Saragossa, place to place
A small meditation
For many reasons this city, now extraordinary and desbarajustada, are past, through history, as a return and going, transit, way place; but hardly it has been a stay place. The cesaraugustanas legions that now do but of two thousand years settled down here, had to do it by confusion: they would have to lower harrased of his fights against vascones and would arrive at these latitudes in one from those deceptive days of fertile spring or smooth autumn and decided to remain. They were the first and unique ones. The others, we are always escaping and from Abu-Yafar — constructor of the Aljafería- until Labordeta, servant of you and university professor in Arenys of Sea, surplus, all we walked with the prepared backpack to release to us. The problem is that never we go away and here, generation after generation, all we are resting our bones in the different and diverse cementeries that in this earth have had. And that spirit of “transit mundi” who we emanated from Zaragoza ones is something that we have instilled it to our own stones — nothing is eternal and the best thing is derribarlo- and to our own visitors who come by the highways of the north — Euskadi-, by the east — Catalonia, the southwest — Castile and south-east — Valencia both looks at with the certain disagreement great monuments that fall by hand but — Pillar and the SEO buy a paving stone of caramel or a Virgin camp of those with snow and, terrified of the summer heat, the ventolera of other stations and the brick with color to mud of the next walls, they leave. They go away. Then, when somebody asks to them what it has seemed them Saragossa, are wondered if really underneath those urban structures that they perceived from the stop of the tower of the Pillar, there were life. That, if they raised the tower, because if they did not do it, neither they ask it.
And thus, with that flavor to stepmother who to all leaves us in the eyes, this city transforms everything, changes it, destroys it and “it renews it” for, very damn to load itself what had some value. It is a characteristic of this city, throughout the days, to see it always surrounded or full of just open lots, to such an extent that, to an old friend, critic of theater by the madriles, each trip to Saragossa hears himself tell him:
—You follow in war?
And, indeed, in the zone of the old quarters of the city, there is always this posbélica sensation. In “Guía Histérico-Artística de Saragossa”, published by the first democratic City council, there is a complete chapter of Guillermo Fatas dedicated to the missing Saragossa. Clear that he is not the transformed thing by some there and by others; but a very interesting reading turns out to know our leaders had throughout history, its laziness and its lack of interest by the art and his much by the building volumes. A good exercise to begin to understand to us is to take in your hands the view from Saragossa from the sixteen and, going you to the other side of the Ebro, to compare it and so now you see. You will get to think that you are before another distant and completely distant city. It is the image of a Renaissance and beautiful city against that accumulation of city-planning barbarisms that the successive city councils, until 1979, have done: Everything has been loaded it. And what they could not destroy it was because the French already loaded it in the sites. We are really a city that we would have to raise to a tablet remembering everything what was and now it does not have and to put, to the margin, them name of the mayors, for memory of our children and who know on the bust of that they must go to piss.
Thus Ponz describes it: “From some distance it presents Saragossa by any part that looks at a nice profile, and is from its majors buildings, and some towers. They call the New Tower to which already it has near three hundred years, because it was constructed in the one of 1504. She is single, and without no I bring closer in the place that calls of San Felipe. It is of brick as other many that there are in the city and note that is something tipped. In her there is a great bell to touch the hours, and another one for the quarters, that this in the needle.
The doors of the city are: those of the Angel, that is most sumptuous; the one of the Sun, the Burned one, the one of Santa Engracia, the one of the Carmen, the one of the Opening, the one of Sancho and the one of the Tripería. The planted strolls of woods are, the one that call of Macanaz, borders of the Ebro, way of Juslivol, the one of the old way of Barcelona both enters us Ebro, and Gallego, and, lately, the one of Santa Engracia towards Torrero mount, and shores of the Huerva river, in whose environs there are some country houses, who call towers here.
The shelp bridges of are to us, firstly, the magnificent one of stone of seven eyes on the Ebro. According to an inscription that is read on, one became in 1437…
But underneath this bridge, following it comments it of Ebro v to the distance as of a gun shot, is another one of wood, of whose maintenance much well-taken care of is had. Also he is of wood the one that is on Gallego… the one of the new stroll of Santa Engracia on the Huerva river has of stone the foundations and the arc is of brick.”
I have extended a little in the description that makes Ponz de Saragossa, because it agrees to think what this city was by the end of the eighteen and what is today, confirming totally my first argument: Of the seven doors, it is only still on — and of way tristísimo-, the one of the Carmen. The rest has disappeared under the mattock of a termitica bourgeoisie that devours everything what they leave him, because what this still on — the Aljafería, by example has been because they could not collapse it to be in nonprivate hands. If no, until the Pillar — so catholic and fervent they would have taken ahead. They loaded the Tower New — Mudejar wonder, loaded the gothic convent of Santo Domingo, the house-palace of Torrellas, the one of Zaporta or the Infant, the House of Torreflorida and the cloister of Santa Engracia, and the convent of Santa Fe; and San Juan and San Pedro, including their slim Mudejar tower and were collapsing romantic houses, modernist buildings, the Stroll of Independence and, finally, beautiful the first University of Saragossa that all we saw how it fell and as, imperturbable, sank the plateresca chapel of Cerbuna in that one old University, without nobody raised the shout to the sky. And to those jerifaltes demolishing, in gratefulness, the city has put them streets.
Thank heavens that from 1979, the policy — and the mere speculative growth has not entered our City council and, which was an attic for parkings of trucks, as a small example, it is being transformed the reclaimed pit of the Aljafería and into future gardens.
that you arrive at this city and which you finish reading this denounce-introduction, I invite, walking — to leave the car to you is mediation, that you accompany me by a route that, although nondevoid of beautiful architectonic buildings, it will be but of daily character, and until almost of I gossip slight, of a history that is not in the great from Zaragoza guides — by upon all, the one of the City council, but that agrees to do it on foot, because it gives an idea you than it has behind that magnificiente place of the SEOs where they are gathered the Pillar, the SEO, the Market and some gothic-Renaissance palaces that have survived, miraculously, to mattock from Zaragoza bureaucrat.
In order to begin”, the best thing is to start off from the Place of San Miguel, call of the Navarrese. It is a Mudejar church with a beautiful tower and, possibly, denominated of the Navarrese because that would be the natural way where the Navarrese repobladoras followers, that from those earth were engaged in Alfonso II, they would sink the knee to throw a prayer and to animate the spirit in the future day's works of its life. Today, by a catastrophic city-planning reconstruction, of place almost it is not nothing. Before the church, crossing the place in direction of waters of the Huerva river, you put already by the city that more underwent the ups and downs and resistance of the war of Independence: By Recapture, you will stop Manuela Sancho, a heroin of those events and you will be with a city that nothing has to do with desarro- llismo city-planning, nor with the city of consumption. In order to begin, the artisan calm of small factories will go to you sheltering, while, some that another construction of the nineteen, will put towards the street that so beautiful slenderness of the procurers balconies, today almost nonexistent and unsuitable in the great avenues where what there is to do, essentially, it is to close to lime and song all.
By Manuela Sancho you are or them house of the Sites, houses of menestrales, small retailers or farmers as numbers 7 and 9. In the walls of the street the ideology leaves to flower of the skin of the inhabitants of these zones where the degradation of brutal years often takes marginacio- nes and it is not rare to find that tar gesture you that, abruptly, writes on the wall: “Jails, no”
At the end of the street, and near the Place of the Eras, they rise, leaning on the old walls, and trying to respect the structure of a these new city-planning conception that, although is not any wonder, at least is to be thankful that they have not finished yet to raise the nothing.
In number 33 of the street of Manuela Sancho, corner to the street of the Eras, is a building that, somehow, and timidly, excel to the rest in spite of the poverty of materials and the negligence to which it is put under. Mudejaria- is a restoration na to the contemporary architecture. I say mu- dejariana and nonMudejar, because this is not a mess empastichado as which rises on the street of San Vicente de Paúl, but an attempt dignísimo. You pause to look it and you discover, in a lateral one, a ceramics with the name, among others, of Santiago Lagunas Mayandia. And you understand it almost everything, because this old and wonderful crazy person embarked, with other people, for those years, in removing to the abstract light a so mudejarizante one that, now, when you see its pictures of that one time you are astonished of its fighting efficiency to cover the doors in a from Zaragoza rotten gusanera with lagu- naszorines.
The place of the Eras is a city-planning fright to which every year I take to my students so that they understand what is the speculation and the mess. A charming placita that could be as degraded others until that end are not, at the moment, besieged totally by buildings from three to the quarter, with than nine floors by block, producing more a distressing sensation of aprisionamiento. You need to leave there. I suppose that living in this place it will serve as extenuating if someday some of its inhabitants commits some barbarism. He is tremendous!
It follows Manuela Sancho and right where this street regira to open its name to the one of Doctor Palomar, in the same angle is the cover of the convent of Santa Monica and, in whose patio, a medieval winch still interchanges inner products with the exteriors or vice versa. In that angle, right in the calm noons of this city, you will feel lodged by the fresh shade and that leaves the interior, transferred to other times, other times and more if, looking at your front, towards the end of the Palomar street, contemplate the most beautiful Mudejar tower of the Magdalena, but the clear minaret of all the city. And if beautiful this street is the panorama is not less beautiful where towards half and at your left hand walking towards the Enclosure for bullfighting, you are a group of from Zaragoza Aragonese and traditional houses of which they show to you how it was this zone in the eighteen and how they would be the houses that, room by room, and alcove by alcove, had to be occupying the Napoleonic French during the siege of this city.
If you return towards Santa Monica and you turn aside yourself by the street of Viola you would end at the most beautiful place of this part of the city, and at one of most interesting, in spite of the degradation that it has been put under. It is the place of San Agustín. Occupied to the north and towards the East by the enormous building of the convent, famous because in its interior the famous defense of the Garcés Uncle took place against the French, of the pulpit of the Church. And in spite of the destructions, of the years of military quarter and the abandonment, the rectangle and the packing he is wonderful. Certainly graceful casicas of the environs, today in the heat of fallen, other countries — Germany, for example, and Heidelberg, by more signs would have been transformed into cheap apartments for students who now live in impersonal floors, and what is on the verge of sinking would be bloomed by bars, restaurants and the old convent in library, zones of culture, recreation, of encounter, zones where the young students and artists could coexist and interchange. Normal that the families do not want to live in those places, but it is recovered — that I have seen it, I repeat, in Heidelberg they could be magnificent spaces for the young people, and not so young, that now astronomical amounts by the rent of raised floors pay so that the renters know from where the north wind and by where comes cracks the sun of the infinite taken ones of the month of July. Anyway I know that this is utopian dreams, mainly in a country that during years has had streets dedicated to a type whom it had to pride to say: “I, when I hear speak of culture, coat the pistol and firing.” If you follow by the street of the Arches towards the Tanneries, the right side continues being part of the building of Convent-Quarter and the left ramplonas constructions of the forty. Anyway there is a house, the one that corner between the Barrioverde street does and Arcadas that remembers of such way the expressionist scenery of the German cinema of a Murnau, for example, that when pedantic and just university lads we came to take a walk in front of its structure convinced that thus we made more Literature. It is an isolated case, but very interesting and I would like — it is possible that a day lets know it its history, his constructors, his architect, because in the middle of the mudejarismo or from “modernity” the one that somebody raised that wonderful scenery, is not absolutely normal.
And if the degradation of the houses is great in the previous zones, the end of the street of Arches is already impressive. Everything gives sensation of which it has been left the gypsys, because with them inside, and desentendidos the owners, the collapse of the houses is faster. Sometimes it seems that the houses, fed up than have inside, are desbocan by the ventanucos and they scatter towards outside, fleeing from the inner humidity and looking for, as it is, the lukewarm sun of the autumn or the smooth one of the spring.
Go to the Low Enclosure for bullfighting and leaving to your backs the Ebro and the place of the Tanneries; against you you have part later of convent of Santo Sepulcro, whose lattice windows gothic-Mudejar put mysterious enchantment, because never they have known what within those mud walls it could exist, far from the folkloric legend that, as rivers of gossip, ran by the district in the years in which one did not arrive nor at young man. By the sidewalk that you finish leaving you raise the smooth hill and you contemplate the graceful building that makes corner with the Alcober street, and whose low they are occupied by one old already traditional and famous wine store. You can, if you wish it, taste some and prick those products that in these bodegones provide you to accompany the strong wines that like to the social classes that they live by these districts. In front of you, ugly and very terrifiedly insipid, a building rises that lodges, at the moment, a center of EGB and by later part one of BUP. Occupying all that apple it was the old University, a wonderful Aragonese Renaissance building, with a plateresca chapel in his sent interior to rise by Cerbuna, founder of this center. When it remained small for the college students both sheltered during many years only existing institutes of Average Education in a as numerous city as it was Saragossa: The Goya, for men; the Servet, for girls. And in the rooms that were free, the university library. A day, does ten or fifteen years barely — in annals, the names of ministers of Education, mayors and councilmen, everything sank and anyone could enter to take papers, newspapers anarchists, liberal, chronic of our country used by the people to ignite fire in the hard days of winter or taken by the north wind far from here. And to anybody, after that, him the shame face has fallen. I repeat my theory of the tablet that, instead of to have fallen by God and Spain, would have the name of the “teachers” of the mattock. For knowledge, only.
At the end of this building it give you of blow with the wonder of the Magdalena. It agrees to enter inside and to surround it, to smoothly love it in all contours until finding the pleasure that its contact can produce to you and then, to replace spirits of the emotion, to walk a little by the street University and to stop you in the Daisy, a restaurant filled with pictures of young contemporary painters, nice atmosphere, of clean kitchen, timid and excellent and of wonderful people. To find places you of these where the vegetable stews know to vegetable stews, in a earth in which the kitchen garden is there, is to be thankful. And also it is to thank for the pictorial landscape and the prices, that are brought closer to which you goodly cannot pay, that she is not much, but either nothing. A nice place to take a break. And to follow downwards, towards the Inn of Faustino, on the street to throw some roasts to coleto e, committing to you of Don Teobaldo, to end at one of those corners that never will teach to you, but that is frightening beautiful, perhaps with an intellectual beauty, of estam- does not itch, but of the good one. It has in this surroundings, with the iglesita of San Nicolás de Bari and the convent of closing, a special air that nor the Barbarian mattock has been able to destroy totally. This old zone was known in times as the district of the Boteron and to him went to live, when the degradation of this part began, the first gypsys. And Thursday Santo, from the church of Santa Isabel and by the most mysterious zone of this city, passed now — also, but everything is different the procession from the Piedad, behind whose step a hooded prisoner always went. Our infantile masochism played that is to say the murder or the crime committed by the citizen and the plugs that it had had with the Virgin to be able to be chosen between all the prisoners. And on the one of the dawn procession, crossing San Vicente de Paul, put by the district, where some engaged gypsy marked some saetas hard aragonese peasants and more corner was arrived until the small placita of San Nicholas — than place where it took place a little while of emotion. Plastic, that one almost was perfect. Years later, in that one same convent, and by intercession of a friar progre, the members of the Democratic Meeting and the ABLE one met. What turns the life, don Manuel!
Putting you by the Gavin street you cross the one of Palaíbx — famous in times by some semiluxurious and right brothel in the intercession an Aragonese building of good invoice invites to contemplate it to you: a little arrives more you end at another new place: the one of I roast. He is rectangular and a pair of buildings still keeps an interesting packing to spend a good short while contemplating them and analyzing the perspective that the place offers to you from different angles.
Among narrow streets you cross the one of San Lorenzo with some antique shop interesting and, by Studies, you end at the one of San Jorge, with a pair of magnificent buildings: the church of San Carlos — but the beautiful one of all the baroque of the city and Palace of the Morlanes, Renaissance spectacle of excellent proportions and that, to avoid landslides and speculations, the present City council has acquired. In this same street, in number thirty-two, already take to several years the headquarters of Andalán, that, although is not gothic nor Mudejar, yes is romantic and beautiful the knowledge that in land of fools, indifferent envies, smug geniuses and idiots of the bean, are some types which they take more than ten years, against all odds, fighting by the freedom and the democracy. And now that is already a little enough each of these things, they fight by the dignity of the people.
The street San Jorge divides it in two eccentric and an ugly one via which she is the one of San Vicente de Paúl. It seems that this street was opened to employ to the workers at the old times of unemployment, and than it was a confused spectacle of narrow streets around the one of the ivy, decided to open a route that directly went to the Ebro, taking ahead historíeos buildings and palaces. And to remedy the illegal one, somebody invention the necessity to make houses of modern mudejarismo, with an architectonic Po bretonería that really have ended up raising to a street tristísima, from that to flee, flees until the sun, that never enters absolutely, remaining by the tile roofs turbidly. One crosses and by the same San Jorge you arrive until the place of San Pedro Nolas- Co and contemplate a new spectacle: a Jesuitic church feísima, an exasperating monument to the Argensola, new houses, solar, and, in the corner of the continuation of the street towards the one of San Gil, or Don Jaime, a beautiful house that corresponds to the style that, at the home of century, occurred in this placita.
To put to you by this last section of the street of San Jorge is to introduce you in one of the zones where from Zaragoza bourgeoisie I raise two beautiful buildings and where the social structure becomes totally: the house that until does few years has been central of the Savings bank and the most beautiful one that rise in I number three of this street and whose architect, Ricardo Magdalena, was one of those beings to whom the city would have to remember by far but affection. This house is of an extraordinary beauty and all it, from the door, the patio, the balconies and external structure is worthy to be admired at great length. A little but allies, and cross-sectionally to San Jorge, the street of Don Jaime.
This is a street that if it deserves to cross itself from top to bottom, because there are buildings that are worth the trouble to be contemplated although the strange structure of the street turns it, for daily from Zaragoza ones, in a devoid street of sense. And, nevertheless, from its starting, next to the Market, the interest appears by all the sides. The house number thirty-five, located in the corner of the Espoz street and Mine, is also one of those spectacles that, at leisure, can be contemplated. It is a building that suggests a different and distant city, a city that wanted to do some people, but who the ventera reality of this country destruction. House is one that seems that it has yearning of sea, of coast. House is one that, I am safe, from its viewpoints sees the Cantabrian. Corner to Méndez Nudez this the house whose low it occupies the excellent pastry shop of Fantoba which, although you are not laminero and you do not like candies either, to enter her and to see it is everything a beautiful spectacle. He is something “so antifunctional”, but so beautiful, that the candies, that are excellent, know far better. In the end almost of the street they are, to a side, the later facade of the Main Theater, it also builds of Magdalena, and in the other the church of San Gil, whose body serves, at some moments, and for little years, to give magnificent concerts. This year, the wonderful interpretation of a piece of Juan Sebastián Bach, with the excellent collaboration of the Infanticos of the Pillar and instrumentalist the baroque ones of Barcelona, return to you to reconcile with the churches when they are communal houses. If from San Gil takings the lateral street you finished in the mythical “from Zaragoza Tube” of tascas, restaurants and Silver, the last singing coffee of the country. If you return by San Gil towards the Ebro agrees that around the street of San Voto you turn aside yourself and you go into towards one of the most beautiful places of the city: the one of Santa Cruz.
In order to arrive at her you will have happened in front of the palace of Torrero, recovered for the city by people as Santiago Lagunas, who did it headquarters of the School of Architects, and who today can be visited, since she is used massively as headquarters of important exhibitions. That way same, the street of San Voto crosses with the one of San Felix. Both saints were two altoaragoneses that the Virgin saved them to fall headlong —it is necessary to see! — and both, in gratefulness, decided to raise a monument to that miraculous Virgin and made wonderful San Juan of the Rock. In the border of the street that crosses a building of rare beauty rises that is an attempt of gothic modernization of the Mudejar one and which, somehow, it is beautiful, although strange. And of you brush you are in the place of Santa Cruz and right, opposite same, there is a house of houses, the number thirteen, that is of a so wonderful serenity and a sobriety that from boy I have dreamed about being able a day to live there. Their so rational dimensions and so goodly functional, their balconies, the perspective of their facade, discover you what could have been this city if somehow somebody had forced to the others to make the things with the simplicity and the good taste that were made here. The place is so cosy that, little by little, the young painters, the people of the marginalized nonsenses, the writers without prizes nor desire to have them, have been it occupying and are days that all she is a social gathering. When it does bad, that is here almost never, the shelter of Juanico house lodges with good delicacies and funny and imaginative things to you to make a vermouth. Number nineteen is a sober Aragonese palace of good plant in whose interior there are halls interesting packing. By the callecica of Juanico you end at Espoz and Mine, and in front of you one of the few gothic-Renaissance palaces saved of the hecatomb, the Palace of the Brown is raised and today museum Camón Aznar. To enter him and to cross it, in addition to seeing the art gallery of yielded Camón its city, the own structure of the Palace is very interesting to understand how they were, with that central patio and that gallery in first stage that is repeated in the rest. And, on the contrary, densely worked gorgeous eaves and in wood.
By this same street salts to one of most known from Zaragoza routes: the street of Alfonso. She is possibly one of the few routes of the city that was thought with a city-planning model and, for miraculous reasons, almost was fulfilled. It is a straight street that ends directly at the Pillar and in that their apples were designed with absolute geome- lockjaw of distances and heights having respected lateral streets. It is, seen today, a miracle. Unfortunately, already several unfortunate mattocks have destroyed that magnificent perspective: the hotel and “great” the warehouses have skipped to the bullfigther — “Mother, to who greased Pope the days of Mr. Franco, that one that this in skies, says? ” — the city-planning laws and undid the only thing that, in this city, were, more or less, even.
It agrees that, following the route, you turn aside yourself by the street of Fuenclara, where this the superb bookstore that ran Seral and Bailo, at a time that read few here and that continue being called Books and in which we have learned “to read” and to see painting — together with Alcrudo de Pórtico- almost all the servers in the miserable Hispanic postwar period. And also the Fuenclara palace, today cinema and Catholic Circle, but that still the packing keeps from its caissoned ceiling and the structure of the patio and the stairs. Turning to right salts to one of those places that were famous and that we hoped it returns to recover his dignity. She is the one of San Felipe who, in addition to the church, has the Tower and House of Fortea and the palace of the Arg'illo. The new municipal corporation, that cannot raise the old New Tower, located in a lateral one of the place, has both acquired buildings mentioned in an attempt to transform them: one, the one of Fortea, in the museum Pablo Serrano and the other, the one of Argillo, in a place of encounter of artists. A good hope to which only it needs money.
In order to leave the place you can make it by New Tower towards the place of the Central Market, or by the one of Temple — always templarios- to end at the place of Justice or of San Cayetano. I advise to you that you do it by the second exit and, in addition, before putting you by the one of Temple, you stop in the Crepería Flower and you take a good one combined from those exquisiteness that the “Clod” does and that, excellently marinated by the conversation of Pepe Re bun, allows you to enjoy two pleasures: the one of eating and the one of running that, when both are excellent, they amuse and is complemented wonderfully.
By the street you end at the place of Justice. It is a beautiful space destroyed by the parked automobiles, but that, in spite of everything, keeps a very beautiful perspective with the building from Magdalena, between Isabel and Manifestación, the palace of the Gabarda doing Good corner with the Pastor — where I was born and from whose balconies I learned the whole life and the church, of a beautiful baroque facade dedicated to Santa Isabel and San Cayetano who, by the way, nothing liked to Ponz. In their interior the ashes of Juan de Lanuza rest, I complete Justice of Aragon, executed by Felipe II, and whose palace — today of the Gabarda- also it was destroyed, except a beautiful one adorned with caissons recently appeared in some excavations.
By Good the Pastor you descend a cuestecica that takes you to the place of Lanuza in which the Central Market rises, modernist and excellent work of the Navarrese architect, and in that you can be found from gothic porches of the old place, in the side of the district of San Pablo, to the reconstruction that, directed by Magdalena, rises with iron columns in the Good part of the Pastor. It has been this place one of the alive places but of the city during years: there they arrived, to first times of the night, the torreros of the next kitchen gardens and, by the ground, they were unloading his vegetables, his vegetables, his tomatos, his products and, patiently, they hoped the dawn to begin the sales and all this nonsense produced the most many-colored cohorte of, from irritating and miserable brothels exhausted to tascas. From leisure places, to ex- men ruined by the alcohol and the life, that arrived there with the hope to gain some quarters to continue drinking and malviviendo.
To the other side, the most artisan and many-colored district arises from this city, today already also in frank decay. A district that turns, and has turned, around a beautiful church and a parish: the one of San Pablo. Parallel and perpendicular streets form their relationship: Preachers, Chaste Alvarez — where it was the press in which Luciano Gracia published poems to us to all the Aramas, San Blas, San Pablo and Boggiero, where still the Oasis gives a push to the life with the mysterious world of the varieties that, against all odds, they defend some crazy.
And the cross-sectional ones, as Cherry tree, Water carriers, Foreman, Sacrament, that soon takes in front of the present institute of BUP Luis Buñuel and old convent to you and jail of women. And more above, the place of Santo Domingo, with the small market of fish and that now is going to lock up, between its walls, the future theater of the Market, that will do possible that this placita of Santo Domingo, in times lives by the existence of the City council in one on their sides and degraded until the maximum by the irritating speculation on some buildings on more than fifteen plants in reduced surroundings —who was mayor those years? —, it returns to live if it is even possible. It is a district where still you are gothic buildings or places as the Inn of the Souls, rest of the old lodging, so abundant this way, and buildings of Aragonese recovery in years in which this was almost possible until I take the root history to us. It is a district to walk it slowly and by day, because every time its silence is deeper. There are places, as the Matilde, excellent trough, where some driven crazy altoaragoneses invent plates and specialties, or the Inn San Pablo, where also young people open doors to new airs that hope that you shelter yourself that way to take plates that they manipulate with extreme affection.
This district you cannot leave without seeing San Pablo, with that so beautiful Mudejar octagon hurting to the sky from his own root. To raise the stop of the tower, if they leave you, and to see the urban spectacle of this district that, in times, unions occupied — skinners, water carriers, bauleros and people of the fabric and soon to enter still the numerous artisan corners of almost extinguished professions or, of old teachers that, or now single as the boats in drydock, recall glories of this district, allies by the years in which in mass they went to the bullring to see the rejoneo and the joke of the Baulero that invented banderillear' and to rejonear bulls from the bicycle, something that never obtained, because continuously the bull sent it to fry churros by airs. And they remember it “rejoneando” by the streets. And they speak to you of the war in low voice and the executions and the fallen friendly, died assassinated. Then, when you go in silence crossing the streets sound the scents to you, the sounds and you return back, to your childhood, those dras of summer in which, to flee from the tremendous boredom of the summer, you walked with an adolescent novieta taken of the hand among the sidewalks that, occupied by the old men, murmured of present history and the past.
And when by Santa Ines salts to Count of Aranda and aqur you arrive yourself at the place of the Opening you return to be with new pages of Aragonese recent history, because to little meters the rotation, bullring rises beautiful and towards the Delights, almost, almost around the Aljafena, is the trough of Emilio, that citizen whom it gave us to eat at times of repression and which, when the eleven arrived, they closed the street doors and it was listened to, in the reverential silence of the fear and the hope Paris Radio. Then, as almost never it passed nothing, we returned to the street, the ventolera cold of the winters, to the suffocating heat of the days of July and, tamely, with the meekness that never gives the recovered time, to be lowering by the street that then received the name of the dictator of turn, Mr. Franco, and leaving the Opening to a side — extraordinary and feísima church is everything what sa- is of the famous resistance antiffance- to insert to us in the city again, in the other city, in which grew breaking by the south the Roman walls, covering the Huerva river and moving until mounts of Torrero and the dries land of Casablanca, happening superficially, Olympically, of the Imperial Channel of Aragon, and, desmadrando itself by the rough tracks of the south, to leave for today between its buildings, untouchable, that beautiful arboreal mass that is the Park of Primo de Rivera and that, thanks to a librico just removed by IT HOISTS of Saragossa, it is possible to be crossed studying what there is in each corner and each corner.
Towards the north, the humidities of the Ebro blacken bricks soon and the buildings must always that ceiracter between sad and dirty so characteristic of that one zone. To walk its streets and their places now that a serious attempt are to turn the cities into spaces recovered for the citizens and do not stop the automobiles, are to become militants of a new urban conception and that never must have left. Because, unfortunately, the majority of the population of a place that always walks with the eyes in the ground, essentially not to step on detritus of the dogs or to flee from the itch that the exhaust pipes produce in their eyes, does not know the cities, its own streets, its balconies, sometimes wonderful. This is an invitation to that, during some days, you walk looking at the facades, the balconies, the viewpoints, the portals and enormous eaves excelling at the air of the street so that you discover the way by where, to the worse thing, you take but of twenty years walking, and you have not found out don't mention it. And for you, citizen who you by far come to a city with vocation deserter, which you see of what they have been able to do and to undo those that have remained in this extraordinary architectonic jumble. That you walk by the streets and places with the mentality not to see great works of architecture, but the daily pulse of perspective that nobody is going to explain to you. It takes a plane, it follows what I tell you, but either with the blind faith, but with the sufficient imagination to also discover, by your account, beautiful places, that are them, and that I have let them follow an order more or less established. A city not only is those two or three classifiable buildings in the international guides. He is something but, much more and that is the humble attempt than I am to you narrating, mainly that, when you go away of here — because your also wraths you take an idea to you but rich of all we and who, when happening through a as suggestive showcase as the one of Aurea Plou on the street of Espoz and Mine, think that if that is there, it is not miracle, but because behind there is somebody lives it and gives life him. And if the antique dealers interest to you in this district you have them, on the street Greater, in It contaminates and the place of Justice. And bookstores and places of transit and stop, and corners to photograph you and yours to you and whom to us the same photo leaves that did to you when you came with your parents does ten or twenty years. I invite to you to that you yourself you invent the city, because of being an open space that what needs, indeed, is imagination. She With us works. It is a good adventure.