Day in Segovia

It was an early start to explore the city ahead of the arrival of any tourists. I walked its narrow, cobbled and high-walled streets, losing my bearings in their twists and turns. One moment descending, the next climbing. To me, here less than a day, it is a maze. Through gaps you can see the city outside the walls and like the old streets it falls and rises like a wave while ever in the background, the Guadarramas. This is a city of hills.

Overshadowing everything at the bottom of the old town sits the aqueduct, solid and dominating. Today the arches stand clear and empty - no longer the roofline for cheap guest houses - and maybe you can imagine it once being used as a communal space for makeshift cinema but today the space is made over to richer clientele: the tourist office sits there surrounded by expensive looking cafes and restaurants.

I made my way down to Santiago gate in a far corner of town, the gate through which Lee had entered the city on his arrival. From the walls I watched a hot air balloon drift lazily overhead flying low across the city but for me it was a steep climb up cobbled steps and road back into the old town centre. A short stop in a small park then on towards the cathedral, at each turn an old church or palace dropped in among the ancient streets and houses; this is a city that would take a week and not a day to get to know. The cathedral itself is a statement: outside it is solid blocks of subtly decorated golden stone, inside a vast airy space supported by lofty pillars. It also had displays of paintings and tapestries for added interest. Apparently it is the last to be built in the Gothic style in Spain. By late morning, as I shopped for fruit in a market in the Plaza Mayor, the crowds were building and I headed for the coolness of my room to make plans for the next few days.

Santiago Gate

Cathedral 

Cathedral 

Mindful of Spanish timings I waited until mid afternoon before heading out again into those ancient streets of stone and stucco, this time making for the Segovia museum. I had hoped to learn a bit more about the physical development of the city but learned more about how it made its fortune from wool production and that there was once a Royal Mint in the city. With a big day of climbing tomorrow I dined well on traditional Segovian fare: bean stew and roast piglet. Then back to pack and hope that the rain forecast for this evening has stopped by the time I leave.

Resin Extraction

There are some 400,000 hectares of protected pine forest around the hills and mountains of the provinces of Segovia, Ávila and Valladolid here in the region of Castile and León and it is an area where they continue a centuries old tradition of collecting the pine's 'liquid gold'. Historically used, among other things, to light torches and treat burns, nowadays it can be turned into things like plastics, glues, rubber, turpentine and even food additives. It has even been touted as a potential renewable and ecological replacement for oil in some manufacturing methods.

It was in the mid nineteenth century that the forest owners of Castile and León first saw the economic opportunity that the pine resin offered and nowadays, with modern methods such as chemical products to stimulate resin production, the extraction of pine resin has become truly profitable. Today, roughly 95% of Spain's pine resin extraction takes place in Castilla and León, helping provide an economic lifeline for rural communities. The region is also home to more resin manufacturers than anywhere else in Europe and one of the last places on the continent where the practice persists helping preserve both an old Spanish tradition and the pine forests.

Near Coca to Segovia via Via Verde del Valle Eresmas - 65 miles

Last night as I was scanning the woods for a likely camping spot I noticed scars and collection pots on the pines. Today as I set off towards the start of the Eresma Valley Via Verde I noticed more; collecting pine resin is obviously some sort of industry here.

I had decided to join the Via Verde ten miles from where I spent the night, cycle along it to the start and the turn around and do the full route. That ten miles took me through Coca early this morning and what I expected to be just another village turned out to be something quite different. First I passed the remains of the old medieval town walls and then saw the town's gem: apparently the best preserved Mudejar style castle in Spain (a Moorish style Christian building). Apparently Asterix also paid the place a visit in Asterix goes to Spain. Maybe I should have stayed here last night.

Coca Town Walls

Coca Castle

Before I got to the Via Verde I had in mind a track similar to that between Bath and Bristol, a decent surface and maybe an old station converted to a cafe for a decent break. What I found as I cycled to my start point was a heavily overgrown track, a thin line of dark grey amongst the grasses and thistles and flowers. Even that disappeared at times and the route could be seen only by the slight parting in the growth. It made for hard going and required a lot of concentration on that thin line in front of you but it was flat and it was colourful with the purples and blues and the reds and yellows of any number of summer flowers.

Track?

It was gone nine before I set off from the start and backtracked the first few miles of the track. This time though I was wearing long trousers; I had had enough of thistles spiking my legs. As it turned out, not long after the point where I had joined the route it became sensibly navigable, a clear gravel path heading off into the distance. And in the distance were the Guadarrama mountains, visible ahead for most of the day and slowly becoming more defined as I cycled towards Segovia and towards them. That is what I have to cross to get to Madrid and I am slightly daunted.

Via Verde Start

The Via had started as a tracked version of yesterday's roads, alternating agricultural and pine forest, but being an old railway a few cuttings and bridges were thrown in to keep the route flat. Later it changed to rolling fields with craggy outcrops, all the time mostly straight and all the time the Guadarrama mountains getting bigger and more defined ahead in the distance. I counted down the kilometres via the regular markers, crossing rivers, past the remains of now derelict stations, through woods and past small plantations, all the time pedalling steadily on the gritty, flat track.

Forest refuge

It was late afternoon when I arrived at Segovia, more tired than expected and grateful that the last three miles of scrappy track into wind and alongside high speed rail tracks and main roads was over. I still had over a mile to reach the old town and my accommodation, entering via the extensive new town, unexpected when all your ideas of the city are from pictures of old Segovia and its aqueduct. 

My first aim was a shower and a change of clothing after last night and then an exploration of the city. It struck me Segovia is a lot hillier than I appreciated as I pushed my bike uphill through pedestrian only streets and away from the aqueduct. Later I walked around to get my bearings but found the steep narrow streets hard to fathom. I walked a stretch of the walls which are more immense than I imagined, looking down on the coach and car park far below that had brought all the tourists to the pedestrianised old town. Then, after finding the cathedral and the Plaza Mayor, I settled into a quiet bar (hard to find with all the tourists) for a beer and light dinner before a planned quiet night tonight; today I will catch up with sleep, tomorrow I will explore more fully.

Cathedral 

Valladolid to near Coca - 59 miles

I am lying in the middle of a pine forest hiding from the heat of the late afternoon sun and waiting for nightfall. All around me the sound of birds I do not recognise and the sound of a cuckoo and a woodpecker that I do. Occasionally those noises get lost to the wind high in the trees; you hear it coming from a distance sounding like the rush of a quiet train in the tops until it passes overhead and then moves on. But for the most part it is peace and calm and birdsong. This is where I intend to spend the night, away from it all and without any link to the outside world.

My trip from Valladolid started early as I did not know if my route out would be busy and whether it would benefit from cycle paths. I followed the blue dot of my navigation app - easy to see with the sun still low - as it zigzagged its way through thankfully quiet streets. Although I was out of Valladolid quite quickly it would be well over an hour before I felt fully out of the city's influence with its ring roads, motorways and suburbs. 

Like Lee I was happy to be leaving, to be getting away from Valladolid's busyness and narrow-street claustrophobia despite everything it had to offer. With my bike I feel a greater contentment on the quieter roads and in the smaller villages, their pace and mine seem a better match than that of a bustling city. To pedal through calm countryside just feels more appropriate than to pedal through large cities; they are nice to visit and have much to offer but they are also nice to leave. That said, for me unlike Lee, Valladolid is a city I would like to go back to.

Away from Valladolid I headed for Cuéllar. I would pass through a couple of villages to get there and stop for coffee should I see a bar but I was not going to bother seeking one out. Like a lot of villages I have seen they were silent and, at least on my route, barless. I was following a road that for the most part passed through forest and scrubland, some accessible from the road and seeming to encourage access but with signs prohibiting mushrooming, other lengths inaccessible and fenced off for hunting. Having seen deer grazing on the other side of some of those fences I guess it is as much about keeping animals in as people out.

I arrived at Cuéllar late morning and it is obviously more town than village. I knew there was a castle so I worked my way there from the newer outer roads and was surprised by the size. Massive turrets and massive walls of gleaming white stone, it is a key aspect of the town and I would have visited as I had time in hand except it was shut because, yet again, today was a local festival.

Castle

Instead I followed signs to the Plaza Mayor, vía signs for the 'Jewish sector' on the town's old, narrow and hilly streets. It is a jumble of a place. The Plaza Mayor is a small cramped rectangle centred on a church and surrounded by buildings and a bar (shut today). Narrow lanes lead off uphill and down; it seems to have been built halfway up a slope. One thing that can be said, Cuéllar oozes age and character and there is a lot to see; it would seem to warrant more than the passing reference it was given by Lee.

Towards the old town

Plaza Mayor

I found an open bar outside the old town and stopped for coffee and food, regretting having arrived on a local festival and not really having time to stay overnight, before heading to Sanchonuño (Sholomonon in 'As I walked out..') just seven miles south. For the most part my route took me on an old track alongside a motorway so it was noisy and hardly scenic. I did detour into some adjacent pine forest where I again fell foul of soft and sandy tracks and again had to push my bike for part of the way. I was pleased to eventually return to that original noisy but firm track.

Alongside Motorway

Sand bound 

You know that somewhere is probably a little larger than the village you imagine when you see a sign over the adjacent motorway reading 'Sanchonuño East'. That said, once past the small industrial units on its outskirts, Sanchonuño did have that small village feel to it and I made my way towards the church, working on the idea that the original soul of the village was to be found there. The random layout of the streets suggested age but in general it had a red brick and stucco neatness to it. Occasionally down a narrow street I came across the evidence of an older Sanchonuño - the collapsed remains of an old mud brick house, a stone trough - but generally it appeared to be a village with a makeover compared to the one described by Lee.

Sanchonuño Centre

The area by the church was quite lively with a small market and a busy bar. I went into its gloomy interior where all the talk was of a power cut throughout the whole of Spain and Portugal and, according to some, Britain. I sat and ordered some local wine, a small acknowledgment to Lee who mentions the wine in his book. Unlike the wine of his time it was very palatable. As I drank, an old woman explained at great length that it was not wine from the immediate area but from the Douro region some thirty miles distant.

Sanchonuño 

Whatever the truth of the power problem there was no electricity in the village and neither was there any mobile phone coverage. Fortunately I had enough information downloaded on my phone to allow me to continue my journey on the minor roads I am using. I headed west for Navas de Oro (Naval de Oro in the book) along a badly maintained road, over the motorway and into the surrounding countryside. The road to Navas de Oro was pan flat and arrow straight. It disappeared off into the distance making me feel I was continually chasing the horizon as I alternated between being surrounded by long stretches of pine wood and long stretches of cereal crops. And it was very exposed to the sun. Even this early in the year I was stopping regularly for water. It would be another story still in the height of summer.

At Navas de Oro I again headed to the church. It sat on a neat, paved square surrounded by buildings of stone and brick. Unlike Sanchonuño the place was silent but it did share the feeling of having improved its lot in the last ninety years.

Navas de Oro

My journey west continued even though Segovia lay south. But my route to that city lies along one of Spain's Via Verdes, old rail lines that have been converted to tracks for cyclists and walkers. From Navas to Oro I am only about five miles from the Via but halfway along it and this morning I decided I might as well use the day to position myself near the start and enjoy the full length of this Eresma Valley Via Verde from Olmedo to Segovia tomorrow morning. After five miles of quiet road through more pine forest I have now stopped for the night, still some fourteen miles short of my destination. But it looks like the forest might be coming to an end a little further on and a night amongst pine trees appeals. An early start will easily address those few miles.

So here I am, a day's ride from Segovia, lying and looking up at blue sky and cone encrusted branches with Valladolid seeming an eternity away instead of a few hours. It is still some time before the sun sets and until then I have little else to do but listen to the birds and the wind.

Day in Valladolid

Some years ago I arrived at Valladolid coach station from where I was collected and taken away from the city. I remember a place of grey, drab concrete and that, wrongly I admit, had shaped my view of the city until yesterday; it is a lot more colourful and a lot more vibrant than that image from yesteryear. 

Today I headed out early to get a better feel for the city, too early as it happened as the Cathedral was shut so I walked around its massive and solid block of white, dropped so neatly into the streets around it that you can not get far enough away to appreciate anything but its size. Shut too was the Pasaje Gutiérrez, a richly designed covered shopping arcade from the late 1800s so I headed to the Campo Grande park, a large public space near the river, and wandered its tree lined avenues. The park entrance is overlooked by the grand looking Cavalry School Building and it seems there was also once a barracks somewhere nearby so I couldn’t help but wonder whether this was the area in which Lee stayed while in Valladolid. If so, I am sure he wouldn’t recognise it today with its tidy, wide roads and mix of modern and old buildings. 

Cavalry School

Campo Grande

From the park I walked to the river Pisuerga that flows through the city and followed its bank for a mile. Although occasional boxy towers of flats overlooked the waters, the river banks were green and tree lined along my whole route with areas of grass and park and even a sandy beach. And at ten o’clock it was still pleasantly peaceful for a big city, deserted save for the occasional early Sunday morning runner. I could not help but compare it to the London embankment, somewhere I enjoy but with a little less of nature and in my experience packed at whatever time you are there.

River Pisuerga

Puente Mayor

I worked my way back via the Valladolid museum, an old palace containing mostly an archeological history of the city and after to the Pasaje Gutierrez that I missed early; all the shops were still shut but at least now the access gate was open so you could enter to appreciate its interior, all classical themes but built of, at the time, those most modern materials of glass and iron.

Pasaje Gutierrez

The day was now quickly slipping by. I stocked up on much needed supplies and went back to the cathedral but found I had now missed its restrictive Sunday visiting times. With a need to relax a little and to sort out some final details for the morning I decided to head back to the accommodation. Tomorrow I head towards Segovia this side of the Sierra Guadarrama mountains before climbing over them and dropping down to Madrid.

Town Hall - Plaza Mayor