would imagine it is hard to speak the first time seeing this place anyways. It is, by far, the most decorated Cloister of the three, with well-selected hues and unique displays throughout. The ceiling in its golden stones and complicated archways that came to a point with what looked like a pine cone, were my favorite part. What was interesting was the lack of uniformity of it all. Each pillar consisted of a different abstract design. 

This arch design was our favorite, what with the demonic looking clown
El Claustro del Silencio

The courtyard with its lush green grasses were a beautiful sight to peak into, but nothing too special. As customary, it had a well, and the decoration from the outside looking in gave you another perspective into the care that went into constructing this place of quiet contemplation.

We were allowed to view the courtyard from a different perspective - the upper level of the cloister - where we could view more closely the ornate carvings in the arched window-ways overlooking the yard below. In the white stone, Pomegranates (“Granadas”) lined each arch, tangled in their carved vines - representing what was at the time the last stand of the Moors in Spain: Granada. the columns supporting each arch held three-dimensional dots lining its corners. Below these windows, Spanish coats of arms were carved into the same white stone. 

Finally, in the upper level, brilliantly sharp paintings lined the walls. I assume this was temporary, as they were held by flimsy easels. The hall was otherwise bare. 

Next we were led to the church choir, on a balcony overlooking the church. A mass was going on at the time, which made be a little uncomfortable to enter. I felt silly in my yoga pants with my camera in hand while the people down below us were taking communion. But we were encouraged to enter, and so we did - and I tried to tiptoe through it all. It was similar to most choirs I had seen in the Gothic Churches, with the dual-level seats lining three of the walls and a podium at the center of it all. The chairs were made of walnut wood with Gothic style carvings throughout - each chair displaying different monsters. The view of the church below was wonderful. The original altarpiece, on a higher level than the rest of the church displayed paintings encased in gilding. It was decided after its construction, to not be used because they would not have room for the staircase ascending from the main hall of the church. Where they planned to put what I could only imagine would have been an elegant and elaborate stone staircase bathed in matching gilded decór now instead held the tomb of Prince Juan II - glowing like the snow-capped mountains. 

View of the Church - and Prince Juan I's tomb - from the choir balcony

Each wooden seat in the choir carried a different engraving,
many with animals, several with demonic looking beings,
and all with a Celtic-like pattern throughout. 

After touring the church itself, lined with seven side-chapels to peer into, we headed towards the final cloister - the Cloister of Los Reyes Católicos. It was the largest, but it was quite basic in design. No carvings in the walls, no paintings in the hallways. The Courtyard of this cloister is what really carried the day. The courtyard was ethereal, with deep green grasses and an intersection two walk to the middle where the well is placed. Daisies and dandelions sprinkled the ground here and there, and with the sun warming our chilled skin (it is very cold in the cloisters), we were induced into a moment of quiet contemplation. We lingered here only a brief moment as time was running out and we did not want to miss whatever the museums might have to offer.

Courtyard of Claustro de los Reyes Catolicos

The museum of natural science was, in a word, creepy. Filled with nothing but a large array of dead animals categorized in glass cases throughout two rooms, it would be more aptly called the taxidermy museum. But even then, it would have been a disgusting display when it came to some if its more “ferocious” animals. For example, a male line stood in the center of the room, its eyes bulging manically, and its feet positioned as if he were standing on his toes. If you are going to exploit the beauty of these creatures, at least try to be accurate - stuffed animals surely would have been. We were alone, and animals were snarling at us as we passed them, so we moved on to the final museum.

Lion in the Natural Science Museum of the Monastery 

The Museum of Oriental Art was more aligned with its name. The Dominican Order had collected a substantial collection of statues, paintings, porcelain and other artworks typical of ancient Asian cultures. They were all finely decorated and full of warming colors. The only elements that brought pause for me was the large display of ivory carvings - out of elephant tusks. I know these are all older items, and that at the time they were acquired, there was not enough information out there. But the continued sale of these ivory carvings and figurines absolutely disgusts me. Our elephant population is declining at a rapid pace for our selfish desires. Ok, I am off of my soapbox now. 

In all reality, we spent too much time in the monastery, but it was different from the other places we had been to so far, and a nice substitute to yet another Cathedral. However, in retrospect, I would have shortened our two-hour visit to about one hour, and I would have used the time left to visit one of the oldest Gothic Cathedrals in Europe – that of Ávila. We were ready for lunch when we finished touring the monastery, and excited for the new foods unique to this area. And so, grumbling bellies in tow, we headed up a very steep hill towards the wall of Ávila.

When I came here the first time, it was a cold, cloudy, and desolate weekend day. Even in the main parts of town, there were never more than a handful of people, counting the tourists. This time, coming back up the hill, I noticed a distinct change in the atmosphere: there were endless streams of people descending from the city center…and most of them with CAKE! We stopped using the map, and enthusiastically headed in the direction of wherever these delicious-looking desserts were coming from. This led us right to the plaza in front of the fortressed part of town, and into an enormous, buzzing crowd. As we made our way through the people, we found a long line of people receiving these little treats. I thought to myself, what magical world had we encountered, where cakes were just handed out to the town in the plaza, and how do we convince St. Louis to do this every Saturday? It turns out this was all in anticipation of the Easter processions that were scheduled to occur that evening – not just some regular hidden practice of Spanish small town life. The line was long, and we were hungry, so we moved on and promised ourselves a true Ávilan treat for the evening.

For lunch, we chose a random place (Yakarta) that offered a menú with the famous Ávilan dishes – Chuleton (steak) and Judios Blancos (a white bean soup with chorizo, pimentón (paprika) – and apparently ear). My adventurous side was not up for the bean dish, which Jonny eagerly chose as his starter. We both had the Chuleton as our main course – and probably could have shared one between the two of us. It was an enormous, thick slice, seared, rare steak that might have benefited from more tenderizing, but was so delicious nonetheless. I have forgotten in my five-month stay just how much I enjoy steak. Ávila did not disappoint.

Bellies full, we downed our coffees and it was off to feel better about ourselves through a hike on the walls of Ávila. The walls are said to have been built between the 11th and 14th Century, beginning around 1090. However, there is great debate and much mystery as to the details beyond this. It is apparent that they took a great deal of time, and that several different hands were involved: throughout different styles reveal themselves, from a chaotic jumble of tan stones encased in mortar, to thick slabs of granite, to evenly laid red bricks. The majority of the structure is, however, the first. There are 88 semi-circular towers stretching its parameter of nearly 2,516 meters, many of which you can climb into for some incredible views. I strongly recommend the entire route, and a good pair of hiking shoes.

Initially, we found ourselves in a bit of a panic. We felt like we were running out of time to see the whole of the wall, and we could not find the way in. I look before we travel every time, but my preparation is never enough for the reality we face. Above our heads, we could see people traveling across the wall. But for us, there seemed to be no way to get there. While I continue to reiterate that the people here, in their small town nostalgia, are friendly and willing to help, none of the people we stopped seemed to know where it was either. I could not believe it. Finally, an old man stopped and told us in a thick accent the general direction. After circling an entire block, clearly misunderstanding the finer details of what he said, I asked inside some random convent where they sell tickets. And at last we were on our way in the right direction. For those of you smart enough to travel to Ávila, for your information, the entrance to the upper level of the walls are just to your left as you enter the main entrance of the walled portion of city - about 100 feet where we gorged ourselves on steak. We bought our tickets (student discount under 26 years old!) and began to climb. 

The stairs up to the first section of wall are absolutely terrifying. Flat stones, polished and rounded out by the weather are you only means of making it up the wall, and every step increased my fear of tumbling backwards, or at the very least, smashing my shin to pieces as a slipped. I am a klutz, so to add such expert-level stair climbing to my agenda is not much appreciated. Going down is even scarier. But oh, it is worth it. We made it to the top, and found the timing was perfect. just as we peaked out through the tower walls, the procession into the city (preparing for the real procession) was passing us on the street below!

We climbed up to the top of nearly every tower available to us, soaking up the heat of the sun and watching the birds soar at eye level. We loved looking across to the towers on our left and right.

By the time we made it all of the way to the opposite end of the city, the sun was starting to set. We watched our shadows dance along the buildings next to us, took in the glow that was beginning to emanate from the walls, and had our final looks at this wonderful structure we were standing on. 

We wanted one last look at the walls, and we found a highly recommended viewpoint some distance from it all: los cuatro postes (the four posts). Outside of the city, across a river and into a more forgotten area, stands a square platform with pillars on each corner, and a cross in the middle. From there, you get a solid look at the majority of the walls. 

Unfortunately, tourist buses know where this place is now, and it quickly went from five people to forty people who seemed as though they would be there for a while, taking selfies with their selfy sticks. No matter, we appreciated the up-close views better anyways. We crossed back over the river and began to walk along the wall itself, pausing here and there to watch the golden sunlight explode against the the wall. 

We made it to a corner and entered back into the city - and found ourselves blocked in by an Easter procession. Jesus, being crucified, was displayed surrounded by purple candle on a float that needed 20 people to hold it up. The participants here wore purple masks, but behind them a flood of white cloaks and “capricotes” overwhelmed every emotion. I could not settle on an emotion as the mass of anonymous  people swayed to the rhythm of the drums and a clamor of bells from the towers filled the air. It was terrifying, exciting, mystifying, intimidating, and it all made me feel a little funny. We stopped to watch for a few short moments. But our time here was rapidly coming to a close, and we needed the dessert we promised ourselves - Yemas!

Yemas are the treat typical of Ávila. Like the marzipan in Toledo, the nuns make these morsels in the convents. Essentially, it is egg yolk, and sugar (some soak them in rum). I can’t say they are the best thing you will ever try, but you cannot go wrong with sugar saturated fat. We bought ourselves a box and savored a few of them as we sat and watched the sun fall majestically behind the mountains. 

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.