Today has been a day of many childhood memories as I drove through the region of Spain I used to come to as a boy with my family which is about 60 miles North West of Madrid known as Sierra de Guadarrama.This morning as I had a final stroll through Segovia I was very aware of the many smells of food frying with olive oil, streets that have been washed clean and familiar smells of freshly backed bread wafting pass my nose which took me right back to when I was a small boy. As I drove along the memories continued by the strong odour of pine mixed with something else that I have never been able to identify. In a sense this was very much home and it is as much a part of me as my life in the UK.
About 20 miles out of Segovia I stopped for fuel and to remove the hundreds of bugs that had ended the short existence on my windscreen, it was at this point that I realized that I had no front number plate. I was confident that it had been on the front when I parked in the hotel car park the previous night as I normally do a check under the front nose cone to see that the sump has not been damaged or is leaking oil. I concluded that either it had dropped of in the last 20 miles which seemed unlikely as I could not recall anything scraping and it was held in place by three very strong adhesive pads, which once when I had to replace a broken plate took considerable effort to remove. Or as I suspected someone had claimed S7 FOP as a trophy either way I had no front plate and I knew that in the UK this can lead to a major fine. I checked my RAC guide to driving in Spain and sure enough it was the same in Spain a fine of 200 Euros can be made on the spot by the police if your plats are missing or incorrect.
I decided the best course of action was to stop at the next garage and ask if they can make me a temporary plate. Though this would not be the same as the UK plate it would at least have my number on it. The rest of the drive was very pleasant driving up into the mountains of the Sierra de Guadarrama dispersed with huge reservoirs which supply much of the water to Madrid. You could see that the dry season had already begun as some were quite low and you could see ancient villages beginning to appear on the shore line that had been swallowed up when the river had been dammed.
Before to long I arrived at Navas Del Rey [Place of the King] which was a small village I used to come with my family to live during the long summer holidays. My uncle has a villa about 3 miles from the village in the hills. When we first used to stay it had no electricity or running water. Each day we would drive into the village to fill up five or six 40 litre water carriers to take back to the villa and at night everything was either lit by candle or oil lamps it was very romantic and for a child with an active imagination was fantastic. It reminded my very much of those spaghetti westerns you would see with Clint Eastwood in fact all those famous films such as ‘A Fist Full of Dollars’ etc were filmed in this region of Spain and not Mexico or the US as some suppose so it was as real as it got. A few times a week we would walk the three miles into the village to Pub Disco 2000 where I practised my teenage flirting with local Spanish girls. Being English and in this small village made me a novelty and exotic so attention was easily gained.
On one occasion this led me to take up the offer the following day of walking to the next village to meet up with a girl and her friend to use the pool they had access to. The village was 10km and in the heat it nearly finished me off until I was picked up by the local police and thought I was in trouble. They drove me right to the pool little did I know that the officers were friends of my uncle and he had seen them in the village when he went to collect water and told them that if they saw a stupid English boy walking in the heat to the next village to give me a lift. Thankfully the return journey was provided by the girl’s father who was very interested in how much my father earned in the UK. I think he was sizing me up as to a possible match for his daughter and I wondered if I would be married by the end of the summer in some bizarre rural Spanish ritual.
As I drove through the village where the girl had lived I saw several old men sitting outside a bar who pointed at the car as I drove by and I thought they might be saying ‘look Hojse it’s that English boy come back in his sports car. We told you should have made him marry Maria’! Stopping and explaining I was a priest in the Church of England and not some millionaire would have only caused more confusion.
When I reach Navas Del Rey I realised that time had done the sleepy little place no favours as it was now a large suburban sprawl and Pub Disco 2000 was no more. I decided not to hang about as I wanted to remember it as it had been when I was a boy and some where I could return to in my thoughts and dreams. I did drive to my uncle’s villa which is down a dirt track not really meant for a Caterham. I knew no one would be there as he was working in Madrid and I had said that I would not be coming right into the centre of that big city in my little car. Had my timing been different I could have arrived at the weekend and stayed with them. The little villa looks much the same but now has electricity running water and a swimming pool.
After this little trip down memory lane I headed for El Escorial which is a huge palace and the burial place of the kings and queens of Spain. Built by Felipe II between 1563 1584AD and is dedicated to St Lawrence. When Felipe II built Escorial he instructed the builders to make all the royal apartments very plain they are mainly just white washed walls with heavy rustic furniture. All of the gold and gilt was saved for the church and mausoleum at the centre. He declared that this was a place for God and not kings and it was a kind of spiritual retreat for the royalty of Spain.
Upon entering the small town that surrounds the palace I came across a citron garage and pulled in to see if they could make me up a front plate. The receptionist was very helpful and said she would phone the Spanish equivalent of the DVLA. After several phone calls which took well over half an hour during which I showed the finer points of the 7 to the garage mechanics who had gathered round and where impressed with the simplicity of the car the receptionist said it would be possible. Great I thought but she then went on to say I would need to send my documents off and the plate would be ready in three days. I then discovered that all plates in Spain have to be made by the transport department and are not made in garages. I thanked here for her help profusely but explained that I needed to be in Santiago in three days so could not wait for them to be made up. It was then the I realised that I had a set of spare plates in my garage. They were leftovers from Halfords when the lad making them up had not got the letters central so he said I could have them free and made me another set. I got on the phone to Kate and then Anne Bell to get the spare front plate brought out with the group coming from Shrivenham along with some more sticky fixings. By the evening Kate had phone to say plate and fixings were in Alex Peals case. I would just have to explain to the police that a new plate was on its way from the UK and hope they would understand. This delay meant that visiting Escorial was not really viable and as I had been to it many times before decided to press on for Avila.
It was over 20 years ago that I last stopped in Avila but only for a brief time and never got to see the convent and house where St Theresa lived had her visions and wrote the ‘Interior Castle’ one of the great works of Christian Mysticism. St Theresa of Avila is a sort of Spanish Julian of Norwich so if you have read any of her works you will find Theresa of Avila equally inspiring if not more so.
At my last visit all one could see of Avila is the medieval wall which surrounds the whole town rising up on a hill out of the plane it was a very impressive site. These are considered the best preserved medieval walls in Europe and are 2km in length built in the 12th centaury. I was shocked this time to find a massive urban sprawl of high rise buildings surrounding the town. What on earth have the Spanish done to the place! It was ghastly and there had been no attempt to make any of the buildings sympathetic with the old part of the town. I have noticed this in several of the towns and cities I have been through and planning laws must be very lax. No thought is given to demolishing a row of medieval houses to be replaced with a high rise block of flats. I fear after it is to late the Spanish will look back at what they have lost. When this is compared with the great efforts the French went to rebuild there towns after the Second World War, St Malo for example rebuilt from the ground up its very sad that this urbanization is taking place.
I found an underground car park just outside one of the main gates into the old city and headed for the Convent or so I thought and got very lost. My theory of ask an American can back into play as I saw a group of young American University students with a tutor come the other way. I asked if she knew where the convent was and she said ‘follow me’. As I walked I chatted to the students who where in Spain for a semester in Madrid learning Spanish and before to long we were at the door of the church which lead to the convent. The young people didn’t stay long they were obviously on a whistle stop tour of Avila and then I had the place to myself.
I was then very lucky as I was shown the garden and house though I could not go in where Theresa lived 1515 -1582AD and then led to the chapel which has a famous statute of her where the nuns come to pray. It was beautiful peaceful and cool and I was able to sit and pray in stillness for sometime. It was a welcomed reminder of what this trip is really all about, to see how God has influenced the lives of the saints through the ages it was very moving knowing the St Theresa had prayed daily in this little chapel when she live here in the community before leaving to found her 19 orders of the Barefoot Carmelites with her disciple St John of the Cross who was from just down the road at Fontiveros. After drinking deeply from this spiritual well I set off to Salamanca via Fontiveros birth place of St John of the Cross but there is very little there to see.
I passed several police cars stationed on the outskirts of the small towns I passed through but thankfully they showed no interest in my lack of front number plate and I arrive safely in Salamanca. Tonight’s hotel had been book many months ago a familiar Ibis with parking. The charming and attractive girl on reception to my surprise was not Spanish but Polish studying at the university here. Salamanca is Oxbridge for Spaniards it’s their premier university and run on a collage system like Durham, Oxford and Cambridge. It's also Spain’s finest example of Renaissance and Plateresque architecture. The university was founded by Alfonso IX of Leon in 1218AD making it the oldest in Spain. Amongst the city’s many impressive buildings is the Plaza Mayor [Main Square] built in 1729AD and is huge.
This is where I headed for my evening meal after a welcomed shower and by 8:30pm it was beginning to come alive. On all for sides there are cafes and bars with tables to sit and watch the world go by. Supper was veal and asparagus with a glass of Rioja followed by a rich dark coffee and small cigar all for 11 Euros about £9:50! Buy now the square was filling up with students and had a real buzz about the place. I had hoped to see some Tunos or Troubadours as in previous visits with my family. These are musicians from the various colleges more often than not studying music that come out to sing in the square. They dress in Renaissance costume and have long black capes to which are attached long coloured ribbons. These ribbons are attached by young ladies to whom they sing as a favour if they are liked. There is great rivalry between the collages as to who’s the best and a Tuno whose cape resembles Joseph and his technicoloured dream coat is clearly a hit with the ladies. Sadly none appeared due to it either being only Wednesday or possibly the university term has finished but in Spain the term continues much later than in the UK
After a walk round in the cool night air and a glass of wine and couple of tapas I headed for my bed knowing the Santiago was now only two days drive away.
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