The Last Puente (2007)

The Last Puente (April 2007)

There are many things I dislike about Spaniards: their smoke, their obsessiveness about food, their depressing religion, and their general tendency toward anarchy. But there is one thing they are great at: taking vacations! They have a wonderful institution called the “puente” (“bridge”), which they employ with pleasing frequency. Suppose that Tuesday is a holiday (and there are enough memorable Saints and Virgins to fill Yankee Stadium). Well, you just pretend that Monday is a holiday too, and you take a 4-day weekend. No one makes a peep.

Blanca is retiring at the end of June, and the last week of April was the last “puente” of her life. From then on, every day will be a Puente!

We decided to head for the picturesque village of Albarracín, in the province of Teruel. To get there we passed through the Rincón de Adamuz, which is a real geographical curiosity: a round shaped area belonging to the Community of Valencia, but completely cut off and located in Aragón. (Imagine a comic book balloon.) We spent two nights in the tiny village of El Cuervo, just over the border from the Rincón and about 35 kilometres from Albarracín. The hotel, called the Casa Los Herreros, is owned by two brothers, Ricardo and Javier, who have built the place with their own hands. Their dining room is a masterpiece of design, especially the iron work. The village is absolute tranquillity. The people are incredibly simpatico. Say “Buenos dias” to some stranger on the street and you’re in for an hour conversation. Close by the hotel is a trout hatchery and the beginning of a series of paths through the surrounding woods, fields, and mountains. The river Ebron flows along, sometimes forming beautiful falls.

After we checked into the hotel, we decided to head north to the Hospedería El Zorzal, in Valdecuenca, about 30 kms away. We’d have lunch there.

Ricardo gave us directions that would take us over some dirt roads, but would save lots of time. Easy. Piece of cake. We headed out, but soon got lost. After leaving a small village, the “road” seemed to stretch on for ever. We found ourselves deep in a mountain range, with no signs of civilization for miles. And the mud began to get deeper, understandable enough given the heavy rainfall during the last several weeks. The car began to slide and shimmy, wriggling from rut to rut. The road also started getting hilly, with both the ups and downs becoming more difficult. I vowed to keep my cool and tried to pretend that I was in the Paris-Dakar rally. (Remember “A Man and a Woman”?) I tried not to think about the likely possibility that the little Toyota would get stuck in a meter-deep swamp of bright red muck. The prospects weren’t appealing. I’m sure that Blanca’s mobile phone had no coverage, and even if it did, I hadn’t the vaguest idea of where we were. And a tow-truck, even if there were such a thing in the 50-mile radius of where we were, wouldn’t have been able to handle the miles of ooze. Things continued to get worse, and I mentally began to prepare for a long and painful ordeal. Déjà vu all over again: Galápagos with a Toyota! But finally, after a hair-raising descent, we reached the outskirts of a small village, where there were several men preparing a paella. “No, you’re not lost. The road to Teruel is right up ahead. No problem.” All ended in samba, although it took quite a while for my adrenalin to get back to normal.

Carmen and Paco—a really delightful couple--run the “El Zorzal,” which is a magnificent 16th century building converted into a hotel-restaurant. The place has seven rooms and is exquisite in its detail. And the meal we had was over the top. (I forgot that I’m a semi vegetarian, and tried the venison and rabbit steaks.) This is a place to go back to.

After lunch, we headed to Albarracín. But it was pouring, and the place looked packed with tourists. We decided to call it a day and head back to El Cuervo.

The next day it was raining again. We decided to return to Albarracín, and it was well worth it. The place is a gem. It is a sprawling village, a warren of medieval-Moorish lanes, with houses hanging over the narrow, cobblestone streets. Above is an incredible defensive wall, which has been extensively restored. We explored a bit and stopped at several prospective lodgings. It’s clear that the time to visit this place is non-puente. So, we’ll surely go back when there are fewer people.

After passing through Teruel, which didn’t strike me as very attractive, we returned to El Cuervo via beautiful route through forests and picturesque pueblos. We had sandwiches at a nearby bar—Ricardo and Javier were busy with 60 guests for a baptism—and turned in early. We awoke the next day to sun, finally! After breakfast, we headed out on foot on the trail to Tormón, which winds along the Rio Ebrón. The scenery is magnificent: jagged rock cliffs, vineyards, fields. After an hour, the path came to a river crossing. Either get wet or go back. Old wimps that we are, we went back.

The rest of the day we spent driving through the panoramic vistas of the Rincón de Adamuz, Cuenca, and the northern part of Valencia. We stopped for lunch at a nondescript village named Santa Cruz, where we had a delicious home-made rice soup.

We got back on the national highway and were home at about 5:00. We found a man training a horse in the vacant space near our house.

We’d enjoyed ourselves thoroughly, and we’d found several spots to which we’ll surely return. El Cuero, Albarracín, and the Zorzal were wonderful additions to our repertoire of places we can get to in several hours. And soon, when every day will be a puente, we´ll head back.