Teruel to Albarracín is a mere 24 miles or so of a flattish ride until you drop down into the river valley. Ochre coloured rock to one side, lush green forest of the Guadalaviar River to the other.Today was the day I had been looking forward to since I planned the trip.
I’d read so much about how beautiful this village is that it was almost the reason for making the trip this way. The weather was kind, given Teruel’s reputation, and though the morning air was chilly the sun had his hat on at least.
I arrived in Albarracín by lunchtime and so had the rest of the day to enjoy. There were 5 coaches parked up by my hotel when I got there. Transient tourists, Albarracín another stop on a tour of Aragon. My heart sank a little, but also I thought that if the village attracts this much attention then it must live up to its billing.
I ate a monster salad in a bar off the Plaza Mayor. Monsters can be tough but if you tenderise and cook them right. By 3.00pm I was able sit on a low wall sketching the square,enjoying the silence. Everyone gone. What a way to enjoy this space.
I would have liked to wander these streets in the dim light of the old street lights. It would have been a place of fantasy and imagination, of history and talking walls. Even wandering the streets in the evening light had its magic.
Albarracín affords a peak into Spanish history but like all these experiences you have to carry your imagination with you. The population remains constant at just over 1000. Imagine living here and this being the centre of your world. Let’s face it, not so long ago.
In the early evening the Plaza is still empty and a young father and his daughter play ball. He dashing from one side to the other in efforts to stop the ball rolling down steep streets that would lengthen the game considerably. This is where they live, but their world is much bigger.