A SHORT SOJOURN IN SPAIN

The Costa Blanca doesn’t sound like much of a place to start a nutters’ jaunt around Spain. It ain’t. I just started there because my old school friend Lynda lives there, and I was spending a few days “chez nous” at hers before we ventured to Madrid. It was good to catch up with her husband, kids and look back at old times in Sittingbourne. Lynda has been round the world quite a lot – she worked for the FO and specialises in Spanish speaking countries. She spent some time living next door to Maximilian and Charlotte’s palace in Mexico. She has taught me how to pronounce the name of their residence, but it wasn’t easy and I’ve already forgotten. She now teaches Spanish to English who’ve moved to Spain, and drama to their kids. There’s a lot of English in the Costa Blanca and I met a lot of them whilst there – mostly from Sidcup. Spaniards were thin on the ground. I should have been wary of the drama teaching. Day 2 left me sitting in a local café whilst Lynda took a class. I was going to settle down with a bottle of fizzy water and John Van Der Kiste’s latest book, appropriately on Spanish royals, and just chill. Sadly not, 2 Sidcuppers spied me and plied me with questions about British weather til I wanted to scream. I was nearly at the point of throwing the book at them but as John had so kindly signed it for me, it would have been a little ungrateful.

But that was nothing compared to day 3. Lynda was involved in an amateur dramatic production of The King and I. No, she did not want to hear the real story of the real Anna as detailed in Charlotte [Zeepvat]’s nanny book. Neither was she keen to hear the real name of the King which I was happy to teach her to pronounce. No, I was just to sit in the corner, mind my own business, read John’s book and not get in the way. Or so she told me. After five minutes or so, she sidled up to me and said that they were having problems with the sound. 4 hours later, I hadn’t read a page of John’s book and was in deep despair at the sound equipment. I made it work, sort of – they were happy but I was not. Still, no good applying Radio 4 standards to the hall of a restaurant in Spain with some ex-DJ’s equipment and blown speakers. “This will cost you in palace visiting”, I told Lynda. There was to be no mercy.

My last evening in the Costa Blanca found Lynda and I glued to the Friends Reunited website to try and find out what had happened to various school chums. I leave you to imagine the pitch and volume of the scream when we go to one who was in the same year as us, and was married with 8 children and 5 grandchildren!!!!

And so to Madrid, a 4 hr train ride from the southern coast and ample reading time. Lynda, still in disgrace, was not allowed to unpack but was made to dump her bags at the hotel, and go pester the concierge to try to find the Church of Atocha. This is not, cunningly, at either of the Atocha stations. Having established the nearest tube station, we went there, and then had to go into a shop for further info – poor Lynda using her Spanish to its limit. The church was found, and even entered, despite having no obvious entrance; it’s up a side street. You’ve all seen it during Felipe’s wedding to Letizia, small, blueish interior, fairly plain. Not on the tourist trail, and felt pretty spiritual. There was a nun praying, so I did one quick flash photo and then we legged it.

Basílica de Nuestra Señora de Atocha, Madrid  

I graciously allowed Lynda to choose the restaurant for dinner, and even bought the ice cream in the big main sq, before revealing that it was palace time the next day. And to the Escorial – the burial place of Spanish kings. Most things are reachable from central Madrid by bus – much easier than train. Lynda taught me Spanish bus stations, a skill I would need later in the week. Not as chaotic as Russian and reminiscent of Victoria coach station. El Escorial is an hr away from Madrid, in nice scenery in a hilly area. It’s an old monastery, dominates the town and is huge. It’s very medieval, room after room of bare walls, with paintings or tapestries hung on them.

El Escorial, Philip II's palace and royal burial site, near Madrid

Zilch about Alphonso and Ena. But there are the tombs. Lynda thought she was getting off very lightly until we got to them and I went photo crazy. There’s chapel after chapel, fortunately with signage for each so you can make out who is who – not just kings, but both Alphonso’s + sisters, Juan Carlos younger brother etc etc – hrs of fun for Ove. Also watch out for the Bourbon palace tour – once the Habsburgs had left Spain, the Bourbons built their own palace in the grounds of Escorial. Smaller, warmer, nicer, full of tapestries. Tapestry heaven. The Spanish take their tapestries seriously and have the likes of Goya designing them right and left. Apparently, they are machine washable. Down at the tapestry factory, they have a machine they dip them in. They’ve all kept their colour very well, much better than Belgian ones. They must use that special washing powder that Persil makes for coloureds.

The next day I did allow poor Lynda, still in disgrace, to go to the Prado – an art gallery choc full of religious art. Lynda started off by loving it, but rather lost interest at the end – “there’s only so many Jesus on cross pictures you can take”, she said. So on to the main Royal Palace in Madrid for her then. That’s right in the old town, very easy to find, up on a hill, and rather dramatically sitting on a big sq – yes you remember it from the wedding. After a mere 5 mins in this, Lynda said in despair, “can’t we go more than 2 steps without taking a photo”? For the sake of our friendship, I tried to control myself but as we went from room to room, she was heard to exclaim, “You’re taking a photo of a cup and saucer!!!” Indeed I was – well, it had Alphonso and Ena’s monogram on it. Like Escorial, the emphasis is not on them, or the current royals, it’s really on Charles III and IV and I admit to being hazy on them. But there’s some magnificent, if not over the top, decoration in this palace. The dining room is wonderfully golden, there’s one room with porcelain decorations all up the walls, the throne room was a mass of red velvet and, of course, there were tapestries. Bookshop not to be missed either – well Lynda did, in favour of the café. She needed a sit down before crossing the sq to the church of Almudena. Yes, this is the big church that Felipe married Leti in. Very grand on a Westminster Abbey scale. Off the nave to 1 side is the tomb of Mercedes, 1^st wife of Alphonso XII. He started building the church in her memory, putting her in the crypt til he erected something more appropriate in the church. He never lived long enough to finish that, and she was only reburied in the church recently, in a splendid white tomb. But meanwhile, down in the crypt, there’s a few Spanish Bavarians.

The Palacio Real, Madrid, the former residence of the Spanish monarch. 

Lynda had to return to her half-starved children the next day – her husband having been left in charge and not really being up to the mark in the kitchen. Mike was to join me later in the day, but with a few spare hours, I hiked off back to the bus station and went out of El Pardo, on the outskirts of Madrid. My luck was in here, not 1 other person was visiting and I got an English speaking guide to myself. She was well chuffed that I knew my Alphonsos, and she spent a great deal of time showing me the room that Alphonso XII died in. His actual bed alcove was turned into a chapel by his widow and the rest of the bedroom, she made into a sitting room. Franco spent a lot of time at El Pardo so much of the original decoration has gone – but the stuff from his time is in quite good taste – not nearly as bad as Stalin in the Crimea. Of necessity though, there were tapestries. Oh and I should mention before I forget, that all the palaces were awash with dramatic chandeliers. These were made at the Royal Glass Factory at La Granja. And there was also a Royal Spanish porcelain factory in Madrid. I assume they had one for tapestries too.

Back in Madrid, I whizzed off to the church of San Geronimo where Alphonso and Ena got married, and where various ceremonies for Juan Carlos’s inauguration took place. It’s a bit of a mess, undergoing serious restoration. It’s round the back of the Prado, on a rather indifferent street, and the dramatic steps that Ena was photographed ascending for her wedding (see photo in John’s book) are rather hidden around the back of the church. It’s very dull inside.

I greeted Mike with a walk down the Calle Mayor – yes the bomb throwing street. There is a plaque marking the terrible event. Speculating which balcony the bouquet came from was not his idea of an evening of fun. But then, the alternative was the nice leather shop in the Calle Mayor – a place I was rather successful in on the handbag front later in the holiday.

The memorial in the Calle Mayor on the spot of the attempted assassination of Alfonso XIII and Queen Victoria Eugenia at their wedding in 1906

I had planned the next day as a jaunt to a palace but Mike wanted nothing to do with “Aphonso de Ponso and Ena Sharples”, so I zapped off to the bus station on my own, for a trip to Aranjuez. I had rather expected him to want to see this palace as it’s inspired a guitar concerto, and the grounds are superb, so I can really see why. But it was just as well he didn’t come along. This, at least, was Isabel II and Alphonso land. I did the main bit of the palace – more porcelain on walls, red velvet throne rooms, and a very nice Arabesque room. Then I came to the “Life of the Palace” exhibition. And lo, I could have cried with joy. I found cradles used by Alphonsos and sisters, toys played with by Alphonsos, portraits of Isabel and weedy husband and clothes – lots of them. One room had dressed worn by Marie Christine – a court dress and others (Charlotte, I’ve taken as many photos as I could*). One room was ceremonial dress of Alphonso XIII with just one uniform belonging to Ena (she got a raw deal here) and one room was all Alphonso’s uniforms. There was also a room dedicated to Alphonso XII. Think I was in this section of the palace for a good 2 hours. The crowing glory was the 4 wedding dresses at the end - Sophia’s, Letizia’s and the two Infantas. Sophia’s was covered in embroidery, Elena’s was a little too fussy, but Letizia’s and Christina’s were nice and plain. There were also a couple of dresses worn by Sophia at ceremonials at the start of their reign, along with the uniforms worn by JC. Mike would have hated every minute.

Quite how I talked him into the next day is anybody’s guess. Yes, off to a bus station and a 2 hr journey, inc change in Segovia on the way, to get to La Granja. Completely different scenery here – La Granja is really a summer palace, way up in the mountains, beautiful romantic spot, great for Alphonso and Ena’s honeymoon. Beautiful fountains too. I found the outside more inspiring than the inside as again, we were looking at Charles III’s time and there was a wealth of tapestries. But right at the end I found a bust of JC’s dad, who was born in the palace. Definitely one for a fine day to wander the grounds.

The former summer palace of la Granja de San Ildefonso de Segovia

Now, Ricardo had tipped me off that nearby there was quite a nice hunting lodge that was worth seeing. Impossible to get to by the ubiquitous bus, it had to be reached by car. Mike was not keen but said, as he sat in a coffee bar avoiding another baroque palace, that he had seen a taxi. Red rag to a bull. We found a closed tourist info office, persuaded the one English speaking Spaniard trying to keep it closed, to order a taxi for us, and off we went. How we were going to get back was anyone’s guess and Mike was not pleased, never having recovered from being stranded 3 miles from a station in deepest Czech republic once looking for a Chotek palace.

The taxi drove and drove, down many a windy road over many a hill until, in the distance, came insight atop a hill, a huge building. “That’s not a lodge, it’s a palace”, Mike said. He was right, it was. A rather ugly one at that, square and very plain. Called Riofrio and used by Isabel II a lot. Alphonso XII came here to shut himself away and get over the death of Mercedes. So there’s some portraits of Alphonso XII here and some rooms belonging to his alleged father.

Riofrío

One has to do a guided tour that insists on taking you into the hunting museum where, on the walls, are large numbers of photos of royal hunts. In half darkness I tried to make out who was who, many featuring La Chata in old age I think. Apparently, the café does a very good steak and chips. And our luck was in, the Spanish guide spoke English and ordered us a taxi back to Segovia. Worth a look too actually, for the Roman aqueduct and beautiful cathedral.

Next day we were off to Barcelona. This is not a royal capital but it is an architectural capital with heaps of Art Nouveau buildings which Mike loves. He had a whale of a time going from Gaudi building to Gaudi building. The weather was good too, and we did a few open top bus trips. Best of all, we spent some time with Ricardo who allowed me a morning to explore his book collection. I needed a whole day actually and would probably have got that but Leti decided to sprog at that point and had her Infanta. Ricardo had to dash off to Madrid to be on TV, looking very dapper in a blue suit. Much time was spent watching the coverage on the TV in our hotel, and looking at Spanish papers. Sophia going to Rostropovich’s funeral was also featured a lot. And so, there’s another destination for nutters discovered. The ice cream was good too.

Copyright Sue Woolmans, 2007

* Editor's note: Charlotte Zeepvat is writing a book about historical royal costume

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