The turolenses mountainous areas: of Alcañiz to Rubielos
To say mountainous areas in Teruel, of entrance is not to say anything, because this earth is, with the exception of some small zone, all mountain ranges. And to say of Alcañiz to Rubielos either is not to specify of a full way an established route, because they are diverse those that can be taken. I am going to indicate the one to you that but I know, the one that is more comfortable in the middle of the inconvenience that is pronounced of the hard conditions in which the highways are born here.
Positions in Alcañiz, the doubt is enormous: or you go away for the mountain ranges that in some zones call the Maestrazgo, or you turn to you towards the east and you are decided to cross territories of Beceite, Calaceite and Valderrobles. Final S.A. you are decided at these last ones, never will weigh to you, are most beautiful and their small villages and landscapes are also extraordinary, but you will have to do to you with another book, because I, after doubting it much, have decided to take the way that from Gargallo takes to you to the port of Bare Cuaro and that way to lower to Alcala of the Forest and to finish in Rubielos. We are not going it either to do exhaustive, because we had left ourselves ways and places without crossing, but indicated so that your, if it desires to you, you do them and you discover by same you.
When leaving Alcañiz, to few kilometers, you will take the deflection that leads to you towards Teruel. Shortly after you would begin to see, as telluric symbol of the zone, the enormous chimney of the Thermal power plant of Andorrade, whose town, says Ponz who when it passed subject three hundred neighbors and that the repobladores came from the other Andorra”, “and that traxeron with himself the devotion to San Macario…” And as well as in the valley of the Aragon the one is the Collarada that watches the dreams of the neighbors, and in the Sobrarbe the Mountain Rock, the Ribagorza the Turbón and the valley of the Ebro Moncayo, is that disquieting always smoky chimney here.
If one has read to Buñuel in his “I complete sigh”, it can get to have a somewhat viscontiana vision of Calanda, when the landscaping and city-planning reality comes near totally to the one of the towns of the Low Aragon. Calanda always has be famous by miracle of José Pellicer and because its geographic situation has given to an economic power resal- him table between the one of all the towns that surround it, with the exception of Alcañiz. Ponz as a place with eight hundred neighbors indicates it, very good territories of work, with irrigable and splendid religious and civil buildings, causing to him to sensation the City council. Today, this town is famous by the don Luis birth and by the spectacle of its riquísimos peaches, all pocketed in the tree to avoid pecks and others you will guarantee natural. One, that is not very addict to this landscape mainly recognizes that this fruit is excellent and that the place of Villa has an enchantment difficult to forget, if this in right her the moment in which the drums of Easter strike hard against the ears, the eardrums, the belly and the rumps of the spice you gild. It is of an indescribable emotion and although nobody has been agreed on the origin of this rite, whatever, is amazing.
You cross Alcorisa soon, famous place because that way it was a smaller seminary at the time at which all the children of the province which they lacked economic means half had as only to free of the duro mountain edge becoming you cure. And that way they have passed famous writers, you cure guerrilla, anarchists, university professors of Art, disc commentators and cure, naturally. In the tertuliescas memories of these old seminarians there is a mixture of myth and reality that makes shake the meats of the listeners. He would be interesting that some of them wrote its apocryphal memories, so that a piece of the Hispanic reality of the forty came to the light, astonishing to much citizen.
The wagon one happens to few kilometers of a tiny but famous pueblico, because in his houses it was born that great sculptor and great human type who is Pablo Serrano. And then, a little but ahead, you leave the general and abruptly promoting towards some enormous deserts covered by degraded forests, you arrive at Ejulve. It seems that this word comes from I exile and, possibly, this robust town was founded by people of this origin. Today, which but draws attention, to its step, it is the church and, mainly, an enormous big rambling house hoisted in more the pine of the town that announces, to four winds, its office: “Dryer of Ham”. And it is not rare, because to thousand meters of altitude that this the town and whipped by the north wind with force, must be right very good to make flavorful the meat of the pig.
Passed the town, you descend, and right at the end of the hill you return to have two options to go towards the Maestrazgo: the route of Aliaga and Jorcas, or the one that we are going to follow by Villarluengo.
First I have done it several times in summers, when lowering to sing of Jorcas — that town to which one likes special we crossed this way towards territories of the Low Aragon. And the reduction — as the crossing by Gorse, where the phantasmagoria of the abandonment is brutal was always from a tremendous solitude. The sadness sensation that produces seeing all the facilities of the old thermal power plant left and to cross its desert houses, its empty streets, they always produce questions to which hardly you find answers. The development policy has not had any disadvantage in destroying the ecological balance of the zone, desertizar the field and to speculate with the coal until the exhaustion of the power station I am nonproductive and, with the greater tranquillity of the world, to leave everything to the abandonment. Gorse, as other towns — equal Escatron, is present names at the time of passing accounts with history. By the route of the immediate left
mind you begin to ascend by inherent broken until a point in which, covered the zone with forests, you return to lower to be with waters of the Guadalope. When you take to a stretch by this hard valley and enrisca do, takings a carreterita to the right that takes to him to the bottom of a valley closed by a beautiful semicircular wall that the blanket of frozen winds. Montoro, brought closer to the East sun and the one of the noon, raises its argillaceous houses against the calcareous stone of its later strong wall. The resistance is beautiful and, although the town has little of art in its walls, is worth the trouble to walk a stretch by its streets, to arrive itself at the door of the church and to read the warnings for mortal travellers, who a priest of cassock and lousy versificador had to command to record in ceramics.
Of exit, and again in the general, to call it somehow, soon DAS of noses with very interesting a geologic spectacle: the Bodies of Montoro. A magnificent work is everything done by the erosion of the water on the rock, showing the sky without petrified number of formation, as majestic organ pipes. And in agreement the highway is moved away, the perspective changes and the beauty becomes giving diverse versions of a same event. Then, the highway is narrowed and you end at an excellent inn, on the brink of madness arisen the way from a fish farm brought closer to boisterous waters from the Pitarque river. The best way to see the spectacle is turning all the valley and tai the ascent towards Villarluengo to contemplate it. The game of the water through the different rafts is very beautiful, and if you have the luck of which he is one of those moments which the sun enters completely the monopolies and reflects on the silverplated backs, the view still is but it completes.
If your “volumes” are normal and it that way takes the hour to you to eat, the inn of the Trouts is a good place to do it. If your “volumes” are little and the hour the same, the borders of the river are excellent. And if you are not expected a little, because in Cantavieja the places are diverse and the right prices for almost all the pockets.
To arrive at Villarluengo is to arrive already, for the first time, to those towns of the Maestrazgo that, in a while of history, had a great economic splendor and that the ups and downs of the time have lead them to that sensation of quiet patients who, in the geriatrical hospitals, speak, when they do it, with enormous dignity, of their past. The place of Villarluengo remembers, one does not know why, to those gorgeous places of the great towns and cities of Latin America. Everything is open space. Their houses have an excellent factory and the urbanism of the place is perfect: everything fills what it remains over the precipice that surrounds it. Villarluengo based its wealth on a great factory of paper. When this business I stop working started up all a great weave factory, with whose turbine the town was first that had electrical light in all the province. And, now, when you see them thus — the same this one that others, you ask so that reason, in a while, this earth had men able to go ahead opportunely and to industrialize its surroundings, and now everything remains prisoner, with a brutal emigration and hard a difficult agriculture v
If you arrive at Villarluengo in holiday or days in which the tourists appear that way, arrive you at the furnace and you take control of a good load of its specialties that execute them very well and are very flavorful. From different breads, to the macaroons, everything is good; although to one, servant, which really him lamina the nose is the last ones. And then, when you leave it, stop to you around the curve where a Calvary is raised, somewhat “náif”, and reojea finally this vision of the town. She is very beautiful, with his houses hung on the precipice and the structure of his tile roofs composing a very beautiful perspective.
The highway of Villarluengo to Cantavieja perfectly has two delimited zones: first, that is a duro effort to open on the rock a breach, and second, that passes already by high hills, quite often covered by the crossed snow and, of time in time, by wood walls to avoid the blizzards. The landscape, that at the outset has been winding, now is made green and smooth, dying to the bottom against the forests of next mountains. Then, passed this section of the port, the earth arise again from work, the perfectly delimited plots with stone walls that, in the different zones from this small region, will shine to the sun according to more or less intense the rosaceous color that surrounds them.
Cantavieja, Mirambel, the Iglesuela
At the top of the Aragonese Maestrazgo, three names take the palm: Mirambel, Cantavieja and the Iglesuela. And it is difficult, when one has crossed the three, to know by what to begin and which to finish. Personally, I believe that the best thing is to go directly to Cantavieja, sosegadamente to stop the trip in the place of the source and — the calmness is something that is needed full way here to cross the streets and the houses, the balconies and the windows. First that surprises to you it is to find you very Catalan names between its faded announcements of textile industries and if you return the view to the capital, Teruel, and also remember names of industrialists of Catalan origin, you reach the conclusion that, for economic reasons, Catalan people arrived at these homes in search of a site where to establish their knowledge in the textile industry. This zone, of good wools and water sufficient to move the turbines, was colonized by these people who returned to rise, again, the head of these fallen giants. Because giant they were the one who made possible that wonder of porticada place and that species of monstrous dismasted galleon that is the church, almost SEO, and that, if in a time was right a raison d'etre, today he appears broken-down and desolate. The only likeable detail of this ecclesiastical space is the existence of San Lamberto — from Zaragoza to whom the Romans cut the head to him and with the head in the hand enterro with Santa Engracia- of baroque invoice.
—Do You know that santo? — me pregúelo the santera when seeing that I exclaimed aloud: It walks, San Lamberto!
— It is my landlord — I responded to him.
—Called are you Lamberto?
— No, my mascot is called thus.
And the señorica, without understanding much, smiled to me.
They tell that to the origin of Cantavieja this in the foundation of Asdrúbal on a “Letter gus Vetus”; but the reality goes that is to say, because the legend on Asdrúbal and the Carthaginians arrives until Belchite. The reality is that this difficult strength was taken to the Moors year 1170 by the catalano-Aragonese, Mr. Alfonso II and who, headquarters of the templarios, underwent a strong siege defended by the gentlemen of the Order, Anglés and Galliners. Its own defensive structure of rocky bastion did it, along with the next Morella, to become strong territory of the carlistas of Goatherd and, later, fort also of the Spanish maquis. The revenge on Goatherd produced the majors destructions in this earth of which Ponz shelp: “Its five term is partly of leguas, distributed in the territories of I graze and work, many pine groves and one hundred fifty masadas, quarries of white marbles and mixture, new and very extensive church of three ships, in which it lacks facade; good small village, and nonbad streets, enough factories of cloth, too many hermitages and brotherhoods, industries of leagues and wool tapes, as in Fortanete; schools of Grammar very concurred of all the Baylias.
The house of the Zuritas gentlemen, native of Mosqueruela is conserved in this town, of I fitted isimamente furnished, and continuous the family in mayorazgo of very good patrimony. They keep in her annals from his famous predecessor Gerónimo Zurita.”
Of way to Mirambel it agrees to pause at the end of pineapple costs and to look at the impressive spectacle that, that stone keel very terrifiedly sent to the emptiness, is Cantavieja. At the moment, the silos of a farm, I suppose that of pigs, nailed in parallel to the nose of the strong wall, they disfigure the landscape resoundingly. I suppose that the people of Cantavieja will say, and with reason, that to them the landscape does not give them to eat. A pain that one does not know now if the original tower is the one of stone or the one of plate.
The first news that I had on the Maestrazgo of a real way was after the reading of the barojiana novel, “the sale of Mirambel”. As much I am impressed that bad novel when thinking that Baroja had been able to be in those places, at times at which to arrive until would have there to be almost impossible that, during my years of stay in Teruel, one of the first things that I did, when I could acquire 2 CB., was to raise to me until there with the novel under the arm. The old Basque novelist had been. He described everything as he was: “It is a dark village, with old air, almost of the Middle Ages.” And, indeed, the Middle Ages remain subject to his restauradísimas stones, although nothing has of dark, but, on the contrary, it tremendously seems a luminous earth, or that one is at least the vision that I keep from the times that there am oslado in her. Ponz says: “Of Olocau one goes away to Miramhel that has its stone wall with some, towers: its population is of 200 neighbors, who live in the town and masadas or houses on work; there are some families of gentlemen make dices; a convent of Augustinian nuns, in whose church plaited esparto rope are no artistic objects that men the attention, nor either in the parish outside the cover, that is simple with ornato of two columns. There are hermitages and brotherhoods, that is with their expenses do not dexan to be slow to the neighbors.”
It does not seem that to Ponz the view of Mirambel fell to him well, then, at present, is much more beautiful everything that what he says. One forgets the City council, of the splendid palaces of the Gorse and of the Castellot, whose view is one of the things more beautiful than they are possible guard the Maestrazgo. Their two eaves of wrought oak deserve something but that species of scorn that Ponz felt by this town.
What yes that is they are not masadas. Mirambel, at the moment, this crossed by enormous skeletal strong walls that, as challenges to the time, remember you are contiguous them of the old plots. He is impressive to see them in the light of the dusks, when the shades radicalize the tracks. Either there is Augustinian nuns and, although the town this care until end, no one cannot see that conventual building, because the owner is a Mr. of Valencia —another one! — and it has the keys. You only can see the small clan and to contemplate the beautiful lattice window that would separate the nuns of I publish, and to meditate, novelísticamente, on the entrances of the carlistas to the control of “the Sawyer”, to burn the church.
The people of Mirambel feel proud of their surroundings and now, when they recover a balcony or a door, they try that the carpenter of the place imitates to I trace the traditional ones of the region.
Of exit again to the field, through portal of the nuns, to verify the raised work lattice windows in the tower is a good exercise to keep, in the retina, the Mudejar beauty of this place that had history and that now remains in a adormí! amiento tense which it only leaves when it arrives the good time and the tourism.
To thousand two hundred meters of altitude is another one of those unusual places of this tortured and torturante geography: The Iglesuela, call of the Cid, because it is possible that through these earth it passed the Castilian gentleman —or Aragonese? , according to Ubieto- way of Valencia, leaving its nickname to many places, because as Ponz says: “Distant to average legua of the town entitles Our Lady of the Cid. That one famous captain could this way make some mansion when going, or returning from the kingdom of Valencia.” And whatever the reality is that on that altitude is this new wonder.
The city, as all, was surrounded by walls that today only stay as shade, in the memory of the own structure of the streets of the town. It was released of Moors by Alfonso II and of the five doors that opened their houses to the field, it is only today the one of San Tablo, through who one leaves towards a species of precipice that at the moment divides the town in two zones very delimited.
As the rest of the “nests of acute” previously commented, also the Iglesuela happened at the hands of the templarios. Peculiar how this distant corner and section of circles of being able, distant of ways journeyed and truly fortified against foreign attacks, would be one behind another property of that so strange military order in its behaviors and so it is brought and taken through the times, until ending his dissolution and the execution of his heads. When, recommended this mountain range, I have been the memory of the templarios and of step I have been observing the geographic structure of the precipices, mountains, the broken crests, the difficult ports, have returned memory the readings that, on these men, I have made in my life and confirm theses of people of “speculative” spirit, dangerous for times in which the dogma was necessary to accept it rigorously.
The Iglesuela does not have counted, perhaps by its geographic enclave — turolense- perhaps by its little political ability is but the Eastern locality, with the propaganda and promotion of Mirambel and Cantavieja. And as well as the other two towns have crossed history with their name and some, Mirambel, have received financial help for its reconstruction, the Iglesuela never has counted with elf. And, nevertheless, nothing can be compared to that so extraordinary and spectacular set as it is the occupied area by the City council, old eat to and templario castle, whose blos Tower of the n, or the Tribute, gives to the place a beauty that, of some way, remembers to sequences of that one beautiful film of Orson Wells, “Stands out you swim to Midnight”. To lock in that slight enclosure of the church and the City council, plus the porticada facade that closes the passage to another street, is to find you with time absolutely stopped, stopped. You can to be there in greater silence possible and, if you love a good advice to make a tourism that really is worth the trouble, takes to you, when you raise this place, the “Songs” of Manrique to its father, and reads them to you in an inner reading while you observe stones and the air stopped on the tile roofs.
Ponz says: “It has the Iglesuela 250 neighbors, and a vallecito plenty of leafy kitchen gardens and, in the town, its little of factory of cordellates and estameñas.” Today still you can buy on the street Greater weaves made with the old artisan systems done with hand looms. You can acquire blankets, ponchos, gloves, all of very alive colors, too much perhaps, almost to the Incaic way. And it is this high street one of the good strolls that you can do, dividing of that first family house of beautiful eaves, and to be verifying the structure of its facades, the forge of its balconies, the clean and clear air of its doors and, of time in time, other places of the town, to run into to you with the wonderful houses of the Daudén, the Matutano, the one of the Gorse and the Agramunt. All is excellent, and, when questions that happen with the town, the people complain, you rub, of Ja financial help absence, by parle of the Delegation, to recover the houses and the town. All the neighbors have done it. Fodder that, unlike Mirambel, whose extreme poverty a time ago the people sold everything to leave there, those of Iglesuela has apechugado with its earth, but rich and fertile, and has remained in its homes with the osquedad towards the institutions that characterizes the people of these places. And while the new owners of Mirambel, Valencian or foreign finally pampered their political relations with Madrid and Teruel, those of happened here. Some, the powerful ones, because always it has given them the same and because nothing needed — the interiors of the great houses therefore demonstrate it, and, the other, those that almost never command, that is why. Total that, between everyone, one otherwise the beautiful towns of the Aragonese Maestrazgo remains in a small nebula, that would cost descorrerla little and to remove to the light all the splendid structure that there is behind that sondormido air. Anyway there is something to the people who travel can be strange to him of the inhabitants of these places: its little interest to inquire into the history of its towns. It is difficult to find to that it at great length explains the names to you of stones, the facts, the doors and the walls. It has — to difference, for example, of the people of Alcaine, or the Pyrenean one, or Rubielos- a disillusioned disinterestedness by the knowledge.
— - To me — I told me a citizen of the Iglesuela- does not like to read; but there is a son of the town, that is masterful, that yes knows things
And you must end up crossing the locality with a tour guide in the hand, losing the human contact with the air of every day, that yes is true conocimienlo of the territory.
We leave the Iglesuela and in my memory the first time that I visited it, allies by the sixty, with my brother Miguel, in one of those “taximétricas tourist razzias” that were cracked through Spanish territory, being made accompany by poets, professional girlfriends of poets, anarchists or quiet characters of life from Zaragoza. It remembered, back from the port of Fourth Bare one, the phrase of Miguel while we left him way of this town: “This is the end of the world.” And there was as much opened space, as much air between a place and another one, as much silence, that almost, almost, it seemed in those years reality which shelp. Now, with the improved highways and the appropriate cars but, the distance of the aim comes near to “last spurs” of the end of the world. From the Iglesuela two ways can be taken: one, that, through port of Mosqueruela and the one of Linares, 1,720 M.s, takes to Rubielos, and, another one, that is to regirar towards the Fourth Bare one and, by Villarroyay Allepuz, to lower, by the births of the Guadalopey of the Alfambra — future Turia-, until Aléala, Mora and Rubielos. Personally, I do this completes, although Mosqueruela is another beautiful place, although Ponz takes off it of in the middle with this concise news: “Among precipices, not as fragosos as the antecedents, and in front of several bushes of pine groves, pertaining at the end of Mosqueruela, one goes through this town of the bishopric of Teruel, whose population is of 400 neighbors, enclosed masadas, who are many. There are things of no consideration in the ornatos of the parish.” And it seems lie that a man, sometimes so worried about elements, almost, almost ecological, anything says of that beautiful portal dedicated to San Roque, with chapel and everything, or of supports them to them gothic, or of that so impressive house that they say it was palace of king Don Jaime. Sometimes, this Ponz happened carelessly through beautiful places, and perhaps the fatigue of the trip made him despise despicable values in anything.
Slowly, the highway is moved away of the zones of culture to go into again in the zones of high and cold meadows. In the crossing it is taken towards Teruel and, from here, the highway falls intrincate and difficult. In summer, the pine groves, the extensive pine groves that are born in this zone and finish in western slopes of the port of Villarroya, are one of those places where always it desires to go, by the height, the coolness and the little visitors, since, although the towns fill of vacationers, these do not happen to be that, verneantes, and barely practice the hiking of the patatera tortilla. To walk by these ways, in summer, is to walk by the solitude, something that in the Pyrenean one more and more begins to be difficult, if you do not end up less looking for “folkloric” places of the regulars. When you arrive at the stop of the port, the bottom you see Fortanete and the fertile valley crossed by the Pitarque river — that one that enriches the fish farm of Villarluengo-, and so you can do an idea to you of tortures to me of the geography of this zone. To stop to you right in the slope for, if it is of behind schedule, seeing the sun sinking towards the bottom, is beautiful. If, in addition, you have the luck of which are rest of snow in hills, by the forest, the light all route shakes plus the emotion.
Crossed Fortanete — of beautiful mountain small village and crossing the bridge on the Pitarque, to little, you begin again to ascend among a rough highway, surrounded by thick forests until the port of Villarroya, 1,655 meters.
Defending the port by the western zone of the mountain range — whose pine groves have disappeared is, on waters of the young Guadalope, Villarroya. If you come up to here from Teruel, you tremendously cross bare mounts and it will be to you funny that to the town nickname it “of the Pine groves”. The opposite route confirms it to you and it reaffirms you in a powerful economic past that indicates in the urbanism and the structuring of this town.
The first time that I arrived at her was with the trip of Miguel, and then — years sixty, who the tourism was only lodged in you are contiguous them Mediterranean, to anybody it was happened to him to support these towns, to remove them from his collapse and, reorganizing his houses, its landscapes, his civil and ecclesiastical buildings, to dignify them beautifully and to take to the tourists by these ways. They were times of other things and, in spite of the existence of a traditional summering - Villarroya is a town excellently Iresoo-, nobody thought about revaluing stones. They were the years of “the fragatino” cement.
The second time that I went to, already they took people to me of the town, gotten involved young people in picking up its so battered and left earth. It was the first year that I raised Jorcas to sing — 1974-, and, almost kidnapping me, raised me the town. The reality had changed totally: of an abandonment sensation one went to a resurrection combat. The river this being canalized to make beautiful its shores; they show the Tower of homage to you as rest of one old strength, and the gothic church, and streets, and facades of many of the corners of the town. And then, when a day you want to return to encounter again to you with those earth, you are that zone remains been silent and that in no official or unofficial guide of Teruel it appears. For some, because it is not Maestrazgo, and, for others, because, strangely, it lacks significant monuments. In this town, I am with Ponz, that says of him: “Of Linares — I transcribe everything so that the value of this citizen is seen walks to Villarroya, crossing some broken valleys and territories: to two leguas goes through Valdelinares —so changed now! —, lugar' colonised by those with Linares, with abundant and fine grass for greater and smaller cattle: the dangerous port goes later of Valdevacas, where some perish in the days of snows, for being more the trio of these mountain ranges. The church of Villarroya has a superb cruise, that says I pay for don Francisco Peña, auditor of Defeat, who was in liorna by Corona de Aragón, natural of (island town the altarpieces collaterals are good, with colum ñas brought closer of stone and pictures that represent the presentation and transfiguration. By death of the auditor, at the home of xvn, I do not finish makes it of the church, causing much ugliness which is of the old thing, and also the greater altarpiece; but already it had sent of Rome many relics placed in precious reliquaries, that maintain little angels.
Tiene Villarroya 400 neighbors, and almost all are occupied in the factories of cordelletes, floorcloths and duffles: in addition, sufficient agriculture and much wool cattle, particularly in masadas: its neighbourhood has grown, but their pine groves are handicapped — the underlining is mine, as note in the crags that they surround to the town, where it has only been very little of this in high summits but. The house of the Rocks stays, where there are good paintings, that the auditor control from Rome, and oratorical a very precious one. They assure that they are in I finish of this town silver and jet mines, with quarries of white marbles.
Of Villaroya — he always writes it with a r goes away to Gorse, walking between meadows, masadas and some short woods…”, and I finish with this completes explanation because Ponz gives to understand that he lowered by the river basin of the Guadalope, by which today does not go no highway. And he is graceful to verify the lengthy description that does of this town when we have seen that, of aparentemcnte more famous others, happens Olympically. The reason could be that, indeed, Villarroya attracts of an amazing way the visitor who takes in his spirit the will to encounter again dumb and beautiful corners. And the sensation that produces the arrival to you to this place is of calmness behind the winding long walks that, you come from where you come, you must assume.
Leaving towards Allepuz, to little kilometers, there is a deflection to a lugarcico, Miravete, that a year meant a shout of rescue of this earth. There the people of the Low Aragon and the turolenses mountain ranges met to send a distressed SOS. Under the motto of “We save Teruel! ”, she tried herself to make an act that served so that all we took brings back to consciousness of the agony of this great giant that is the complete province. For familiar reasons — my mother crossed a little while critical in the UVI of the Social Security of Castellón, and serve these words as gratitude towards the people as that one house and of that one summer, I could not go to the great celebration and the concentration. Don't mention it she served. The earth are not saved already by the will of their people. All the process is much more complicated, and today the torturante nicacional structure comu- of territory influences excessively in the economic process of earth. Pain is one that great spaces, that a day were fertile cabañeras of cattle are in silence, when the crisis of the world is going to be of proteins, and that our lack of national independence forces to us to close doors, every day more doors, leaving empty rooms to the time, the boredom, the Earth and the abandonment. Most impressive than there is in Miravele enormous, subject elm tree by bricks so that im sink, and that would be in the middle of way between the machadiano elm tree and the exciting symbol but of a earth that does not want to die.
In Allepuz you are with three directions: one towards the capital of the province, will hear towards the corner of Jorcas, where I have so many distributed pieces of heart with friends, and, towards the south, between the mountain ranges of the Moratilla and of Gudar, one smooth one that takes to Auk! a. And it is thanked for, when you are decided by this one, the smoothness of the landscape, the sweetness of the way and the quiet and tame air of the contour; mainly if you have made the way that I tell you, where the torturantes ports, the gorges bottomless, the precipices — as broken skeletons against the afternoon have besieged to you continuously. Now, the fertile valley is sweet, and, if it beams already for the summer, when everything is green and fertile, with the pine groves smoothly lowering until kissing waters of the river, and the fresh meadows serve as food to cattle, you feel, of blow, far from this earth and almost, almost, you move to the smooth places of Austrian the Alps. Gudar, raised in a hill, returns to you to remember where litters: by turolenses earth.
With Gudar always I have had the black. When we have finished acting in Jorcas and, on the following day, we had it to do in Blackberry, or took this same highway to pass through the unusual Aléala, of return to Saragossa, being given a tourist return, always I have stopped myself in this town, I have raised its hills
Iunas until the boardinghouse or inn because enormous he is his licks as excellent trough. I have never been able it to do; it always has been to top and, in addition, not why, the “cordiality” of the owner has made us march scalded enough the place; but, as one is not cat, by four times I have tried it, never I have been able. But I want to review the fame that this place takes by those homes.
And of blow, when lowering a hill and turning abruptly to the right, you are, to the bottom, scattering until the borders of the river, precipitate from the walls of a castle, taken apart enough, one of those visions that in these mountain ranges you can only be found: Alcala of the Forest.
Almost always that I have arrived at this place, I have done it as dumb tourist and, with my manual in the hand, I have followed the abunidas and doctoral lessons that has shown to me, from the origin and names already to the last “artistic” work of the contour, that is the hermitage of the Virgin of the Fertile valley, leaving towards Blackberry. I have known by that its name is due that, in 1174, Alfonso II — called the Chaste one, does not know by what I donate the castle, tenth and patronage from Alcala to the monastery of Selva Mayor in Gascony, and the old temptation to think that the nickname him venia of the great pine groves sinks when verifying that it is not more than a “Frenchified custom”. What is the life!
In one of my trips it connects, for that reason of the chance and the name to walk singing by those places, with one group of wonderful crazy people who gave a vision me of the place that never he had had of not b.ibl.u with them. Everything began when, desele ñiz Auk, I called to an inn reserving room
—For how many days? — it asked a young voice to me.
— For tonight.
—Only? — it returned to insist while it gave sensation that, carefully, pointed the two data that were asking to me.
—And to name of that?
— Of Labordeta.
—José Antonio? — he insisted to me.
—He does not screw oneself!
I did not know what to respond, but when from gotten late I arrived at the inn, the lads of the town — a group of them, naturally walked hoping to me. Jesus, who therefore was called the boy who I am spoken by telephone and that worked of barman in the bar of the hotel, I turn out to be a type of those ready and snide ones which never they thought to leave these places and that, with his visceral joke, animated cotaiTo of the other companions who, in those days — students in Teruel- walked of paschal vacation, those that go between the boredom, the offices and the rustic joke but, because the time, tasteless cold and, it accompanies almost always, but that to be of long social gatherings, to invent funny revelry. In order to begin, and as a affectionate madness, they had invented a drink between troglodítica and “MGP”: the submarine, that consisted of filling a great jar of high-grade beers and then, to let sink, in its interior, clothes, with crystal and everything — of there the one of submarine of pipermint or patxaran, according to with the color that, then, they liked to color to the beer. And then, as in collective tribe, with plastic straws — now tubitos to absorb until run out it. It was almost the rite of the “joint” or the pipe of La Paz, but with the alcoholic tradition of the Mediterranean towns and not with that joke, between Asian and Yankee, of “marichuna” — therefore the one of marigüana- is shelp in Aragonese. Jorge, another magnificent young man of this place and that walked that one night trying that “somebody” invited to him to a sandwich, while it thought about his kind mother who would be hoping to him with the hot soup in the table — all saying with a tremendous joke did not begin at school to count succulent histories of its stay — seminary of the Vines of Teruel-, his life of waiter in Gandia selling to the young autographs of Bertin Osbor- ne at the cost of ten duros, to be able to buy the superb jacket that now took Limberg model — “that not who is”.
— First that crossed the Atlantic in airplane — I tell him, but to it concerns little to him, because continuous with his chat putting, of time in time, his straw in the cojar and sticking some lingotazos tremendous.
— Here what happens it is that everybody thinks that we are Valencian, and of that we do not have anything don't mention it…
(On the following day I went to buy a newspaper and the only position on sale was “Las Provincias”, of Valencia, and, furthermore, of you roll or to c n.iin” previous dates.)
— But we are forgotten, left Fixes to you if they have odd habit to us until in Teruel, the high mount but of these mountain ranges is the Penarro already, that this here alongside; then, cabro nes of the capital, to screw oneself to us, puts a meter to him more to the Javalambre. And that does it because they want that the people are going to ski to those tracks that are those of the turolense Federation. Here nothing, forgotten.
All confirm, to shouts, and pushing some the other — “that heat it give me in the back! ”, complaint Jorge of the squeezes of a companion, the affirmations of Jorge, which I do not enter nor I leave, but remains, because this earth there this flood of offenses, sometimes apparently idiot as this, but deep in the root of too many things. One of the lads socarronamente murmurs:
— By it snowed here until they put the repairs of Valdelinares. Since then, nor a drop. And the Valencian domingueros all in a spot treading down the whiteness of the snow.
—They are as children! — calamocano Jorge murmurs a little As children!
And soon he tells us that he works, “until he tires to me and goes to me”. “I never will go away” — Jesus interferes “removing wood from mounts. It is a hard office, because sometimes you must yourself throw with pine and muías by places that you do not know to where cone you are going to go to stop as somebody slips.”
—There is much wood?
— A doctor that was here. It received, in addition to the insurance, you equal them and the people, as nonsubject money to pay them, cut wood indiscriminately and with the dogs they phelp to the doctor.
— That I take all the pines with him.
And all, or with the fifth or sixth submarine, return to repeat the same history, but to strong voices and with funny variants describing to the doctor the day that went away of the town taking wood trucks, of much wood. All the pines of the world. All.
Suddenly, one of the girls, also with an funny face of ancestral joke, says:
—It walks, if they are already the twelve!
All are put standing up in the bar and they explain me that they must go to the dance; the girl takes the keys and as it is weekend, it is all plenty of Valencian, and thus we removed some dogs for the celebrations from fifth.
— Al year that comes we are fifth we — the girl says to me, and we would like that you came to sing, in agreement?
— In agreement.
— Now — it insists, see to me you dance.
— Very I am tired and tomorrow I must follow trip.
—It comes! — they shout all to me.
— No, thanks. I am going away to sleep.
—That will be Valencian! — mócete with childish face says with eyes picarones to me.
— Another day.
And all go away, until Jesus, the barman, who asks permission to him his head. The only one that is next to us is Jorge.
—You don't go?
— I lower to Blackberry, to the discotheque. These make dance of parish. And it is laughed while one remembers that still it has not had dinner and, establishing a discussion with me on the excellence of the sausage that her mother does, in clears to me allies straws or the pens or what it is, disappears of the place and returns to appear with a long sausage. Two hours after having dinner again I am gotten involved with the teeth, chewing and liking an excellent inlay.
— It is that as my mother are no many.
Alcala of the Forest also deserves a slight route, from the small and beautiful existing chapel to the entrance of the town, to the place of the source and the church. The narrow and cobijantes, but perhaps moriscas streets that another thing, in their drawing up, remeten in the air an air of gothic Serrano. , When I arrive at this pueblico, I always raise until the place of the Source and, seating to me against I number four, I remain all along in silence that I can. Then, I look at the people majors that take the sun, or flee from in the summer, and with boring air I wander about again, or I enter the extraordinary church, ugly and rickety, symbol of other times, allies when that was the symbol of the power and glory. The volumes of the churches of this zone are impressive. They belong to xvn or to the XVIII and the pomposity and the evil taste of the Jesuitic baroque style one extends of by all the sides. It has, in some places, where the wagon one happens almost taking breath and forcing, to the trucks and cars,1. to shrink the belly. Fodder, when I say Oslo, in the one of Power groups, back in the mountain range, that is overflowed towards Gorse. But they are all similar, enormous and ugly. Nothing than is understood by art, is in its interior and, sometimes, only the enormous profile of its volume to the air, is relatively elegant.
Soon salts again towards the Fertile valley, towards the sanctuary of the Virgin — another enormous architectonic-and silly thing, crossing guest house shawls and buildings, you begin to raise the port of Alcala. Shortly before arriving at its higher point, attack in a curve and taking advantage of the sun the noon, appears the urbanization the Solana, a clear sample than it does not have to become and that it has lead, in other places, to a perfect degradation of the place and the surroundings. That the promoters will say that thanks to this work there is no unemployment by the region. Also they shelp that by Levante and then, at the speculative moment, there was no it, but now there is it and of brutal way. We would have to learn in other people's head, but nor even so.
From the stop of the port he sees himself the bottom of the Mora de Rubielos valley and he allies more, towards the south, perceive the contours of Sarrion. The loss gives is beautiful, between pines, until, near Blackberry, all a mount slope appears burned. It is the old history of always: priincm was the cattle dealers and the farmers; now, the domingueros tourists who have an enormous Alan to fill the detritus and excrement landscape and, in addition, nonhappy with that, with time in time, burn it. I would like that the TV campaigned of brings back to consciousness clear and full, because to walk by Spain it begins to be to go by an enormous garbage dump and a crematory.
Blackberry is another one of those serranas cities with castle — perfectly taken care of at the present time, an enormous and beautiful gothic church — is but the beautiful one of all the way that, far from the Mudejar materials, uses the stone, due to the own pomposity of the gentlemen who in the fifteen sent it to construct. And if beautiful it is the church, less it is not the place than it puts in front it, and the buildings that surround it, and the palaces or stately houses of the Cortel, those of Royo Herranz and the house of the Parish and the one of the Monterde. Here, in this earth, the great splendor renews in the eighteen and the balconies become rich with beautiful forges to decorate them and to embellish them. The place of the City council walks somewhat unstructured without still losing the beauty that supposes one that it had. And to take a walk by its main street until the portal of the Elm trees and to see house house, building to building, until surprising to you with the graceful “School for children” is a wonderful exercise, that it is going to you to be preparing to discover, some kilometers but it allies, right in is contiguous it of Valencia, that impressive city called Ruínelos.
Ruhielos de Mora
Sometimes, one can to think if is passion or is only emotion, but few towns can to resemble to beauty, to arrogance, to structure urban and to rate of this town From City council, to house but humble, happening through beauty of district of Campanar and blesonadas constructions of Cresell, Equal, Samitier or Povadilla, everything locks up emotion that, when takings the guides turolensesy you verify that with four lines they take off from in the middle to this place, you do not understand anything.
The town this surrounded by a wall of which they are the portals of San Antonio and the Carmen. If you arrive from Alora, you ran into with the one of San Antonio. A good advice are to leave the car in these outskirts, to the people they likes so much the car that turns out cabreante to see the tourists walking by the narrow streets with its vehicles. Crossed the portal, you amorras to some buildings that are possible that you never get to understand how they are there. They are, as other things, product of the industrial explosion that in eighteen and the nineteen had here. But under those buildings they appear gothic arcs of a great wealth, that demonstrate that gus to by the architecture is not a recent fact. In the City council it deserves to see the patio and to contemplate the jail, somewhat third-world, but forged in iron with an iron door impresa> nante. In front of the City council, two followed palaces, one medieval and another one of invoice Italian ciochesca click, gorgeous. Put the one next to the other.
The art, when it is good, gives just as another time is of the 11 I; it is always art. And to walk by (island street until the bullring through the street of the Leonine one continues being so beautiful that it is difficult to describe everything what here is locked in. And if of blow you are to Pepe Gonzalvo gotten involved in a good one capazada with its countrymen, the sky will have been opened to you. Gonzalvo, as Vitoria, are two artists born here. And while Rescuing it lives in Madrid, Gonzalvo has mounted a wonderful full CA-sa-factory of irons, the factory and of ceramics and welcome the house. It is going to show his place to you with such affection, that it would be good that, in the tiendica that is underneath the bar the From Leon one — it is called thus because on the street there was a palace with a shield with two great from Leon or in the restaurants, and until in the gas station, would sell some cassettes recorded with the voice of the same country of this Gonzalvo, for knowledge of the walls, stones, irons and secrets. Because to see the hospitalico or to only see it with him, when it explains you that it is used of chique-ros for the celebrations, with the greater naturalness, while the crucified Christ of the fourteen hung man to the bottom is touched when teaching you, he does not have comparison. Nor comparison has, when in the traditional bullring, it explains the rite to you of the embolado one:
— It is engaged in from the outskirts with a single cord, that is to say, is necessary to run in front of the tiny beast without it reaches to you and are, it clarifies, bulls of six hundred kilos. When it is arrived here — it indicates the center to you of the place is tied to log that has put in this place-in MM I, squared perfect him embola, To go away melon balls of esparto with tar, ignites to him and it loosen.
It is a rite that Brel never understood in that sad song that speaks of which the bull becomes bored the afternoons of Sunday. There are too many things in all this celebration of men and bulls — - and mainly in these as pure as to dispatch them with a stroke of the pen. Serious tuna that the Ministry of Tourism — if it is that it even exists invented the route of the Toro who could begin in Teruel, July and to follow it by all these towns where money to be able walks all the year gathering to have “cows”, as they call them.
Leaving the bullring, it takes to you until a beautiful building with extraordinary amounts of balconies and in which, a plate, it remembers that here he was Frank. In this town they had to be all, because another one remembers the stay of Goatherd and in the house I number 26 of the street of the Furnace a plate also remembers that there it was born, the 22 of January of 1768, Vicente Pascual and Esteban, canon of Teruel and president of Cortes of Cadiz in 1812.
— Almost nobody — Gonzalvo- commented and that, by the way, is not in the Aragonese Encyclopedia. As if as much people exceeded to us!
And she follows Rubielos surrounding to you, caressing to you, making you almost feel as a piece more (his streets to you, that, by the way, under the aelual name, keep the traditional one. And thus, half of the place of the church that does not receive the sun, calls it of the Shade. And the one that receives it, of the Sun,
and this the one of the Furnace, the Carriluengo and so many other very funny others that they indicate his raison d'etre, as the one of the Customs or the Inn. Among the houses more taken root this the one of Ram de Viu with double cancels in its pallium, beautiful and sober. By the door of the Carmen salts again to the field, towards the convent of the Augustinian nuns, of closing and with community still, located at the end of a Calvary What friendly we are of the death and what little of the hope!
To the right of the door of the Carmen an old convent of Carmelite, expropriated in the confiscation and turned into makes of blankets — that was one of the main sources of wealth of this town remains apparently intact today. In its interior, and respecting the cloister, the intelligence of the Gonzalvo is turning it into apartments duplex. The rest of the building gathers a nightclub that, to respect the logs of the ceiling, those of the town, at the outset, shelp: “Cone, this as the kitchen of my house! And a small, but sufficient restaurant.”
— The wealth of was here always in you make them of blankets and in the sawmills. Its fall I mean the end of all their splendor, although never it has stopped having certain lineage; sure, at the cost of losing many children of here, in the emigration.
And soon it takes to us until a new bullring — but the great one of the world, because here all the inhabitants of redolada- fit and is that it is a place cut by half that, seen from the front, before discovering inim, seems it enormous. Back from the town by a coastal one, Gonzalvo presents to an old friend his, tion and partyer, snide and funny. The man walks quickly and as soon as he says nothing.
— When I married, because one marries recently — “about ten years”, clarifies somebody, this friend to him remained abandoned, because, in those days, the nuns closed the asylum and the good-natured one shelp: “I do not know what sera of me; Gonzalvo married and without asylum. Sometimes itself taking a walk with him.”
Soon it presents two young young men who walk now in the office of forjadores that, according to Gonzalvo, is a recent office by these places in spite of the sensation of which there was one long tradition. We took leave and, after advising to us that we return for the celebrations, we left way Teruel taking the highway that goes until Sarrión and that crosses some enormous high woodlands in one of whose corners they are, as left, some constructions pertaining to some mines of which bituminous stones removed to operate obtaining them from them possible petroleum. A utopian attempt that never nobody has explained to me clearly, although, during the years of my stay in Teruel, my obsession and insistence were very great.
Of gotten late wraths already way of the port of Escandon and soon you will lower hard against a full clay landscape red, and at heart, the Mudejar towers of Teruel. A good rest in this city, a good stroll by the urban center and a glance to the Mansuetos, is things that are due to do when happening this way goes one to where it goes. The surroundings and the corners deserve it and, if you have a little time it vetoes until the House of the Culture and visits the museum. You will be artistic wealth of many of the places that you have visited and, mainly, an excellent sample of the wax mica of this city and this province, (luisón really magnificent. To the bottom of the landscape sides how the Alfambra is united with the Guadalaviar and, with name of Turia, one goes away towards Valencia, the coast, towards the future, as the emigration of all these towns.