Monday was very much a domestic day, shopping, cleaning and washing clothes which just wouldn't dry out. It's been damp and overcast for the past few days, just like a Cardiff November. Today was warmer and brighter, if still cloudy. I drove to Alcocebre to hang out with customers in El Camino, and then had lunch with Ron and Jenny before returning home.
On my way down, as I was preparing for the Alcocebre turn-off which appears quite quickly around a bend, traffic slowed to a halt, and a workman waving a red flag walked up the hard shoulder. We stood there for about five minutes before moving, so I was quickly on my way for the last 5km of the journey, but with no idea about what caused the delay. On the return trip, almost immediately I joined the N340 I was in a traffic queue which slowed to a halt on the long gradient before the Alcala de Xivert turning.
It soon became apparent that road resurfacing was being carried out on the three lane highway, in a way that involved stop-starting the traffic on alternate sides and re-directing vehicles to cross over, as and when necessary, with a minimum of traffic cones and signage. As I ascended, I stopped counting after 200, vehicles at a stand still in the down lane. The queue reached all the way to the Alcala exit, where the queue was getting longer by the minute. The backlog in both directions wasn't being cleared quickly enough to prevent this happening. Although my side of the road was clear, I decided to go into Alcala to have a look around and take photos. It started to drizzle, but as it was fairly warm, I carried on undeterred.
This commune of which this small town is the administrative centre of runs down to the coast and embraces Alcocebre, whose population is larger and swells seasonally with holidaymakers. It's a place where many agricultural migrant workers have settled, making for an unusual mix of faces among people on the streets. There's been a settlement here since before the Romans, and it's overlooked by an eleventh century Moorish castle, perched high up on a ridge of the Sierra d'Irta. There are some visibly ancient buildings in the town, there may be more whose origins have been concealed by later additions and extensions. To my mind it has the ugly charmless countenance of some old industrial towns.
Alcala's huge Parish Church is dedicated to St. John the Baptist. It has a baroque west front built in the mid-eighteenth century and a 68 metre high landmark bell tower built in the nineteenth. There's also one large mansion looking like a Moorish palace opposite the railway station. It's nicely built, and from its appearance could be 13th century but may be much more recent, as it carried no history plaque, and no mention of it that I could find on the town's website.
I drove on, and with sunlight to enjoy and time to spare, I stopped at Sta Magdalena de Polpis, another settlement just off the N340, one that I'd intended to visit two years ago and always driven past, keen to get home and have lunch after a Sunday service, not keen enough to drive back during the week. This is another village with a millennium of history, at least, as it has its own Moorish castle on promontory of the Sierra d'Irta high above.
A dry river bed runs right through the village, crossed by an attractive stone bridge. The watercourse runs underground right down this valley, but surfaces here and there in large ponds and wells. Two of them are located quite close to the bridge. This is an area where almond carob, olive and orange trees grow, also grapevines. The first almond blossom was peeping out on some bare branches just ahead of next season's growth of leaves. An enchanting sight.
The village is not as large as Alcala, but is much more charming, set away from, yet in between the N340 and the AP-7 roads, and quiet nevertheless. It has a population of less than a thousand, but it's still big enough to have its own primary school and a few shops, bank and Post Office. The Parish Church dedicated to St Mary Magdalene, is unusual. On its west wall there is a stone plaque inscribed with a map of Spain with a dove and the words 'A las victimas de la violencia'. I learned later that the village had suffered greatly during the Civil War, being a strategic location on the north-south highway at a fault line between nationalist and republican areas of sympathy.
So often when I visit places, I find them sleepy and quiet if not deserted, as I'm out and about in the afternoon, when people are tucked away eating lunch and relaxing, if not at work. The explains why towns and villages in my pictures look deserted.
No comments:
Post a Comment