Our
natural
parks,
step
by step
Network of Natural Parks
of the Barcelona Provincial Council
Written by Xavier Moret
Photographed by Andoni Canela
Index
3
77
Introduction
Serralada de Marina Park:
Sea and Mountain
4
Twelve parks: Twelve
Different Worlds to Discover
6
Garraf Park: Limestone
Pavements, Potholes and
Farmhouses Overlooking
the Sea
18
Olèrdola Park: A Mountain
Full of History
28
Foix Park: From Castle to
Castle
40
Sant Llorenç del Munt i
l’Obac Natural Park: From
La Mola
Baix Llobregat Agricultural
Park: Fields of Prat
Artichokes Right Next to
Barcelona
54
64
Collserola Park: A
Privileged Place Close to
Barcelona
89
Serralada Litoral Park:
Forests and Castles by the
Sea
101
El Montnegre i El Corredor
Park: Chapels, Farmhouses
and Cork Oaks
115
El Montseny Natural Park:
A Temple of Nature and
Civilisation
133
Les Guilleries-Savassona
Natural Area: The
Landscape of Verdaguer
146
Castell de Montesquiu Park:
From Wilfred the Hairy to
Emili Juncadella
Introduction
A wealth of environmental and historical treasures, farming and recreational activities, artistic gems and havens of wellbeing; literature and legends
living alongside today’s evident human occupation of the land. There are
many aspects and reasons that make the Network of Natural Parks one of
the flagships of the public actions of the Barcelona Provincial Council for its
municipalities and its people. A network of twelve parks that connect sea
and mountain, the coastal and interior regions, the metropolitan area and
the more widely dispersed and less inhabited municipalities of Barcelona
province. Twelve parks that provide the green lungs that bring life to a region that is striving to maintain its position as the cornerstone of the social
and economic leadership of the Mediterranean region.
The parks of the Barcelona Provincial Council are the everyday setting
of the numerous people who live and work in them, and also provide an escape and a haven of peace and beauty for the many visitors who are there every weekend. In short, they are a collective asset of the highest order, from
which everyone benefits, and demand a strong conservation policy and the
respect and commitment of every one of us. An asset of 100,000 hectares
spread over the twelve parks as a whole, encompassing 110 municipalities
involved in their management, headed by the Barcelona Provincial Council
and following a model that seeks to combine environmental protection with
the use of the parks by the people who live there and the enjoyment of those
who visit them.
With this book, which contains twelve walking routes through the
twelve parks in the network, we hope to disseminate the immeasurable
value of these very special areas and also provide a unique and evocative
viewpoint, that of two expansive and experienced walkers in search of new
features, or even not-so-new ones, illuminated by their very personal outlook. Writer Xavier Moret and photographer Andoni Canela have embarked
on some very unique journeys across the world in the last few years, which
have borne fruit in beautiful printed testimonies of their travels. The two
travellers have demonstrated their ability to capture the heartbeat of humanity and nature wherever they may be, whether in exotic, distant lands
or those closer to home, this being the case of the twelve itineraries featured
in this book, with which the Barcelona Provincial Council hopes to make a
new contribution to people’s knowledge of our Network of National Parks.
Welcome to our parks!
Antoni Fogué
President of the Barcelona Provincial Council
3
Twelve parks: Twelve different worlds to discover
A journey almost always starts with a map spread out on the table. The map
is the first great temptation, the trigger, the bait that makes us want to leave
behind our mundane everyday surroundings to get out and discover this
variegated series of symbols, lines and drawings that represent who knows
what restive seas, gushing rivers, snow-capped mountains, dense forests,
tiny hamlets, solitary chapels, unassailable castles, hidden springs and the
many other geographical reliefs and structures that make up the landscape.
Essentially, we travel to get to know the people we meet along the way, and
to be able to put an adjective to the different geographical features that we
come across to give us an exact idea of what, on the map, is nothing more
than a sinuous blue line, a big green spot or irregular-shaped rings concentrated around different brown shadings.
Joseph Conrad wrote in Heart of Darkness, a wonderful novel published
in 1902, about the function of maps as catalysts for travel: “When I was a
boy, I had a passion for maps. I would look for hours at South America, or
Africa, or Australia, and lose myself in all the glories of exploration. At that
time there were many blank spaces on the earth and when I saw one that
looked particularly inviting (indeed, they all did), I would put my finger on
it and say: when I grow up, I will go there”. Obviously, when Conrad wrote
these words he was dreaming of distant, unknown lands, especially Africa,
and of journeys full of adventures. Photographer Andoni Canela and I, who
travel together on the journeys in this book, are aware that we are exploring
much more familiar territory: the natural parks that are managed by the
Barcelona Provincial Council.
Having gotten to this point, I am sure you will be thinking that there
is a huge difference between Africa and Catalonia. To a certain extent you
would be right: one thing is embarking on an adventure in relatively unknown African territory such as Zimbabwe or Burundi, and quite another,
to visit a natural park where the exotic and adventure factor is somewhat
limited. Having said that, are they really so very different? It depends on
how you look at it. What all travellers have in common is that they set off
from home to travel to unfamiliar places and, regardless of the country you
want to visit, the trump card for the traveller is the stimulation of breaking
with monotony, leaving the well-trodden path behind to discover other places, other people. The great advantage of travelling is that your senses are always on high alert, trying to assimilate everything you see and to make the
most of every second. Everything is new and stimulating, whether you’re
travelling through distant lands or closer to home.
In the last few years Andoni Canela and I have travelled to distant
lands such as Botswana and Canada; the former to see lions and elephants
up close in the Okavango Delta, and the latter to watch the annual autumn
migration of polar bears in Churchill, a town in the state of Manitoba on the
banks of Hudson Bay. However for the journey we are about to embark on,
both Andoni and I are relinquishing the exotic component (from the Greek
exotikós, meaning foreign or exotic) to devote ourselves to exploring the
twelve parks in the Barcelona Provincial Council’s Natural Parks Network.
4
Let’s list them here: Montseny Natural Park, Sant Llorenç del Munt and
L’Obac Natural Park, Montnegre i El Corredor Park, Collserola Park, Les
Guilleries-Savassona Natural Space, Castell de Montesquiu Park, Serralada
de Marina Park, Serralada Litoral Park, Garraf Natural Park, Olèrdola
Park, Foix Park and the Baix Llobregat Agricultural Park. Twelve parks,
twelve different universes to discover; some of them vast, like Montseny,
and some smaller, like Castell de Montesquiu. In all, twelve different worlds
that are well worth getting to know better.
When, during the process of preparing this book – in other words, this
journey – we cast our eyes over the map, we realised that the natural parks
are represented on it by big green stains. They are separate places, set apart
from the rest of the territory by dividing lines and a deep green colour that
instantly leaps out of the page. They are protected spaces, in the spirit of
islands. For that reason alone, we thought to ourselves, they are worth visiting, because islands, as everyone knows, have always been the ultimate
temptation to people seeking the thrill of travel, the excitement of the unknown.
Xavier Moret
5
The Garraf Park:
Limestone Pavements,
Potholes and Farmhouses
Overlooking the Sea
Mediterratean fan palui, Chamaerops humilis
6
The first impression that strikes you when you enter the Garraf Natural
Park is of suddenly being in a mountainous area that has absolutely nothing
in common with the landscape you’ve just left behind. Coming from Barcelona, you would have to drive through a mass of motorways jammed with
cars and an almost uninterrupted series of houses and apartment blocks.
At the end of Castelldefels beach, however, just where the row of buildings
facing the sea ends, you come to a radical change: the mountain springs up
abruptly, interrupting the long stretch of sand, in a rugged landscape of
whitish rocks that stretches back inland with the sea at its feet.
The river of cars continues on its way along the coast towards Sitges, the
next large town along, but we head off through the secondary road that goes
from Rat Penat to Palau Novella, steep and full of sharp turns, as if were in
a hurry to leave the overpopulated world behind. Up on the mountain, when
we stop at Pla dels Vinyals, we immediately realise that we’re in a kind of
separate realm, a place dominated by an almost pure silence. The cars and
the houses have vanished: this is Nature’s domain. It’s a sunny winter’s day
and a chilly wind is blowing, but we’re very much aware of how fortunate
we are to be standing here. Down below, enshrined among the rocks, we can
still see a strip of beach and a few apartment blocks with their community
pools; in the background, the sun hangs over the horizon like a huge incandescent coin emerging from the waves. The early morning light furbishes
everything with a wonderful rosy hue that makes you think of the Odyssey,
when Homer describes how “primeval dawn spread on the eastern sky her
fingers of pink light”.
I park the car and walk quietly along a little path with photographer
Andoni Canela. There are very few trees in this part of the park: just a few
spindly pines alongside the road and some wild olive trees; what one finds
predominantly here are limestone rocks of whitish grey, so typical of karst
formations, and Mediterranean shrubs: heather, rosemary, strawberry
trees, thyme, mastic trees... and above all the margalló, a plant from the
palm family that has become an emblem of the Garraf Park. Standing on a
hilltop, we watch for a few beautiful minutes as the winter sunlight floods
the landscape with a surreal quality and outlines the profiles of the park,
with the ridge of La Morella on one side and the sea on the other. The petty
concerns of urban life seem very far away right now, as if they were just a
burden of the lowlands.
La Pleta
At 9 o’clock we head for La Pleta, a former hunting pavilion that used to belong to the Güell family, built at the end of the 19th century, which for some
years has housed the Information Centre of the Garraf Natural Park. The
most notable feature of the building is the conical column on one side, with
a long chain in the middle of it.
“That is for measuring the water level in the tank” explains Pitu Linares,
a member of the park’s information staff. “Water is very sought-after in the
Garraf, it’s like black gold”.
We talk to Pitu in the main hall of La Pleta, where you’ll find everything
you need to discover the Garraf Park: maps, itineraries, explanatory panels,
7
leaflets and posters featuring the flora and fauna of the area. With regard to
wildlife, Pitu warns us that we haven’t come during the best time of year.
“You won’t see many animals in winter,” he says, shaking his head, “but
the main attractions here are the turtles and the eagles. You’re most likely
to see the Mediterranean turtles in the spring, and there are two webcams
that keep a watch on the nests of Bonelli’s eagles all year round.”
We ask him when he considers the best time of year for visiting the park,
and Pitu is categorical: spring and autumn. “It’s too hot in summer and too
cold in winter,” he says. Asked about the kind of people who visit the park,
he first mentions families with children, at weekends, followed by explorers
and hikers, people interested in visiting the Buddhist monastery of Palau
Novella, and finally the rock climbers heading for Puig del Martell.
“And spelunkers,” I interject, thinking that any minute now Josep Manuel
Miñarro will be arriving, the former president of the Catalan Federation of
Speleology who has offered to show us some of the potholes in the Park.
Before starting our walk, with the map spread out before us, we spend
some time with Pitu pointing out the paths, sights of interest and farmhouses in the park (Mas Lluçà, Mas Llorenç, Santa Susanna, Mas Marcè, La
Fassina, etc.). Now that we’re actually in the Garraf Park, we can see the abstract features of the map transformed into a rocky, mountainous landscape
that spreads over three counties (Baix Llobregat, Garraf and Alt Penedès)
with alternating hills and gullies that eventually run down to the sea, which
today is completely calm.
Limestone Pavements and Potholes
Josep Manuel Miñarro arrives on time and suggests a visit to a pothole very
close to La Pleta, called Emili Sabaté to start familiarising us with the Garraf Park. On the way, he recalls that he visited the park for the first time in
1964, when he was 15, and some friends at the Industrial School suggested
exploring a pothole.
“In those days the Garraf was very different,” he recalls. “There were
no roads here and you had to climb up on foot. There was a shepherd living
at La Pleta called Gilberto, with his family. He was an odd, surly man who
sometimes refused to give us any water. When he left, La Pleta was abandoned and went on to be used as a refuge for mountaineers and spelunkers.
It was used as an operational base.”
“The Garraf must have been like a desert in those days,” I remark.
“There were a few shepherds here with their herds. There was one over in
the La Morella area who people called “the enlightened shepherd” because
he used to read La Vanguardia while his herd was grazing. But I have to say
that the shepherds were a huge help to us because they knew the mountain
better than anyone and would tell us where the potholes were.”
From that first visit, Miñarro got hooked on spelunking and returned
often to the Garraf, the area with the largest number of potholes and caves
in Catalonia: more than 300 have been documented. Indeed, Josep Manuel
Miñarro himself organised the exhibition on spelunking in Catalonia that
was opened in La Pleta in 1997 and then transferred to Olesa de Bonesvalls
in 2004. The exhibition reveals that it was in the Garraf potholes that Father
8
Norbert Font i Sagué (1874-1910) started the history of Catalan spelunking
and that in 1908 Providència Mitjans became the first woman in Catalonia
to practice this sport.
When we arrive at the Emili Sabaté pothole, close to the road, we look
down into a big hole in which you can see massed stalactites, forming a kind
of maw that marks the path towards a well that is 42 metres deep.
“This is the ideal pothole for spelunking beginners,” says Miñarro. “It’s
a nice pothole and easy to do. Initially the hole was a third of the size it
is now; you had to take off you helmet to get through, but over the years
people have enlarged it. There are some small galleries running underneath
and at the end there is a space that is three metres high, twenty metres long
and ten metres wide.”
Today there’s nobody in the pothole, but the rocks at the entrance are
full of bolts that bear witness to the many spelunkers who have ventured
down there. All around us, limestone rocks, eroded and full of shards, alternate with Mediterranean shrubs such as rosemary, butcher’s broom, strawberry trees and Margalló palms.
“Emili Sabaté died in 2006,” recalls Miñarro. “On Holy Innocents’ Day
(28 December), some of his friends wanted to play a joke on him and told
him they’d discovered a hole near La Pleta. He believed them and went off
in search of it. He saw a cleft in the rock, cleared away a few stones and found
this pothole… in the end it was he who had the last laugh on his friends!”
“And how are potholes formed?”
“Water that runs through limestone is very corrosive. Over the years,
it dissolves the rock and forms underground cavities, though they can also
start from a fissure in a stream; the water flows through until it gets to the
lowest point, and from there to the sea”.
“I’ve heard that there’s an underground river in the Garraf.”
“That’s a legend that originated in Renaissance period, but I’ve never
found anything. In 1898, when Font i Sagué went down the Bruc pothole, 118
metres deep, he couldn’t get to the end, but he said he saw a lake down there.
Then people said it might be the start of an outflow of fresh water that flowed
out to sea under La Falconera. In any case, when an expedition managed to
get down there some years later, they found that there was no lake there at all.”
While we walked towards the top of the La Morella ridge, crowned with
antennae that guide aircraft on their approach to El Prat airport, Miñarro
told us about some of the historic potholes on the Garraf massif, such as Can
Sadurní (84 metres), Sivinota (134 metres) and La Ferla (181 metres).
“We had always thought that the Esquerrà pothole, over on the Olesa
de Bonesvalls side, was about 200 metres deep,” he explains. “A few years
ago, however, some guys from Rubí got down to 230 metres, and just a few
months ago some other guys from Sant Pere de Ribes said they had got
down to 300, squeezing through some very tight spots. So there is still a lot
to be explored.”
In the midst of this bare landscape, with a chilly winter wind whipping
round us, Miñarro starts putting names to places, pointing out the more obvious gullies, such as Vallbona and Les Coves, which cut into the landscape
down towards the sea, and gives us a few geology lessons.
9
“The name ‘karstic’, which refers to the formation of this massif, comes
from a region in Slovenia called Karst,” he notes. “That’s where spelunking
started. One of its most characteristic ocurrences is karstification, which
is the formation of what in Slovenia is called piaz, the erosion of calcareous
rock that forms fissures and splinters. In Catalan it’s called rascler (limestone pavement in English) because according to popular etymology the
rocks look as if a giant rasclet (rake) has been dragged through them.”
The fissures proliferate on this side of the park, and the truth is that it’s
not exactly easy to walk here, as the rocks are full of sharp, jutting edges where you can twist your ankle if you are not careful. Many years ago,
though, Miñarro coined the neologism rascling, which describes the activity
of running on these fissured limestone pavements just for fun. Now, at the
age of 61, he doesn’t practice this sport any more, though he admits that
“you need to be a bit strange to be a spelunker.”
Other typical formations of this massif are the cocons, natural cavities
that are formed by the erosion of the limestone where water accumulates
when it rains, providing the animals a place to drink from. We find a few of
them while walking, semi-concealed by vegetation, and we also come across
some dolines, circular depressions in the shape of a funnel that are formed
by dissolving calcareous rocks.
“That’s a doline,” says Miñarro, stopping and extending his arm towards Campgràs, at the foot of the La Morella ridge. “It’s a typical surface
formation of karst. Sometimes two fissures cross each other in the rocks and
where they meet the water leaves behind a clay deposit until these levels
build up. Campgràs one is one of the biggest.”
Our next stop is at the entrance to the Llambrics pothole, 87 metres
deep. It has a wide mouth, no vegetation, and a little esplanade around it.
“Before it was discovered, people passing by had no idea it was even
here,” explains Miñarro. “This happens with lots of potholes. You have a
look, you see a fissure amongst the rocks, you clear away a few stones, and
you end up finding an entrance. It’s the excitement of discovery... But so
many people come that in the end there is even room to have a barbecue in
there”.
When Miñarro talks about potholes, you get the feeling he could never
tire of the subject matter. He knows everything there is to know and probably a bit more, and has explored most of them first-hand. He comments that
on this side of the Garraf alone there are around 70 potholes, one of which is
called La Fragata (The Vessel).
“The name comes from a legend that says that two thieves were arrested in Begues and entrusted to some constables to take them to the port of
Garraf, where a frigate was going to pick them up,” he says. “On the way,
the constables got tired and threw them down a pothole. When the villagers asked where the detainees were, the constables said “on the vessel”. So
that’s where the name comes from.”
We are now walking along the path from La Morella to the dumping
ground in Vall d’en Joan, which was opened in 1974 and closed in January
2007. On the left is the hill of La Morella (594 metres), crowned with a cross
that the wind sometimes knocks down, and behind it we can see the ruins
10
of the Castle of Eramprunyà, perched on top of a rocky promontory. This is
a good time to remember that many centuries ago, the Garraf massif was
frontier territory between the Christians and the Muslims. An example of
this is the Castle of Eramprunyà, which is mentioned in documents dating
back to 957, reaching its greatest splendour in the 14th century when the
father of Ausiàs March lived there. In the 15th century, the poet wrote these
verses on the implacable passing of time: “Del temps present no em trobe amador / mas del passat, que és no res e finit...” 1
When we say goodbye to Josep Manuel Miñarro, he surprises us with
a nostalgic story. He says he can still remember, from his early days as a
spelunker, the smell of the hemp rope. “It’s got such an evocative smell,” he
remembers. “I keep a bit in my car and I smell it occasionally to bring back
memories of my youth.”
«Only the past I cherish,
loving what no longer exists /
which is nothing and is gone for
ever...»
1
Vallgrassa
Our next stop, after leaving Miñarro, is the Mas de Vallgrassa, an old restored farmhouse located in a small depression which has housed the Experimental Arts Centre owned by the Barcelona Provincial Council since 2002.
In this place it is very easy to cast one’s mind back in time and imagine it
surrounded by vineyards and stone huts, before the spread of the Phylloxera
plague put an end to them at the end of the 19th century. This was a tremendous blow that impoverished the county and forced many of its inhabitants
to emigrate to the Americas in search of their fortunes.
Natàlia Garrer, who works at Vallgrassa, explains that at the art centre
they hold artist get-togethers, workshops, children’s activities, concerts and
poetry recitals. She shows us around the exhibition hall, the workshop (located where the goat pen used to be) and the old kitchen, where a few photos
show what the Vallgrassa farmhouse used to look like before it was restored:
more modest, rustic, rural, and also desolate.
“One of the big things at the moment are the projects being created that
embrace the outside world,” she says. “The local artists are planning to visit
different parts of the Mediterranean. They have already been to Maremma,
the Cinque Terre, Algeria, Umbria… and they are arranging a trip to Morocco in the future. They create works inspired by the lands they visit, and
exhibit them over there first and then here.”
In the exhibition hall, some photos by Anna Bahí seek the shortest path
connecting nature and art, landscape and poetry.
On the way out, while looking at the solar panels on the back of the farmhouse, I wonder what the old owners of Vallgrassa would say if they could see
that, where there used to be goats and vineyards, there is now a group of artists
and works of art that they would probably have difficulty understanding. Time
passes by, the world changes, and old farmhouses are recycled.
Jafre
On the way to La Fassina, one of the farmhouses in the park we plan to visit,
we spot a few stone vineyard huts scattered about the landscape, built by
drystone. They evoke what it must have been like in the past in this part of
the park, full of vines and stone walls that made it possible to make the most
11
of the mountain slopes by creating terraces. When we go off the tarmac road
onto a well-maintained track that crosses between the ridges of Llenties and
Morsell, the landscape changes suddenly and is filled with pine forests and
crop fields. From time to time an inhabited farmhouse, such as the magnificent Can Llorenç, indicates that there are still farmers living here and
working on the land.
A stop at the ancient village of Jafre is a must. The village has been
abandoned and all that remains are dilapidated houses. The church, restored in 1850, and a few walls of former mansion houses suggest that in the
past the village must have experienced a great economic bonanza. The village is mentioned in historical archives as far back as 1139, when Ramon de
Jafre made a donation to the Monastery of Sant Cugat, but the village was
abandoned in 1413. The Baron of Jafre repopulated it in the 17th century
and the village was an independent municipality until 1819, when it was annexed to Olivella. Many people abandoned the village at the end of the 19th
century because of the Phylloxera plague, then more people left after 1920,
until it was completely deserted around the 1960s. Today, amidst the silence
and desolation, the only elements left standing are the church of Santa Maria de Jafre and what remains of the houses of the baron, the tenant farmers
and the rector. History seems to have passed Jafre by.
La Fassina
La Fassina is a sheltered farmhouse in a shady spot surrounded by trees,
standing by a stream very close to Jafre. In the past it was an eau-de-vie
distillery that belonged to the Torres family from Vilanova i la Geltrú, and
today Pilar Carbó lives there, a smiling, spirited lady who comes out to meet
us wearing a brightly-coloured jersey with a big resplendent sun in the middle.
“I came to live here in 1978,” she explains, while showing us around the
different areas of the farmhouse. “When we got here the house was in ruins,
to the extent that for the first few days we had to sleep in a tent. We had to
rebuild the house, build the little bridge and plant the poplars. It was not
easy: back then, whenever it rained a lot, the stream used to flood everything.”
Born in Castelldefels in 1960, Pilar Carbó has always liked living in the
countryside. When she was a teenager, she loved to go for walks in the Garraf. She loves travelling and visiting wide-open spaces, distant horizons, but
when at the age of 17 she discovered La Fassina she had a feeling that this
was her little place in the world, and she decided to stay. Looking at her, one
can tell she was not mistaken.
“This mountain nourished something in my soul just by looking at it,”
she says, her eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. “You get attached to it. I’m a
nature guide for the park, and I know it very well.”
“What do you like the most about the Garraf Park?”
“The flora, the wildlife... everything!” she concludes. “Every single spot
has its own charm. I like the little hollows because the greenery is different.
I also love the contrast between the sea and the mountain. And the light!
It’s incomparable. As you go higher you can see the Llobregat on one side
12
and the sea on the other. I also love the part where the geology is much more
rugged, over at La Morella; and in springtime there are hundreds of wildflowers.”
Pilar has a little shop where she sells jams and liqueurs that she manufactures herself, as well as books on the county, crafts from the Garraf and
regional produce, such as cheese and honey from Cal Pere, another farmhouse in the Garraf Park. Part of the farmhouse is rented out to groups who
want to disconnect from urban stress; there is no overnight accommodation, but they have the incentive of being surrounded by nature and they
can cook whatever they fancy.
Pilar’s enthusiasm is dimmed only when she recalls the huge forest fires
that devastated the Garraf in 1977, 1982 and 1994. She remembers that
when she first came to La Fassina, in 1977, there was nothing but burnt tree
stumps all around. It was frightening, but the park has changed a great deal
since she settled here, and she can now boast of having witnessed the sprouting and growth of almost all the trees around the house.
“Forest fires are a disaster, but they grant one advantage in visual
terms: after the flames have died down you can clearly see that the mountain used to be completely divided up into plots of vineyards, which represented 70% of the local economy.”
We pay a visit to her workshop and storeroom, filled with assorted
jampots: pumpkin, melon, pepper, pear, carrot, apricot, aubergine, prickly
pear... The orchard is behind the house, enclosed by ancient walls, but during winter she does not plant anything. “Everything gets frozen and it is not
worth it,” she explains, “but spring is simply wonderful.”
Palau Novella
Leaving La Fassina we turn back towards Palau Novella, a spectacular
country house built by Pere Domènech i Grau, a merchant who was born
in 1831 in Isla Cristina (Huelva), into a family of Sitgetans. He set sail for
Cuba at the early age of 15, came back a rich man and, in 1887, he began to
build the Agricultural Colony of Plana Novella in the Garraf Park. He was
a typical Indiano, after having made his fortune overseas, he devoted his
life to building his dream, a utopia. However, in 1893 the Phylloxera plague
thwarted his plans. Pere Domènech wound up ruined by the stock market
crash and died in Barcelona in 1898, after having to auction his dream of
Plana Novella.
Palau Novella, with its avenue lined by almond trees, huge gateway and
majestic tower, is already surprising for its eclectic style and exaggerated
dimensions, but it is even more so, when you see it bedecked with brightlycoloured prayer flags and hear the Buddhist chants originating from the inside. These monotone mantras and chants proclaim to the four winds that
since 1996, Palau Novella has been the site for the only Buddhist monastery
in Catalonia.
When we arrive, a couple is walking silently around the spectacular stupa that rises at the entrance, making the prayer windmills turn. We can see
they are doing it with great devotion, but there is something off; perhaps it
is because it looks too new and out of context, artificial, as if it were a huge
13
stage set attempting to reproduce a little piece of Tibet in the middle of the
Garraf. To accentuate the contrast even more, a young lad is shrieking into
a mobile phone just a few steps away, ignoring the posters inviting visitors
to meditate.
In the dining room, set up in a damp room where years earlier the oil
mills used to be kept, there are a few rows of tables and lots of chairs, just
like in any other restaurant, but the monastic gloom and the photo of the
spiritual director of the monastery, a gentleman sporting a long grey beard,
give the impression that we are in a very different place.
“Have you come for the meditation workshop” asks a young girl with a
beaming smile.
“Not quite,” we answer, trying to compete with her smile. “We’ve just
come for lunch.”
She shows us how the buffet works – essentially vegetarian – and offers
us a jug of water. When I ask if she has any beer, she says yes, but alcoholfree. And wine? Yes, but that doesn’t have any alcohol either. It certainly
seems that we’re in the land of light... and to think that Pere Domènech visualised this palace as an exemplary agricultural colony dedicated to producing wine (with alcohol, naturally).
After lunch, the smiling girl explains that around twenty volunteers
work at the monastery every weekday.
“At weekends there are 30 or 40 of us, because that’s when most people
come,” she smiles. “There are very few people eating today, but on Sundays
the number can rise to more than 100 people.”
She adds that there are guided tours of the palace/monastery, but the
schedule does not go well with our plans, so we decide to leave it for another
time: nature at the Garraf Park is calling to us.
Mas Lluçà
In the afternoon we immerse ourselves in the more agricultural part of
the park. We leave Mas Marcè behind, with its vineyards and surrounding
woods, and head across the hilly landscape as far as Can Lluçà, an isolated
farmhouse facing the sea with crop fields and a fig tree with a gnarled truck
at the front.
Can Lluçà has two stories and a gleaming white façade, with a caged
quail on the windowsill, a stone bench that invites you to sit down and bask
in the sun, and an arch-shaped door. A number of ceramic tiles portray a
drawing of Can Lluçà, including the sea, and an inscription that states:
‘Friends of the Garraf at Can Lluçà.”
When we get there, Maria Rull pops her head out. She has a friendly
face and right from the outset it’s clear that she loves chatting. She is 58, has
lived her whole life at Can Lluçà, and needs absolutely no encouragement to
talk about the Garraf, the world in which she has spent her entire life.
“My parents came here in 1942 because the previous tenant farmers had
lost two daughters in two weeks from typhus, and the owners wanted the
lands to be looked after by a young couple,” she says, delving back into history. “They were 26 and 27. Three years later, my brother Àngel was born,
and seven years later I was born. My mother went to Barcelona to give birth,
14
but two weeks later we were back here. The house belongs to the great-greatgrandchildren of Doctor Robert, who was mayor of Barcelona.”
“It seems like a great place to live,” I say, looking out to the sea.
“To live here, you need to be born here,” says Maria, nodding, “and
when you get to a certain age you just let everything go. Working the land
is hard, and the children do not want to stay... We have just three vineyards
left now; we’ve had to dig up the others. We have got a few crops, but the
wild boars eat everything... It is just not worth growing grain, you cannot
make any money from it; and the same with wine... The only ones left now
are my brother, who is over at Campdàsens, the next-door farmhouse, and
me. It is all coming to an end...”
“Having lived for such a long time at Can Lluçà, what would you say has
changed the most since you were young?”
Maria takes a deep breath and closes her eyes, thoughtfully going over
all the years she has spent here.
“This was all very different before,” she says when she finally gets started. “We had up to 180 goats, but when our son was born, my husband – who
has now passed away – said: ‘No more goats.’ I was in school in Barcelona
for seven years, and then I started helping my parents. I was 15 years old
and I used to lead the herd. Back then, in Sitges, they used to call me Heidi.
Two weeks after giving birth, I was back leading the herd. We used to milk
the goats, take it down to Garraf, and it was collected by a truck from Mr.
Balcells, who at that time owned ATO. In Gavà I am known as la lluçana
(the girl from Lluçanès).”
“Why do you have a plaque from the ‘Friends of Garraf’ on the house?”
I ask, pointing to the tiles on the façade.
“Before my husband died, more than seven years ago, we used to hold
barbecues here. Felix, who used to build stone walls for the Sitges Town
Council, had been laid off on a disabled pension and it was a way of making
some money. A lot of really nice people from Sitges used to come up, and
the Friends of Garraf plaque was given to me because on the first Sunday
of July, the annual festival of Campdàsens is celebrated and, after having
lunch at the Mata, they used to come here for coffee.”
“Did many people come?”
“Just a handful at first, but then more and more people joined in until
there were more than 300. Not so many come now... But the thing is that all
the trains used to stop at Vallcarca and everyone would walk up. Nowadays,
in summer, you only get hikers stopping by to ask for water, nice people.
You don’t get strange people coming here: I think the quarries put people
off, and it’s difficult to find the path. Just as well, otherwise this would be
like Andorra.”
All the while, we can hear a muted sound from the quarries. Maria
stands in silence looking at the scenery, as if evoking past times, her many
memories bound to this land. Then, pointing to the old fig tree at the front of
the house with a tired gesture, she complains that they have to build a new
wall as the wild boars have knocked the old one down.
“It must get cold here at night,” I comment, watching the sun going
down.
15
“Inside we keep warm around the fireplace and that’s it,” says Maria.
“No, it has not been an easy life”.
Campdàsens
A little further on from Can Lluçà, going towards Cala Morisca, we come to
Campdàsens. Rather than a farmhouse, it looks like a little hamlet, made up
of a large house, an adjacent church with a façade proclaiming it was built
in 1853; a few metres further on, we find some buildings called the Cases
de Dalt, with an ancient defence tower that evokes the times of pirates and
bandits, and some agaves facing out to sea. There are vineyards all around,
and in front of the house a very ancient mulberry tree.
We can hear dogs barking, and then a boy pops his head out. When we
tell him we would like to talk to him about the house and the Garraf, he
says it is best if we talk to his father, Maria’s brother. Àngel Rull walks out
slowly – he is 64 – greets us and sits down on the stone bench, near a painted
sign that says: ‘Campdàsens. Altitude: 242 metres’, with a bunch of grapes
pictured at the side. There is also a tile of La Moreneta (the Virgin of Montserrat) and a plaque from the Friends of Garraf, similar to Maria’s but with
Campdàsens instead of Can Lluçà inscribed on it.
“We get by as best as we can here,” he says, shaking his head from side
to side. “If you just want to live here, fine, but you want to earn a living, it
is tough. In the past you could live off the land, but now...”
“What is it that has changed?”
“Since 1974, which is when the wild boars came back, there is very little
we can plant. It would be quicker if I told you what the wild boars do not eat:
tomatoes, onions and garlic. Broad beans, peas and beans… they just love
them. And every year they either eat or damage three or four thousand kilos
of grapes... We planted two fields of corn, nine days of work, which should
have given us six thousand kilos, but we only managed to get two thousand.
We used to grow chickpeas in the poorer soil, but we cannot even do that
now. And it is all because of the wild boar.”
“Don’t they hunt them?”
“Yes, but not enough. There are loads of them, far too many. Up on the
top, over on the Begues side, there is nothing left for them to eat so they
come here, which is where the crop fields are.”
“So to sum it up, farming does not pay.”
“I am a farmer because I was born here, but it is dying out now. I have
had a disability pension for 15 years now because my lungs have been damaged by the dust from the quarry. The idea was to give up working at the
quarry and live off the land, but there is no way...”
The Garraf quarries also have their own brief history. The one at La Falconera, owned by Eusebi Güell, was the first one in Garraf and was mined
from 1901 and 1917. The blocks of stone extracted there were used to enlarge
the Port of Barcelona and to build Palau Güell and Casa Milà on Passeig
de Gràcia, which was curiously christened by the locals as La Pedrera (The
Stone Quarry). Even though La Falconera closed down, other quarries on
the massif are still working.
16
“The quarry is very much a part of life here,” reflects Àngel Rull. “From
time to time you hear drilling and everything shakes. There used to be a
mountain there, but it is gone now. It has been eaten by the quarry.”
Suddenly his expression changes and, choosing to talk about happier
things, he mentions that Campdàsens really comes alive for the main annual
festival, when people come up from Sitges for a communal lunch and to pay
homage to the images of Christ’s Precious Blood, Our Lady of Sorrows and
the Virgin Mary of Vinyet. But it is a very short festival.
“How is the vineyard going?” I ask him, looking at some nearby vines.
“Badly,” he replies. “I have got 17,000 syrah and merlot vines. They pay
at 13 cents a kilo. Xarel·lo pays 18 and Carinyena 12. You need to plough
the land, put down sulphites, labour for hours, spend money on fuel and machinery... How can you make a living like that? Twenty or twenty-five years
ago, you could. Not now. In 1998-1999 we were getting almost a euro per
kilo of grapes. We planted vines in 1997 and for the first harvest, in 1999,
we were doing well. In 2000 the price dropped, then even more in 2001... and
now look at it.”
“Why has it gone down so much?”
“They are bringing in a lot of grapes from outside, and people are not
drinking so much these days. In the old days, there was always a porrón of
wine on the table. Now we go for months without any. With all these controls
they have got...”
I stand for a while looking out to sea, and the track winding off into the
woods. If it wasn’t for the racket from the quarries, this would be an idyllic
spot.
We leave Campdàsens as the sun is now setting. As we head towards
the coast, we can see how the landscape improves considerably with the soft
dusky light. It all looks lovely now, with the vineyards in the foreground,
the odd farmhouse surrounded by terracing, and the woods and the sea in
the background. The light is warm, like honey, and the air is scented with
rosemary. A sailing ship passes by, heading towards Barcelona, so slowly
that it barely seems to be moving.
We stop by the sea in Vallcarca, after passing by Ca l’Aumell de la
Muntanya, and continue through a winding road that follows the profile of
this rugged coastline, edged with coves such as Cala Morisca where some
leaning agaves seem to stand guard. I think about the caverns, the potholes,
the limestone pavements, the farmhouses, the people and the mysteries that
we have left behind in the Garraf Park. There is a whole world back there, a
world that would be worth exploring again.
When night falls, I am reminded of some verses by Ausiàs March: “Lo
jorn ha por de perdre sa claror / quan ve la nit que espandeix ses tenebres...”2
We’re passing by Gavà, home of the Castle of Eramprunyà where the father
of this great poet once lived. As we accelerate along the highway towards
Barcelona, I am reassured by the comforting feeling that the world is a
closed circle and that the past and the present often go hand in hand.
«Fearfully the day sees the
night draw in / spreading
darkness before it…»
2
17
Olèrdola Park:
A Mountain
Full of History
Vine, Vitis vinifera
18
The most impressive aspect about the ruins of Olèrdola is their position on
a jutting promontory some 358 metres high – the hill of Sant Miquel, – a
buttress of the Garraf massif with cliffs on every side. You immediately realise that the great strength of Olèrdola is its privileged strategic location,
as it dominates both the Penedès plain, the highway that stretches at its feet
and the winding road that makes its way towards the coast, following the
course of the Canyelles stream. On a clear winter’s day you can easily see the
serrated massif of Montserrat towards the north, clearly outlined against
the sky, and on the far horizon the snowy peaks of the Pyrenees; while to
the east, at the end of the range of mountains, the sea offers a tranquil blue
counterpoint.
When we reach Olèrdola, driving up from the highway along a very
winding road in a matter of minutes, we confirm that this is an imposing
location. The place exudes an amazing depth of history, having been inhabited by different civilizations for more than 4,000 years. Right away, the
formidable barrier of the wall alerts us to the fact that we are about to enter
a site that has been touched by every period in history. We then realise that
it is not just the wall but every one of the rocks and stones of Olèrdola that
makes us feel like we are treading on the past.
We are hardly surprised, upon entering the site, that the Iberians chose
this rocky summit on which to build a settlement, where they must have felt
protected; nor is it surprising that a few centuries later, the Romans erected
these impressive walls and the watchtower that allowed them to control the
important highway that would later be named Via Augusta: the key road to
Tarraco.
Olèrdola Park, covering a total of 608 hectares, essentially comprises
the monumental complex of Olèrdola, standing on the mountain of the same
name, and the countryside around it, the ideal natural spot for taking short
hikes. There are numerous springs, a great boon for walkers, though the first
thing that strikes you when you get here is the fortitude of the Roman walls
and the defence tower, built from huge blocks of stone that would have made
this site an unassailable stronghold.
The complex is so imposing that when we enter through an opening in
the wall, converted into a gateway, we can’t help feeling smaller than we are,
as if overwhelmed by the sheer weight of so much history. It is 10 o’clock in
the morning of a normal weekday, the time the site opens, and Núria Molist
is waiting for us, the director of the Archaeological Museum of CataloniaOlèrdola. Aside from her, the only other person here is the security guard.
Everything else is solitude, silence and the wind.
“In this section of the site, excavations started in 1920, and then continued in 1948 and again in the 1980s,” says Núria Molist, while pointing
out the ruins just beyond the gate, with low walls separating small, clearly
defined rooms. “They were finished in the mid-1990s by a team in which I
also took part.”
“So what was in this part of the complex?”
“The section up to here was medieval housing, and the half higher up
used to be a laundry. If you look carefully, you can see various levels. For
19
example, there is a section of road here from the Iberian period, and over
there you can see a metal furnace where, in the 19th century, they melted a
bell to make bullets.”
Right from the outset it is evident that past civilizations have superseded one another in Olèrdola over the centuries. This is part of its charm,
this palimpsest of cultures, each building on the previous one. It is also clear
that Núria Molist knows everything there is to know about the history of
the site, to the point that she seems to recognise each individual stone. It’s
hardly surprising given that, as she told us, she started working on the excavations back in 1986.
“Olèrdola is a unique site because it has been occupied repeatedly.”
Molist continues her detailed explanation, so that little by little the site
takes on the tinge of history, as if coming to life. “It has been a prehistoric
settlement, an Iberian settlement, a Roman lookout point, a medieval fortress… and there is also a church which had a regular congregation well into
the 19th century.”
“I suppose the key to all this is its unique strategic location, up on top of
the ridge,” I comment, indicating the vast, panoramic, bird’s eye view.
“Yes, first of all because of the strategic dominion given by the mountain, and secondly because there was water here. Without water, they could
never have formed a settlement.”
Bronze and Iron Ages
When we look more closely, we see that Olèrdola is like a huge inclined platform which, at certain points, looks like an immense oil tanker surrounded
by cliffs. On the eastern side is the Garraf massif, hurrying towards the sea;
on the west is the La Sequera depression, a narrow valley full of springs; on
the other side, just where the park finishes, is a cliff seamed with caverns
and crevices with prehistoric cave paintings that UNESCO has declared as
a World Heritage Site along with other similar paintings in the Mediterranean Arc.
“In the Bronze Age,” says Molist when we have reached the edge of the
cliff, looking down into the La Sequera valley, “they almost certainly used
it as a seasonal settlement according to their livestock activities. We have
found a burial mound structure of two graves with pieces of household articles. Unfortunately, it was destroyed by subsequent inhabitants and there
is only about 10% left. Outside the complex there are two cave paintings:
one representing two archers, and another some bulls.”
“Can we visit them?”
“No, they have been deliberately left unidentified in order to conserve
them.”
Little by little, thanks to Núria Molist’s explanations, both the ruins of
Olèrdola and the landscape surrounding them start to take on some meaning, especially the La Sequera valley that looks like a slice through the land
with the cliffs on the other side.
“In the Iron Age,” continues Núria Molist, “occupancy of Olèrdola was
related to livestock and territorial control. This was a very important quali-
20
tative leap compared to the Bronze Age, as iron was much easier to find than
tin and copper, which were used to make bronze. Iron is also more durable.
In the 7th century BC they built the first wall with huge stone blocks that
were a metre and a half thick.”
Iberians and Romans
We follow Núria up along a little path that meanders among the limestone
rocks, originally coral reefs, which make up the landscape of Olèrdola. In
ancient times people excavated them so deeply – to make roads, trenches,
grain silos (every house had one) or tanks – that it seems to be a completely
ductile material. In other words, to a certain extent these ancient peoples
not only occupied the mountain but also tailored it to their own needs by
their excavations in the rock.
“The secret lay in having the right tools for working the rock,” says Molist,
“and they obviously had them. But first we need to mention the Iberians.”
“Go ahead.”
“We are now in the 6th century BC, but the settlement was built in the
4th century BC. This is the point where we can start talking about a protourban structure. There were roads, squares, stone houses… By now there
was a collective determination to make it a place to live in. Earlier we saw a
laundry near the entrance, which was unique in the Iberian world; there was
also a metal furnace. As you can see, there was already a well defined social
structure and also economic power.”
When we get to the huge cistern excavated from the rock, we stop to
take stock. The size of this immense parallelepiped is quite astonishing; it
was used to collect the rainwater coming down from the highest point of the
mountain. With an average depth of 3.70 metres, the cistern is 16.40 metres
long by 6.50 wide, has a decanting pool at the entrance to filter out any impurities, and a dozen steps carved from stone to be able to go inside. It had
a capacity of 350,000 litres and there is no doubt that this is one of the most
impressive structures in Olèrdola.
“We know that the cistern was built by the Romans,” says Molist, “but
it’s surprising that it was so huge considering the small military outpost
that was stationed here. It also must have served as a quarry, from which
the stones to build the walls were extracted... In any event, when it rains it’s
a spectacular sight. There is a drain that was built in the 17th century, but
sometimes it gets blocked and the cistern fills up to the top. I’ve seen it full
two or three times. It’s an amazing sight.”
While I entertain myself imagining the tank when it is full to the brim,
I try to visualise what life must have been like in Olèrdola in Roman times.
It’s not easy, however much of the structural foundations are still visible.
We can see the rocks, the silos, the channels, the roads, the steps, the tanks
and even the remains of some of the houses, but it’s difficult to conjure up
everyday life in a place like this. As always, whenever you think of the Roman world, the inevitable questions come up: Did they go to the temple? Did
they wear togas and sandals? Did they drink wine? Did they have a series of
statues, like in Rome or Pompeii?
21
When I ask Núria Molist if they have found any remains of temples or
funerary monuments, she shakes her head.
“No, we haven’t found anything,” she says.
“And is there anything that reveals what kind of life they lived here?”
“The scientific analyses of the materials we have found help a little, obviously, but it’s not that easy. Carbon testing gives us information on the
climate and the vegetation; human remains tell us about health; amphorae
tell us about trade… It’s a task involving many experts and often requires
a lot of time. In archaeology, one of the main traits you need is patience!”
What is clear, when it comes to establishing a timeline, is that when the
Romans landed in Empúries in 218 BC, the Iberian world fell into decline.
The Romans arrived with the intention of remaining on the Peninsula, and
from the 2nd century BC they dedicated themselves to conquering and Romanizing the land. It was thus a very significant time of change.
“It was at that time, around the year 100, that the Romans fortified
Olèrdola by erecting the walls and the watchtower. The Iberians still lived
here and Olèrdola became a surveillance point for the territory, a strategic
site for controlling any possible invasions.”
“Do we know if a large garrison was stationed here?”
“We know there was a garrison from the coins and the odd piece of ceramic we have found. What is surprising is the size of the walls.”
Olèrdola is place that exudes mystery and historical enigmas – so this
question remains unsolved.
The Medieval Town
While Andoni wanders off to take photos of the complex, Núria Molist
and I walk up to the highest part of the site, in areas that have not yet
been excavated, surrounded by wild olive trees and characteristic Mediterranean shrubs, and scoured by a wind that doesn’t seem to be inclined
to ease off. From time to time we can see where the earth has been uprooted by wild boars, which seem to be proliferating in the county. At
night, Núria tell us, when the site is deserted, they are the true lords of
Olèrdola.
While we walk along, Núria Molist mentions that in photos of Olèrdola
taken 100 years ago there is not a single tree. The landscape has changed.
Earlier, between the crop terraces and the goats that used to roam the
mountainside, everything was neatly manicured, very different to how it
looks now. It would seem that this vegetation has sprung up in recent years,
since the goats left Olèrdola.
When we get to the top of the site, the ruins of the castle and the panoramic view force us to stop and take a breath. The truth is that there is
not much left of the castle built around the watchtower that the Romans
constructed, but the walls that are still standing are enough to envision the
control over the whole county that this fortress must have had.
“The castle was not a big fortress, as we’re used to seeing in subsequent
centuries,” says Molist, “but a rectangular building that was built between
the 10th and 11th centuries. It was abandoned in the 12th century, so it was
22
never expanded. That is why it does not look like a great castle. Even so, the
position is unique.”
The visual dominion from this point is certainly spectacular, as if from
a bird’s eye view. Far beyond the Penedès plain we can see the massifs of
Montseny, Sant Llorenç del Munt and Montserrat. On both sides there are
rolling hills covered in pines, olive trees and rosemary bushes, with stone
terracing following the old example of the Romans which now break up the
landscape. From this altitude we can also see the four towns that make up
the municipality of Olèrdola: Sant Miquel d’Olèrdola, Moja, Sant Pere Molanta and Viladellops. In the middle, the broad Penedès plain extends, full
of well-tended vineyards, with little pathways made for people, and the biggest town in the region, Vilafranca del Penedès.
“We’ve done some deep excavations up here at the castle,” says Molist,
while we look at the piles of stones crowning the hill. “The Roman watchtower was the castle, which must have had two or three floors. There was a
wall all around the whole complex, some sections of which still remain. The
biggest section is the one you saw at the entrance.”
When I ask her whether, as one would normally expect in the case of
illustrious ruins, there are any legends associated with Olèrdola, Molist recalls that for many years the people around here believed that there was a
sinkhole underneath the castle that eventually led to the town of Sitges, on
the coast, so its inhabitants could escape by boat in the event of an attack,
but it has never been proven.
I entertain myself by mentally calculating the distance there must be
between here and Sitges. Fifteen kilometres, twenty? Whatever it is, it
would seem impossible for there to be a passage under the mountains down
to the sea. But as we know, legends often have little to do with reality.
Picking up the thread of history once again, we should mention that
Olèrdola was abandoned once the country was completely under Roman
dominion and there were no foreseeable dangers, but it was occupied once
again from at least the 9th century, according to carbon-dating on 14 skeletons found in the cemetery.
“The people returned to Olèrdola when this region was under Arab dominion,” says the archaeologist. “In those times, this region became a frontier zone, with Al-Andalus to the north and the lands of Charlemagne to the
south.”
“A land of frontiers and skirmishes.”
“Absolutely. At the beginning of the tenth century, the Counts of Barcelona crossed the Llobregat river and embarked on the conquest towards the
south, but they advanced very slowly. Remember, they took 100 years to get
as far as the River Gaià, which is not too far from here. In any case, this area
was not particularly important to the Arabs, even though from time to time
they would carry out raids to demonstrate that it belonged to them. You
might say it was a kind of no man’s land, but the Christians were interested
in regaining territory.”
In a few minutes we have gone from the Iberians to the Romans, and
from the Romans to the wars between Moors and Christians. It is clear that
23
the winds of history blew very strongly in Olèrdola, a mountain that is a
melting pot of many and very different histories. Below, meanwhile, we can
still see cars racing along the highway, oblivious of this rocky outcrop which,
centuries earlier, was an unassailable fortress and a valuable control point.
Count Sunyer and the Nobleman Mir Geribert
Around 930 AD, Sunyer I, Count of Barcelona, who at that time was fighting the Saracens, believed that the town of Olèrdola, whith its walls, watchtower and cistern still standing, could be the stronghold he needed to extend
his reach to the south. With this objective in mind, he established many of
his subjects there and decided to monumentalize Olèrdola, extending the
walls and building the church and the castle.
“That was the most densely populated period in Olèrdola,” continues
Molist as we walk down towards the church. “The Count issued special franchises to attract settlers and a group of smallholders began to associate in
what would end up becoming a feudal world. The 10th and 11th centuries
were the glory times of Olèrdola, when the castle was a very important fortress, as at that time Olèrdola encompassed a huge area of 200 square kilometres ranging from Vilafranca del Penedès to Sitges.”
“So what did people live on in those days in Olèrdola?”
“According to land sale documents, we know that the wealthy farmers
lived within the town walls. It was during the Middle Ages that Olèrdola
took on its characteristic structure with the castle at the top, the church
and the cistern in the middle, and trading near the wall, which is where the
craftspeople concentrated.”
The archaeologist’s description helps to give us a better vision of how
Olèrdola was laid out. It’s as if the worn-down rocks and stones gradually
resume their shapes and embrace the purpose that history has endowed
them with.
From the period when medieval knights were the lords of Olèrdola,
Molist singles out the curious figure of a noble called Mir Geribert, who proclaimed himself the Prince of Olèrdola in 1041. This character was most
definitely a one-off. He died in 1060 in Tortosa, fighting against the Arabs,
but before that he had already rebelled against the Count of Barcelona and
led a feudal revolt.
“You might say that the feudal system started off with Mir Geribert,”
says Molist. “He had the castle of Montbui, the castle of Port, in Barcelona,
the castle of Eramprunyà… He was a bellic and troublesome character. The
Count of Barcelona ended up winning the battle, but he was forced to recognise the rights of the feudal lords.”
Everything would seem to indicate that it was the famous Arab leader
Almansor who destroyed Olèrdola at the end of the 10th century. In any
event, it is clear that Olèrdola was gradually abandoned with the coming of
peace, when the Garraf was no longer a frontier land. People moved down to
the plains and specifically to Vilafranca del Penedès, which was initially just
a small farmhouse in the middle of the plain. Only the church and its cemetery continued their activities in Olèrdola until the end of the 19th century.
24
The Church of Sant Miquel
The church of Sant Miquel d’Olèrdola, which was restored a few years ago, has
its doors slightly ajar when we get there. It is surrounded by a low wall that
also encloses the cemetery, with a few anthropomorphic graves dug into the
rock, and on its eastern side it peers out over an abyss. Inside, with its exposed
stone walls and tiny window openings, it is impressive in its austerity.
“It’s a Romanesque building from the early 12th century, before the
Romanesque period with sculptures that we’re used to seeing,” comments
Molist. “There used to be a pre-Romanesque church on the same spot, dating from the 10th century, but it lasted less than a century. This one, which
is bigger and higher, was built on top of its remains.”
Part of the land on which the church stands is the limestone that is omnipresent in Olèrdola. Núria Molist points out that the church was burnt
during the Civil War, but in some photos from the early 20th century you
can see that there were altarpieces and paintings in the then-popular rural
style.
Seen from outside, the outstanding features of the church are the tower
and the bell gable that must once have housed the now absent bells.
“The bell gable was restored after it was destroyed by lightning,” says
Molist. “According to documentation, the bells were taken to the new church
in the village of Sant Miquel d’Olèrdola.
“Why was it abandoned as the village church?”
“It was the parish church, the property of the bishop of Barcelona, but
at the end of the 19th century it was sold to the Abella family from Vilafranca del Penedès. People were fed up with climbing up the hill to get here and
decided to build a church down in the village. In 1963 it was bought by the
Barcelona Provincial Council, and in 1971 it was opened to the public.”
Outside, on the north-facing side, you can still see some of the remains
of the pre-Romanesque church that was built by the Count, and between the
apse and the cliff your eyes are caught by the numerous anthropomorphic
graves that have been excavated from the rock, one of the most characteristic features of Olèrdola.
“People used to think that the church of Sant Miquel and the cemetery
around it was for adults, and that this cemetery outside was for children,
but that’s not the case”, says Molist.
“Have any important objects been found here?”
“In one of the graves we found a chalice and a paten. We assumed it
must have been the rector’s grave.”
Alexandre de Laborde
As we walk through the church of Sant Miquel, I remember having seen,
years ago, some engravings by the French nobleman Alexandre de Laborde,
who visited Spain at the beginning of the 19th century, which showed the
anthropomorphic graves of Olèrdola as being much larger than their actual
size, and in a vertical position. Such was the licence taken by a romantic
traveller, long before the appearance of photography, in trying to explain
to the French what the Spain of that era was like. “More or less four leagues
25
from the Berà Arch,” wrote Laborde, “following the coast towards Vilanova, we discovered on a promontory the considerable ruins of an ancient fortress which was once the town of Olèrdola. Its formidable location, its walls,
the medals that have been found among the ruins, all prove that this was
an important town in earlier times, and probably the Carthago Vetus that
people have inaccurately tried to situate in the place that is now Vilafranca
del Penedès.”
Laborde’s information on Carthago Vetus was completely wrong, but this
does not in any way detract from his admiration for this place, as demonstrated by his accurate descriptions of the cistern and the anthropomorphic graves. “There is nothing that indicates,” he wrote, “who these graves
might have belonged to; they have been excavated with great care and have
an edge around them for the lid to fit in.”
That things have changed a great deal since the times of Laborde is underlined by the following statement from the French traveller: “The only
way of getting to this mountain is along the most dreadful tracks, and when
you get here, among the ruins, there is no kind of inscription to even indicate the former name of the town. It seems that death has imposed its
power here: it has even wiped out the remembrance of this place; the ashes
of these unknown inhabitants have been from the bottom of the rocks which
they must have thought would be a much more secure resting place than any
simple graves. From the walls, all that is left is a defence tower that serves as
a chapel for a poor priest; the bell is cradled between two battlements and its
prayers are the only thing that breaks the silence of this solitude.”
Today, fortunately, the Olèrdola site is in a perfect condition and has a
whole series of signposts that underline the importance of these ruins which
captivated well-known personalities such as Josep Puig i Cadafalch and
Pere Bosch i Gimpera. The “dreadful tracks” that Laborde referred to have
been replaced, meanwhile, by asphalted roads.
The Pla dels Albats
The little exhibition on the site features various maps and models that help
you to understand the Olèrdola complex, and photos of the cave paintings
in the park.
In one of the photos you can see an old farmhouse that used to stand
at the entrance of the ruins, which housed the rectory until 1884. Unfortunately it was demolished in 1968.
“There were a lot of people living in Olèrdola in the Iberian period and
during medieval times,” says Núria Molist. “In the latter period, the town
spread out beyond the walls, but it’s difficult to calculate the number of inhabitants.”
“Is there much left to be excavated?”
“Within the whole complex, we have probably excavated 10%. There is
still a lot of work to be done. You have to remember that there were houses
outside the walls as well, as far as Pla dels Albats, and going down the hill as
far as Masia Segarrulls.”
After saying goodbye to Núria Molist we go outside the site, following
the walls, along a wide avenue lined with cypress trees that takes us to Pla
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dels Albats, another spot full of history where there are a few anthropomorphic graves, most of them child-size, amidst a pine wood, very close to the
remains of the chapel of Santa Maria (10th-12th century). The sight of the
anthropomorphic graves excavated in the rock exudes a sense of mystery
and underlines the fact that there are still many questions that remain to
be answered in the story of Olèrdola, this mountain of histories that have
become superimposed over the years.
We finish our visit by heading towards the Daltmar residential estate
between pines, olive trees, margalló palms, rosemary bushes and mastic
trees, a characteristically Mediterranean environment. The wind has died
down, and complete calm envelops the spot. Just beneath us is the road that
leads to the overdeveloped coast: above us rises the rocky cliff face, dominated by one of the walls of the church of Sant Miquel d’Olèrdola. Seen from
below, the whole Olèrdola complex gives you the impression of a truly unassailable fortress, as if isolated from the rest of the world by a double rampart
of cliffs and walls.
27
Foix Park:
From Castle to Castle
Poplar, Populus alba
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A Mediterranean landscape carpeted with vineyards and dotted with almond and olive trees on the slopes of a mountain range crowned by forests
of pines and holm oaks, with a few long-established farmhouses hugging the
land and a pair of remarkable castles, welcome us to Foix Park, one of the
smallest of the parks managed by the Barcelona Provincial Council. It covers a total area of 2,900 hectares and spans two municipalities: Santa Margarida i els Monjos and Castellet i la Gornal. It could be said that, from a
geographical point of view, as in the case of Olèrdola, Foix Park is part of the
Garraf massif, the mountain that separates the coast from the inland plain
where the old Roman Via Augusta used to run.
If we had to identify the key structural element of Foix Park on a map
it would be the river by the same name. However, the park is best known
for the reservoir, a huge lake that dates back to the early 20th century with
green waters that reflect the elegant outline of the Castle of Castellet, a fortress built on top of a rocky hill that seems to have come popped out of a
fairy tale.
The Foix Mill
Though strictly speaking it is outside the borders of the park, we start our
visit by stopping at the Foix Mill in the centre of the town of Els Monjos, on
Carrer Farigola. Someone said that it is well worth visiting to get an introduction to the region, and we immediately see that they were right.
We go into an ancient-walled building that was restored a few years ago
to house an interpretation centre of nature and history; it preserves a good
part of the 10th century flour mill that used the water from the nearby Foix
river to grind grain. According to archive documents, in 978 it belonged to
the monastery of Sant Cugat del Vallès. In the 13th century the mill passed
into the hands of the monks of the Monastery of Santes Creus, who built a
new manor house there with a large pool and three pairs of millstones. The
mill, which was later known as the Monks’ Mill, was one of the most important ones in the county, and it is said that the fact that it was occupied by
monks is probably the origin of the second part of the name of the nearby
town of Santa Margarida i els Monjos (St. Margaret and the Monks).
“It was a fortified mill with a defence tower,” explains Montse Jané, the
head of Quatre Passes, the environmental services company that runs the
Foix Mill centre now. “The monks diverted the water from the Foix river to
make it fall above the millstone chamber.”
“From what I can see, it must have been an important mill.”
“It certainly was. It had three pairs of millstones running at the same
time. Each of the three wells was diverted to a set of millstones and the water gushed onto the roller in a space known as the cacau, making it turn on
its axis. One of the millstones was fixed in position while the other turned,
so the grain was ground between the two millstones.”
“You used the word cacau?”
“Yes, it’s an odd name,” laughs Montse. “Apparently the expression
‘Quin cacau!’ (What a racket!) may have originated here. It’s quite possible,
as they used to make a lot of noise.”
29
When we go down to the millstone chamber on the lower floor of the mill,
we find an elegant Gothic vault, a couple of very worn-out millstones, a few
storage vats covered with thick glass and a well with the side wall open. This
is what mills must have been like centuries ago.
“In the 17th century, the mill passed into the hands of the Macià
family from Vilafranca del Penedès,” continues Montse Jané. “Around
1829 they turned it into a flour mill, enlarging the pool and the millstone
chamber. Later on, in the 1930s, the owners left the flour business and
turned it into a house and winery. A few years later it became a wine
warehouse.”
“And since when has it been open to the public?”
“When the mill became municipal property in 1995, they started renovating the building for public use, and now that it has been restored we run
environmental courses for schools, among other things.”
The door to the first floor of the mill, engraved with the dates 1828 and
1992, leads to a botanical garden designed in a spiral. Among its plants are
various cereals and lots of herbs: basil, chamomile, lavender cotton, lavender, thyme, parsley, bay, marjoram, lemon verbena, mint, oregano, rosemary, rue, winter savory, sage and lemon balm. All the aromas of the Mediterranean seem to be concentrated here.
“There are more than sixty native plants here,” points out Montse.
“When the schoolchildren come, we make sure they learn about them and
we organise games to help them identify them.”
This garden, conceived in part so children can familiarise themselves
with the plants and trees that city life has made them oblivious to, is complemented by fruit trees at its highest point and a few vines that illustrate
the different grape varieties grown locally, such as Xarel·lo, Ull de Llebre,
Muscatel, Merlot, Grenache, Parellada and Macabeu. The world of wine, the
cornerstone of the wealth of the Penedès region, is represented here by all
these different vines.
It is precisely at the highest point of the garden, where the children learn
to name the plants that we get a better idea of what the mill used to look
like centuries earlier. The remains of the old tower, the three wells and the
pool where the water from the Foix river was held allow us to imagine the
cacau that must have been generated back when the mill was running at full
throttle, when behind its walls the miracle of transforming sacks of grain
into flour took place.
The Castle of Penyafort
After our preliminary visit to the Foix Mill, we leave Els Monjos and
head for Castellet, turning off on the way to try to locate, among the unnamed roads of an industrial estate, the Foix river and the Castle of Penyafort. The river bed has been cleaned out recently and it seems to have
recovered the appearance and power that used to move several mills here
centuries ago.
The Castle of Penyafort, famous as the birthplace of Saint Raymond of
Penyafort (1185-1275), the patron saint of lawyers, looks at first sight more
30
like a huge manor house than a fortress, or like a collection of houses clustered together in an elevated position, with the mountain range covering
their back and the river at their feet. When the initial nucleus was constructed in the 12th century, it must have had spectacular views over the thenidyllic Penedès plain.
According to historians, the first structure of the castle to be built was
the circular defence tower, which was a dependency of Olèrdola Castle. The
Penyafort family owned the castle until the mid-14th century, when the last
descendent of the line, Arnau de Montoliu, sold it to Pere de Crebeyno. According to documents on the castle, in 1586 the General Council of Catalonia expropriated the castle and fifteen years later Martí Joan d’Espuny
d’Argençola bought it at a public auction. That same year, 1601, Ramon de
Penyafort was canonized by Pope Clement VIII. In 1603, Pere Joan Guasc,
a Dominican prior from Puigcerdà, reached an agreement with Martí Joan
d’Espuny to open a convent in the birthplace of Saint Raymond of Penyafort, and d’Espuny donated the tower and the adjacent buildings to the
Dominicans. The church was finished in 1730, and in 1832 there was still a
small community of friars living at the castle, made up of four monks and
three students.
Over the years a series of other buildings were added to the castle, including the houses of the tenant farmer and the sharecropper, until the early
fortress became a hamlet inhabited by a few farmers.
“My great-grandfather was born here,” explains Maria Feced, the girl
who guides us today, giving this place an unexpectedly human dimension.
“From what I am told, there were four houses for the tenant farmers and an
orchard where they used to grow some very fine fruit.”
With the familiarity that comes from knowing her great-grandfather
was born here, Maria opens the church doors to show us the circular layout
of the original defence towers and the chamber that housed the first chapel,
built by the Espuny family, who were the castle’s owners in the Middle Ages.
The Espuny coat of arms is hanging on one of the walls, picturing three fists
and a bird. Further on the large nave of the church opens up, thirty metres
long with bare walls.
“Lord Espuny was a devout follower of Saint Raymond, and that’s why
he dedicated the chapel to him,” says Maria. “Later on he loaned the house
to the Dominicans who set up a convent here.”
We go out through a side door into a small courtyard with concrete walls
and three elegant palm trees, the site of the castle’s most recent history,
from the time of the Spanish Civil War.
“There was a Republican airfield in Santa Margarida i els Monjos,” explains Maria, “and at the very end of the war, they used to hold Nationalist
pilots as prisoners here, many of whom were Italian and German.”
We then move on to what was once the convent’s orchard, a wide space
with an avenue of cypress trees, a courtyard full of rose bushes that shows
the Dominicans’ devotion to the Virgin of the Rose, and an empty pedestal.
Seeing the rose bushes, I remember a popular song from Vilafranca that
went:
31
La Mare de Déu un roser plantava;
d’aquell sant roser n’ha nat una planta.
Nasqué sant Ramon fill de Vilafranca,
Confessor de reis, de reis i de papes.
Confessava un rei que en pecat n’estava.
El pecat n’és gran, Ramon se n’esglaia...1
However, Maria Feced interrupts the song with a few more historical details.
“In 1851, after the Disentailment decree was passed and the Castle
became property of the state, it was bought by Miquel Puig, whose family
lived here for three generations. His grandson sold it in 1959 to an American, James R. Halloway, who had the intention of restoring it and turning
it into a hotel. However, he then sold it on to another American, Dimitri
Nicholas, who, some say, plundered the castle…”
“How did he do that?”
“Here, where you see this pedestal, there used to be a bust of the former
owner, Puig i Llagostera, which disappeared, along with the statues of the
saints from the church and the books from the library. Some of the books
have turned up in libraries in the United States.”
In the upper part of the orchard there is a tank, a well, the Castle’s
spring, which emerges from the depths of the mountain, an ancient bay tree
and the remains of a lovers’ pathway built years ago by Puig i Llagostera,
when both the house and the owner’s love life were flourishing.
“My grandfather was only four years old when the Civil War started,”
explains Maria. “He said they had prisoners here, but the families of the tenant framers were also still living here. There used to be orange trees around
the pedestal, and one day a well-known soldier demanded the keys to go in
and pick the oranges. As they took so long to bring them, he ended up breaking down the wall so he could get in and eat them.”
In front of the garden, to the right of the cypress-lined path, there is a
modern garden of healing herbs in a parterre that reproduces the key of Saint
Raymond, the Dominican expert in canon law, considered to be the one who
introduced the Inquisition to the Kingdom of Aragon.
According to the history books, Ramon de Penyafort was born in this
castle and in 1204, age nineteen, he was already a clergyman at the cathedral in Barcelona. He studied in Bologna and ended up entering the Dominican order. After several years of study, in 1228 he accompanied the envoy
of the papal legate Jean d’Abbeville on his journey through Hispanic lands
to impose the Reform. He then continued living in Rome where, in 1230, he
was appointed confessor to Pope Gregory IX. The Pope charged him with
compiling the Decretals of Gregory IX, which were promulgated in 1234.
This work formed the code of canon law used by the Catholic Church until
the Code of Pope Pius X.
The Pope wanted to reward Ramon de Penyafort by appointing him
Bishop of Tarragona, however by this time he was tired and ill, so he retired
in 1236 to the convent of Santa Caterina, in Barcelona. He still had time to
intervene in the Courts of Montsó, in 1236, and to enact the excommunica-
«The Mother of God planted
a rosebush; || and from that
sainted rosebush a plant was
born || Saint Raymond was
born, a son of Vilafranca, ||
Confessor of kings, of monarchs
and Popes. || A king confessed
that he had sinned. || The
sin was great, Raymond was
shocked...»
1
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tion of Jaume I, in 1237, under the auspices of the bishopric of Osca and the
recently-conquered island of Mallorca. In 1239 he was elected as Third Master General of the Dominican Order, but he resigned in 1240 and returned to
Barcelona, where he was an advisor to King Jaume I.
In addition to his legal work, Ramon de Penyafort founded an Arabic
language school in Tunisia in 1245 and another one in Murcia in 1266, with
the intention of converting Muslims to Christianity. He died in 1275 and in
1279 the Council of Tarragona requested his canonization, which did not
actually take place until 1601. In 1665 Pope Clement VIII proclaimed him a
Saint. Among the miracles attributed to him, the most notable one claimed
that he sailed from Sóller in Majorca to Barcelona on his cloak.
“A Mrs. Gallemí bought the castle at an auction in the 1980s and in 2002
she sold it to the Town Council of Santa Margarida i els Monjos, which since
then has been carrying out an in-depth renovation,” concludes Maria.
Following the Course of the Foix River
After our profound immersion into centuries past, we’re keen to set aside the
stories of Saint Raymond of Penyafort and walk through the Foix Park. We
take the path that leaves from the back of the castle, a pleasant walk that
winds through vineyards and fields of olive trees, with the occasional farmhouse along the way. Cal Magí, Cal Vicari and Cal Bellestar are examples of
these, with flowers at the door, a fig tree and dogs barking rather apathetically whenever anyone passes by.
The path, set above the fields at the foot of the mountain range, follows the course of the Foix river at a certain distance, crosses a pine forest and provides an excellent viewing point over the carefully-tended fields
all around. Most of them are vineyards, but there are also fruit and olive
trees, some of them arranged as trained vines to make mechanical harvesting easier.
When we cross the Foix river, which is now constituted by just a trickle
of water and a few years ago was used as a dumping ground, we realise it has
been cleaned very recently and that riverside trees and shrubs have been
planted to improve its appearance. We hope it lasts.
We walk slowly, relishing every step of the way, with the mountain covering our backs. We leave the rural guesthouse of Mas Pigot behind and continue along the path, which takes us first along the edge of a vineyard and
then through a holm-oak wood. The hills above are dominated by a thick
forest, although there are some rocky outcrops at La Pòpia, a special protection area for birds, which we’ve been told is a nesting spot for Bonelli’s
eagles.
We continue along the path to Torrelletes, a hamlet that belongs to the
municipality of Castellet i la Gornal, housing 2,400 inhabitants and a surprising number of hamlets within its domain. The complete list encompasses: Les Casetes, Castellet, Clariana, La Gornal, Sant Marçal, Les Masuques,
Torrelletes, Rocallisa, Els Rosers, Urbanització La Creu i Els Àngels, Urbanització Trencarroques and Urbanització Valldemar. Twelve little hamlets! Not bad!
33
Surrounded by a mixture of fields, vineyards and Mediterranean woodland, we reach the village of Castellet from the rear, alongside the church and
the old cemetery. A few more steps and the castle comes into view, standing
proudly on the waters of the reservoir.
“The park was created to protect the area round the Foix reservoir,” explains Pau Mundó, the director of the Foix park, whose information office is
right by the castle. “In the 1980s there was a pretty big development threat,
so the Town Council declared it a protected area. In 1993 the special protection plan was set up, followed by the Park Consortium in 1997.”
The Foix Reservoir
The view from the esplanade in front of the castle is spectacular, with a sheer
rocky cliff at its feet full of prickly pear bushes defying gravity, and the reservoir surrounded by vegetation as a backdrop. The spot exudes peace and
quiet, an otherworldly silence.
“The right-hand side of the reservoir is a protected area,” says Pau
Mundó, waving his arm out in that direction. “That is where the birds nest.
If you look carefully, you can see that the topmost leaves of the trees are
white; those are bird droppings. There is a marked path to take you as far as
the wooded peninsula. The other side is for fishing.”
“Those houses over there do not fit in,” I remark.
“The whole surrounding area was intended to be a huge development,
and there are still a few illegal houses, but not many.”
“Do people swim here?”
“Swimming and sailing are not allowed in the reservoir... having said
that, there is always someone who is unaware of the rules... and some people
even eat the carp they fish here... but we do not recommend it, as the reservoir is quite polluted.”
“Can anything be done to clean it up?”
“It is expensive and difficult. You have to remember that there are 17
metres of muddy sediment down there.”
“And what is the reservoir used for?”
“In the past it was used to irrigate the land on the Vilanova and Cubelles.
side. Nowadays it is not used for anything, aside from its scenic and environmental factor. Thanks to the reservoir, we’ve created a wetland in the middle of the Penedès region, a very dry area, and this is fantastic for the birds.”
The reservoir and its surrounding area are undoubtedly a major attraction to birdlife. Migratory birds stop here en route and according to Pau
Mundó more than 230 bird species have been recorded in this area.
“The most important aspect of the park is ornithological,” he stresses.
“There are birds here all year round, and we are often visited by ornithologists. We have migratory birds, birds of prey... We have an agreement with
a group of ornithologists, called Còbit, who conduct nature studies and research in the Penedès region, and every year they draw a detailed report on
the birdlife in the park.”
The castle is closed. It belongs to a private foundation, Abertis, which
refurbished it completely a few years ago. If you want to visit it, a notice
outside says you need to make an appointment for a Saturday or Sunday.
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“The castle is positioned in a very strategic location,” says Pau. “You
may have noticed that this is the first point, following the course of the Foix
river, where you can get through the mountains to the sea. It was an important control point.”
In front of the castle there is an irregular square with a couple of cypress
trees, two towering pines and an old fig tree with a twisted trunk and sagging branches. On one of the houses in front, where the park’s information
centre is now located, a ceramic tile describes this was once the Town Hall
(1906).
“That was back then,” says Pau. “The town hall is in La Gornal now.”
We walk along the Castle path through narrow streets lined with old
houses with stone-clad façades and elevated windows. There is not a soul in
sight, and the whole village is imbued with a silence that seems to have been
here for centuries now.
“It may seem very quiet now, but it fills up at weekends,” says Pau.
“Don’t forget that Castellet is in the middle of the triangle formed by
Vilanova, Vilafranca and El Vendrell. A lot of people live in this area, and if
you bring Barcelona into the equation they add up.”
At the end of the street, where it meets the main road, there is a traditional restaurant, Cal Barretet, founded in 1961, where we stop to sample
their signature dish: sopa estellada (a thick broth of chicken, meatballs and
vegetables) and grilled rabbit.
The manager, Francesc Vallecillo, says he has been living in Castellet for
many years and that it is a great place to live.
“You tend to get middle class people coming here, especially at weekends,” he adds. “They come from Barcelona, Vilanova i la Geltrú, Vilafranca del Penedès... by car or bicycle. Some of them even walk from Sitges or
Olèrdola. We are very quiet during the week, but it is like downtown Barcelona at weekends. Too many people really.”
“Do foreigners come to visit as well?”
“Lots of them, in the summer. From Easter onwards we start getting
tourists from Sitges.”
“The village seems really quiet, at least it does today.”
“Castellet is an incredibly quiet place. During the week, everyone holes
up at home,” he smiles. “There are no open shops or anything. To shop we
have to go to Arboç del Penedès. To get to the weekly market at Arboç
there’s a bus on Tuesdays. To get to the one at Vilafranca, there’s one on
Saturdays.”
“So what do you do about bread?”
“There’s no bakery here, but every other day a baker’s van comes from
Arboç, from Ca la Roser which used to be Cal Masseguer. He toots his horn
and everyone comes out to buy their bread.”
After lunch, we go out with Pau Mundó to take a walk around the reservoir. The sun is shining, and everything looks picture-perfect. There are
ducks, moorhens and other birds flying over the water.
“We once found a Wels catfish 1.60 metres long in the reservoir, but it
was already dead,” says Pau as we walk by the fishing zone. “The reservoir
is polluted, so they die young.”
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“The catfish were brought in from outside, weren’t they?”
“They are long, scaleless fish that eat everything, even ducks. And a few
years ago, at the bottom of the reservoir, we found five or six bombs from
the Civil War.”
When we reach the dam, we find an engraving in the wall with the date
1928.
“The plans for the dam go back to 1901, and though it says 1928 here it
was actually still being built in 1945,” mentions Pau Mundó. “You’ll notice
that the upper part of the wall has been built with a different type of stone.”
The reservoir is completely full; the water is right up to the top, and
even exceeds the overflow channel on one side.
“The reservoir is always full,” says Pau. “We don’t drain it. The only
thing that happens when it fills up is that the water overflows on one side.
Very little water is used for irrigation. In the years with very heavy rain the
reeds have clogged the irrigation channels and the water has gone over the
bridge. It’s really spectacular.”
The Mountain
After spending a while mesmerised by the flow of the water, we go back to
the car and passing by the engineer’s house, which seems to have been built
specifically to keep a constant eye on the dam wall, we head towards the
hills on a track opened up by the Provincial Council as a firebreak. Both
sides are lined by old crop terraces, now surrounded by dense pine forests,
although there are a few cleared areas to allow the trees more room to grow.
The reservoir is instantly hidden from view and we can see we’re entering different territory. While down below the predominant element is water,
up here the mountain is king; a solitary, silent mountain. The view improves
gradually as we climb, until we get to a point where the vast blue expanse
of the Mediterranean opens up before us, punctuated by the chimney of the
power station at Cubelles.
“The Foix flows into the sea, next to the chimney,” says Pau. “That’s
the end of the river.”
When we reach the park’s highest point, we pass by the ruins of a few
farmhouses, abandoned a long time ago: Can Balaguer, Cal Cremat, Cal Cassanyes, Casa Alta... This last house, perched on top of a few rocks forming
a kind of pedestal, must have been a very important house judging by its
size. Now, however, it is just a mute witness of a history which, as Josep Pla
would say, is long gone.
We continue driving until we see, up on a cliff, the so-called Roques Boveres, where there are a few series of caves and an eagle’s nest.
“Rock climbing is prohibited to protect the birds,” explains Pau. “But
you often see climbers on nearby rocks.”
We pass some cyclists panting up the hill, well equipped with mountain
bikes and, shortly afterwards, a solitary runner who sprints by without losing concentration, breathing regularly. After a while, we stop at a lime kiln,
restored not too long ago. It is in the shape of a round tower, built from
stones, with a little door in the lower section.
36
“To make lime, successive layers of limestone and wood were built up
and left uncovered,” says Pau. “It was then kindled through the small door
at the bottom and left to burn for weeks.”
“Are there many of them around here?”
“There are seventeen lime kilns documented, many of them in ruins.
None of them are currently used, but this was the first industrial activity
in this area around a hundred years ago when these hills were inhabited.”
We descend to Torrelletes through karst terrain full of Mediterranean
shrubs and Aleppo pines amidst a silence that clearly indicates there are
no longer any inhabitants. But history is stubborn and so, we spot another
limestone kiln to the right-hand side.
“Near the spring we have found the remains of wells, tanks and shacks,”
says Pau. “We need to have a really thorough exploration to see what else
is there.”
“I can see a lot of Aleppo pines growing here,” I comment, “which in
some areas is regarded as invasive.”
“We are still very grateful for it here, because if it wasn’t for the Aleppo
pine nothing would grow here at all. It is no good for firewood, but it helps
to firm down the earth.”
“What kind of wildlife lives in the woods?”
“Wild boars, foxes, badgers... and bats.”
“Bats?”
“Up to eleven different species of bats have been recorded here.”
When we get to the end of the woods, where human influence on the
mountain starts to become more evident, Pau points out that this section of
the land is home to a combination of olive trees, vineyards, limestone, fruit
trees and Aleppo pines.
“What I love about it is that it’s 100% Mediterranean,” he says with satisfaction. “You will find the same kind of landscape in Mallorca or in Sicily”.
Shortly afterwards we reach Torrelletes, an empty village without a single soul in sight, and the road returning us to the hustle and bustle of urban
life passes by Cal Romagosa, a big, white farmhouse with vines out in front.
“The park is going to be extended soon, which means that Cal Romagosa will fall within its borders,” says Pau. “It’s worth preserving as much
land as we can.”
The Castle of Castellet
The next day, Saturday, we return to Castellet to visit the castle. At 10
o’clock there are already a lot of people strolling around the reservoir or sipping a beer on the terrace at Cal Barretet. There is even a little shop selling
local produce. It is obvious Castellet bursts into life at the weekends.
Just four of us have signed up for the guided tour of the castle. Our
guide, Cristina Marteles, reiterates that the castle’s twenty-five centuries
of history, and reminds us that “the oldest remains found here were Greek
ceramics from the 6th century BC.”
The castle, as it is clear, has a very long history and has been occupied
by very diverse groups of people, from the Iberians through to the Catalan
37
counts, and including the Arabs. In more recent times it housed the Barcelona Children’s Hospital, and it currently belongs to the Abertis Foundation, which undertook an in-depth restoration that was completed in 2009.
Once past the gated entrance, the castle is divided into two sections: one
has been christened the Knowledge Building, where the Abertis Foundation
holds its meetings and functions, and the other is the History Building, the
section open to visitors.
“This is the oldest part of the castle,” explains Cristina. “This is where
the nobles lived, such as Count Borrell II in the 10th century, and Ramon
Berenguer I.”
The history of Castellet is documented in an audiovisual presentation
which indicates its starting point as an Iberian settlement. Later on, in the
10th century, a tower of probable of Andalusian origin was built on top of
the escarpment that dominated the Via Augusta. The first documented record of the castle is dated June 11, 977, and states that Count Borrell II of
Barcelona sold it to Unifred Amat, a member of a big landowning family
who would begin the Castellvell lineage. In 1099, Pere Bertran of Castellet was the feudal lord of the castle, which was gradually extended over the
years. By the 11th century there were already two residential floors. In the
14th century the old fortress was dismantled and a palace was built in its
place, with a larger domicilium. In the 15th century, after the castle had
changed hands, it was badly damaged by the civil war, and in the 16th century it was bought by the Sarriera family who added the wall and adapted
it to withstand light artillery.
In 1875 we know that the castle was owned by Joan de Queralt, the lord
of Santa Coloma.
“By the end of the 19th century it was in ruins: the only things left were
the eastern wall and a bit of the tower. Around the 1920s the idea was to
turn it into a residential castle, but the work was never finished,” continues
Cristina. “Later on it became the Children’s Hospital of Barcelona and in
1999 it was bought by the Abertis Foundation.”
Inside the castle you can see some of the artefacts that were found here,
such as fragments of ceramics from the 4th century BC. There is also a reproduction of a thousand-year-old stone from Via Augusta, the thoroughfare that the original tower was intended to control.
The Via Augusta, which was some six metres wide, went from Cadiz
right up to Gaul, in much the same way as the AP-7 highway does today, according to the Abertis audiovisual, perhaps seeking a parallel across history
to justify its presence in the castle (Abertis is the highway toll operator). So
we have moved on from surveillance of the ancient castles that dominated
the Via Augusta to the control of the highway through tolls.
As a result of the excavations carried out in 2009 on the eastern courtyard, it has been proven that the origins of the fortress date back to the 4th
century BC indeed, thereby confirming it is 2,300 years old. The periods
of the Iberian, Roman, Andalusian and Medieval settlements all came to
light as a moat, constructed in either the 3rd or 4th century BC and filled
in during the 15th century AD, was revealed. Among these excavations, a
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noteworthy find were the remains of a dog at the foot of the wall from the
Iberian period; it is thought to have formed part of some ancient ritual that
one assumes was intended to guarantee long life to the castle.
A little further up from the fortress, the church, documented for the first
time as the chapel of Sant Pere de Castellet in 1106, stands out to a lesser
degree, conscious of its secondary role in the shadow of the castle, while the
predominant feature of the scenery is the Foix reservoir’s sheet of water.
The cemetery is set on one side, a mute testimony of a centuries-old history
that is only disturbed today by the throngs of visitors to the Foix reservoir
at the weekends.
39
Sant Llorenç
del Munt i l’Obac
Natural Park:
From La Mola
Box, Buxus sempervirens
40
Seen from afar, the peak of La Mola, in Sant Llorenç del Munt i de l’Obac
Natural Park, is a powerful image, like a castle of gigantic dimensions, with
a double line of scarped cliffs resembling an impregnable wall and the monastery crowning the 1,104 metres of the mountain. In the lower part, a skirt
of woods gives it the appearance of an unreal world that rises up above the
peacefulness of the plain.
To begin the visit to the park, we first go to Mura, a charming village,
with stone houses and steep slopes, located on the north side, in the county
of El Bages. It is cold in the early hours, and nobody seems to be in a hurry
to open the shops, the bars or the bakery.
“They’ve announced that the power will be cut until one o’clock because
they have to do some work,” a woman tells us, walking slowly, almost counting the steps, up the carrer de la Muntanya. “If you want breakfast, you
won’t find anything open.”
So with empty stomachs we go down the barren streets of the village
until we reach the brook that turns sharply around it, in an embrace. On the
other side you can see some well-tended allotments; on this side, the church
of Sant Martí, dating back to the 11th century. In the middle, there is a
pleasant square, an old fountain, rising streets, well-placed viewing points
and houses with names, such as Cal Forn, Cal Ravenosa, Cal Ferrer Nou, Cal
Benetó, Cal Soldat, Cal Carter...
The Main Road and the Outlaws
One of these houses, Cal Teixidor, is the family home of Joan Alavedra
(1896-1981), with a plaque from 1981 which commemorates him as “author
of the poem El Pessebre (The Nativity), set to music by Pau Casals”. It is the
glory of Mura, a village the author Jaume Cabré also wrote about. We read
in his novel Senyoria (1991): “In contrast to what used to happen in most of
the villages, the church of Mura was located in the lowest part of the village,
near the brook. The horse stopped outside the building with an intense air of
boredom. The solicitor Tutusaus from Feixes remained seated or a moment,
even though the servant had already opened the small door. He hated these
kinds of commissions. He hated everything that involved travel, especially
if it meant going to such a wild area, far from Feixes and from civilisation,
with a dangerous and uncomfortable road.”
It is certainly easy to imagine a horse and carriage moving along the
stone roads of Mura, as it is to think about the outlaws that many years ago
roamed the main road. There are many place names in the park that recall
the times when travelling through the forests of Sant Llorenç del Munt was
quite dangerous, such as the cave of El Lladre (The Thief), near Rellinars.
Today, however, Mura gives the impression of being a mellow village which
livens up mainly at the weekend. If anyone feels like reliving the old times of
the outlaws, they have to settle for looking at the comic strips that are displayed around the park, in the form of panels; reading the book Les sendes
dels bandolers (Sant Llorenç del Munt-Serra de l’Obac) (The Outlaws’s Paths
[Sant Llorenç del Munt-Serra de l’Obac]), by Antoni Ferrando; or having
dinner at the restaurant La Pastora, in La Casanova de l’Obac, where they
41
offer a Capablanca Menu, an homage to the peasant who became a legendary
outlaw on the main road.
The peak of banditry in these lands was in the 16th and 17th centuries, when people who travelled from Manresa to Barcelona, or vice
versa, needed to take the main road that crossed the mountains of Sant
Llorenç del Munt, back then an inhospitable and wild area. To make this
journey, they needed more than thirteen hours, which forced travellers
to spend the night at a county inn, where the outlaws usually attacked
them. There are many tales of famous outlaws, but the highest honour
is given to Capablanca, who became a myth. It is said that, when he assaulted travellers, he hid behind a tree on the main road, laid his white
cape in the middle of the road and forced passengers in the carriages to
give him their valuables. If they resisted, he shot them with the blunderbuss without hesitation.
The Col of Estenalles
Given that all the bars are closed in Mura, we go to the second village, Talamanca. Bad luck: the power has also been cut there. But at least there is
a bar here that is working half in the dark, called Les Voltes, where we can
have some coffee with milk and some sandwiches. There are people sitting
at a table talking about the Barça football team and the economic crisis,
jumping seamlessly from one subject to another, and a woman behind the
counter endeavouring to serve orders in the traditional way, without the use
of machines.
“Here in Talamanca there are little more than one hundred inhabitants,
but at weekends it fills up with hikers,” she tells us, after complaining because the coffee machine does not work. “Sometimes there are people during
the week.”
“What kind of people?”
“Mostly groups of retired people who go out on outings and, if they see
that the weather is bad, come here to eat. They must think: ‘If we cannot go
up to El Montcau, at least we can enjoy ourselves here.’”
When it is time to pay the bill, the woman adds it up by hand, like in
olden times. The power cut has taken us back almost a century.
In the part of the road that leads to the Col of Estenalles, located at a
height of 870 metres, there are hills and forests, with some occasional conglomerate rock, which sticks out sharply from time to time. There is so much
forest cover that you get the feeling that it goes on beyond the horizon.
Before going up to Sant Llorenç, we talk for a while to Anna, head of
the Centre d’Informació del Coll d’Estenalles that will soon enjoy a major
architectural remodelling.
“We see the most people at the weekend, but there are groups of retired
people that go to El Montcau on a daily basis,” confirming what we were
told in Talamanca.
“What about to Sant Llorenç del Munt?”
“There too, but many prefer to use the other side to go there, from
Matadepera, because it is shorter. In thirty or forty-five minutes you are
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already up there. From here, in contrast, it takes a couple of hours. El Montcau is closer.”
“Well, we’d better get going.”
We start walking at a steady pace, as the path is steep. At once, however,
it becomes quite flat and advances towards the heart of the mountain without further complications. On the left is El Montcau, barren, rocky, without vegetation, like a great dome of rock. It is 1,057 metres high and people
who reach the summit are clearly outlined against the light, with their arm
straight out, indicating some beautiful point of the landscape.
The rocks we come across are like those of Montserrat, elongated, a conglomeration of stones and earth moulded many centuries ago; according to
the geologists, 50 million years ago, at the start of the Tertiary Period.
When we reach the Col of Eres, an esplanade with some holm oaks in the
form of a circle, there is a fork. On the left the road goes up to El Montcau;
on the right, to La Mola. Some verses by Joan Maragall are engraved on a
rock: “Jo no sé lo que teniu que us estimo tant muntanyes” (Mountains, I do
not know what you have that makes me love you so much.) There is no doubt
that we are fully in the domain of hikers.
Groups of retired people that exchange a simple “good morning”, in a
hurry, walk briskly to La Mola. It is obvious that it is not the first time that
they have done it. They are fit, concentrated, and waste no energy. Luckily,
the paths are well signposted and some sections even have steps. Further on,
amidst a forest that offers us good shady cover our attention is drawn to the
Roure del Palau, a tall, powerful and leafless oak tree. The vegetation is Mediterranean, pleasing, with a clear predominance of holm oaks and oak trees.
After a steep descent we branch off to see the manmade caves of Els
Òbits, where it is said that shepherds, woodcutters or outlaws used to camp
during the Middle Ages. There are those who say that the caves were even
used as a hiding place for people who forged money, about a century ago.
In any case, they are spacious. Found at the foot of the cliff, they are also
protected from the wind and the rain by some walls that were added a few
years later. There is a pond in front that collects the rainwater; the walls are
blackened by smoke and some hikers have amused themselves by scrawling
their name in chalk. A classic is: “Jordi was here.” Or “I love you, Laura.”
Words that will survive on the stone until they are erased by time.
The view from Els Òbits, with Matadepera and Terrassa at the end of
the valley, is worthwhile. It looks like a good place to spend a few days: the
caves face the sun and there is a barren area just in front of it that looks
like a big courtyard, delimiting the holm oak woods, filled with rosemary,
lentiscus, and thyme bushes. On the right you see the imposing peak of La
Mola, our destination.
“What does this name mean?” enquires Andoni.
“Els Òbits? They’re caves that were inhabited.”
“I suppose it has nothing to do with Tolkien’s hobbits,” he jokes.
“No,” I laugh. “These are Mediterranean hobbits.”
“For sure. In New Zealand, where they filmed Lord of the Rings, there is
neither lentiscus nor thyme.”
43
Rocks, Caves and Dragons
We return to the path. Following another forest section, we go down in order
to confront the definitive ascent, going along a canal where a stony torrent
opens up, mounted upon the rocks, with holm oaks growing in the most unlikely places. Once above, a panoramic view awaits us, with L’Obac mountain range in front and Montserrat beyond. On the other side, the vertical
wall of Morella and the valley of Sant Llorenç.
“These are blackthorns,” Andoni calls to me. Like a good Navarran, he
greatly values this plant. They make liquor called pacharán with its fruit.
From here, the path rises twisting and turning, leaving behind spectacular rocks, needles and monoliths each with their own name according to their
form or the imagination of the shepherds, such as El Cavall Bernat (Bernat
The Horse), El Cap del Faraó (The Pharaoh’s Head), El Plec de Llibre (The
Open Book), El Paller de Tot l’Any (The All-year Haystack), La Castellassa
de Can Torres, also known as El Camel (The Camel), El Morral del Drac (The
Dragon’s Muzzle), El Turó de les Nou Cabres (The Hill of the Nine Goats)...
In La Roca Salvatge (The Wild Rock), close to El Paller de tot l’Any, they say
Capablanca, the omnipresent outlaw, had one of his hiding places.
There are also many caves and, especially, potholes in the massif of Sant
Llorenç del Munt. More than three hundred have been counted, we are told,
and some are with associated legends. For example, it is said that there was
an enchanted city inside the cave of La Simanya, perhaps because it is 400
metres deep. In the 17th century the chronicler Jeroni Pujades wrote that,
years before, a priest and a farmhand had entered the cave and found “shadows and figures of men, women and children, naked and barefoot, arms and
legs and other parts so well formed as if they were alive, as in a butcher’s
shop where they hang quarters of animals and other unbelievable...” It is not
surprising that Pujades concludes “that people say this cave is enchanted,
that there was a city there, and that the shadows belong to the bewitched
people who live in it.” Around 1857 Víctor Balaguer wrote that “people said
that place was a house of magicians, sorcerers, monsters, ghosts and many
legends were told.”
Another legend associated with the caves of this massif tells the story
of the dragon that is said to have been left by the Saracens when they were
expelled to the southern lands. According to tradition, it was a cruel and
bloodthirsty monster that attacked people, hid in the so-called Morral del
Drac or La Simanya cave, and was finally killed by no less than Count Wilfred the Hairy. The legend is so rooted in the county that there is a photo
from 1903 of a man with a piece of a dragon’s rib in his hand (in fact, it was
from a whale). A reproduction of it is now part of the permanent exhibition
about the massif shown at the monastery of Sant Llorenç del Munt, on the
peak of La Mola.
We stand idle for a while looking at the hill of Les Nou Cabres (The Nine
Goats), a rocky, wild, vertical monolith with limited space on the highest
part where it is said that, many years ago, a goat climbed up and gave birth
to eight kids. For a while they stayed there, isolated, until some residents of
Sant Llorenç Savall went up with ladders and ropes to help them get down.
44
Very close to this hill is El Morral del Drac, where they say the famous
dragon brought by the Saracens used to hide. Other legends related to these
strangely formed rocks tell of demons that had their refuge in the mountain
and tempted peasants, shepherds and woodcutters. As an example, a story
tells about a young shepherd who managed to climb, after many difficulties,
La Castellassa de Can Torres. Once at the top, however, he did not know how
to get down and a demon appeared to him, offering his help in exchange for
his soul. The shepherd refused the offer and entrusted himself to the Mare
de Déu de les Arenes, and promised that he would buy a bell for the church
that would be heard from La Castellassa. Then he fell asleep and when he
woke up he was at the foot of the rock quite unharmed. Needless to say, the
shepherd bought the bell, and since then La Castellassa has also been known
as La Roca del Pastoret (The Little Shepherd’s Rock).
There is Nothing Like El Vallès
We reach the top, at 1,014 metres, two hours after we left the Col of Estenalles. It is not a record time, of course, as we have been stopping to take
photos and make notes. In front of the monastery there is a group of students from a school in Terrassa who have taken the shorter route, through
the path of Els Monjos (The Monks), and are listening, more or less attentively, to the teacher’s explanations.
The view, almost 360 degrees, is so impressive up here that it is a good
idea to consult the geographical guide panel, recently renewed, to identify
the different mountains, villages and towns. We reach a conclusion right
away: as the poet Joan Oliver said, “There is nothing like El Vallès,” at least,
seen from up here. But the truth is that the view, on a clear day, goes far
beyond El Vallès: you can also see El Bages and, just on the horizon, El
Matagalls and El Turó de l’Home, in the massif of Montseny; Montserrat in
the west; and below you can just make out the urban labyrinth of Terrassa,
Sabadell, Sant Cugat... and even a bit of Barcelona, with the Forum skyscrapers peaking out from where the Collserola mountain range ends. The
silhouettes of the temple of Tibidabo and the Collserola tower are clearly
outlined against the sky and, beyond it all, you can see the sea half swallowed by the mist.
“I prefer the old guide panel,” comments Joan, a baker from Terrassa
dressed in quite professional hiking gear. “It was simpler and smaller, but
familiar. They put it here in 1960. The current one was brought by helicopter last year in September.”
Joan then tells us that he has been hiking to La Mola for 35 years. “When
I started coming here, as a child, you could still light fires on the mountain,”
he says, so we have a clearer idea of how long ago that was. “Now, in contrast... logically, you are not allowed to light even the smallest fire.” Then
he surprises us by adding that he comes up here almost every day “because
I find that nature is very important in life and, what’s more, it is a privilege
to be up here.”
When he looks around with his arm outstretched to embrace the whole
view, we can only agree with him. We are certainly in a privileged place.
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“I call this mountain my little garden,” whispers Joan. I come up here
by different routes but I need to come up.”
“Do you come up here regardless of the weather?”
“Rain or shine... The day it snowed heavily last March, I also came up. It
was the best day, both for the harsh conditions and to see it covered in snow.”
“But why did you do it?”
“I don’t know, I suppose to make it different from the other days. The
truth is that it was very hard, as I was walking through snow that was up to
my knees. From the water tanks in Matadepera to here it took two hours,
when it usually takes me half an hour.”
“What do you consider to be the prettiest route in the park?”
“For me Les Fogueroses is the most spectacular part. There are rocks
with incredible shapes. I also like descending via the canal of La Revella.
Normally, I come up here either along the path of Els Monjos (The Monks),
the Col of Estenalles or the canal of L’Abella (The Bee), where there are fewer people.”
“There are all kinds of rock formations, aren’t there?”
“Do you see that one?” pointing majestically at a vertical one. “It is
called Roca Mur. Seen from the front it looks exactly like a train engine.
Many people say so. I like walking through there to see all the walls, caves,
the overlapping rock...”
“Don’t you get tired of coming so often?”
“Absolutely not! I change routes. Alongside Castellsapera, in the L’Obac
mountain range, there are many beautiful routes.”
“I’ve been told that it’s full of springs.”
“There are many, yes: El Saüc (The Elder), El Llor (The Laurel), Font
Freda (Cold Spring), Mura, La Portella (Small Door), El Foradot (Hole), El
Formatget (Small Cheese)... Some last the whole year while others dry up
immediately.”
“And caves?”
“As many as you want. And caverns…”
“You must have seen many animals during your walks.”
“Wild boars, foxes, eagles... They have their nests on the hill of Les Nou
Cabres. It was really spectacular to see them fly.”
“Have you ever gotten lost, when using such untrodden paths?”
“Never! But sometimes I have helped people who have gotten lost. Three
years ago, a neighbour disappeared and we were looking for him for hours
and hours. We didn’t find him. He must have fallen off some cliff, and then
covered by the shrubbery.”
“Or perhaps he fell in a cave?”
“No. We searched them all, one by one.”
“In general, do you think that people who come here behave as they
should?”
“Some do and others do not. Unfortunately, there are still some who do
not understand that they must not throw papers on the ground or who think
that the mountain cleans itself. You always have to be respectful. Most people are. If I occasionally find paper or an object, I pick it up.”
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Before saying goodbye, Joan looks across the north side of the park and
comments that luckily the vegetation is recovering from the big fire of 2003.
The passage of time heals the wounds of the mountain.
The Monastery and the Hostel
The church of the monastery, dark, with bare stone walls, is impressive with
its severe Romanesque style. The original dated from 985, although it was
not consecrated until 1064. The monastery was abandoned in the 17th century but at the end of the 1940s the association Amics de la Muntanya de
Sant Llorenç del Munt began a restoration and reconverted the farmhouse
into a hostel and shelter for hikers.
According to a story halfway between legend and reality, the monks of
Sant Llorenç del Munt founded the monastery of Sant Cugat del Vallès. Apparently, they felt very alone at this altitude and asked the bishop for permission to move to the plain; the bishop agreed on one condition: that they
had to walk in a straight line, without any detour and without crossing any
river, torrent or brook. This was how, starting from the path of Els Monjos
(The Monks), they arrived in Sant Cugat del Vallès, where they founded the
new monastery.
When we enter the church, where every year the Midnight Mass is held,
a teacher is trying to explain to a group of students what a monastery is. It
is not easy to do in a time of Playstation and MP3, but finally it seems that
the kids end up with a vague idea of the subject, even though some of them
murmur that “it must have been like a prison.”
We cross the courtyard to enter the hostel, which is open all year. While
we drink some water to recover from the effort of the climb, we ask for the
person in charge. A few minutes later, Josep comes along, ready to tell us
about life up here, far from haste and cars.
“In general, we do not stay overnight, although at the weekend some
people do, as the hours are longer,” he tells us. “I have worked here for twelve
years. I live in Sabadell and travel here every day. It is not so far, just half an
hour from Can Pobla. If you come to work you cannot come through the Col
of Estenalles: it takes too long.”
“And what are your hours?”
“We are here from 9 in the morning until 5 in the afternoon, rain or
snow. I came up with snow to my knees the day of the heavy fall..., but we
closed earlier as it continued snowing.”
“It looks like a lot of people come up here.”
“The weekend is when we have most people, but during the week there
are also quite a lot. When it is not school groups, it is retired people who
come for breakfast. Now there are also many unemployed people who come.
They must think: ‘Instead of twiddling my thumbs, I’ll go up to La Mola.
There at least I’ll get some air and enjoy a good view.’ Then there are the
athletes who run up and down.”
“How do you get the food for the restaurant up here?”
“We have some mules that make four or five journeys per week, to bring
up food and other things. On the way down they take the rubbish. Before,
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the journeys were made with donkeys, but now we only have four for show.
The mules work harder.”
“What about water and electricity?”
“We have a generator and a cistern that collects the rainwater that falls
on the roof.”
“Have you ever had problems with the people who come here?”
“No,” he smiles. “Fortunately they arrive too tired.”
“From time to time there must be an accident.”
“When someone is hurt, the helicopter comes to get them. Less than a
week ago, a school group was here and a girl was vomiting continuously. The
helicopter took her away.”
“I imagine this must be a miserable place when it rains.”
“You get used to it, but it is terrible when there is a storm. Lightning is
the worst. You notice that with the electricity your hair stands on end... In
any case, I like working up here. After work, I do not need to go to a gym.”
Mules and Lunch
We have lunch at one of the community tables of the hostel, constantly looking
out of the window at a view that we feel we will never tire of. Framed on one of
the walls, there is a text written by a group of retired people from Sabadell that
says: “La Mola. A hike that in each period of life has a different motivation, as
when we were young many of us came in the company of adults, afterwards encouraging friends, later our children, then grandchildren, now at certain times
in the year without the family, but always in good company.”
“On our way to 80 – we are all over 75 years old – we are pleased with
the consent of the management of La Mola to leave this testimony to serve
as encouragement for all, because from time to time this hike is good for our
health and we check the state of our organism, which is very important.”
It is clear that going up to La Mola creates addiction... and for all ages.
At around a quarter past two we see the mules going up the path of Els
Monjos. They are heavily loaded, followed by a lad equipped with a walkie
talkie who ensures they do not go astray. Boxes of bottles of drink, tins,
demijohns filled with wine and oil, packets of crisps, frozen foods, sugar, toilet paper, coffee, Pujol rum... Everything needed to cater the tired, thirsty
and hungry hikers.
“The mules already know the way,” Estel·la, one of the waitresses, tells
us. “They walk by instinct.”
Then she starts talking about the marvellous view and comments that
on very clear days, four or five times a year, you can even see the island of
Majorca. As proof, she shows us a photo taken a few years ago from here
where you can see the Tramuntana mountain range in Majorca, on the other
side of the sea.
“There are those who say it is impossible because of the curvature of the
earth,” she notes. “They say it must be a reflection but, whatever it is, when
you see Majorca it is very moving.”
After a while, we see two marathon runners on the path of Els Monjos.
They get to the top, consult their watch, turn round and go back down. All
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in a flash; they do not even bother to look at the landscape. We prepare for
the descent, but not in as much of a hurry.
El Marquet de les Roques
A few days later, we return to the Sant Llorenç del Munt i l’Obac Natural
Park to visit a section that we did not have time to see last time: El Marquet de les Roques. This is a manor house that was built on the remains
of a farmhouse; before the Civil War, the poet Joan Oliver (Sabadell, 1899
– Barcelona, 1986), who wrote under the pseudonym Pere Quart, spent the
weekends and summer.
The approach to the massif on this side of the park is very different.
From Castellar del Vallès we take the road that follows the river Ripoll and
we enter a landscape of wooded hills and a refreshing environment. When
we reach a sign that indicates the Valley of Horta, we turn to the left and
follow a trail that leads to some fertile fields, half hidden from the eyes of
people, structured around a brook. It is a pity that the woods that surround
us were affected by the big fire of 2003. Nevertheless, it is still a place worth
visiting, very green and with lots of water.
After a wood of pines trees and holm oaks, at the end of the turning
we find ourselves in front of El Marquet de les Roques, half farmhouse half
castle. It is an immense old manor house, elevated, built with a ruddy stone
the colour of clay, and with the grey rocks of the massif of Sant Llorenç del
Munt as background. It seems to be protected by a line of cypress trees that
keep guard, and, just in front, the brook and some green terraces are the
perfect complement.
We park the car and approach it on foot, crossing the brook over a bridge
that was recently built. The sound of the water follows us while we are entangled in the exuberant riverbank vegetation. When we reach the gate of
the farmhouse, we find a date carved into the wood: 1892. In front, there is
a big pond full of scum and a few people cleaning the borders.
We ask for Alfons, the man we have arranged with to visit the house, and
they tell us he will not be long, but that it will be better if we wait on the other
side, at the entrance to the house. Where we are now is the entrance to the farm.
Alfons is the manager of L’Obrador, an association in Sabadell that organises workshops on nature, science and technology for children, and at
the same time organises the visits to El Marquet de les Roques. He appears
immediately and the first thing he does is complain about the weather.
“An annoying wind is blowing today and this means that a change in
the weather is on its way,” he complains. “There will be a heavy downpour
this afternoon. This spring it has not stopped raining.”
Next, he opens the gate, we cross the courtyard and pass the chapel on
the right, then we see the lime trees under which a poetry event takes place
in the summer, and we enter the big house of the Oliver family.
“The reform of the house is from the 19th century,” he explains. “The
dates here are 1895, 1896... It was built by the modernist architect Juli
Batllevell, a disciple of Domènech i Montaner, for the grandfather of the
writer Joan Oliver, Antoni Oliver i Buixó. He built it attached to Mas el
Marquet, a farmhouse which had already existed for some time.
49
When we enter the house we have the feeling that the clock stopped
many years ago. The patina on the walls, the period furniture, the long table
with the date 1893, and the stuffed animals that seem to look at us curiously
take us back to another time.
When we go out onto the terrace to look at the view we see that Antoni
Oliver knew how to position the house very well: at the end of the Valley
of Horta, with El Montcau behind, the string of vegetation of the brook in
front and the 791 metres of La Roca Mur, just behind.
“The house is very well oriented, as the first rays of the sun touch it and
it is shielded, with El Llor spring nearby,” confirms Alfons. “This is where
the brook starts. The water is fresh and very good.”
“Does it flow all year?”
“It even flowed during the drought... it never dries. This is why the house
is here, because of the water. You will see that there are sinks and taps all
over the house. The water comes directly from the spring, fills the tanks and
the pond and then overflows and goes to the torrent. Joan Oliver’s father,
called Antoni, even set up a bottling plant at the foot of the spring, near the
bridge, but the business did not go well for him.”
Our attention is drawn to part of the wall, near a window, which is blackened. Alfons explains why:
“Unfortunately, the fire of 2003 reached the dining room. It crossed the
brook, burnt the heather and extended to the dining room. Then it moved to
the other side and continued burning the forest.”
We continue visiting the house. There are many doors upstairs, a stove,
eight bedrooms, and a WC with a view and from where you can touch the
turret bell.
“The Olivers were landowners from Ca n’Oliver, in Castellar del Vallès,”
comments Alfons. The grandfather founded Caixa de Sabadell. Joan Oliver
mentions that from the time of his grandfather’s birth until the war, he never
had to work. He lived in a house where everything was given to him.
“With the war his world was destroyed.”
“The family was forced to dispense with the house and Joan Oliver went
into exile. El Marquet de les Roques was bought by the Valls, a family who
had a steam-powered textile factory in Sant Llorenç where half the village
worked. The father was called Llorenç and it was inherited by the daughter,
Francisca. They left the house just as they found it and kept it for 58 years,
between 1941 and 1999. Then it was bought by the Barcelona Provincial
Council.”
When we go out onto the round balcony on the upper floor, the house’s
fortress quality is more evident, inspired by historicist models. In a corner
there is a statue of Saint Anthony made of stone, leaning out.
“Saint Anthony is the protector of the house,” comments Alfons. “They
wanted to tear it down during the war, but they couldn’t. If you look carefully, however, the nose is broken... They did something to it.”
In the book of memoirs Temps i records (Time and Memories), Joan Oliver writes about this house: “I will never forget the August nights at El Marquet de les Roques, at the back of the Valley of Horta, under El Montcau.
50
El Marquet is a castle built with the reddish stone of the county, combined
with exposed brick. It is a work by the architect Batllevell and the whim of
my grandfather, Antoni Oliver i Boixó. I have spent the happiest times of
my life in El Marquet. The nights were especially serene and had an almost
magical transparency. From the castle you could see no houses, no constructions and, therefore, not a single light.”
La Colla de Sabadell
Next we talked to Alfons about La Colla de Sabadell, the heterodox literary
group founded in 1917 with the objective of renewing the cultural life of the
town. Joan Oliver was one of the members, together with Francesc Trabal,
Armand Obiols, Ricard Marlet and others.
“Sometimes they met here, in El Marquet de les Roques,” explains Alfons. “Joan Oliver was the rich friend and the others followed him. They
had a lot of space here, the table was always set and, from time to time, they
would eat outside.”
“What was their life like?”
“There are photos of the group in El Llor spring. You must go there,
it is worth it. Joan Oliver explains that around the stone table in the garden, great Catalan literary figures such as Carles Riba and Josep Carner
sat, who gave their blessing to the idea of creating the publishing house La
Mirada. He says that they organised some sardanes concerts in the garden,
with maestro Morera.”
The publishing house La Mirada began its activities in 1925 and La Colla de Sabadell became known its good literature and for jokes that sought
to épater society, like going camping in unique places. “It is important to
note the camping trip we made in 1919 at El Saüc spring, at the foot of La
Mola, in Sant Llorenç del Munt,” writes Joan Oliver in Tros de paper (Piece
of Paper) in 1970. “Back then camping was poorly regarded by families and
considered something associated with gypsies. We were accompanied by a
small donkey of evangelical tameness, which carried useless and heterogeneous tools. To begin, we bound an immense flag to a large, narrow, haughty boulder. We were all dressed as ‘hikers’, with our calves wrapped with
strips – which often came loose and inappropriately slipped down. In the
late hours – as Porcel would put it – Trabal recreated with his improvised
songs – words and music – real popular pieces in sui generis Andalusian,
without embellishments and marvellous in their clumsy purity. (We published some of these romances ourselves – El cantarica, El inglés, El astrólogo
de Transilvani – which, mixed with other genuine verses, were offered to the
public in the square of Sabadell, inside an open, upside down umbrella.) But
I acknowledge that in this first outing we suffered discomforts of all kinds
and ate very badly. However, the visit of some conscientious hikers, lovers
of nature, the open air, archaeology, ornithology, etc., amply rewarded the
hardship of that attempt. I mean that the good hikers were shocked and embarrassed and they left us singing the chorus of Tannhäuser, in its Catalan
version by Joaquim Pena.”
When I ask Alfons if he knows if Joan Oliver returned to El Marquet de
les Roques after the war, he responds:
51
“His daughter, Sílvia, told me that when she was thirteen one day they
came by car to the bridge, by the brook. Joan Oliver looked at the house for
a good while and finally decided to turn back. It must have been too emotional for him.”
Disturbing Attic
The visit to the house ends with the attic, a disturbing place where the Falange High-Ranking Officers’ School was set, between 1939 and 1942. As
far as one can tell, the students slept in straw mattresses in the different
dormitories. In one of the rooms there is a billiards table and another room
called “The Artist’s”.
“It is likely that the painter from Sabadell, Joan Vila i Cinca (18561938), who was a friend of Joan Oliver, slept there,” says Alfons. “The only
pictures we have of when the house was built are by him. They are now kept
at the Arxiu de Sabadell.”
On the attic walls we find graffiti written by Falangists in the 1940s.
There are drawings of swastikas, of the yoke and arrows, and phrases that
say: “Long live Spain”, “Greetings to Franco”, “Glory to José Antonio”,
“Fight until victory” or simply “Here slept comrade such and such”. A more
creative one says: “Here slept comrade Mister X, where he has killed thousands of fleas and thousands of mosquitoes. Horrible!”
From the back of the house we see El Montcau, which one can almost
touch, and Els Emprius mountain ridge. Because of the drop, the mountain
seems much closer from here. On the other side is the monolith of La Roca
Mur, or La Màquina de Tren (The Train Engine), which attracts all gazes.
“You can see that up there was a watchtower which communicated visually with Pera Castle,” Alfons points out. “They had this Valley of Horta
well under control.”
When we leave, we visit the chapel, built on two levels with two doors
–one for the ordinary people, the other for the privileged –, and we enter the
old cellar, where there are two exhibitions, one temporary and the other permanent. The temporary exhibition shows photographs of these mountains
taken by Francesc Muntada; the permanent one, “The Three Mountains
and the Writers”, which associates the mountains of Montseny, Montserrat and Sant Llorenç del Munt with writers such as Jacint Verdaguer, Joan
Oliver, Raimon Casellas and Guerau de Liost. Nature and literature shake
hands through anthological texts.
El Llor Spring
We say goodbye to Alfons, but there is still a pending matter: to visit El
Llor spring. We walk from the small bridge on the path, passing by the lodge
that the poet’s father wanted to convert into a water bottling plant. We
walk along a narrow and rocky path, paved in some sections, which leads to
Mura, on the other side of El Montcau.
All the while we have the brook nearby, with thick vegetation that in
some moments even covers the view of the water. Finally, at the foot of the
cliff emerges a landing with the spring where years ago Joan Oliver and his
friends of La Colla de Sabadell used to go. That entire world, however, has
52
been erased by the river of history. Those writers have been dead for some
time and now only a fresh water spring remains, gushing forth impetuously
among the rocks; a flat stone that serves as a roof and a holm oak shades it.
Next to it is a stone bench and an old sign, erased and rusty, unreadable.
We sit for a good while, listening to the murmur of the water that flows
down to the brook and the wind shaking the leaves.
It is good in this privileged corner; it is good in this El Llor spring.
53
Baix Llobregat
Agricultural Park:
Fields of Prat
Artichokes Right
Next to Barcelona
Artichoke, Cynara scolymus
54
Right from the outset, we are very much aware that the Baix Llobregat
Park is different from all the other parks in the Barcelona province; first and
foremost because it is the only one dedicated specifically to agriculture, and
secondly because you can get there by Metro! We come out at the Cornellà
Centre station, and walk directly south until we leave behind the stifling urban environment of roads, houses, apartment blocks, as well as the agglomerations of people and traffic, and make our way through the long pedestrian
walkway. Like a magic carpet, the path whisks us across the wide swathe of
waste ground, highway, railway line and the Llobregat river, bringing us out
into the peaceful fields that make up the Baix Llobregat Agricultural Park.
The river water, meandering indecisively across a vast plain in this final
stretch, is brown today because of the recent rains, and groups of dishevelled
reeds seem to stand guard on both banks, as if they wanted to preserve the
domain of this lazy river that is on its expiration course towards the Mediterranean. It is obvious that it is now very far way from Castellar de n’Hug, the
village that is located 150 kilometres upstream at an altitude of 1,200 metres
where the Llobregat springs to life. We are also a long way away from the
impetuous energy manifested by the river at its birthplace and on its passage
through the industrial colonies that took advantage of this boost to progress
during the course of the 19th century.
The Güell Colony, founded by the patron Eusebi Güell i Bacigalupi in
1890, stands very close to the edge of the park in Santa Coloma de Cervelló,
and when we visited it a few days ago we had the opportunity to get a close-up
look at an orderly world of tranquil streets laid out according to an evidently
paternalistic design, and an architecture that you don’t see today. Strolling
along its streets, we had the feeling of walking through a centuries-old town,
one of those where the doctor’s house and the teacher’s house, the inn and
an unfinished church designed by the brilliant Antoni Gaudí still played an
important part. The death of the church’s patron meant that only the crypt
could be completed and, leaving aside the controversy surrounding some recent works, it is thrilling to see its evocation as a grotto with its stained-glass
windows and leaning columns of carved stone, making it seem like the whole
church emerged from the rock and is deeply rooted in the earth.
But we’ll leave aside the memory of the colonies, a separate and very different world from the one we’re looking at now as we walk along the river
path, following the right bank of the Llobregat, now fully inside the park’s
expanse of almost three thousand hectares. Strolling along with the photographer, it’s very clear that we are now at the final stretch of the river, surrounded by flat, fertile land formed by the rich sediments which for centuries
have been brought down by the Llobregat. This is the county of Baix Llobregat, a world where in recent years a wonderfully fertile market garden has
been obliged to coexist alongside a metropolitan reality that has arrived as a
threat to its continuity.
The Baix Llobregat Agricultural Park is, in this sense, a miracle of survival, a well-preserved and managed space where we can see orchards and
fields of artichokes growing – the local Prat artichoke – distressed by the
noise and fumes from the highway, by the cars speeding past without paus-
55
ing for a second to appreciate this world which refuses to die. On the other
side of the river we can see the modern structure of the new Espanyol football
club stadium, and in the background the Collserola mountain range and the
first neighbourhoods of the metropolis; if we look ahead, the first thing that
catches our eye is the Hotel Hesperia skyscraper, crowned by a kind of UFO
where a luxury restaurant has been established, the outline of the mountain
of Montjuïc, and the feeling that the sea is very close by.
Can Comas
Our first stop is Can Comas, a restored farmhouse that now houses the Baix
Llobregat Agricultural Park Consortium, made up of the Barcelona Provincial Council, the Generalitat, the Baix Llobregat County Council, the Farmers’ Union and the 14 municipalities covered by the park. There, in front of
a large map of the county, environmental officer Anna Casanovas traces the
elongated shape of the park, which starts in the municipality of Papiol and
finishes in Castelldefels, having passed through the municipalities of Pallejà,
Molins de Rei, Sant Vicenç dels Horts, Sant Feliu de Llobregat, Santa Coloma de Cervelló, Sant Joan Despí, Sant Boi de Llobregat, Cornellà de Llobregat, Hospitalet de Llobregat, El Prat de Llobregat, Viladecans and Gavà.
A long journey through the lands of 14 municipalities in the Baix Llobregat,
much of it following the course of the river, plus a section boxed between El
Prat de Llobregat, the airport, the river and the sea.
In this context, one of the most noticeable aspects are the traditional
names of the old farmhouses, which stand out like a cry for survival from
a rural world hemmed in by the vast conurbation of Barcelona. Very close
to Can Comas we find Cal Misses, Cal Senyoret, Cal Pinar, Cal Monjo, Can
Xagó, Can Tombarella, Cal Maurici, Can Bonic, Ca l’Enric del Costelleta, Cal
Nani, Cal Bieló...
“There’s no-one living in the farmhouses now,” explains Anna. “They
are usually used for storage, as many of them are in a poor condition. People
left to live in the towns. There are still some who live in Cal Pinar and Cal
Tombarella, and one of the oldest ones is Cal Monjo, part of which dates back
to the 16th century, though it’s in a pretty bad state.”
“What about that one over there?” I ask, pointing through the window
to a nearby farmhouse.
“That’s Cal Xagó. That was the first export warehouse in the Baix Llobregat.”
“And what did they export?”
“Trocadero lettuces and Prat artichokes.”
“And when was that?”
“In 1919.”
“So the artichokes go back a long way?”
“They’re renowned for their quality. From November to April, they are
definitely the park’s star product. Of the 3,000 hectares we manage, some
500 of them are set aside for growing artichokes – in season, obviously.”
“And how many farmers are there in total?”
“There are around 600 farms and about a thousand farmers, including
owners and workers.”
56
“And how does the Park Consortium help them?”
“When the Consortium was created in 1998, we conducted a survey of
the farmers and found that one of the issues that most concerned them was
security, because they were experiencing a lot of theft in the fields. We now
have 24-hour surveillance.”
From the window of Can Comas we can see a group of schoolchildren listening to the explanations of a farmer, who is gesticulating to make himself
understood. They then set off towards a nearby allotment.
“We have a free activity programme for schools in the Baix Llobregat
area so children can get to know this world,” says Anna. “At the moment they
are being shown around by a farmer who will explain the basics to them.”
While watching them, Sònia Callau arrives, the park’s agricultural technician, and begins to tell us about the main cornerstones of the management
plan, which was approved in 2004. When I remark that I get the impression
that the park is hemmed in by huge infrastructures, she agrees:
“It’s what we have to live with. Some of them were already here when we
arrived, and you deal with what you get. In the case of the high-speed railway line, we monitored it closely from here to make sure it wouldn’t affect
the park too much. Part of the line was dug underground, using the trenching
technique, and then covered by earth which can now be cultivated.”
Sònia insists, just in case we had any doubts, that the main function of
the park is agricultural, and adds:
“The idea is to structure the social use of the Agricultural Park, bearing in mind that it’s surrounded by a huge population of some 700,000 from
the surrounding municipalities, plus the city of Barcelona. We also want to
ensure that its social use is very targeted, involving the farmers and sales of
the produce.”
“And how do you manage to do that?”
“We want people to come and discover this agricultural area and see our
top seasonal product, the Prat artichoke. At the end, they can sample the
product in any of the restaurants that have joined our campaign. We insist
on the brand Producte Fresc (Fresh Produce) with the purpose of convincing
restaurants to use regional produce. At the moment we endorse the Prat artichoke and also the Pota Blava (‘Blue Leg’) chicken, which are two of the star
products from the Baix Llobregat region.”
“What kind of people tend to come to the park?”
“It has changed from a few years ago, ever since the pedestrian underpass from Cornellà was opened. This has meant that a lot of people from Cornellà now come to the park, which previously was impossible because of the
barrier set up by the river and the highway. The railway bridge nearby has
also helped to overcome this obstacle, and an access from Sant Boi has been
created. These three new accesses are really making a difference.”
Market garden tourism
Sònia then tells us with great enthusiasm about holeriturisme, a type of tourism that combines vegetable gardens and the enjoyment of the senses, being
promoted by the Agricultural Park Consortium. Every season they feature
a star product: the Prat artichoke from November to April; cherries in May
57
and June; fruit from June to September; and Swiss chard from September to
November.
What the park seeks to achieve through this garden tourism is to give
people the chance to discover this agricultural and emblematic site in the
province of Barcelona, centred around various different activities. Visitors
start off with a guided tour, featuring a brief explanation of the Agricultural
Park, followed by a visit to the exhibition, which changes with the seasons
and explains the fruits and vegetables grown in the Agricultural Park at that
time of year. After this introductory tour they visit the fields of the key crop
of that particular season with a local farmer, where along with being given an
explanation they can also do a little farming! Finally, there is a tasting workshop, led by a professional from the county’s restaurant sector, showing visitors how best to appreciate all the qualities of Fresc-branded produce from
the Baix Llobregat market gardens. If they wish, visitors can then go to any
of the restaurants that have joined the gastronomic campaign promoted by
the Baix Llobregat Tourist Board and the Agricultural Park, where they can
sample the menus specially prepared by the restaurants based on the fruits
and vegetables of the Agricultural Park and the Pota Blava chicken.
Educational Programme: “The Agricultural Ecosystem”
“On the educational programme, the children spend a whole morning here,”
she adds. “We start at Can Comas with a guided tour led by a local farmer so
they can discover the fruits and vegetables grown in these fields. The aim is
that when they go to the market with their parents they can distinguish local produce from produce that comes from elsewhere. Finally, we encourage
them to create a recipe with our main crops.”
When we leave Can Comas, we approach the group of children who, following in the steps of Josep Pascual, the farmer in charge of today’s tour, are
working in the Consortium’s allotment.
“What I am doing is showing the kids the plants that we have here,” explains Josep. “First I get them to dig the earth a bit, and then we will plant
them.”
Following his orders, the children obediently pick up an implement each
and try, with much giggling, to hoe the ground in a rather cack-handed way.
In fact, some of them don’t even know how to hold the hoe properly.
“I am from Sant Joan Despí, Cal Sastre, Cal Cèlio or Cal Pascual, however you want to call it,” says Josep Pascual. “The name has been changed
over successive generations... Depending on whether it has rained or not, I
show the children the plants and we identify them.”
“Have you been a farmer for a long time?”
“All my life. I’m a professional farmer. On my own farm I produce fruit
and vegetables. This is the second year I’ve been working with organic produce. And I also run the Can Comes arboretum, which has more than 60 varieties of traditional Baix Llobregat fruit trees.”
While we’re talking, one of the children gets bored with digging and asks
Josep if he can pick an artichoke from the field next door to take home.
“No!” says the farmer categorically. “Those artichokes are my wages!”
“But it’s only one!”
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“Yes, one for you, then one for someone else, then everyone else will
want one… it’s never ending. If that happened, by the time harvest came
around I’d have nothing left to pick and I wouldn’t earn anything. Buy
one, lad, they’re not expensive. And remember that if they cost one euro
a kilo in the shops, the farmers are only getting 40 or 50 cents maximum.
The rest goes to distributors and shopkeepers. And we put in a lot of hard
work!”
The children continue digging in silence, until Josep tells them to move
into the field next door where he’s going to teach them how to plant onions.
“Do you know what this is?” he starts by asking, holding up a tiny onion
in his hand.
Nobody answers.
“It’s an onion. Grasp it by the stem,” he continues in an educational tone.
“To plant it, first you plunge this stake into the earth, then pull it out slightly, then put the onion into the hole you’ve made, and then remove the stake,
making sure the onion is sitting upright.”
“And when do the onions get picked?” asks one boy, impatiently.
“Oh, not for some time yet. You can’t be in a hurry in a vegetable garden.
When you’re a farmer, you have to have a lot of patience.”
Cal Coracero
We leave the group of children absorbed in the fascinating world of onions
and walk along between fields of artichokes and highways until we get to a
nearby property where we’ve been told a farmer worth talking to lives: Albert Bou. From time to time, a poplar or a fruit tree breaks up the monotony
of the artichoke fields.
The property we’re on our way to visit is enclosed by fencing with a plaque
at the entrance reading ‘Cal Coracero, 1754 – 1998’. We ring the bell and after identifying ourselves somebody presses a button to let us in. We come in
through a well-maintained path with fields on both sides and a wooden house
at the end. We ask a big man loading a trailer where we can find Albert Bou,
the name they gave us at Can Comas.
“Father or son?” he asks.
“I have no idea. They sent us from Can Comas and...”
“It must be the son then, he is the one involved in politics. I am the father.
I’m just a farmer.”
“And where can we find your son?”
“Right now he is out working in the fields.”
“Are they very far from here?”
“No, they are right here. You can walk there.”
We set off beside orchards of peach trees and more artichoke fields, accompanied by the constant drone of the highway passing close by. When we
get to the end of the track, we see Albert Bou junior sitting on an old tractor,
wearing a baseball cap.
He stops the engine when he sees us approaching, and explains that he’s
ploughing a field for planting onions to grow calçots (a type of spring onion),
which have become very popular in recent years. When we ask him about the
history of Cal Coracero, he immediately seems keen to talk to us.
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“My great-great-grandfather was the first to settle here, back in 1754,”
he says looking behind him, as if seeking inspiration in his family’s fields.
“They bought the house with an estate of seven mujades...”
“How big is a mujada?”
“A mujada is around half a hectare, but when they built the highway they
demolished the house and took two hectares away from us...”
“What was the house like?”
“It was a big farmhouse of 612 square metres, but in its place they only
allowed us to build this wooden house, because they told us the estate didn’t
meet the 20,000 square metres necessary to build anything else.”
“Incidentally, where does the name Cal Coracero come from?”
“There are two versions of the story. Some people used to say that my
great-great-grandfather, who was a big, strong farmer, could have gotten a
job as one of the king’s coraceros (mounted bodyguards). Others used to say
that to make ends meet he used to work as a stevedore in the port, and that
he used to wear some leather protective gear to avoid being injured, something like a cuirass, that made him look like a coracero.”
“And how do you make your living?”
“The farm, the fruit trees… At the moment I’m growing calçots, artichokes, cabbages, cauliflowers… basically, we grow vegetables in winter and
fruit in summer.”
“Is it harder to be a farmer in this urban environment?”
“It is always tough to be a farmer,” he says, clicking his tongue against
the roof of his mouth, “but here we have got the added pressure of not having a secure workplace or home, so they could come along at any time with
some new infrastructure and expropriate our land. We are too close to the
city... The dry-crop estates in the county of Camp de Tarragona are huge
and if they expropriate part of them they do not even notice; if they take 20
hectares from 300 then they still have 280 left. Nobody around here even has
20 hectares.”
“At Can Comas they were telling us that there used to be a lot of theft here.”
“Yes, it is true. We grow very attractive produce, like artichokes, plums
and peaches. The surveillance we have in place now does not stop petty theft
of a dozen or so artichokes, but before they used to come with trucks and take
everything. It was terrible.”
“People think nobody is going to spot a few peaches going missing…”
“Petty theft, which is constant, cannot be avoided; we just take it on
board. Someone walks past and they pinch a dozen peaches or whatever,
thinking it will not be noticed, but if everyone does it... It is just another
hazard of being a farmer in the Baix Llobregat. Even so, the 24-hour surveillance has managed to put a stop to the big robberies we used to experience,
when they would drive off with your whole harvest in trucks.”
“And what is your view of belonging to an agricultural park?”
“I think it is a good thing because it works to our advantage. We now
have surveillance, the roads get repaired, the products are promoted…”
“How do they promote them?”
“With campaigns like the Fresc initiative and the Prat artichoke brand.
I find the Fresc slogan is very good, and the brand helps sales, even though it
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requires you to work harder in order to keep quality levels high. We cannot
rest on our laurels.”
“And now, what are the main complaints from farmers around here?”
“The classic complaint from farmers is that we cannot earn a living, either here or anywhere else. I am doing a job that I like, but it would be really
nice to make a decent wage… If a company does not work out, after three
months it can fall back on a redundancy package and lay off staff; if a few
months later it is still going badly, it closes down. We have no other option
here than to knuckle down and manage as best we can. I would love to be
able to hire a tractor driver, but it is impossible… If I cannot afford to go on
holiday, then I don’t go, and if I have not finished work by 8 o’clock in the evening, then I have to keep going as long as necessary… Forget about normal
working hours. I am happy if I can take a holiday every three years…”
“What does your father think about all this? Was a farmer’s life better in
the past, when there weren’t so many highways around?”
“He remembers that there were good times and bad times in the county,
but we just accept the fact that there are lean years and then there are years
of plenty… What is very clear is that a family with three children and threeand-a-half hectares will not get anywhere without a lot of hard work. At the
moment things are not so good, but at least we can keep going.”
I look at the tractor, an old, discoloured Ebro that does not look too
healthy.
“I see your tractor is pretty old,” I remark.
“When you see a farmer with an old machine, that means that he is making ends meet,’ says Albert Bou, shrugging his shoulders. “Dry-cropping
farmers can allow themselves the luxury of getting a new tractor every few
years. Not here: they need to keep going as long as they possibly can, until
they blow up.”
“And who can sort all this out?”
“The only people who can sort it out are the farmers themselves. If you
think about it, in Sant Boi there are 114 farmers registered, and of them only
five are still working the fields. It is a very tough job, and there is no generational handover. It is happening everywhere. Of every twenty, just one
remains. The others would rather look for less taxing work in the city.”
When we leave, his father comes over to confirm that “farmers have never
been able to make a decent living.” He grumbles that things are worse than
ever at the moment, and staring at the highway he recalls that it was right
there that the family home used to stand, the big farmhouse that preceded
the wooden house where they live now.
The Proximity of the Sea
Leaving Cal Coracero, we get into the car to continue our tour of the Baix
Llobregat Agricultural Park. We drive under the Castelldefels highway, leaving one of the industrial estates of El Prat de Llobregat behind us, located
along the edge of the river, and once we’ve passed the barrier of the last road,
full of cars and trucks going back and forth from Mercabarna, we’re back in
the domain of the park, this time in the section boxed in between the river,
the airport, El Prat de Llobregat and the sea.
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Now the scenery is filled once again with quiet roads, irrigation ditches
and big fields of artichokes, interrupted occasionally by a large farmhouse
soaring like an anachronism, with a well-tended allotment to one side and a
palm tree with a huge trunk that indicates how far back it was planted. We’re
back among houses with appealing names, reminiscent of family homes, in
stark contrast to the thousands of nameless apartments that have sprung
up in El Prat de Llobregat. Some of the names that grab our attention are
Cal Bonic, Ca l’Enric del Costelleta, Cal Nani, Cal Joanet... Small groups of
cyclists pass by from time to time, taking advantage of the flatness of the
Llobregat delta, a region that offers easy pedalling.
The wailing calls of the seagulls announce the proximity of the sea. There
are numerous birds in this park, with over 350 different species recorded. A
birdwatcher passes by with his cap on and his binoculars hanging around
his neck, striding decidedly towards the beach. Little by little, the artichoke
fields give way to the nature reserve.
It is obvious that it is no easy matter to live with so many infrastructures
close by. A prime example of this is the fact that just a few years ago the
Ca l’Arana mill was dismantled so it could be rebuilt on the other side when
the Llobregat river was diverted, as the new channel would have gone right
through it. The mill, which stopped working in the 1950s, bears witness to
the time when rice was still grown in the Baix Llobregat. Outside the borders
of the park there is a 150 hectare estate made up of woods, lakes and coastal
frontage called La Ricarda. Presiding over it is the huge mansion of Torre de
la Ricarda, a three-storey structure built by Manuel Bertrand i Salsas at the
beginning of the 20th century and surrounded by gardens and pinewoods,
with a tower marking its position, and the airport and the beach right next
to it.
A little further on we come across a group of plane-spotters. They know
exactly where to stand, right at the end of the runway, and they seem to
know everything there is to know about the aircraft taking off for distant
lands with a deafening roar. The irresistible urge to travel is shared in the
lands of the Baix Llobregat by the migratory birds which, with the coming of
the winter, head off on their long flights in search of warmer climes.
From the field to the table
To finish off our tour of the Baix Llobregat Agricultural Park, there’s just
one thing left to do: sample some of the produce we have seen over the last few
hours. We’re going to do so at a restaurant in El Prat del Llobregat serving
creative cuisine, La Lluna en un Cove, run by Rosa Ferrés, a former social
worker who, one fine day in the year 2000, made her dream come true by becoming a professional chef.
“We gave the restaurant this name,” she explains first of all, “because
it was a phrase my grandmother used to say, and I liked the name as much
as the meaning, as it refers to some fishermen who were trying to catch the
moon with a basket because they thought it was drowning...”
“Very poetic! Have you always been interested in cooking?”
“I studied social welfare, but in the summer I used to work in restaurants. At home I cooked a lot, it is something I have always loved doing. Ini-
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tially, La Lluna en un Cove was just a café, but we got interested in doing
proper restaurant dishes and the response has been good.”
“I can see that you showcase fresh produce from the Baix Llobregat on
your menu.”
“I come from a family of farmers, and I remember that at home we always had these products. I can still remember my grandmother’s artichokes
and chicken. So I wanted to keep that spirit alive. Here in El Prat the produce is really good and it is important that people know that.”
“How do you rate them?”
“I think they are very important products, and I try to make sure they
are always on the menu, depending on the season. In the past, I used to go to
high-class restaurants and was always surprised to see Pota Blava chicken
on the menu while here, in El Prat, it was hard to find. I decided to use it in
different recipes, such as my Pota Blava chicken and artichoke millefeuilles.
Another of my dishes is cream of artichoke soup with Pota Blava chicken
ravioli.”
“The Prat artichoke gets a lot of mentions. Is it really worth it?”
“I’ll say! It is really delicious, and you can use every bit of it. The big
advantage here is that you can eat it just after it has been harvested, when
it’s even more tender and tasty. You cannot get fresher than that! The farmer
calls you up and says ‘I am harvesting the artichokes, I can bring you some
now’. That is a real luxury. They are so good that I eat them raw.”
“What about the Pota Blava chicken?”
“It is very tender, very flavoursome... Some people think it is expensive,
but it has absolutely nothing in common with the chicken they normally eat.
It is a completely different product. We always serve it boned, to differentiate it from the way people cook it at home.”
“Artichokes play a big part in the Pota Blava Poultry Fair held in El Prat
in December, don’t they?”
“Yes, and they are very successful. At the previous fair we created a tasting menu of six dishes, all based on the chicken. We started with a thimbleful
of chicken stock, we also did croquettes, and so on. We used every bit of the
chicken.”
“What other events celebrate the produce from the park?”
“Well, as I have said, there is the Poultry Fair in December, and in May
we have the Chicken and Artichoke Festival, which has proved very popular.
We are getting more and more events organised here in El Prat.”
“Are there any other local products that feature on your menu?”
“Melons, for example. Our local melons are very good, and I make a
cream of melon soup that’s very popular. It’s always worth having fresh ingredients to hand. We have a small allotment, and I have to say that the flavour of our lettuces, tomatoes and rocket is nothing like that of the products
that you buy wholesale.”
It is dark by the time we leave the restaurant, but once we have left the
blocks of apartments in El Prat de Llobregat behind we realise that there
is a full moon in the sky tonight. Beyond the fields, out to sea, who knows
whether a fisherman is trying to catch it in a basket? But thinking about it,
it is very unlikely. There is no room left for romanticism nowadays.
63
Collserola Park:
A Privileged Place
Close to Barcelona
Hazel, Corylus avellana
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Collserola Park is a privileged place close to Barcelona and the eight
other municipalities that encircle it; and has more than enough merit to
make it the Central Park of this conurbation of more than four million
inhabitants. There are around 8,500 hectares of rounded hills, valleys,
forests, paths and brooks shared between Barcelona, Esplugues de Llobregat, Sant Feliu de Llobregat, Sant Just Desvern, Molins de Rei, El
Papiol, Sant Cugat del Vallès, Cerdanyola and Montcada i Reixac. The
highest point is marked by the peak of El Tibidabo, at 512 metres, but
also notable are Can Pasqual mount (470 metres), Olorda mount (424
metres), Madrona mount (346 metres) and Sant Pere Màrtir (384 metres), all excellent viewpoints to admire the sea, the big city and El Vallès.
The etymology tells us that the name of Collserola comes from coll
(that is, mountain pass) and erola (that is, a clearing for crops), united
by the s of s’erola which shows that centuries ago some Catalans spoke
using articles that began with an s like Majorcans do today. For a long
time, the Collserola mountain range was a seldom frequented land, full
of scattered farmhouses, chapels, peasants, forest workers and even outlaws, until the end of the 19th century when the people of Barcelona
began to urbanise it. At that time, thanks to the endeavours of Doctor Andreu, El Tibidabo Temple and the theme park were built. A little
later the Observatori Fabra and many other constructions were erected,
contributing to styling the outline of the mountain. Quite a few years
before, around 1860, when water was still a scarce commodity, the Vallvidrera reservoir was built in the heart of Collserola to supply water to
the then independent town of Vallvidrera, located up on the crest line
and with some marvellous views over Barcelona, the city that slowly
spread out towards the sea.
With the map laid out on the table, Andoni and I underline the Vallvidrera reservoir as a starting point for our journey through Collserola Park. Realising that we cannot take on all of it, we choose the area
around the reservoir because it is pleasant and not very well known,
covered in forests that give it a point of originality. We make plans to
take the train to the Baixador de Vallvidrera and walk to the reservoir,
but after talking to Sílvia, responsible for public relations and management of the public use of the park, we realise that there is a more interesting path.
“We can take the car to Can Cuiàs, beyond Vallvidrera, and from
there we can walk up to the reservoir passing by two springs that have
just been restored: Can Llevallol and L’Espinagosa,” she proposes.
“This way we will end up at the back of the reservoir.”
Can Llevallol Spring
We are pleased with the path we have traced for this journey, as it allows
us to reach the reservoir in a different way, as if through the back door.
We get in the car then, drive to the village of Vallvidrera and then we
follow the Molins de Rei road, until we reach Can Cuiàs. Once there, on
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one side we have the big city at our feet, with an extension of houses that
almost fill the plain; and on the other, the forests in the shadiest part of
Collserola, ending in El Vallès.
We park the car and walk down a path that enters a forest of holm
oaks, the kind that envelops you and immediately makes you forget that
the big city is so close. This is the advantage of the Collserola Park: when
you leave the well trodden paths you soon find yourself surrounded by
the most pleasing nature.
At the end of the slope, very close to the immense trunk of a centenarian poplar, we stop at Can Llevallol spring, protected by a construction in the form of a hut, with a rounded roof and an iron tube plugged
with a small branch. When we remove the branch, a spurt of fresh water
gushes out.
“In the past there was a water bottling plant near here, at Can Llevallol,” explains Sílvia. “At least, we understand it was so. This is the
tank where the water was collected.”
The tank is covered, but it has some wooden stalks, placed horizontally, indicating, like a compass rose, the different places near the
spring: Barcelona, the reservoir, Sant Cugat del Vallès... The surroundings are pleasant, with a small stone bench and very tall trees draping
it in generous shade. This is the benefit that springs have: a green, exuberant environment can grow around them, as a result of the abundance
of water.
“For some time we have had a restoration project underway for the
Collserola springs,” explains Sílvia. “There are more than two hundred
and some were abandoned. On this side of the park we have restored the
springs of L’Espinagosa and Can Llevallol, and on the other side those
of Sert, Can Castellví...”
The leisurely manner in which our ancestors spent their time, meeting for lunch around the spring, seems to have passed on to a better life,
but there are now groups of people appreciating these springs again, albeit out of nostalgia. One of these is a group of friends, incredibly fond of
excursions on foot and bicycle, who have created a website called “The
springs of Collserola” and under the motto “Fent Fonts, Fent Fonting”
(Making Springs, Springing) have photographed and documented 242
springs, and suggest routes to get to know them. We are far from the
popular lunches that used to be held around the springs, when the afternoon hours seemed to pass in slow motion, with children playing while
the adults took a nap, but at least there are people appreciating them
again.
The Long History of the Park
As we walk, now up the mountain, towards L’Espinagosa spring, Sílvia
tells us that she has worked in the Collserola Park for 22 years.
“I started in 1988, at the age of 23,” she says. “The special plan had
been approved the year before I started working in the park. I studied
pedagogy at first, then teaching and later sociology. My work is, in fact,
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the combination of these studies, to harmonise nature and society, to
educate and communicate environmentally. Many people believe that
there are only biologists in natural areas, but the presence of professionals from other fields is essential. The relationship with the media, which
is also part of my work, is a necessary element to reach citizens and users. Explaining aspects linked to the management of the park, such as
the emptying of the reservoir, in an article in the local press, enables us
to clarify why it is done, as well as to create complicity with the people,
and this complicity is basic to the preservation of the park. In the park
there are also other departments, such as Project and Works, which is
responsible for restorations, and Environment, which addresses the agricultural issue, the fight against fires, etc.”
“What is the most unusual task that you have to do?”
“Perhaps to assess the shooting of films and advertisements in the park.
Collserola is a big set. I remember that about fifteen years ago, close to Can
Coll, they shot Arnau and the Spanish actor Imanol Arias was around. Now,
when I see it at the cinema or on television, I enjoy recognising the exact
place where that scene was filmed and I tell my family… Most people, however, come to the park mainly to walk or to cycle.”
“Are people more interested in making the park their own? Because
I remember that some years ago most people came to have lunch in a
restaurant and were satisfied with a short ten or fifteen minute walk.”
“People are more interested, yes. We have undertaken a study on
the number of visitors, and the conclusions show that those whose who
use the park the most are its neighbours, the people who live inside or
very close to it. When they have free time, the residents of Sant Cugat
or Sant Feliu del Llobregat come here for a walk or to ride their bicycle.
This is not a park for tourism; it is mainly used by the neighbours.”
“And the citizens of Barcelona?”
“The people of Barcelona mainly go to the Carretera de les Aigües,
which at weekends is like a mountain Rambla. In any case, we acknowledge the park as a unique place. It is true that it is distributed between
nine municipalities, but each municipality cannot manage it independently.”
When two bikers pass by, concentrated, bare-chested, pedalling up
the mountain, I ask Sílvia if there are many conflicts between bikers
and hikers in Collserola.
“Cycling is regulated,” she points out, “because the interests of bikers and people who came to walk often clashed. When we saw that the
use of the bicycle was growing and that there were major conflicts, we
met with different hiking and cycling associations, ecologists, municipal boards and park users. The result of this was the “Projecte Bici”,
signed by twenty-two associations, agreeing to a commitment of mutual
respect.”
“And what was the outcome?”
“A whole cycling network that allows cycling along 180 km of trail
using determined routes. Seventeen of these are signposted; eleven of
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those are for cycling as a family, which include accounts of legends or are
linked to discovery games for children.”
“And what has changed in the park in the last twenty years?”
“The park has changed a lot. The first task consisted of promoting
it, informing the user about natural conservation… We have cleaned up
paths, springs… The people have gradually made it their own. A study
from the nineties revealed that it was visited every year by a million
and a half people. But we have a more recent one that indicates that in
2008 there were 2,100,000 visitors.”
“Is there a visitor profile?”
“Most of them live close to the park. Moreover, people who visit it
really love it. It is our main advantage. We always find great support…
Their houses are nearby, and they help us a lot. There is also the closeness factor, as the park workers are always around.”
L’Espinagosa Spring
The path continues under the pleasant shadow of the holm oaks. For
a while we walk close to the brook, until we separate to go up along a
wider path, a trail that opens between the trees. We are walking below
Vallvidrera, but we do not see any houses; only Mediterranean trees and
shrubs. Nor do we hear any noises, only the tweeting of the birds.
After a turn in the road, we find L’Espinagosa spring, which is under restoration. There is a good rush of water that flows along a small
brook towards the reservoir. We are surrounded by the cool nature of
the springs, with ivy curling up the trunks of the holm trees, acacias,
plane trees, poplars and, by the brook, plenty of reeds.
“Look, a wild boar print,” Sílvia observes.
The hoof is perfectly outlined in the mud. It is the track of a wild
boar, an animal that in recent times has caused neighbours to complain
because they are getting increasingly used to scavenging rubbish bags,
in search of easy fodder instead of surviving in the forest.
“We are carrying out awareness campaigns so that people understand
that they must not feed these animals,” Sílvia explains. “Among the walking routes, there is one that consists of following the tracks of the wild boar.”
The Reservoir Frogs
Soon we reach the end of the reservoir. In fact, even before we arrive
we ar able to hear the chorus of the many frogs living there. Around it,
there are some houses that climb up to the mountain, but what captures
our attention is the reservoir’s water. I remember that only a few years
ago, maybe ten or twelve, the reservoir was a messy hidden place, encroached upon by the surrounding vegetation but also filthy; there was
a stall at the back which seemed to have been abandoned for years, some
stone tables, a pierced asbestos roof and some stoves which would probably never be lit again.
“We have been cleaning up everything,” Sílvia points out. “We demolished that stall and we also removed the one close to the reservoir.”
68
“Victòria’s bar?”
“Yes, exactly. There are plans to build another one, these were falling to pieces.”
Looking closely, I do realise that Victòria’s bar has disappeared.
When I went there years ago, specifically in 2004, Victòria herself, a
woman born in Galicia who was quite a character, told me that the canteen had opened in 1938. “At first my husband, who was born here, used
to run it,” she told me. “I married him forty years ago. We used to have
stoves and people cooked meat, but fires are not allowed any more.”
She adds that many schools used to come for lunch, as well as many
people looking for fresh air at the weekend, but all that has changed.
“The reservoir used to be a very decadent place,” Sílvia continues.
“Now there is even a grey heron which comes from time to time… Look,
there is a turtle on a rock over there.”
We see it sunbathing as if it were a tourist on a beach. Among the
weeds, the turtles continue making their particular racket.
“From time to time we have to empty the reservoir because people
bring non-native turtles and other animals,” Sílvia tells us. “When they
start getting in the way at home, they are brought here and set free. But
it serves no purpose, because they damage the local fauna. In recent
years, we have found many Florida turtles.”
“The water looks clearer now.”
“Of course! We placed an impermeable covering on the bottom because the reservoir was losing almost all its water. The reservoir was
also repaired. In the past, there was a rusty iron handrail and you could
even drive through it with the car. Now it is only for pedestrians.”
The period of oblivion and decadence at the Vallvidrera reservoir
began after 1968, when the water ceased to reach Sarrià. The bottom
of the reservoir also cracked, which meant that it only filled up after it
had rained and for a short period of time. However, from the year 2000
onward the restoration works have resulted in the recovery of a pleasant
leisure area that had gone through some difficult years.
The Lake Valley Park Project
We walk for a while on the bank of the reservoir, followed by the tireless
croaking of the frogs, until we come down to the guardian’s house; the
restoration of which was inaugurated in April 2010.
“For many years it was abandoned, invaded by vegetation and without a roof, but it has finally recovered the splendour it must have had
when it was inaugurated,” Sílvia explains. “We have painted it with special anti-graffiti paint and the ground floor now houses the Vallvidera
Reservoir Interpretation Centre, with information on the history of the
reservoir and the Mina Grott tunnel, as well as on the animal life that
can be found here. The upper floors are for residents’ associations.”
The old building, a work by architect Elies Rogent (1821-1897) who
also designed the reservoir project, seems to have recovered its old
splendour after many years in ruins. A group of senior citizens from
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Sant Cugat are passing by the house and a couple of men, who knew it
from before, cannot believe how much it has improved. They are also
impressed by the stretch of open level ground nearby, that provides it
with a better view, and by the way the entrance to the Mina Grott has
been arranged, which for many years looked like an abandoned cave,
protected only by a rusty fence.
Inside the guard’s house, several panels enable visitors to follow the
history of the reservoir. Everything started in 1838, when the owners
of Can Sauró, Can Llevallol and Can Pujades asked Rafael Calopa to
build a small pond in order to water their terraces. It was the mid-19th
century, the town of Sarrià was still growing and the company Sociedad
Campañà y Cía made a proposal to the Town Council, to channel the
water of the pond and direct it, through a mine, to Sarrià. Once they got
the permit, using pickaxes and shovels, they built a tunnel 1,300 metres
long and 1.60 metres high (the future Mina Grott).
In 1862, after heavy floods that damaged the embankment dam,
Campañà y Cía asked architect Elies Rogent to repair it. After examining it, he suggested substituting it with a reservoir. One year later, Sarrià Town Council approved the project and construction was started.
Elies Rogent, born in Barcelona in 1821, was a renowned architect
who had studied architecture in Madrid and had become the first dean
of the Barcelona Architecture School, where he taught Antoni Gaudí
and other modernist architects. Among his major works are the core
building of the University of Barcelona and the warehouses of Port Vell.
To undertake the work of the reservoir, designed in a basin that collected the water of the three brooks in the area, he used the tunnel of the
Mina Grott, to transport all the necessary material through it in small
wagons.
The reservoir was inaugurated on the 15th of July 1864, when the
collected water reached Sarrià through the Mina Grott. Many years later, in the early 20th century, a young entrepreneur from Sarrià, Heribert Alemany, had the idea of creating a leisure park to take advantage of
the reservoir and the Mina Grott. The park was to be divided into three
sectors: the first, close to the entrance on the Barcelona side of the Mina
Grott tunnel, offered rides through the forest by horse and carriage, a
vantage point overlooking the city and an area with benches; the second sector had a small train, also named Mina Grott, in reference to the
tunnel through which it ran, “along which,” according to the information on the boards, “artificial stalactites were to be placed and lit, to
give it a natural grotto look, as well as screening of still images.” “The
third sector, in the surroundings of the reservoir,” the project concludes,
“consisted of exercise machines, a nature theatre, a rollercoaster and
other rides.”
The Mina Grott
The Lake Valley Park failed, as only one performance took place in
its theatre. In contrast, the small Mina Grott train was successful for
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a while, provided with electric power by the engineer Carlos Montañés
Criquillón (1877-1974), who had worked on the electrification of the
company Tranvías de Barcelona.
In a book of conversations published in 1970, Montañés explains:
“In Vallvidrera there was a drinkable water reservoir, constructed almost fifty years ago, which supplied Sarrià with water through a pipe
that went through the mountain called Mina. It was a small tunnel
around 1,400 metres long and a section of one to two square metres. At
that time the guilds had a weekly day off. It became popular to go on
excursion to Vallvidrera and spend the day at the springs of La Teula
and La Manigua. Some (those who could afford it) went there by cart or
carriage; while others took the tram as far as possible and then continued on foot to the other side of the mountain. The cable car back then
was too expensive for a working-class family.”
After explaining how he came up with the idea of having a small
train passing through it, Montañés rounds off with these words: “I then
undertook the enterprise, with my savings and exclusively at my own
risk, of constructing a sixty centimetre track that crossed the tunnel. I
worked on it for one year, expanding the section of the tunnel and reinforcing its walls.”
The project was ambitious, but the companies of the Vallvidrera
Cable Car and the Theme Park reported the lack of safety of the Mina
Grott, afraid of the competition. The small train stopped running for
some time, but it operated again and there are still some pictures that
show the precariousness of the invention. The train took six minutes to
do the journey across the two sides of the mountain and during the first
month and a half of operation it transported more than 30,000 people.
Although it finally closed down, the Mina Grott has the merit of
having been the precursor to the Ferrocarrils de la Generalitat, connecting Barcelona with the county of El Vallès, an enterprise which Carlos
Montañés would later develop along with the American engineer Frank
S. Pearson (1861-1915) as an investor. On November 28th, 1916, the railway section from Sarrià to Les Planes, going through the mountain, was
inaugurated. Many years later, in 1991, the opening of the main road
of Els Túnels de Vallvidrera would mean, for the people of Barcelona,
that the barrier that the Collserola mountain range had definitely been
overcome.
Santa Maria de Vallvidrera
We go down along an avenue flanked by very tall plane trees until we
get to the Baixador de Vallvidrera, where we say goodbye to Sílvia.
She returns to the Collserola Park Information Centre and we continue
walking towards the church of Santa Maria de Vallvidrera. The church
is closed – like almost always – but its history is well-documented, at
least up to 1916, it in the book Història de Santa Maria de Vallvidrera
(“History of Santa Maria de Vallvidrera”) by Reverend Llorenç Sallent.
Thanks to him we know that the church existed in 985, when a citi-
71
zen from Barcelona named Muç was captured by Almansor, the Muslim
leader. Before he died in Saragossa, Muç inherited his possessions to the
cathedral of Barcelona and to the church of Santa Maria de Vallvidrera.
Reverend Llorenç Sallent also records in his book that Santa Maria de Vallvidrera experienced difficult times during the Peninsula War
(1808-1814), as there was a French detachment at the Sant Pere Màrtir
hill that sacked the church from time to time. During the Spanish Civil
War anarchist squads sacked and destroyed the church, and shot many
people against the wall of the nearby cemetery.
I remember that, when I visited the church five or six years ago,
I was lucky to meet the Capuchin Jaume Pujol i Prats, who told me
that the parish had very few parishioners, and that they often allowed
educational groups to use the attached premises. What I enjoyed the
most was when we went up to the belfry where we could see the greenest surrounding landscape, as if nature was a part of Santa Maria de
Vallvidrera.
Verdaguer Museum
Vil·la Joana – Quinta Juana, according to the inscription beneath the
sundial clock on the façade – is a big manor house, with a reformed façade, a couple of superimposed terraces and a tower that grants it a
noble appearance. We know that it already existed in 1556, although
back then it was called Mas Ferrer. Close to the door however, there is an
inscription that dates it to 1705. In any case, this is clearly a house that
has undergone many reforms, especially in the late 19th century when it
was bought by Ramon Miralles i Miralta. This mayor from Sarrià made
it his summer residence and called it Vil·la Joana in homage to his wife.
Vil·la Joana is famous, above all, because Reverend Cinto Verdaguer died here on June 10th, 1902. The poet was already very ill when,
in May that same year, Ramon Miralles invited him to be his guest at
Vallvidrera. Unfortunately, he spent only twenty-four days here.
In 2004 Mari Cruz, the Director of the Verdaguer Museum (founded
in 1963), told me:
“When Verdaguer died, the house became a kind of sanctuary for admirers of the poet. Every 10th of June, for the anniversary of his death,
groups of people used to come here spontaneously. In 1922, when Mister Miralles sold the house to the Barcelona City Council, it was on condition that
the bedroom where Reverend Cinto died should remain as it was.”
The bedroom has indeed been kept intact, with an austere decor and
an oratory alongside, dedicated to Saint Raymond, with a missal and
the poet’s lectern. But the spirit of Reverend Cinto can be better understood by taking a walk though the gallery or in the rooms where his life
is reviewed chronologically, with dioramas that reproduce the interior
of a farmhouse in Folgueroles and the sanctuary of La Gleva, along with
photos and books by Verdaguer.
I remember that on that visit six years ago, the director of the museum told me that with the 1992 Olympic Games, Barcelona had opened
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itself to the sea but it still had to open up to the mountain. The numbers
of visitors, as Sílvia Mampel had told me, were increasing, but there was
still a long road ahead for Collserola to become the Central Park of the
whole conurbation of Barcelona.
«Oh, forest of Vallvidrera! ||
What scents you have given me!
|| I had the sea behind || And
Montserrat in front, || And at my
feet the place of the poet || Who
is already in eternity...»
1
La Budellera Spring
We cross the road and, following the course of the brook, walk along the
lowland of La Budellera towards the spring of the same name. It is quite
a pleasant path, full of spectacular trees such as oaks, holm oaks, acacias, elders, pines, hazelnut and strawberry trees… We are in the shaded
part of the park and that vegetation grows freely. While we walk, Joan
Maragall’s famous verses come to my mind:
Ai, boscos de Vallvidrera!
Quines sentors m’heu donat!
Tenia el mar al darrera
I al davant el Montserrat,
I als peus el lloc del poeta
Que ja és a l’eternitat...1
Soon after, we cross the road again and find the turning of Les Monges (The Nuns), where a stone cross commemorates five nuns who were
murdered at this spot during the first days of the Civil War.
From here, we go up to the mountain along a steep slope towards
Collserola Tower, dominating the landscape on the side of the park. We
know that Barcelona is on the other side, but there is not the slightest
hint of the big city. We are surrounded by Nature, by the forests that
enchanted poets such as Verdaguer and Maragall.
The path is steep, walking is tiring, but we soon pass in front of Can
Estisores, with its white façade, and then we arrive at La Budellera
spring. It was restored in 2007, after heavy rain that caused a landslide
and the subsequent collapse of some of its walls.
The spring appears amidst the holm oak forest as a haven of civilisation,
or like the prologue to the town of Vallvidrera, which is very close to it, and
to the city of Barcelona, on the other side of the mountain. Its distribution
into terraces helps create an ideal place for leisure on a steep slope. It was
designed in 1918 by the French landscape architect Jean Claude Nicholas
Forestier (1861-1930), who was keeper of the Paris forests. Since its restoration in 1988 it has been one of the many spots in Collserola Park worth visiting. School groups often come to have lunch or tea and I have been told that
in 1994, on a visit to Barcelona in order to participate in a Buddhist ritual,
the American actor Richard Gere came here to meditate. The spring had
been recommended to him as a place of beauty and solitude, very close to nature, but what he did not expect was that precisely on that day children from
a school in Vallvidrera would come who, surprised to find a famous actor,
caused considerable uproar which put an end to the actor’s meditative zeal.
There are several explanations for the name of La Budellera: one
says that it comes from the fact that the spring water is beneficial for the
73
intestines (budells, in Catalan); another notes that it is where they threw
the innards of dead animals. The first version is undoubtedly kinder,
but it is more likely that the second one is true. However, there is also a
third theory which says that years ago, close to the spring, there was a
factory that produced guitar strings made with animal intestines.
Collserola Tower and El Tibidabo Temple
We continue going up among holm oaks until, suddenly, we come across
an asphalt road. We are now in Vallvidrera, at the corner of the path of
La Budellera and carrer de Gabriel Ferrater. The name of this street,
full of houses with gardens, indicates that we are in a land of writers.
It does not surprise us because the neighbourhood of Vallvidrera (a municipality which was part of the independent Sarrià until 1921) inspires
artists. On one side we have the forests of Collserola, which extend until
El Vallès plain; and on the other, the city of Barcelona, with an agglomeration of houses and streets that reach Montjuïc, the port and the sea.
Seen from the road that goes from the centre of Vallvidrera to the
carretera de l’Arrabassada, Barcelona, which appears out of a small forest of pines in the foreground, looks like a city of dreams, with the schematic arrangement of L’Eixample, the chaos of the old city and, right
at the end, the skyscrapers of the Forum and the sea. If we look closely,
taking our time, we can easily identify Diagonal avenue and Gran Via,
the main axes of the city, as well as carrer de Balmes, which runs down
to the centre following the former course of a brook.
Behind us is Collserola Tower; with its 288 metres (added to the 445
of Vilana hill) it has been for some years the roof of the city. It was inaugurated in 1992, on the occasion of the Olympic Games, and the citizens
of Barcelona immediately made it their own as one of the symbols of the
city. Its stylised lines, designed by architect Norman Foster, was a good
match to the outline of the Collserola mountain range, crowned until
then by El Tibidabo Temple.
The grounds where El Tibidabo Temple stands were bought in 1876
by the Junta dels Cavallers Catòlics de Barcelona with the aim of building a chapel. Ten years later, however, when the future Saint John Bosco
(1815-1888) visited Barcelona, he was offered the lands, and the saint
prophesised that a great temple would be built in that place. The first
stone was laid in 1902, but the work, directed by architect Enric Sagnier, advanced at a very slow pace. By 1911, only the crypt had been
completed and in 1936 the revolutionaries attacked the temple and destroyed the big statue of Christ, a work by Josep Clarà, which was meant
to crown it. It was not until the post-war period that construction work
was resumed and finally, in 1952, on the occasion of the Barcelona Eucharistic Congress, it was possible to inaugurate the temple. The new
statue of the Sacred Heart, a work by Josep Miret, would not crown it
until 1963.
Along with the theme park, there are some houses of the Colònia del
Tibidabo around the temple, that were built in 1911 as summer hous-
74
es. As for the rides, some have been there for many years, such as the
aerial railway (1915), the Atalaya lookout (1921), the plane (1928), the
maze (1948), the enchanted castle (1955), etc., although people today
are mostly excited by modern rides, such as the pendulum or the new
roller coaster.
At the foot of El Tibidabo, the cable car and the blue tramway are the
most direct alternatives that connect the mountain to Barcelona. There
was a time when it was a Barcelona tradition to go up to the mountain
with these modes of transportation, but the size of the new parking area
of the theme park clearly indicates that locals are increasingly using
their cars. However, in the event of going up by tram or cable car, the old
mansions of avinguda del Doctor Andreu and the forests of Collserola
turn out to be a great prologue.
A Neighbourhood of Artists
It has been well-known for some time now that the neighbourhood of
Vallvidrera, because of its privileged location, attracts artists and writers. Perhaps the most famous of its residents, at least in recent years,
was Manuel Vázquez Montalbán (1939-2003), who thoughtfully made
this place the home of his most famous character, detective Pepe Carvalho. In Tatuaje (Tatoo), the first novel in the Carvalho series, the writer
described Vallvidrera as follows: “You reached Carvalho’s house along
a dirt road that crawled among chronicled villas, the white walls had
been greyed out by the rain over the course of fifty years, and they were
splashed with green or blue tiles and the hanging locks of bougainvilleas or marvels of Peru that overhung the tops of the walls. Carvalho’s
villa was neither old nor especially distinguished. It had not been constructed in the midst of Vallvidrera’s historical splendour but rather in
its second great historical moment, when some people enriched by the
black market of the post-war period had sought in the mountain a vantage point for their successful businesses. They were minor nouveaux
riches created by a minor black market. These were thrifty people who
had preserved from before the war the frenzy for a little house with a
garden on the outskirts, with a corner for lettuces, potatoes and tomatoes if possible, fascinating weekend hobbies and paid holidays.”
Moreover, when Collserola Tower was inaugurated, Vázquez Montalbán wrote that the enormous pole looked like a giant banderilla driven
into the side of the mountain and that its neighbours, overwhelmed by
its enormous size, even had erectile dysfunctions. In time, however, the
citizens of Vallvidrera have gotten used to the tower and taken it to
their hearts.
Although for many years Vallvidrera was the summer setting for the
high bourgeoisie, who appreciated the fresh air of the Collserola mountain range, over time it has become, aided by the car, an ideal place to
live all year. The old hotels have closed their doors but new ones have
appeared such as Mont d’Orsà, a four-star hotel that offers the serenity
of an old bourgeois house and unbeatable views of the city.
75
In the final years of his life, when he was very ill, the poet Joan
Vinyoli (1914-1984) stayed for long periods in one of the old hotels of
Vallvidrera. It was there where he wrote “Elegia de Vallvidrera” (Elegy
to Vallvidrera), a poem included in his book Passeig d’aniversari (“Anniversary Walk), which reads:
Ara puc dir: sóc a la font i bec,
i bec fins a morir-me de set de voler més no sabent què,
que és així com no es mor
en veritat del tot: vivint en la fretura
d’alguna cosa sempre.
«Now I can say it: I am the spring
and I drink, || and I drink until
dying || of the thirst of wanting
more without knowing what, ||
which is how one does not truly ||
die completely: living always || in
the need of something. || Without
need, what would happen to us, ||
we who were given the privilege
|| of the holy madness of being a
canticle, || an unleashed wind,
fire || which destroys itself, where
the things it touched || are saved
and purest. || Oh, enlightened!
Our humble || duty: to open our
ears widely || to the earliest chant
|| and to decline.»
2
Sense fretura, què seria de nosaltres,
aquests a qui fou dat el privilegi
de la santa follia de ser càntic,
vent desfermat, incendi
que es destrueix a si mateix, mentre salvades
queden les coses que tocà i més pures.
Oh, il·luminats! La nostra
comesa humil: obrir del tot orelles
al primigeni cant
i declinar.2
Joan Vinyoli, Gabriel Ferrater, Jacint Verdaguer and Joan Maragall
are poets who let themselves be seduced by the beauty and calm of the
Vallvidrera forests. There are more, of course, such as Baltasar Porcel,
Arranz Bravo, América Sánchez and Maria del Mar Bonet. There is a
long list of artists, who have felt entranced with the city at their feet;
who have been able to enjoy the views from this privileged place and its
excellent vantage point over the great city of Barcelona one side and, on
the other, over the Vallvidrera forests and the whole of Collserola Park.
76
Serralada
de Marina Park:
Sea and Mountain
Kermes oak, Quercus coccifera
77
The Serralada de Marina Park is so close to major cities, such as Badalona,
Santa Coloma de Gramenet and even Barcelona itself that it is sometimes difficult to identify exactly where it starts and finishes. The city and the countryside are interwoven to the extent that there is often only a minute transition between the busy highways and big apartment blocks, and the dusty
tracks that go into the mountainside flanked by clumps of pine forests. On the
one hand, you might think that this could be a threat to the park; but on the
other, one has to be admit that it is a great advantage to have a park so close
to the city.
To start our tour of this park, where the mountain provides the finest
lookout point over the coast, we drive to La Conreria, specifically to the Casa
de les Monges (House of Nuns). This is an old building standing on the crest of
the mountain range above the town of Tiana, which has now been converted
into the headquarters of the Serralada de Marina Park Consortium, made
up of the Barcelona Provincial Council, the Association of Municipalities of
the Metropolitan Area of Barcelona, and the towns of Badalona, Montcada i
Reixac, Sant Fost de Campsentelles, Santa Coloma de Gramenet and Tiana.
“The key characteristic of this park is that it borders Barcelona, Badalona, Santa Coloma and other large towns,” points out Cinta Pérez, director
of the Park. “More than in any other park, we have had to achieve a balance
between its social use and the conservation of the environment. People tend
to concentrate more on the coastal side, where more development has taken
place, but on the other side there are some lovely and very interesting forests.”
“Unfortunately,” I interject, “the fire in 1994 destroyed a huge swathe of
land and put the park in the headlines.”
“The fire of ‘94 was the worst ever, it’s true. We’ve had other fires since
then, but we now manage to extinguish them faster. That part of the woods
gets a lot of visitors, but fortunately we’ve got a great team of watchmen at
key points around the park.”
When the time has come to set off and familiarise ourselves with the park,
Cinta Pérez spreads out the map on the table and points out the most interesting areas, which include the woods on the northern side, hills such as Galzeran
hill, and two important religious buildings from a historical point of view that
fall within the park’s borders: the monastery of Sant Jeroni de la Murtra, in
Badalona, and the Carthusian monastery of Montalegre, in Tiana.
Since we can see the Carthusian monastery from where we’re standing –
from the window, it looks like a large convent with a couple of cloisters, a big
market garden and the sea in the background – we decide to make it our starting point. I call the monastery and get in contact with the Reverend Father,
who after a few seconds’ hesitation, fortunately agrees to see us.
The Carthusian Monastery of Montalegre
At the entrance to the estate of the Carthusian monastery of Our Lady of
Montalegre there is a Modernist gate and two brick columns, each supporting
a globe crowned by a cross with the Carthusian motto: Stat crux dum volvitur
orbis (The cross is steady while the world is turning). It’s all a signal that we
are entering another world.
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There is quite a distance between the Modernist gate and the main entrance to the building, but it’s a pleasant walk between gardens and olive
trees, from which we can make out the blue sea and the overdeveloped coast
in stark contrast to the tranquillity and silence that characterise the Carthusians. Finally, after an avenue of soaring cypress trees on each side, we reach
the façade of the monastery, presided over by an image of the Virgin with
Saint Bruno, the founder of the Order, on one side, and Saint John, its patron
saint, on the other.
The doorman, who introduces himself as Francisco, welcomes us and leads
us in to the main courtyard, an enclosed space that accomodates the old lodgings, a chapel where they hold mass on Sundays and the cells of the monks’
‘families’, people who help them with certain tasks in exchange for board and
lodging. All the buildings are huge, almost exaggeratedly so, which tells a lot
about the importance of the Carthusians in the past. In this context, an excerpt from the Calaix de Sastre by Baron Maldà is worth recalling, in which
he described a meal he took in the lodgings of the Carthusian monastery of
Montalegre in 1797: “When the time came, we sat ourselves down all together
around the big square table of the hostelry to dine, ready to avail ourselves of
the soup of Montalegre. This was served in abundant portions, and although
it was a day of fish it was most substantial, almost meaty; yellow from saffron
and condiments and with a fine flavour of fish... After the soup they served
a good fish, at least half a grouper, with a few mullets in a nice, sweet sauce,
to which everyone helped themselves from the sauceboat, with much delicacy.
Then they served us another fish with a sauce: little balls of beans, rice and cod;
some more mixed fish, so all of us were left full to bursting, and to conclude
such a good and tasty meal, cooked by a certain Brother Jaume, they brought
to the table a dish overflowing with almond milk, and finally we got up from
the table after having eaten some sweet pastries along with a plentiful sips of
that wonderful Masram de Montalegrem wine, as merry as the day is long.”
With the memory of this historic meal on our minds, Francisco pushes
open another huge door and, as if we were entering the monastery in The
Name of the Rose, full of secret passageways and mystery, we make our way
down a long corridor that leads to an initial cloister in Romanesque style, full
of fruit trees, herbs and flowers… and peace. Enveloped in a crypt-like silence
– though in this case monasterial – a very old monk dressed in white from
head to toe passes by, moving step by step with the aid of a stick, dragging
his feet along, his eyes fixed to the floor. He is the living image of a Carthusian
monk, of a cloistered life.
A few minutes later, Manuel María Mendoza, the Reverend Father, ushers
us into a large, chilly office where the walls are decorated with prints of Jesus
Christ, the Virgin and the Pope. My attention is caught by a picture of a sailor
at the helm of his boat in a storm, with Jesus standing behind him, resting a
hand on his shoulder to protect him from potential disaster.
The Reverend Father, like all Carthusians, is dressed in a white habit with
a white hood. He smiles affably and covers his head with a white cap. To begin
with he explains that he was born in Seville, that he is 79 years old, and that he
joined the Carthusian monastery of Jerez in 1951, when he was just 23. When
the monastery closed down in 2001, he was sent here to Montalegre.
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“We currently have a community of 11 monks,” he explains, “but there
were once more than 60. This was a very important Carthusian monastery.”
“How many Carthusian monasteries are there in Spain?”
“There are five monasteries and one convent. There is the Miraflores Monastery in Burgos, the Aula Dei in Zaragoza, the Porta Coeli in Valencia and
the Santa Maria or Benifassar in Castellón, which is the convent… plus Montalegre, of course. In the 19th century there were twenty-one, but nowadays
there’s a lack of vocation, and it’s very difficult to attract young people. Unfortunately they can’t tolerate either the silence or the solitude.”
“What is life like in a Carthusian monastery?”
“Solitude and silence,” he smiles at this rather simplified answer. “With
all the noise in the outside world, visitors are particularly struck by the peace
and quiet here. We live in silence and we devote ourselves to prayer. We don’t
engage in any external pastoral duties, although if a monk wishes to hear confession from someone he knows, he can do so as an isolated case.”
“Don’t you ever leave the monastery?”
“Only to go to the doctor or to vote. Ours is a life of prayer, solitude and
silence. In his own cell, each monk can also study, read or do handwork, but
most importantly they have to follow the rules. Our apostolate is universal,
but one doesn’t see the results...” He pauses. “Those who profess their faith
outside have the consolation of seeing the results, but we cannot see them.
That is the way things are... Nevertheless, our sacrifices and our prayers are
received by God and it is he who distributes them amongst the people.”
The schedule of a Carthusian monastery, according to the Reverend Father, is hard to follow, as the monks have to divide their sleep into two stretches. They wake up at midnight and at half-past twelve all the monks go to the
choir to pray. Around two-thirty or three in the morning they return to their
cells to sleep, but then get up again at 6.30, and at 8.00 everyone goes to the
Conventual Mass. After mass, each monk returns to his cell to either study,
do manual work, tend the allotment, or pray... then at 5.30 in the afternoon it
is time for vespers, which are chanted, and at 8.00 in the evening it is time to
go to bed.
The Carthusians do not take breakfast and eat their main meal at midday.
They eat everything except meat, and at Advent and Lent they are prohibited
to drink milk or eat anything made from milk or its derivatives. Furthermore, for six months, from 14 September to Easter Sunday, they follow the
Monastic Fast; this means that in the evening they only eat bread and water,
although the prior may allow older monks or those who are ill to also have
some soup. During the other six months, they eat a frugal dinner. Snacks are
absolutely not allowed.
“We lead a contemplative life here,” sums up the Reverend Father. “I
don’t know if people outside can understand it, but we try to direct our efforts
towards an inner life. God is in the soul.”
“It’s quite a gruelling life, isn’t it?”
“It might be hard, yes, but as Aristotle said, ‘Man is a creature of habit’.”
“I assume that you at least eat together.”
“Only on Sundays and feast days. On all the other days each monk eats
alone in his cell. A tray is left for them in the hatch and they collect it. At
80
least, the fathers do, as there are two types of monks: the fathers and the lay
brothers. The latter do not live in so much solitude, as they have certain ‘obediences’ to carry out, such as the laundry, cooking... Their sacrifice is doing
manual work, but the fathers spend practically the whole day in their cells.”
“In silence.”
“Yes, in silence, of course,” he smiles, as if stating the obvious. “We only
speak when strictly necessary. From the time of our novitiate we are taught
how to listen and how to remain silent. But the cross of the Carthusians is not
the solitude or the silence. This enriches us; that is why we are here. The cross
we bear is that when we comply with the rules, nobody sees us... only God.
The rules have been refined since the 11th century, but anyone who wants
to be idle cannot prosper here. You have to approach every day in a spirit of
betterment, of thinking in the here and now. Yesterday does not exist, and
tomorrow, who knows whether we will still be here?”
“Do people from outside the monastery attend religious ceremonies?”
“Only as an exception, friends or relatives may come, but never a large
group. Also, the Carthusian monastery is not open to women. We can show
people around if they ask to see it, like you did, but only so long as it is not a
big crowd.”
“We noticed that you have a huge allotment outside. Is it tended by the
monks?”
“It used to be, but now we lease it out to tenant farmers. They farm it and
give us a portion of what they grow.”
“It must have an impact on you, living in a building like this, a monastery
dating from the 15th century.”
“It does have an impact, yes,” says the prior after a long silence. “These
walls have witnessed many centuries of silence.”
“Are you completely isolated from what goes on in the world?”
“Being the Reverend Father, I get a daily newspaper. I leaf through it and
on Sundays I tell the other monks the most important news.”
“Do you watch television?”
“No, we don’t have one.”
“And what do you think of the state of the world, from what you read in
the papers?”
“From what I read, I have to tell you that the world doesn’t seem to be
doing too well.”
“To conclude, how do the Carthusians view death?”
“Death is moving towards God, going to heaven. Seeing God will be the
most beatific sight, because this life is a vale of tears. It is obvious that every
day we shed tears... But God said, if you love me, take up your cross and follow me.”
Centuries-old Silence
Having finished our conversation, the Reverend Father calls the doorman,
Francisco, and asks him to show us around the monastery. We pass through
the two cloisters in silence – the first dates back to 1448 and the second to
1636 – and notice an old defence tower that echoes the long history of this
monastery, founded in 1415, when the Carthusians of Vallparadís and Sant
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Pol established themselves in what had previously been a priory of Augustinian nuns, who decided to move to Barcelona in the 13th century to escape the
solitude of this spot.
After working hard on building the new monastery, the monks settled
permanently in 1448. Since then, the Carthusians have experienced many ups
and downs, especially in the 19th century, as the monastery was successively
abandoned in 1808-1814 (due to the Spanish War of Independence), in 18201824 (as a result of the events of the Trienio Liberal War) and then definitively in 1835 with Ecclesiastical Confiscations of Mendizabal. In 1901, however, after it was repurchased by the Grand Chartreuse, the head monastery
of the Carthusian Order, monastic life was resumed by monks who came from
France and, despite the fact that during the early days of the Spanish Civil
War the monastery was sacked and six monks were killed, monastic life was
resumed once again in 1939.
The cells are arranged around the cloisters, with a phrase from a psalm in
Latin on their door; inside, there are three rooms and a small allotment; and
to the side of the door there is a hatch for the monks to receive their meals.
Francisco explains that one of the rooms is for prayer, another for eating and
sleeping, and the third, where there is a wooden bench, for manual work. This
is where the monks spend most of their existence, in solitude of course.
The ‘little cloister’, thus named because it is much smaller than the other
two, is comprised of the Gothic church which was completed in 1463, the
capitol and the refectory. Everything is very simple, with bare walls, because, as Francisco tells us regretfully, the altarpieces and furnishings were
burnt during the Civil War. While we contemplate it in silence, a monk pops
his head in. He introduces himself as Josep Maria Canals and tells us that
he has been at the monastery since 1993 and before that he was the priest
of the diocese. We talk, amongst other things, of the novel Mon Oncle, by
Màrius Serra, which describes the Carthusian monastery of Montalegre and
his uncle, who was one of the monks there, and about the fires of the summer
of 1994, when one of the monks died fighting the flames. The monk tells me
that Màrius Serra’s uncle is now dead, and that all the monks here now are
very old. Time passes by, and no new young monks have joined the Carthusians. It seems the recipe of prayer, solitude and silence is not attractive to
the youth of today. Before leaving us, Josep Maria Canals recommends that
if I want to learn more about the Carthusians I should see the film “lnto
Great Silence” by German director Philip Gröning, and read “An Infinity
of Little Hours” by Nancy Klein Maguire. Then, just in case I still had any
doubts about it, he defines the Carthusian monastery as being ‘the house of
silence’.
When we go back through one of the cloisters, I notice a little cemetery in
one of the corners.
“The Carthusians bury their monks with the face covered by the hood,”
says Francisco, the doorman. “They place their hands together on the chest,
stretch them out on a plank, put them in the grave and cover them with earth.
It’s all very simple, just as the life they lead.”
Before leaving the Carthusian monastery, we take a look at the vegetable
garden which extends over several terraces that drop down towards the sea at
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regular intervals, with a large irrigation pond and a few palm trees alongside.
Down at the bottom is the coast, the highway, the noise, the hassle... The cookmonk passes by, greets us and says: “Dinner is just about ready; today we’re
having boiled cauliflower.”
When we get back to the road, not ten seconds have passed before we realise what a wonderful treasure is housed within the Carthusian monastery:
silence.
Tiana, from Lola Anglada to Pau Riba
On the way to Tiana, the town that is closest to the Carthusian monastery,
our attention is caught on the outskirts by the white dome of the observatory
where the so-called Starry Nights are organised as part of the “Living the
Park” programme. Night is still far ahead, though. We continue towards the
town built on the mountain slopes between two streams, encompassing many
old-fashioned summer residences – big houses with gardens and palm trees –
the parish church of Sant Cebrià, a clubhouse where the townspeople meet,
the memory of a tram that used to run between 1916 and 1954, and a few rows
of terraced housing that indicate the new fashion in urban living.
At the clubhouse they mention that the town is also home to the Sala Albéniz, a theatre that commemorates composer Isaac Albéniz (1860-1909) for
the numerous times he stayed in town; and that Dolors Anglada (Barcelona,
1893 – Tiana, 1984), a famous illustrator better known as Lola Anglada, who
worked on children’s magazines such as En Jordi, En Patufet, La Nuri and La
Mainada, used to spend her summers in one of the old village houses known
as La Casa de la Palmera. The Town Council is planning to turn it into a museum and, if things run smoothly, it should be open to the public in 2012.
During the week there are very few people in town. Everyone must be
either working in Barcelona or in the surrounding towns. In view of this, we
take a gravelled track that leads up above the stream until we come to Casa
Alta, an old farmhouse dating back to the 16th century with a gabled roof
and a sundial on the façade, where the poet and musician Pau Riba lives and
works. This multifaceted artist was born in Palma de Mallorca in 1948, and
is regarded as one of the most illustrious representatives of the Catalan hippy
movement.
The grandson of poet Carles Riba, Pau Riba started performing in the
1960s with the Grup de Folk in a kind of counterpoint to the Els Setze Jutges
(The Sixteen Judges), a band of the Nova Cançó (New Song) movement. The
latter had an almost Frenchified air about them, while the Grup de Folk was
more interested in North American bands. In 1970, Pau Riba released the album Dioptria (Dioptre), which would come to be regarded as the first Catalan
rock album. Shortly afterwards he moved to the island of Formentera, where
he lived for a few years in a farmhouse with no running water or electricity, in
a truly hippy environment. His totally uninhibited performance at the Canet
Rock festival in 1975 is now the stuff of legend. After his time in Formentera,
some 30 years ago, Pau settled in La Casa Alta in Tiana, where he still composes music, poems and songs. His latest album, true to the rebellious spirit
that characterises him, is entitled Virus laics (Lay virus), a pun on the virolai,
generally assumed to be the ‘official’ hymn of Montserrat.
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We go up to the first floor where the girl who welcomed us said that Pau
is working, and find him in front of a computer and keyboard, surrounded by
untidy piles of books, records and all kinds of objects. There are also some
old photos in which you can recognise him, though obviously much younger,
when he stood for the complete opposite of Catalan orthodoxy.
“Nowadays, thankfully, things have changed a lot,” Pau begins. “Today
all you need to be able to write, draw, and compose is a computer. I don’t have
to leave home to sing. Back then, to make a living, apart from creating music,
I had to write for the newspapers or take acting jobs, but now I’m just a professional musician.”
When we ask him about the town of Tiana, he shakes his head and says
there’s no life there, but when we ask about the Serralada de Marina Park, he
brightens up:
“The park has been fantastic for us, because it has saved our house. They
wanted to develop all around here, on both sides of the stream, but in the end,
in view of all the protests and the mobilization of the Gent de Tiana (People
of Tiana) association, they only developed one side, not ours.” He goes over to
the window and points out where the development has sprung up in Tiana, a
mass of apartment blocks and terraced housing. “When we came here, thirty
years ago, there was nothing there at all.”
“You can see Tibidabo from here,” I say in surprise.
“Yes, we’re very close to Barcelona, but surrounded by greenery. It’s a
good life here... There are two highways, but fortunately we can’t see them.
The big advantage is that it’s quicker to get to the centre of Barcelona than
if you were driving from Sarrià, for example… as long as it’s not during rush
hour, of course, when everything is jammed.”
Pau then shows us where he rehearses, a big room on the ground floor of
the house, and the entrance to a secret cave that was very probably used to
hide smuggled goods, although some say it is actually a passageway that enabled people to escape to the coast when they were under threat. These are the
typical legends of the Maresme, somewhere between the dreams of the Indianos, the tales of contraband, and the adventures of the seafarers who, one fine
day, decided to set sail for Cuba in search of a better life.
When we leave La Casa Alta, Pau laughs at our haste and reminds us of
an inscription that used to be under the sundial on the front of the farmhouse.
“There is just one fear,” it said. “It refers to the time of death, of course,”
he clarifies, laughing. “Haste is never a good thing.”
La Conreria and Galzeran Hill
We have lunch at a restaurant in an old farmhouse in town, Can Blanc, decorated with modern paintings and photos of past victories of the Barça and
Espanyol football teams, and then we return for a walk around La Conreria,
an area that was given this name because of the former crop fields belonging
to the Carthusian monastery. According to local lore, the monks used to give
a pound of bread every day to all the poor folk who went there for alms, even
when there were up to 800 people in line.
With the Ecclesiastical Confiscations in 1835, the central building of La
Conreria was turned into a restaurant and hotel until 1932, when it became
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a health resort and then, at the end of the Civil War, a seminary. In 1993 it
was leased to the Pere Tarrés Foundation and today it functions as a summer
camp and youth hostel.
It was, in fact, during a stay at La Conreria when it was still a hotel that,
architect Joan Amigó (Badalona, 1875-1958) who was a member of the second
Modernist generation, decided to build the elegant Mas Po-Canyadó (which
today houses a summer camp) up on the crest of the mountain range. In 1917,
with the initiative of Evarist Arnús, the Colònia del Bosc (Forest Colony) urbanization was built in La Conreria, considered to be the first in Spain. The
fresh mountain air, the pine and holm oak forests and the proximity to the sea
were its main attractions.
From La Conreria, we walk along a track that follows the peak as far as
Galzeran hill. The sea is down below us, with the town of Tiana in the foreground, and Montgat in the background. The vegetation here is typical of
the Mediterranean, with pines, holm oaks, flowering broom (in a glorious yellow) and other native shrubs, though from time to time we come across a vine
that reminds us that before the Phylloxera plague in the late 19th century
this area was a grape-growing and winemaking region. The destruction of the
vines, however, put an end to the modus vivendi of many people living on this
coast, forcing them to seek their fortunes in the Americas, mainly in Cuba.
The legacy of those times are the many Indiano houses that still stand along
the Maresme coast, with their colonial-style porches and huge old palm trees
extending their generous shade which reminds you of the tropics.
As we approach Galzeran hill, we gain altitude and the panorama widens; up at the top, at a height of 485 metres, the view is truly spectacular. On
one side is the Maresme coast, the sea, and a few well-defined towns: Alella,
Premià and El Masnou; and on the other side there are forests sloping down to
the county of Vallès, with the mountainous massifs of Montseny, Sant Llorenç
del Munt and Montserrat in the background. Far away to the south, on the
edge of the horizon, you can make out the great metropolis of Barcelona, with
the three chimneys of Sant Adrià de Besòs standing out through the mist.
On top of Galzeran hill, a watchtower tempts us to climb even higher. We
try the door, but it’s locked. It’s a shame, but there’s actually no need to climb
up there to appreciate the sheer mountainous scale of this park, which very
few motorists even notice as they speed along the coastal highway. The beach,
beyond the double barrier of the N-II highway and the railway tracks, appears
from here like a distant, unreachable paradise.
Sant Jeroni de la Murtra
To round off our visit to the Serralada de Marina Park, we return on Sunday
to explore the other side. Our destination this time is the Monastery of Sant
Jeroni de la Murtra, where a big festival is being held today, the Matinal al
Parc (Mornings in the Park) and an open-doors day as well.
We part from the river of cars on the highway and drive through the higher neighbourhoods of Santa Coloma de Gramenet, leaving behind the ugly
urban sprawl, gaining altitude and perspective, until we come to a dirt road
leading to Torre Pallaresa, an elegant 16th century building founded upon
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an old medieval castle and, many centuries earlier, an old Roman villa. Very
close by, on top of Puig Castellar hill, we find one of the best preserved Iberian
settlements in the whole of Catalonia, and a little further on, after a few sharp
bends, we come to Sant Jeroni de la Murtra, a monastery with a long and
distinguished history that stands today in pure survival mode, having once
housed kings and emperors within its walls. The sea and the city of Badalona
are spread beneath its feet, as if forming part of a completely different world.
When we reach the monastery, the main festival of this year’s Viu el Parc
(Living the Park) campaign is being held on the esplanade beside it. Mar Coma
and Antònia Playà, the girls from the company responsible for coordinating
the cultural and festive programme, which is also a feature of all the other
parks, are working tirelessly to ensure everything runs perfectly. We say hello
quickly, and then take a look at everything going on within the festival venue:
medieval games full of colour and imagination, creative workshops, excited
children, clowns, clamour and beaming parents constantly taking photos of
their kids from every possible angle. It’s obvious that the park is in full party
mode today, even though the sky is threatening with rain. From time to time
a cyclist passes by, pedalling slowly and surveying the scene in puzzlement.
Before entering the monastery, our attention is caught by a sign that says
‘Sant Jeroni de la Murtra. Francesca Güell Religious and Cultural Retreat’.
Across the threshold, the Viu el Parc festival continues with more games and
a stage, set up near some cypress trees and a young olive tree. The imposing
façade of the monastery, dating back to the 15th century, with an elegant lintelled door and very high walls, is topped off on one side by a defence tower,
built a century later, which reminds you of the various attacks that the monastery must have been subjected to in the past by the pirates who used to
pillage this coast.
It is said that in 1467, a few years after the Monastery of Sant Jeroni de
la Murtra was built, some pirates tried to attack the town of Badalona. They
returned on several occasions; for example, in 1527, when a fleet of seventeen
ships belonging to the Sultan of Algiers sailed up the coast, sacked Badalona
and set it on fire. In 1568 there was yet another pirate incursion, which explains why the farmhouses and the monastery built defence towers to protect
themselves.
Dimas Dimas, a Badalona resident who knows the monastery extremely
well, is in charge of the guided tour today. He starts by recounting the history of Sant Jeroni de la Murtra, founded in 1416 by Barcelona merchant Bertran Nicolau i Oliver, who offered the Hieronymite monks from a monastery
founded a few years earlier near Sant Pere de Ribes the chance to establish
their order in this area, specifically on La Murtra hill, on top of what appeared
to be the remains of an old Roman villa. Given the lack of water in the Garraf,
the monks readily accepted his offer and built the monastery on top of the old
farmhouse with the help of the merchant.
“When it was ready,” explains Dimas Dimas to the small group of visitors, “they named it Sant Jeroni de la Vall de Betlem (Saint Jerome of the Valley of Bethlehem), but the local people, being used to the farmhouse that had
stood here before, immediately rechristened it Sant Jeroni de la Murtra (Saint
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Jerome of the Myrtle). During those times it was surrounded by marshland
which the monks gradually transformed to set their vegetable gardens; over
the years the monastery became widely renowned and monarchs such as Joan
II of Aragon, Ferdinand the Catholic, Charles V and Philip II all stayed here.
Looking at these old buildings you get the impression that they were built
in stages, superimposed on previous structures. In this case, the Roman villa
was transformed into the Murtra farmhouse, and before the construction of
the monastery there used to be a chapel dedicated to St. Martin, built by the
French, moved inside the main church later by the monks.
A focal point of the elegant entrance to the monastery are two sculpted
faces at the end of a ledge overhanging the door which, they say, portray
Charles V, the emperor who had it restored. Inside, however, it is the cloister that evokes the most admiration. It is still incomplete, as it was partially
destroyed by a fire, but the half that remains was built in a late Gothic style
using stones from the mountain of Montjuïc.
“They used to bring the blocks of stone to Sant Adrià de Besòs by boat,
and then up here in carts,” says Dimas Dimas. “If you look carefully, there is
a section made from brick, as it was built during the time of the Catalan civil
war (1462-1472) when they couldn’t bring the stone from Montjuïc. The cells
used to be on the first floor, but we can’t visit them because the floor is in very
bad condition.”
The Catholic Monarchs and Christopher Columbus
In the early days there were fourteen monks living in the monastery who, according to the history books, were on the point of leaving it because of the
appalling conditions they had to put up with. It was under the protection
of the Catholic Monarchs, who paid for a good part of the contruction work,
that the monastery began to be consolidated. When Ferdinand the Catholic
was wounded in an attack by John of Canyamars in December 1492, on the
steps of the Royal Palace in Barcelona, chronicles of the time say that the
king withdrew to the monastery for a few days with his wife Isabel to recover.
However, the ultimate historical event of the monastery was when the Catholic Monarchs received Christopher Columbus there on his return from his first
voyage to America.
“After the Ecclesiastical Confiscations of Mendizabal in 1835, the monastery was sacked and burnt,” continues Dimas Dimas with his historical
chronicle. “Count Güell bought it at a public auction and left it in his will to
his daughter Francesca, on the condition that it would be turned into a place
of silence and repose. The current owners are the descendents of Francesca
Güell and it is now the home of the Catalunya-Amèrica Foundation.”
The bond between the monastery and America – illustrated by a bust of
Columbus, sculpted on one of the capitals of the cloister – is still very strong
today, as we can see. In terms of history, oral tradition in Badalona says that
when he returned from one of his voyages to America, Columbus stayed in a
house very close to the monastery of Sant Jeroni de la Murtra, known as Mas
Sunyol, in Badalona. The house belonged to Francesc Colom Bertran, who
was the twenty-ninth president of the Generalitat, and very likely to have
been related in some way to the discoverer of America. If this is true, it would
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fit in with Antonio Herrera’s description in his Historia General de los Hechos
de los Castellanos en las Islas y Tierra Firme del Mar Océano (General History of the Conquests of the Spanish in the Islands and Lands of the Ocean)
in which he claims that Christopher Columbus “bade the monarchs farewell,
and that day the whole Court of the Palace accompanied him to his home”.
The path from Sant Jeroni de la Murtra to Mas Sunyol was certainly a short
one, which would explain how they were able to go with him. In any case, that
noble house no longer exists, as it was destroyed by an immense flood in 1962.
In its place now stands the ubiquitous furniture store, Ikea, the new temple
of consumerism.
Coming back to the present, and the current state of the monastery, it
must be said that the well, the fountain and the greenery in the middle of the
cloister, give you an idea of how idyllic this spot must have been in its glory
years. Close to the fountain, incidentally, there is still a huge myrtle in honour
of the monastery’s name.
“According to tradition, the monks always tried to have a myrtle in the
middle of the cloister as a symbol of the monastery,” concludes Dimas Dimas.
The church of Sant Jeroni de la Murtra, right next to the cloister, is in an
even more decrepit state, since it has not had a roof for many years. Even so,
the scale of it is surprising; Emperor Charles V had it expanded at a time when
the royal apartments were immediately adjacent to the church, which allowed
the royal family to hear mass without having to move. Today, however, the
former royal chambers are occupied by the library.
“This church,” says Dimas Dimas, “gave Felipe II the Holy Christ statue
that used to preside over the galley of the flagship in the Battle of Lepanto
(1571). It is said to have moved its body just when a bullet was about to destroy it. However, when he returned from combat, Felipe II donated it to the
cathedral of Barcelona, where you can still see it today.”
The glories of Sant Jeroni de la Murtra now seem to belong to a very distant past. The passage of time, destruction and decline have all left their mark
on what must have been a sumptuous building, worthy of kings and emperors. Its former splendour can best be gleaned from the Gothic-style refectory
which has been very well preserved. It measures 20 metres long by 6 metres
wide and is roofed with three cross or groin vaults with polychrome vault
keystones created by the monk Gabriel Andreu between 1483 and 1486. The
central keystone represents St. Jerome and on another one you can read Rex
Joannes me fecit, in reference to King John II of Aragon, one of the builders
and protectors of the monastery.
As we leave Sant Jeroni, the view of the city of Badalona extends beneath
our feet, like an anachronism in stark contrast to the peace that reigns within
the monastery’s walls, a peace upheld by many centuries of history and important historical figures.
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Serralada
Litoral Park:
Forests and Castles
by the Sea
Stone pine, Pinus pinea
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We start our exploration of the Serralada Litoral Park at its shadiest spot,
through the woods that remain between Galzeran hill and the ruins of the
Castle of Sant Miquel, on the Montornès del Vallès side. We leave La Conreria accompanied by Estanis, one of the watchmen who work in the park
during the summer. He knows every inch of this land, so he points out to us
the gnarled trunks of the cork oaks, the silence of the woods, the song of the
springs and streams, and the mysterious dolmens half hidden from view that
stand like squat sentries deep in the woods.
When, walking among the pines, I mention to Estanis that this is a very
pretty forest, he smiles and observes “That is exactly what it is called: The
Pretty Forest”. A very appropriate name, indeed.
We stop on the edge of Castellruf hill, where centuries earlier there used to
be an Iberian settlement and a castle, documented in 1060 (here we are back
in the depths of history again!); only a few walls remain, indicating that the
glories of the past are most definitively behind it. Very close by there is a dolmen, also named Castellruf, surrounded by trees that seem to lean in towards
it in both homage and protection. This is a mysterious, magical, telluric spot;
one of those places that instantly captivates you without you really knowing
why. Perhaps it’s all due to the legend narrated by the wise old folklore expert
Joan Amades, who tells that on All Hallows’ Eve, at the spot where the Castle
of Castellruf stood, the ghosts of the former lords of the fortress used to gather
round a table. Then the knights and their ladies would begin to eat, in the
midst of an enigmatic silence, accompanied by the memory of their deeds in
a long-forgotten past. “Rich vestments covered the bare bones of the diners,”
concludes Amades, giving a final ghoulish touch to this mysterious dinner.
The truth is that a strange silence reigns while we make our way through
the woods. Not a soul crosses our path, but we do not see any apparitions from
the past either. Just as well. The only thing we can hear is the happy chirping
of the birds.
“It is very peaceful today,” says Estanis. “Normally you can hear the
highway in the distance, but the clouds have muffled it today”.
The dark trunks of the holm oaks against the green of the butcher’s
broom, the strawberry trees, and the heather make for a pleasant backdrop
as we stroll through the woods. Everything looks as if it is in exactly the right
place, with nothing to spoil the harmony of nature.
“Working as a watchman gives you a lot of time be alone and think, without ever losing concentration” explains Estanis. “It consists of ten hours a
day beginning in June, for three or four months. What I do is bring a notebook with me and take note of all the animals I see.”
“Do you see many?”
“One day I even spotted some roe deer. They reintroduced a few pairs
some years ago... I have also seen foxes, squirrels, wild boars, birds, butterflies... You never get bored here”.
“Do you mind spending so much time on your own?”
“It is not bad. I love nature and I enjoy the solitude. Also, when you are
alone for so long, you learn to pick up the tiniest sounds.”
“From time to time, when you see fire, it must really set your heart
racing.”
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“Yes, of course. You have got to send a warning straight away, and you
cannot take your eyes off the smoke. But before, when I worked as a watchman in the Serralada de Marina Park, there were more fires. There are not so
many here, and the few we get are generally put out straight away. It is easier
if you can get a warning out instantly, obviously.”
In the distance we can see the hill of Sant Miquel, topped by the castle
ruins, at an altitude of 413 metres, partly concealed by vegetation. This is
another strange and mysterious place, with a fortress dating back to 1109.
A little further on we stop at the dolmen of Can Gurri: it is surrounded by
heather and also seems huddled down, like the one at Castellruf, charged
with magic and enveloped by silence. Right beside it the woods seem to
open up to accommodate the Can Gurri spring, which is at the end of a path
flanked by riverside trees, ferns, ivy, moss and a dry, climbing plant that
I remember we used to smoke in secret in the summer when we were kids.
The truth is that the only thing it did was make us cough like crazy, but the
memory is still there. We used to call it ribalta, a word I cannot find in the
dictionary now... In any case, the coarse sand scattered over the paths, our
frequent trips to the springs, and smoking the ribalta are the most vivid
memories of my childhood holidays in Sant Fost de Campsentelles, not too
far from where we are now.
The water gushes out of the Gurri spring, protected by a wall of vegetation. On an old inscription engraved into the stone, dating from 1794, you can
read that it used to be called the Ferro spring; however, the rest of the text has
been eroded. A more recent sign gives a prudent warning: “The Gurri Spring.
May God protect you from being ill and doing ill.”
Near Can Gurri, almost without any transition, stand the first houses of
a residential estate surrounded by woods, and then straight afterwards we
come to the manicured greens of the Vallromanes golf club. Nature has been
civilized here, and the words: greens, holes, putts, handicaps, and shots under
par, come to mind. We are in a completely different world; a stone’s throw
from the woods and the mountainside, but where nature is measured and domesticated.
The Cornisa Lookout Point
We turn back into the park and cross the Bosc Bonic forest once again to get
to the lookout point of La Cornisa, very close to Teià. As we advance along the
path, the trees begin to thin out, and when we get to the road that leads up to
Sant Mateu we can once again see beneath us the sea, the densely-populated
coastline and the highway, thronged with cars.
The view from the lookout point is really spectacular, with scenery
stretching out on both sides. Looking inland, towards the mountain of Montserrat, the Montmeló racetrack stands out in the foreground and the massif
of Sant Llorenç del Munt in the mid-distance. To the south we can just make
out the Barcelona metropolis, and even further away the coast of Garraf. At
our feet lies the valley of Teià, Masnou and a succession of hills descending to
the sea, cleaved by streams that carry huge torrents of water down the valley
with surprising force when it rains.
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“Can you see that wooden watchtower over there?” says Estanis, pointing
eastwards towards the sea. “That’s Baldiri hill. A few years ago, a fire almost
reached the top. You can still clearly see the line where the flames reached. It
is at about 425 metres. The highest point on this side is right here, on the hill
of Sant Mateu, 499 metres. There’s a very nice Romanesque church here.”
Four cyclists come puffing up the track. They are so out of breath they
cannot even say hello. It is a steep climb and a big challenge, but they seem
determined to make it. They disappear from sight up the hill, pedalling slowly
but surely.
“If we carry on going up, we’ll come to the dolmen of La Roca d’en Toni
and the chapel of Sant Bartomeu,” says Estanis. “But it is getting late and I
need to get home.”
We leave it for another day and start descending towards the coast, to Vilassar de Mar. Very soon we come to the first houses of the village, and to a dry
river bed now transformed into a street down which a torrent of water must
race on rainy days, I imagine... Shortly afterwards we come out on the N-II
highway. The train tracks are still a barrier between us and the beach and the
sea, with a series of little well-maintained huts that have survived as relics of
summers past, when the villages along the coast were proverbial havens of
peace, a quality they have lost over the years.
When we leave, with the sun very low on the horizon, we know that we
will have to come back another day to experience once again the tranquillity
of the mountains, the peace of the park.
Sant Bartomeu de Cabanyes
Arriving in Òrrius from the AP-7 highway is like a sign that tells us we are
returning to the lovely ambience of the parks. We have left behind the overrestored Castle of La Roca, and we now find ourselves among forests on both
sides, with the village half-camouflaged at the bottom of the valley. It is a
shame that a huge quarry spoils the atmosphere with the noise of machinery
and trucks going up and down, loaded with rocks and dust. Shortly after, we
leave the road and turn to the left and take a path up to a much more tranquil
world. We are back in the Serralada Litoral Park, but this time we have approached it from inland, via the Vallès entrance.
Not far ahead, we stop at the Romanesque chapel of Sant Bartomeu de
Cabanyes. It is very small and faces the opposite direction (towards the west,
like all the chapels, to take advantage of every last ray of sun), but even so, it
has a certain charm that entices us to visit it. Right next to it, wall to wall, is
a farmhouse surrounded by mimosa and cypress trees and flowering plants. It
has a lovely feel about it that makes you think that the person who lives here
must be at peace with the world. Two tame dogs eye us without much interest
as we approach. They do not even bother to bark to warn their owner.
When we pop our heads in through the open door of the chapel, we find
Montserrat, an elderly woman (later on she tells us she is 84) with white hair,
clear eyes and a welcoming smile.
“I was just about to light a candle in the chapel. I light one every day,” she
explains, looking down at her hands, blackened with soot. “Excuse the state
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of my hands. It is from the stove, which is not working properly… Have you
come to visit the chapel?”
When we answer yes, she invites us in with a smile, and asks us to sit
down on one of the few pews left in the chapel. She has a lovely voice and a
calming nature, very far removed from the stresses imposed by city life, and
inspires trust from the minute you meet her.
“My husband grew up here”, she says, gazing around at the ancient stone
of the chapel. “He was one-and-a-half when his parents came here in 1925. He
passed away in 1995, but he knew the park really well. He explained everything to our son, who also knows everything about the park. It is a shame that
he is not here now. He lives in La Roca del Vallès. I live here alone, but I am
very happy here, even though I am so old now and I need to work miracles to
get everything going... I was born in Òrrius, but I came here because I was in
love and because I like the mountains. I am not the owner. I pay rent to Can
Cunill. A lot of what you see, and what you cannot see, belongs to them.”
“Do you like having the chapel right next door?”
“It is company for me... Don’t forget that the chapel is a thousand years
old. It is a monument of Catalonia. But it is a shame that in the last 84 years,
since my husband came to live here, they still have not put any lighting in... I
even wrote to the president, Jordi Pujol, to tell him. He came here and gave
me a copy of his biography. He was very nice, but there is still no electricity...
This is the only place where there is no electricity. And they say that electricity is the universal power... If that is true, then where am I living?”
“So how do you see at night?”
“I have a small generator, but it only lasts for a couple of hours... They really should install some power... I can watch the television for a while, but not
for long. I listen to the news on the radio at midday, and a bit in the morning,
and then the evening news.”
“And what do you do with yourself all day?”
“Some cleaning, some washing... I never get bored. I have done all sorts of
things. Sometimes life gives you a few knocks, but you just have to keep going. I am very active. It would not do me any good being idle.”
“Do you go to the village often?”
“Not too much, to be honest. I used to go down to the doctor’s, for the
children, but not so much now. I am not someone who goes to doctors, or takes
medicine... I believe in taking herbs: thyme, camomile... I have also got mint
and lemon verbena around here. I live alongside nature. Herbs will never
make you feel bad or ill.”
“I get the impression that it must get very cold here in winter.”
“I’ll say! Luckily I have a stove now. But it is all blocked up and my son
needs to come and fix it.”
“Does the solitude bother you?”
“No, I do not feel lonely at all,” she says with a radiant smile. “If God still
gives me a helping hand, I will carry on living here... and nowadays it is not
like before, when everyone walked everywhere. Now there are loads of cars,
and on Saturdays and Sundays the park is full of people. People come to pick
asparagus, to do rock climbing, to go hiking... The first thing young people
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do today is grab their ropes and go rock climbing. The cities are overcrowded,
they find it overwhelming.”
“Do you still work the land?”
“Not now, I am too old. My husband used to work the fields, and he used
to go into the woods to collect pine cones and hunt. He worked from the age of
seven. We used to have two or three vegetable patches further up, but I have
had to let them go wild. Back in the day we adapted an area here at the side
and set up 22 barbecue pits and rustic tables, like a picnic site. But it hasn’t
been used for years now…”
“People don’t look after the woods like they used to.”
“You can say that again... And it is a shame because the woods are our life,
our lungs, our oxygen... And people just don’t care. They think it is all rubbish
and they are wrong. If we do not preserve them, we will all die. If my husband
was born again and saw what people have done to the woods, he would die all
over again from the disappointment.”
“Are you not afraid of thieves, living here all alone?”
“No, they do not scare me,” she laughs. “Everything is all modern
now and thieves go where there are people with money, like the Rambla
in Barcelona. And yet…” and suddenly her tone of voice changes, “What
is wrong with people that they want so much? Where is it all going to
end? It horrifies me and makes me livid to think of how many thieves
there are around, and how rude people have become. If I were in charge, I
would pay the people who govern a salary, not a fortune. A decent wage,
and let them get on with it... In the past, people were kinder and more
respectable.”
I notice a little statue of Saint Bartholomew in a tiny chapel. Montserrat
notices my interest.
“He is the patron saint of butchers, and that is why he is holding a knife.
On Saint Bartholomew’s Day there is a saying that goes ‘Saint Bartholomew
lets the devil get away’”.
When I ask her if they still hold festivals at the chapel, she shakes her
head.
“They used to hold a Mass for Saint Bartholomew on the 24th of August,
but it is difficult now for the priest to come more often... But then, in the past,
a lot more people used to come to the chapel. Not now. People had more enthusiasm back then...”
“And the open-air gathering, where was that?”
“I have never seen one. It must have been before 1966, when I came to live
here. From what I have heard, a crowd of people used to come once a year,
they used to go to the spring and spend the day there. But the thing is, in the
past we did not have so many days off. People even worked on Saturdays and
Sundays. The land ties you up.”
A Rock Like an Elephant
The conversation is interrupted when a young man with a backpack pops his
head round the door of the chapel. Montserrat greets him and introduces him
as Joan Carles, from La Roca del Vallès, who often comes to hike in the Ser-
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ralada Litoral Park to get out in the fresh air. He tells us enthusiastically that
the place is full of interesting corners and recommends a few walks.
When Joan Carles complains about the weight of his backpack, Montserrat smiles and quotes a wise motto: “A little bundle grows along the road.”
“I have just come from Céllecs hill,” explains Joan Carles, “where there is
an Iberian settlement and a really lovely view. Some people are rock climbing
there as well. It is worth going up there. Another very nice sight is La Cabana
del Moro, on the side of La Roca. It is a rock sculpted out of the mountain.
And close by there is a hollowed-out rock where people must have lived years
ago…”
He offers to accompany us to a nearby spot, going down towards La
Roca, where he says there is a rock where someone amused themselves years
ago carving an elephant.
We accept his invitation and when we stand up to leave, Montserrat remarks that years ago she used to have a couple of dozen goats, hens and rabbits, but when her son went off to do his military service, her husband decided
to sell the goats. Then she notices how much the mimosa trees that are planted
on each side of the house have grown, and looks lovingly at the cypress her son
planted.
“My husband used to say: “You will never see it fully grown!” she recalls,
“because the goats used to eat it, but I am a stubborn woman and I used to
protect it, and look at the size of it now!”
This is her little world, her own universe that she has forged around the
house and the chapel of Saint Bartholomew.
“Do not forget to go to the spring,” she calls after us. “It flows night and
day and the water is very good.”
“But what’s the best way to get there?”
“When my husband was alive, we used to go to the right, but nobody
clears away the bramble bushes now... A lot of people come up to fill their water bottles. There is a lot of unemployment around. Life is hard. If they can
get free water, it represents a little saving.”
“From what I can see, the spring brings back happy memories”.
“It certainly does! It has always been close by. The water is lovely and
cold... I remember years ago some careless boys camped there and dismantled
the stone on the top and broke the pipe. My husband was furious when he saw
it. He told them he was going to get his gun from the house and that when he
got back they had better not be around, otherwise he might really lose his
temper... They could see that he was in such a rage that when he got back they
had dismantled the tents and gone.”
We walk down with Joan Carles towards La Roca and when we reach
a green meadow we take a left-hand turn and head towards a copse with a
scattering of huge, rounded rocks. Joan Carles shows us the one with a carved
elephant. With great skill, somebody entertained themselves years ago by using the rounded shape of the rock to create a trunk and ears. On the neighbouring rock, we read: Fecit I. Fossas and A. Gómez. Two names, but no date.
How long can it have been here? Why did they do it?
“It is a mystery,” says Joan Carles. “Some people think that this place is
charged with a special energy. They even came from the Cuarto Milenio pro-
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gramme to film it. There is a clearing nearby, where there is a pool and some
steps around it. It is a strange place... Someone told me that when it was a
mass of bramble bushes they used to hold black masses there... But now it is
clean and tidy.”
Near the elephant rock there are other rocks with unusual shapes, some of
them placed in a circle, and there are other carved ones as well. We were told
later on that it was two stonemasons from La Roca who spent the 1950s shaping some of the rocks in this area, but we wouldn’t be surprised if someone
came across this place and thought it was the ideal enchanted spot for witches,
for which this county is already famous.
We thank Joan Carles and make our way to the pool, which is full to the
brim with water. There is a circular square to the side, a few steps and some
tall trees surrounding it. It cannot be denied that this is a mysterious spot.
But there is nobody here: no witches, no necromancers, no solitary walkers…
just peace and quiet.
We turn around and climb back to the spring of Sant Bartomeu, which is
between the road and the chapel, surrounded by huge trees. Montserrat was
right: the water is gushing out and it is lovely and cold. We stay here for a
while to rest. It feels good to be here, surrounded by nature; so good that it
seems the closest village must be hundreds of kilometres away. But no, Òrrius
is just along the road.
Dolmens and Mysteries
We move deeper into the park, to Céllecs, a hill full of antennae and vertical
rocks that are a temptation to young rock-climbers. There are different climbing sectors and a lot of routes opened, some of them with very odd names
such as Laio (Grandfather), Fill de Papà (Daddy’s Son), Si lo sé no vengo (Had
I know I would not have come), Trempera Matinera (Morning Glory), Menstruació Frustrada (Frustrated Period), Whisky el Pato, el más barato (Duck
Whisky, the chintzy), Búscate la Vía (Look for the Road), Delirium Trèmens...
Back in the 1980s these kinds of outlandish names used to be given to rock
bands; now, as far as we can see, they are climbing routes. In any case, they
all seem to spring from the same world!
It is tempting to climb up to the top to visit the Iberian settlement, but it
is getting late and we need to keep going. We climb the Porc hill amidst holm
oak and pine forests, until we reach La Roca d’en Toni, a dolmen located in
the municipality of Vilassar de Dalt that stands in a little square encircled by
bricks that the Town Council built especially, as if in a perpetual shop window.
Close by, in a copse of holm oaks, there are some medieval tombs. For many
years they were buried under crop fields and were not discovered until 1974.
A park sign states that the first excavation in this place was carried out by
the Centre Excursionista de Catalunya (Catalan Hiking Club) at the beginning
of the 20th century. The second was done by the eminent professor Pere Bosch
i Gimpera. A third, took place in 1982, by the Archaeological Service of the
Generalitat. As you can see, various generations of archaeologists have succeeded each other in trying to discover all the secrets of this mysterious spot.
The dolmen of La Roca d’en Toni is the most emblematic feature in the
area of Can Boquet; according to archaeologists it proves that the coastal
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mountains were already inhabited some 3,500 years BC by a megalithic people who have left various examples of dolmens across the mountain range. The
first person to document it, in 1904, was historian Francesc Carreras Candi,
who wrote: “It is known in the region by the name of La Roca d’en Toni, and
it is so comprehensive, located in such a visible spot, and so noticeable to the
rural folk in this area, that it seems impossible it remains unknown.”
After a profound metaphysical reflection before the dolmen,– who are we?
Where do we come from? And, especially, where are we going? –, we decide
to turn back until we see, at the bottom of a valley leading down to the sea,
a series of residential estates with the Castle of Burriac behind them, perched
up on a conical hill with a powerful, dominant appearance. Out beyond it, the
blue of the sea is a little misty and washed-out today.
We descend towards Cabrils, a town halfway down the mountain slopes,
a very common location along the Maresme coast, with a stream alongside for
company. Looking at it from above, the words used by Josep Pla to describe
these inland towns along the Maresme come to mind: “Looked at from out
at sea they are invisible. From these tiny little rural villages –so delightful,
tucked away, snoozing to the buzzing of bees, the perfume of dried herbs, in
an enchanted peace– you can see a beautifully elegant slope tilting gently towards the coast, and to the sea in the distance.”
These idyllic spots were overlooked years ago, built discreetly inland to
avoid the frequent incursions by pirates. In the last few years, however, the
proximity of the coast has filled up the site with residential estates that climb
up from the coast to the mountain range, advertising themselves with huge
billboards boasting “sea views”.
In the upper part of the town our attention is caught by a kind of castle
still surviving in a state of decay. Everything about it evokes medieval times:
towers, battlements, parapets, heraldic coats of arms... and even a chapel, but
it’s nothing more than the former farmhouse of Can Jaumar, renovated in
1923 by Jaume Bofarull to give it the air of a castle. It is the dream of a visionary which time seems to have destroyed, as demonstrated by a garden full of
spectacular trees invaded by brambles and a sense of abandonment.
We cross Cabrils with Montcabrer to the side (what with Cabrils, Cabrera
de Mar and the hill of Montcabrer, it’s obvious this was once the domain of
mountain goats!) and leave the highway behind us until we get to Vilassar de
Mar. Here we are back in the land of traffic lights, cars, jams and noise... Patiently we drive on among the apartment blocks until we get to the N-II highway. After a few kilometres, we head back inland towards Cabrera de Mar. We
cross through the town – also on a hill – and leave it behind us in search of the
starting point of the walk up to the Castle of Burriac, which begins somewhere
among the residential estates, a silhouette that dominates the landscape and
can be seen from numerous places along the Maresme.
The Castle of Burriac
We park the car on an esplanade close to a residential estate and start the slow
ascent up to the castle along the coarse sandy path that lies between pines,
holm oaks and shrubs of strawberry trees, heather and butcher’s broom. We
walk with our heads down, taking in all the details of the path, surprised by
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the large number of ants’ nests here. These are ants with large heads that are
very common in summer; they are engrossed in dragging well-defined grains
of sand up and down, and piling them up at the entrance to the nest to build
their own made-to-measure landscape. It is an ant’s life.
The climb only takes half an hour, but with the sun on our backs it seems
much longer. The sight of the castle, perched up on the rocks, dominating the
surrounding lands, draws us onwards and upwards like a powerful magnet. In
just a short period of time we have gone from the coast to the mountains, from
residential developments to forest. The air already seems cleaner.
When we get to the top, we stop before a stone monolith from 1980 celebrating the 500th anniversary of the municipalities in the barony of Maresme;
The commemoration is specifically tied to a document signed in Toledo on the
31st of July, 1480 by Ferdinand the Catholic, which legally released the castles
of Burriac, Vilassar de Dalt and Mataró from the feudal system, all of which
were in the hands of Lord Pere Joan Ferrer, who then reported directly to the
King.
Once again, it is obvious we are in a land charged with history, full of anecdotes. A few metres further on, we climb up the path built in 1993 to provide
access to the machinery needed to restore the castle. The slope gets steeper
and steeper, and the path rockier, but the effort is rewarded by a birds-eye
view of the Maresme coast and the Mediterranean on one side and the town of
Argentona and a series of mountains on the other, presided over by the mountain of Montseny in the background. We are surrounded by the immensity of
nature, which makes me think of the words of Italian poet Giuseppe Ungaretti: “Immensity fills me with light.” That is a good way of putting it.
Having ascended the last steps, barely fifty of them in total, we enter the
castle grounds, dominated by a large fortified tower. The view from here is
even more stunning. We are surrounded by rolling hills blanketed in forest,
dotted with residential estates full of private swimming pools that seem to be
besieging them, and villages nestled down at the bottom. The wind is blowing
and we can hear the muffled murmur of the highway, full of cars that from up
here look like the little ants we came across on the way up. The mountains, the
port of Mataró and the different towns capture our gaze for a good long while.
The history of the Castle of Burriac, which was known as Sant Vicenç until 1313, is one that is deeply rooted in long-distant times. Indeed, long before
the castle was built there was already an Iberian settlement on Burriac hill,
at an altitude of 401 metres, dating back to the 6th century BC according to
archaeologists. From that far-off time there are still some sections of wall and
the remains of houses and grain silos left.
During the period of Roman dominion, it seems that a watchtower was
built at the top of the hill which allowed the small garrison who lived there
to control the coast, the Serralada Litoral, the Argentona stream and the Via
Sèrgia, which was the road that linked the coast with the inland region. However, the first documented evidence of the castle was in 1017, when Countess
Ermessenda left the Castle of Sant Vicenç to her son, Ramon Berenguer I.
The fortress was built around the watchtower and for some years it was
the property of the Counts of Barcelona. In then passed into the hands of the
Lords of Sant Vicenç. Indeed, in the testament of Guillem de Sant Vicenç,
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written in 1228, we find the following paragraph: “May all men know that I,
Guillem de Sant Vicenç, donate and cede to you, Berenguer de Sant Vicenç,
my son, on the occasion of your marriage, the Castle of Sant Vicenç, with its
land and cultivated plots, its waste land and its belongings, that I have because of Guillem de Moncada. And all the allods and fiefs within the lands of
this castle on the mountain and on the plain, and all around; and the Castle
of Vilassar, with its lands and cultivated plots and waste land that I possess
in allodium; and all the singular honours and possessions that I have therein,
both allods and fiefs.”
In 1348, when Berenguer de Sant Vicenç died from the black plague,
his castles were auctioned; they were bought by Pere Desbosc el Vell, who
was the King’s notary, in 1352. At the end of the war against King John
II, which lasted from 1462 to 1472, Pere Joan Ferrer, a soldier married to
one of Desbosc’s daughters, renovated and extended the castle, considerably increasing its size. However, in the 18th century, it fell completely into
disrepair and the castle was abandoned, although the chapel continued to
its activities until the Ecclesiastical Confiscations of 1836. At that time it
was no longer considered necessary to have a fortress as far away from town
as the Castle of Burriac. It has now become a landmark in the county and a
centre of attraction for hikers.
Witches and Legends
Walking around the ruins of the castle, you can still identify the homage tower, its most characteristic feature, and the remains of the royal chamber, the
troops’ quarters, the chapel, the cisterns, the storeroom and the grain silos.
This is a spot full with history, with walls that whisper of a long-distant past.
A castle like Burriac is inevitably associated with different myths and
legends. One of these legends tells of a ‘bad woman’ who lived here, who used
to bewitch the soldiers, assailing them with love potions and forcing them to
abandon the siege. Another tells that during the times of the Counts of Barcelona, some Saracen pirates tried to attack the castle to take a gold chair that
was supposedly inside it. However, the lord of the castle managed to distract
them with a stratagem that consisted of shoeing the horses backwards, so the
assailants believed that the soldiers had abandoned the fortress when in fact
they had gone into it.
Another very popular legend associated with the castle is that of the
Witches of Burriac. It is said that for many years there were several witches
who had the whole county in a state of fear; one day, a lad from the village
was daring enough to climb up to the castle and hide among the scrubs to see
what was going on. When the sun set, some witches appeared and started flying around the castle. When full darkness fell, the witches gathered together
around the fire and a huge cauldron, into which they threw serpents’ heads,
rats’ tails, frogs’ legs, lizards’ eyes, little boys’ legs and other delicacies. After
stirring the cauldron for a good long while, they jumped into the cauldron all
crying “¡Altafulla!”. At that moment they were turned into ravens and went
flying off to do their evil deeds.
Having overcome his fear, the lad came out from his hiding place and
wanted to get in the cauldron himself so he could turn into a raven, but in-
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stead of shouting “Altafulla!” he made a mistake and cried “Baixafulla!”, and
turned into an ass. When the witches came back and found him, they tied him
up and did all sorts of nasty things to him. Fortunately, when the sun came up
the witches fled and the boy resumed his natural state.
The Springs of Argentona
After descending from the castle and having picked up the car, we head off
for lunch at Can Rodon, an 18th century farmhouse turned restaurant in the
town of Cabrera de Mar. Having recharged our batteries, and after studying
the map, we decide to finish our visit to the Serralada Litoral Park with a trip
to Font Picant in the neighbouring town of Argentona.
Although the actual town of Argentona is outside the borders of the park,
it is an important town that had its most glorious period in the late 19th century thanks to the clean air, woodlands and many springs surrounding it,
which made it a favoured spot for the long summer vacations of the Catalan
bourgeoisie. As witness to this, there are a number of splendid houses, especially on Passeig del Baró de Viver, which was developed at the end of the 19th
century. Some of them are quite spectacular, such as the Modernist house
of Can Baladia, which was owned by the textile industrialist from Mataró,
Francesc Minguell, and then passed into the hands of the Baladia family. Today, as a sign of the times, the house has been turned into a restaurant which
is used to host big functions.
The Passeig del Baró de Viver ends at the famous Font Picant spring, in
an area of shady plane trees, springs (Ferro, Esquirol, Sureres, etc.) and wide
esplanades that seem to have been designed solely for the purpose of having
rural lunches; this activity has definitely faded into obscurity in these modern times, marked mainly by haste, the remoteness from nature, and an addiction to television.
History tells us, however, that there was a time when Font Picant was a
major attraction for summer visitors at that time, who appreciated both the
curative properties of its waters and its natural setting. Josep Maria Espinàs
wrote: “Argentona is a town of springs and spa waters. My earliest memories
involve a glass of water and a bag of aniseed drops in Font Picant. The vast
majority of summer visitors to Argentona had not chosen the resort – at least,
when I was young – to take a systematic ‘water cure’; once the gentlemen had
made the train journey to Mataró, and then from Mataró to Argentona by
tram, what they really wanted to do was sit and read the newspaper in a quiet
spot in the garden, out of the neighbours’ sight, and even risk taking their
jacket off.”
These were evidently different times, and a different way of spending
the summer. The fame of its waters put Argentona on the map, however, and
around the mid 19th century a big spa resort of 60 rooms was built, which
would end up closing in 1898. After a long period of disuse, in 2002 the Argentona Council bought Font Picant and restored the whole complex, so once
again it is the perfect spot for a stroll. For those made of sterner stuff the walk
up to the Castle of Burriac is a real temptation, climbing to an altitude that rewards you with a stunning view of a large part of the Serralada Litoral Park.
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El Montnegre
i El Corredor Park:
Chapels, Farmhouses
and Cork Oaks
Holm oak, Quercus ilex L.
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We leave Llinars del Vallès with the aim of going through El Montnegre and
El Corredor Park. According to our plan, we will start from the western side
of the park, from the Castellvell de Llinars and, after having covered the peak
of El Corredor, we will go down to the village of Vallgorguina, to conclude this
journey. On another day we will explore the area of El Montnegre which, together with El Corredor, comprises the 15,010 hectares of this wide and mountainous park which it is better to visit at leisure.
The first stop, having taken the small road leaving from the Can Bordoi
hill, is as planned, the Castellvell or El Far Castle. The ruins, located at an
altitude of 400 metres, are invaded, when we arrive, by a group of girls and
boys from a nearby summer camp. The view is really impressive, with the
village of Llinars del Vallès, the highway and the high speed train bridge at
the foot and the 1,706 metres of El Montseny in the background; however, we
must confess that there is not much left of the castle. In any case, the moat cut
from the rock, the remains of the walls and the tower, and a mysterious windowless room closed with bars, indicate that it must have been an important
fortress. The history books explain that the castle was already mentioned in
documents from 1023 and that it was built in the Middle Ages on top of a former Iberian settlement, making use of an old Roman watchtower. Once again
we see the palimpsest of history, the overlapping of cultures and centuries, as
it happened in Olèrdola and the Burriac Castle.
The excavation of Castellvell was undertaken between 1970 and 1974
and archaeologists found pieces of ceramics from the 13th to 15th centuries as well as some mysterious ritual masks that are kept at the museum
in the manor house of Can Bordoi, very close to here, on the other side of
the road. What attracts our attention the most about the history of the
castle is that it probably housed a Cathar community who had crossed the
Pyrenees fleeing from persecution in southern France. We are, in any case,
on the always slippery ground of hypothesis, although, if we move to more
stable terrain, we know that the fortress was destroyed by an earthquake
in 1448. The rest, as is commonly said, is silence, a silence surrounded by
pine trees, oaks and strawberry trees that tinge the mountain range of El
Corredor with green.
The Sanctuary of El Corredor
The church of Sant Andreu del Far, emerging beyond the forest of oaks and
pine trees, is the second stop on our journey. It was called Bonaconjunta in
1164, but the current building, along with the battlemented belfry, is from the
17th century. There is a restaurant next to it, but today everything seems to
be moving in slow motion, with nobody in sight.
We continue along the road until we get to Can Bosc, an enormous old
farmhouse, surrounded by terraces, projecting what life must have been like
in the past at the massif of El Corredor. Presently, there is a project to turning
it into a major facility in the park. Some kilometres further ahead there is a
leisure area which is usually full at weekends and, beyond that, at the highest
point of the mountain range, the sanctuary of El Corredor, the real reference
point of these lands, with an exceptional view.
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Upon arrival at the sanctuary, at an altitude of 633 metres, we are surprised by the break in the forest that gives way to the green meadows surrounding this architectural site. The place is presided over by a church dating
back to 1544 but subsequently rebuilt in late Gothic style; its belfry is embellished with battlements and gargoyles, resembling a lighthouse that can be
seen from very far away.
It was a countryman, Salvi Arenes, from the parish of Sant Andreu del
Far, who in 1524 built the first small chapel dedicated to Saint Mary on the
peak of El Corredor. In 1540, however, the farmers of Ca l’Arenes and Can
Bosc demolished it and built a bigger one. The spirit of improvement did not
stop there, however. In 1576, before the chapel was finished, the Reverend
Lleonard Claus decided to expand it. Some years later, in 1583, he added the
house of the chapel keeper and a hostel for pilgrims, which is basically what
we can see today.
The sanctuary grounds have the form of a Latin cross, with two small side
chapels in the transept. In another chapel set behind the altar, there is a statue
of the Mare de Déu del Socors of around fifty centimetres; it is a reproduction
of the one placed in 1815 to substitute the original statue which, apparently,
Salvi Arenes had made himself. In 1920, the image was taken to Llinars del
Vallès, where it disappeared unfortunately during the Civil War.
At the back of the church, as proof of its adaptation to modern times, a
machine dispenses votive candles to be lit in honour of the Virgin, one euro for
the medium size and two euros for the large.
In the middle of the courtyard, a column raises all suspicions. Is it of Roman origin? Has it something to do with the Templars? The truth is that there
are all kinds of theories, but no certainty. The most likely, as usual, is that
before the chapel was here another type of building had already existed in the
same place.
At the Park Information Centre, located within the sanctuary, one of the
members of staff, Lluc, shows us on the map the distance that we still need to
cover until we reach the dolmen of the Pedra Gentil (The Gentle Stone), the
most famous in the El Corredor mountain range.
“In general, people who come here are mostly interested in the dolmens,”
he points out, “and the Pedra Gentil is the star. Some are happy to have lunch at
the restaurant or picnic nearby. Sooner or later they go for a walk in the forest.”
“What kinds of people come here?”
“Of all ages… Mostly, families: parents and small children. They mainly
come at the weekend, of course.”
“It doesn’t look crowded today.”
“No, this Sunday people haven’t felt like it… perhaps because it drizzled
a little, early in the morning. But if you come on Easter Monday, when the
religious festival takes place, it is packed.”
Lluc tells us that he lives in Ca l’Arenes, a farmhouse very close to the
sanctuary where it is likely that Salvi Arenes lived, the man who built the first
chapel of El Corredor.
“My family rented it only twenty years ago,” he tells us at the suggestion
of a possible kinship. “The house is old, I think from the 16th century but it is
now a nature school.”
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Even though there are not many people around the sanctuary, the restaurant is full. It is a quarter past one and it seems that people have found their
appetite. There are groups of people at the tables and they tell us that the next
two sittings are booked. If we wanted to eat, we would have to wait until after
four in the afternoon.
We give up and continue ahead, towards Vallgorguina.
Cork Oaks
It is clear that when the weekend comes, parks are filled with crowds wishing
to have fun and eat well, so much so that is not easy to find a table at the park’s
restaurants if you do not book it in advance. We pass by El Trull farmhouse
and try to have lunch in Can Pradell de la Serra, a large feudal farmhouse
from the 19th century with some horses grazing nearby, but they are also full.
So, we continue going down to Vallgorguina, between the woods full of
cork oaks, witnesses to the great richness that the cork industry brought to
these counties since the mid-19th century. Clearly, business is not what it used
to be, but cork oaks are still peeled with axes and long sticks, generally made
of strawberry tree wood.
As experts explain, when the oak is forty years old you can remove the
first layer and this process will be repeated every twelve or fourteen years,
when it has grown again. According to historians, in the late 19th century
more than 1,500 million corks were exported through Catalan ports, many
of which came from El Corredor and Les Gavarres. At first, the cork from
these mountains was sent to factories in the county of L’Empordà, with Sant
Feliu de Guíxols, Palamós and Palafrugell as its major destinations but, in
time, cork factories also set up in Sant Celoni, such as those of Can Torras
(1905) and Cal Menut (1907). In 1912, as a consequence of this fever, a workers’ association was created in Sant Celoni called Unión Obrera Corchera (Cork
Industry Workers’ Union).
According to an old tradition from these lands, the beetles that hollow
the oak meet every seven years in the mountains of El Montnegre and El Corredor, where there is a fight between the group from Les Gavarres and those
from La Selva, until one of them wins. If the Les Gavarres group wins, the
beetles will eat the cork oaks in La Selva for the next seven years; if the one
from La Selva wins, the opposite happens. A children’s book, La Xara i el
Pau i la guerra dels banyarriquers (Xara and Pau, and the battle of the woodworms), tells the story perfectly and is distributed among the students who
participate in the programme “Experience the Park”.
The Dolmen of the Pedra Gentil
When we reach the dolmen of the Pedra Gentil, we find some cars parked
nearby under the trees, as well as parents shouting and children complaining.
They could be hungry; it is lunch time. We leave them behind and walk up
along the eroded ground that the rain has tainted with a rusty colour, among
thick bark pines and roots that jut out and seem to extend like fingers, as if
they were trying to trip us over.
The dolmen of the Pedra Gentil, the most famous in the country, is known
for its elegant forms – higher than the rest – but also because it is said that the
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witches from El Maresme, who travelled on their flying brooms, would meet
there every Friday. Josep Maria Pellicer, the author of Estudios histórico-arqueológicos sobre Iluro (Historical-Archaeological Studies on Iluro), explained
this in the late 19th century: “When the witches decide to provoke a tempest
– as an old man from the village told us – they meet at the Pedra Gentil, jump
over it and, in contact with the mysterious stone, they overcome gravity ipso
facto and, light as a vaporous substance, rise up into the atmospheric region.
The cirrus clouds come to them with their ice needles which, shaken by the
wind, are charged with fluid. Suddenly, lightning is unleashed and the storm
begins, quietly presided by the witches, wandering at the mercy of the hurricane from cloud to cloud, crossing their arms, but encouraging the spirit of
the storm with their presence until they are frightened off by the aromatic
substances and spells used by the farmhand to cast them away. This is how
the old man, more a poet than a physicist, explained the formation of storms
in this county.”
What is clear is that the Pedra Gentil, known until the late 19th century
as the Pedra Gelada (The Iced Stone), is an important megalithic construction, somehow related to paganism, enough to stir the imagination of many
people. According to a legend, the coastal fishermen not only believed that
it was a meeting place for witches but also that they had to account for their
deeds every time they met. When this happened, the other witches would
brew up a strong storm, so that nobody in the surrounding farmhouses could
see what was going on at the Pedra Gentil.
We can say that the dolmen is located at an altitude of 220 metres, that
it probably dates back 4,500 years and that it consists of seven big vertical
stones supporting a horizontal stone to form a simple chamber. Josep Pradell,
the owner of the closest farmhouse, Can Pradell de la Serra, repaired it in 1855
because the roof stone had collapsed and, according to documents of the time,
the work cost him money and some ridicule. There are also those who say that
the dolmen was moved, to put it more on display, to a location which was not
the original. Be that as it may, there is no doubt that it is a highly frequented
and photographed monument.
From the Pedra Gentil you can see the high belfry of the ruins of Santa
Eulàlia de Tapioles emerging among the trees, documented in 878 but reconstructed in the Baroque period. Next to it there is a graveyard where those
who are fond of mysteries related to energy centres, paganism and satanic
rituals sometimes met. Witchcraft, they say.
We descend from the Pedra Gentil towards Vallgorguina through the forest trail, until we reach the road from Sant Celoni. We stop for a snack at a
village bar and, just as we are leaving, the persistent rain convinces us to end
our walk for today. We will go back to the park another day to visit El Montnegre area.
Vallgorguina
In the early hours of a working day, Vallgorguina, a municipality that stretches along the road leading to El Maresme, appears half asleep. The church is
the only place where some movement can be detected, as this is mainly where
105
the Council, the Casal del Poble and El Montnegre, and El Corredor Park Office are located. In this last office there is a permanent exhibition on the dolmen of the Pedra Gentil that explains the history of the famous megalithic
monument, in a low light setting that evokes an atmosphere of mystery.
A walk through the village confirms that the Pedra Gentil is one of the
main attractions in Vallgorguina: the dolmen is drawn on the façade of a
supermarket; the cake shop has posted an ad announcing the Pedra Gentil
Choir; and the notice board has a poster for a senior citizens’ association called
Caliu el Dolmen. Saturated with dolmens, we stop to peek at the shop window
of a real estate agency where surprisingly there are only houses for sale. No
signs of dolmens.
After a while, in the manor house bar we meet Lluís, a friend and resident
of the village who has volunteered to join us through El Montnegre. We unfold
the park map on the table and plan the day’s route: we will go through the
neighbourhood of La Pocafarina (Little Flour -quite a curious name) towards
the valley of Olzinelles, then up in the direction of Sant Martí de Montnegre
and continue until Hortsavinyà, an old neighbourhood on the other side of the
mountain, facing the coast.
“We will explore El Montnegre in depth,” he assures us. “You will see it is
really worth it. It is a beautiful mountain.”
The three of us – Lluís, Andoni and me – get on a jeep and take the road
leading to the neighbourhood of La Pocafarina. A large roofless farmhouse,
which Lluís identifies as Can Palomer, indicates that the peasants have gradually abandoned the forest houses to move to the village. Next, we pass in front
of Can Nanes, another old farmhouse. This one, however, does not seem abandoned at all.
“If we turned here we would end up in Can Basuny, where the artist Perejaume lives, but he is not here now.” Lluís tells us. “I have been told he is away.”
“Does he live here all year long?”
“He loves El Montnegre. Joan Brossa, the poet, referred to him as the
‘Sigrid of El Montnegre’. In fact it was Perejaume, together with his friend
Lluís Riera, who scattered the ashes of Brossa through El Montnegre soon
after his death, in 1998.”
Back home, in a book by Perejaume, Obreda, I would find the poem “El
darrer Brossa” (The Final Brossa), which the author himself says refers to
“El Turó del Rosal, just around the strawberry trees where we scattered his
ashes.”
«Hill of Llevant, which speaks
on behalf of the trees. || Hill of
Grimola, which decides how we
can and must cut || all kinds
of winds, whether long-ways
or crossways. || Hill Gros,
which shows how noises must
be directed || to make them
louder. || Hill of En Vives, which
emerges from its own words, ||
as if it were a language. || Hill of
El Rosal, which, upon reading,
illuminates our eye || as if we had
struck it with a match.»
1
Turó de Llevant, que parla per boca dels arbres.
Turó de Grimola, que disposa com poden i deuen ser tallats
tota mena de vents, tant de llarg com de través.
Turó Gros, que mostra com han de ser encarats els sorolls per
fer-los més sonadors.
Turó d’en Vives, que sorgeix de les seves mateixes paraules, en
semblança de llengua.
Turó del Rosal, que, en el frec de la lectura, ens encén l’ull com
un misto que hi freguéssim.1
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The Valley of Olzinelles
We go down through a wood of cork oaks until we reach Olzinelles, a semiconcealed green valley close to Sant Celoni, with a clear water brook that divides it into two, as well as meadows and forests on both sides.
Our first stop is Ca l’Agustí, an elegant house at the end of the valley, with
a dark yellow façade and noble balconies, but we are out of luck as nobody answers. We only hear the sound of a Eurasian nuthatch that insists on drilling
the bark of a big pine tree nearby.
“We can come back later,” Lluís concludes. “I am sure there will be someone
here in the evening. This is not a summer house. They live here all year round.”
We turn back, always following the course of the brook, until we reach
the church of Sant Esteve d’Olzinelles. Its current façade dates from 1574,
although they made some alterations in 1786, the year that appears on it. Its
historical documentation however, dates back to 1083. Just in front there is a
cemetery, protected by a high wall and a locked gate. There are some niches
on both sides and a cross at the back with a date, 1911, and an inscription that
reproduces some verses by Verdaguer:
«Death is the ship that carries
our destiny, || it is the harbour of
the world and the key of the sky.
|| Sweet dream of peace, for those
who can sleep it, || is the very
sweet death of the just.»
2
La mort és la nau que du nostra sort,
del món es lo port, del cel és la clau.
Dolç somni de pau, qui’l puga dormir,
lo morir dels justos, dolcíssim morir.2
“We used to come to play football on this levelled area when we were
kids,” comments Lluís emotionally as he recognises the place. “Sometimes
the ball went into the cemetery and we had to jump over the wall… and a little
further ahead there was a big log that we called the bishop’s pulpit...”
We leave him lost in his childhood memories and walk to the rear of the
church, where there is a farmhouse with a voussoir-arched door and a plaque
indicating that it is the rectory. On the façade, a sundial dated 2002 warns
with two immortal phrases: “Time flees, eternity approaches” and “While we
have time, let us do good.” They are signed by Doctor Zaragoza, who was the
priest of the church.
There are hens around the house; further away, green fields, the brook
and the oak forest. Ramon immediately appears, joined by his wife, Angelina.
They welcome us and Ramon explains that in the past they used to live further up, in a farmhouse called Can Caseta, but fourteen years ago they came
down to the rectory.
“We are better here,” he says, “because in Can Caseta we did not have
electricity. They installed it two years after we left.”
“There cannot be many peasants around.”
“No peasants live in the farmhouses anymore. Some of the houses are occupied but not by local people. Children leave… Only one has decided to stay,
the young man at Can Nanes.”
“Has everything changed a lot in the last few years?”
“Yes, and it will change even more! Now I see that they are chopping
down many trees near here…” he tuts. “In the past everything was forest.
People used to work it in a different way…”
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“And not now?”
“Not anymore. This whole mountain,” he points at the one in front, his
arm extended, “belonged to Can Valls in the past, a very important house
nearby. They used to say that you could reach the sea on foot without leaving
its lands.”
“And how do you make your living?”
“We get a pension...” he says, resigned. “In the past I worked the land
and in the factory as well, in Derivados Forestales (Forest by-products), which
has been demolished. I lived in Can Caseta and kept cows here. I worked too
much… There were no tenant farmers here for a long time.”
“And the rector?”
“He did not live here. It says rectory, but...”
“It is a very nice house.”
“It had been mostly abandoned. For a time someone rented it, for 15
years, to the Reverend Manuel Pedrós. He wanted to set up an agricultural
school for the handicapped, but ended up subletting.”
“I remember that the Reverend Santiago lived here,” Lluís interjects.
“He was here at first and later in Vallgorguina. He is still alive, but very
frail. I have heard he is living in the village of Montseny.”
“What is the most important day for the church?”
“The main festival of Olzinelles, on August 7th. They hold mass and
dance on the levelled ground. But Olzinelles has belonged for a long time to
Sant Celoni.”
“Do many people come to walk through the valley of Olzinelles?”
“Quite a lot! They signposted a route of 8 kilometres which reaches the
back of the valley and now more people come. Everybody is welcome here.
Last Sunday a group of forty children came and we had to shelter them at
home because it started raining. They even ate inside.”
We hear the murmur of the brook in the background, which reminds Lluís
that his father used to fish for crabs at night.
“Now there is not a single one left!” Ramon shakes his head, “But there
were lots before. I always filled my bag...”
“And mushrooms?”
“There were many, especially rossinyols and carlets, but not any more...
People scrape too much and cause damage.”
We say goodbye to him and continue on to Sant Celoni, but we stop immediately at Can Valls, a big ancestral home with the façade painted white
and yellow with arches, courtyards, verandas and various outbuildings. On
the path leading to it there are three pitch kilns dating from the 9th century,
two of them heavily damaged.
“I have always seen them here,” comments Lluís. “By slowly burning
trunks of pine and holm oak they obtained a pitch used as fuel. And there,”
he points in another direction, “there was the Pi Gros [Big Pine Tree] but a
strong wind knocked it down not long ago.”
On the way to the house there is a sketch of a dog and a sign warning:
“You are entering a place of risk and danger.” We move carefully towards the
house gate. Just in front we find something between a pond and a manor lake,
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with stairs and sculptures around it, and some very tall firs that seem to stand
guard. Clearly, the splendour of Can Valls has a long history.
“It is said that the owner was a Carlist and that he even had as a guest the
Archduke of Austria,” observes Lluís.
Later on, consulting archives, we were able to flesh out the information.
Can Valls was a very old house that was already documented in the 1360 feudal right. It was rebuilt during the 16th and 17th centuries and important
modifications were made during the 19th century. In 1908, its owner, Pius de
Valls i de Feliu, known as Pius de Can Valls, was elected provincial deputy for
the political party Solidaritat Catalana. He was appreciated for his hospitality, as he always offered food and accommodation to the beggars who passed
by Can Valls. Known for his Carlist affiliation, it is true that the Archdukes of
Austria were his guests on some occasions.
In the courtyard of Can Valls there is an old dog that does not seem dangerous at all. It is tied up and looks at us shaking its tail, as if happy to receive
guests. On one of the external walls, a sundial proclaims: “Ave Maria Puríssima” with the date of 1862. We knock on the door and after a while a women
appears. We ask her if we can visit the house and she tells us that she would
rather we didn’t. Pity.
So, we leave, but not without stopping a moment to admire a big holm
oak, 36 metres tall and 3.6 metres in diameter. A sign indicates that the Pi
Gros, to which Lluís has previously referred, was “one of the tallest and most
spectacular stone pines in Catalonia” but it was blown down by “the strong
wind of January 24, 2009, with gusts of 110 and 120 kilometres per hour.”
The Vilardell Sword of Virtue
We continue ahead until we get to Sant Celoni through the industrial estate
full of trucks causing clouds of dust. We follow the road towards the north,
through a place where there are even more trucks, and soon after we turn to
the right where there is a sign indicating Can Batlle and El Montnegre.
We are back in El Montnegre and El Corredor Park, although at first it
seems that nature has been subjected to coexist alongside the many dwellings of a housing estate invading the forest. Suddenly, however, we are at Sant
Llorenç de Vilardell, a famous chapel associated with the famous “sword of
virtue”, the Catalan Excalibur.
The famous Vilardell sword appears in very old documents and it is even
mentioned in the will of Pere III the Ceremonious, from 1370, and in a ruling
by Jaume the Conqueror, from 1274, that invalidates a victory of the knight
Bernat de Centelles over the knight Bernat de Cabrera because he had used
the Vilardell sword of virtue. Given the great power that the sword was meant
to wield, it was believed that Bernat de Centelles had cheated. In current
terms, it would be similar to the disqualification of an athlete for taking drugs.
The origin of the Vilardell sword is legendary. It is said that close to Sant
Celoni dwelled a dragon that terrified everybody, especially those travelling
along the main road from Girona to Barcelona. One day, Saint Martin passed
by disguised as a poor man and asked for charity at Vilardell Castle. Lord Soler de Vilardell went inside the castle to get a piece of bread and some coins but
when he returned to the entrance, the poor man was no longer there; there was
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only a sword like none he had ever seen before. He tested it with an oak and a
rock, and saw that he could easily part them in two. Realising its power, Soler
de Vilardell took the sword of virtue and went in search of the dragon, killing
it effortlessly. Next, however, tragedy came, as Soler de Vilardell raised his
victorious arm and delivered the following words before the people: “Arm of
virtue, / sword of knight, / you have cut the rock in half / and the dragon too.”
Nervous as he was, the nobleman made a mistake in his delivery, as what he
should have said was: “Sword of virtue, / arm of knight, / you have cut the
rock in half / and the dragon too.” The error was fatal, having placed more
importance on the arm rather than on the sword of virtue, the sword ceased
to protect him, and when the dripping blood of the dragon touched his skin, it
poisoned him, terminating his life.
This sword, which some associate with Wilfred the Hairy, would later
pass from hand to hand, to finally end up on exhibition at the Army Museum
in Paris, which is where it is now.
However, as we go by, the chapel of Sant Llorenç de Vilardell does not
have the honourable appearance that you imagine for a sword with these powers. It is currently in the middle of restoration works, its roof has been removed and it is surrounded by scaffolding. We must come back later, when
the work has ended.
Following the forest trail, we enter the holm trees forest of El Montnegre.
The landscape gradually depopulates and there are fewer houses; from time
to time some emerge amidst the forest, such as the big estate of Can Riera de
Vilardell, with a lake, shady verandas, and the massif of El Montseny in the
background.
As we advance, Lluís recites the names of the different farmhouses in the
area we are coming across, some now abandoned: Can Xifré, Ca l’Arabia, Can
Bosses... Having reached this point, he stops to tell us a childhood memory:
“When I was a child, in Vallgorguina, if we did not eat properly they told
us that they would take us to Can Bosses, where we could only eat the water
on our plate with a fork… I was always afraid of Can Bosses and, look, now it
is in front of me and it does not bother me at all.”
Sant Martí de Montnegre
When we reach the highest point of the trail, the holm oaks and chestnut
trees seem to give way to welcome the chapel of Sant Martí de Montnegre, a
church already documented in the 10th century. The current building, facing
El Montseny, is much more recent, from the 18th century. There is no one in
sight, although we know that it is a place of rest for the Capuchins. Close by
there is a closed restaurant and a farmhouse, Ca l’Auladell, with a Chilean flag
waving on the terrace. We knock, but nobody answers.
Next we approach the chapel, surrounded by very tall firs and cypresses.
At the entrance, a sign is an invitation to silence: “Peace be with you, friends.
This is a place of prayer. Respect it.”
We are at an altitude of around five hundred metres and there is a panoramic view from Sant Martí, with large forests and El Montseny straight
ahead. Next to the church there is a small cemetery; on one of the gravestones
110
we read the name of Brother Pere Llavina and an epitaph: “A man who followed the heart of God.”
The church is now closed during the week, but many years ago, in 1927,
Reverend Joan lived here, a rector to whom the novelist Josep Roig i Raventós
(1883-1966) came to ask for anecdotes, customs, traditions, place names and
superstitions from the forest people which he would later depict in the novel
Montnegre. Reverend Joan answered the writer’s request with a letter: “I am
writing to you with some notes about El Montnegre. They have been written
in a hurry and by a hand unaccustomed to literary endeavours, as you should
not forget that it is the hand of a poor mountain rector. The task has been done
with good intentions and in the belief that perhaps you will be able to confect
the mountain novel Montnegre that you have planned.”
When the novel was published, in 1930, it centered on the character of
Reverend Climent, in whom it was easy to recognise features of Reverend
Joan. A fragment reads: “Whenever in the forest there were colliers, barrel
makers, cork peelers, tree fellers or clog makers, Reverend Climent went enthusiastically to see them work and compiled all the words that formed the
vocabulary of the forest. With these tasks, the sermons he gave in the villages,
the articles in the town newspapers, the poems and the studies on Christian
morality, he spent the long winter evenings with his soul under the spell of
intellectuality. A priest, a poet and a peasant; a son of the enthusiasm of our
Renaixença, imbued with faith and patriotism, he continued leading the austere life of a hermit, far from the passions that unhinge the hearts of the sons
of the big cities.”
It is clear that this world has vanished, as there are no colliers, or clog
makers in the forest now. The world has changed a lot in the last fifty years
and El Montnegre is today an uninhabited mountain that only bustles with
life during the weekends, when hikers join the congregation in the visit to the
chapel of Sant Martí.
Hortsavinyà
After paying a mental tribute to Reverend Fortuny, Reverend Climent, and
all the mountain rectors who existed years ago, we continue along the forest
trail, always surrounded by holm oaks, until we reach the hill of Can Benet,
at 550 metres. From there, we start the descent, now along the coastal side,
until Can Pica, a rural tourism facility of the Barcelona Provincial Council, and the former neighbourhood of Hortsavinyà. This used to be an independent village and is now part of Tordera, comprising several scattered
farmhouses and presided by the church of Santa Eulàlia d’Hortsavinyà,
also consecrated to Saint Llop (Wolf), protector of the flocks against the
wickedness of the wolves.
The original church dated back to the 11th century, but the current one
is from the 17th century. A small cemetery is attached to it and it offers exceptional views of the coast. Located on the other side of the levelled ground
are the provisional classrooms of the Hortsavinyà school, recovered by the
residents of this scattered neighbourhood after years of inactivity. Some children, disguised as knights, are rehearsing a play with Saint George as the
main character.
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“Who will be the brave knight who will kill the dragon?” a girl dressed as
a princess begs.
The boy playing Saint George takes a step forward, sword in hand, ready
to follow a secular tradition.
On the other side of the trail, an old café and restaurant restored by
the Barcelona Provincial Council, the former Hostal d’Hortsavinyà, houses
today an information centre on the park featuring a large scale audiovisual
as well as temporary exhibitions. A little further on, the path of Les Costes
begins, going down to Pineda with the attraction of granting a bird’s eye view
of El Maresme. It is the perfect moment to recall some nostalgic verses by
Pere Coromines, the father of the great philologist Joan Coromines, who died
in exile in Buenos Aires in 1939:
«Mountains of Horsavinyà, ||
of rusty corks and holm oaks,
|| And oak woods, || those who
have seen you drowned by the
sun || will never forget you. ||
Oh Saint Llop d’Horsavinyà! ||
With your titan thumb || make
the sign of the cross on us, ||
from the top of the belfry ||
on the line of the horizon.»
3
Muntanyes d’Horsavinyà,
de suredes, i alzinars
i rouredes, rovellades,
qui us ha vist de sol negades
mai més us podrà oblidar.
Ai Sant Llop d’Horsavinyà!
Amb un polze de tità
persigneu-nos tot el món,
des de dalt del campanar
en el trenc de l’horitzont.3
Toni, the head of the Park Information Centre and manager of the rural
guest house of Can Pica, offers further information on Hortsavintà as soon as
he says goodbye to the pupils of a school who have spent the day in El Montnegre.
“There is usually a school here everyday,” he tells us. “Many hikers come
at the weekend, and some spend the night at Can Pica. There are also people
who come by bicycle, motorbike, quads...”
“Is it possible to visit the chapel?”
“It is almost always closed. It only opens for the festival of L’Erola, on
Easter Monday.”
“It is surprising to see that there is a school up here.”
“In the past Hortsavinyà was a village with scattered farmhouses and
on the mountain there were many colliers. It had plenty of life and there was
a town hall building, which incorporated the hostel, the barber, the post office… which is now the Park Information Centre. The school was in Can Peixenet, a little further away. A few years ago, the residents agreed to recover the
school and provisional classrooms were set up, awaiting permanent construction. Now there are nineteen children.”
“Hortsavinyà is famous for Pere Coromines’ verses.”
“Yes. His son, Joan Coromines, used to come up to listen to the forest
people and write down the words he did not know – like the reverend of Montnegre, I believe. I am from Pineda, like him, and I knew where he lived but he
was a wise man who never left home. He was always working on his famous
dictionary.”
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“Does the fact that there is a church dedicated to Saint Llop mean that it
is a land of wolves?”
“This was so one hundred years ago but not any longer.”
“By the way, where does the name of Montnegre come from?”
“There are two versions: either because the main tree is the holm oak,
which looks black if you are by the sea, or because the highest point of the
mountain has a blackish slate colour.”
We say goodbye to Toni and, commending ourselves to the spirit of Saint
Llop, we decide to have lunch on the other side of the mountain, at the Hostal
Sant Llop, on the road going down to the village of Tordera. We pass through
a rather unattractive housing estate and soon find ourselves sitting at one of
the restaurant tables.
“I have been here for 35 years,” Feliciana, the owner, tells us, “and I must
say that it is great living here. It is sunny, the air is healthy and it is not as cold
as in Tordera.”
The dining-room is big, and there is a second room which is closed during
the week. On one side, there are two girls silently peeling broad beans and, on
the other, a billiard table and table football. On the wall, a stuffed fox looks
at us with glass eyes; next to it, there is a poster with the different species of
mushrooms and another one of Groucho Marx.
We eat well-stewed broad beans and garlic chicken, while Feliciana continues to shell out her memories.
“The mountain has not changed that much,” she believes. “Well, now
there are fewer people coming because of the crisis, but during the mushroom
season it is packed… By the way, people should be more careful, because they
remove everything with the rake.”
“Do you also pick mushrooms?”
“Sure! We found an 850 gramm rovelló, although around here there are
mostly carlets, pinatells and trompetes de la mort... One day we found a mushroom which grows on the chestnut tree that weighed 27 kilos! It was even on
television.”
“Are there also hunters?”
“Lots, because there are many wild boars here. The boars even eat the
tree roots. We grow beans, lettuces, tomatoes, broad beans… and last year we
had to plant them three times because of the wild boars. We have placed electric fencing, but they push it down… In the past the forest was more densely
populated. My great grandfather used to tell me that there were colliers on
this mountain.”
There are no more colliers now. It is clear the old forest crafts have gradually disappeared.
Ca l’Agustí in Olzinelles
After lunch, we retrace our steps and we go through Sant Martí de Montnegre again, but this time we take the turn leading to Vallgorguina and, before
getting there, we take another route which goes straight to the valley of Olzinelles.
We knock on the door of Ca l’Agustí and we are lucky because the lady
of the house, Montserrat, opens. After a moments’ hesitation –within just a
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few seconds – she is willing to show us the house. It is huge, with a large central courtyard, an ennobled pond and a pleasant rear courtyard; there are
immense plane trees and views of the valley and Olzienelles brook, with El
Montseny in the background.
“We have been living here for 25 or 30 years,” she explains while we visit
the garden. “Before us there were two elderly women.”
“The house must have a long history.”
“It seems that an Indiano had it built or at least expanded it with the
money he made in the Americas. It is said that he lived here with a girl from
Arenys... During the Civil War, there were troops of the International Brigades here. We have found artifacts from the war in the attic.”
On one side of the rear courtyard there are the old farmyards where
troughs, cages, kneading troughs, stairs, baskets and even an old kitchencan
still be found. Inside, the house has a noble appearance, fully in keeping with
the façade. The huge kitchen has a large fireplace hood, a long waxed wooden
table and a tiled sink in one corner. Next door is the cellar, with remains of the
old wine press and a cupboard full of old toys.
“We studied the history of the house very well and endeavoured to leave
it as it was,” comments Montserrat. “There is a story that tells of a buried jar
full of gold coins, but we have never found it… In any case, in a big house like
this there is always some mystery.”
The rooms and bedrooms also reflect the grandiosity of the house. The
walls are decorated with old maps of Catalonia and some of the borders are
still painted with bright colours, in the purest Indiano style. The chapel, from
1909, has also been restored after being used for many years as a lumber room.
“During the Civil War they took the statutes of the saints, wrapped them
in newspaper and buried them in the vegetable garden,” Montserrat explains.
“Luckily, some statues were recovered even though the humidity damaged
them.”
The larger bedrooms are on the second floor, divided into sleeping and
dressing areas; one of them contains a set of old suitcases and a mundo, used
for travelling in the Americas. A real temptation for travel. On the bed is
what Montserrat calls “the treasure of Ca l’Agustí”, the original 14th century
manuscript establishing that the monks of Sant Cugat ceded these lands in
exchange for an amount of money that had to be paid every year.
“We found it rolled up in a chest of drawers,” she explains with a smile.
“This house is a box full of surprises.”
The estate of Ca l’Agustí has other important elements of heritage, such
as an old lime kiln and forests full of pines and holm oaks. A very cool place
close to the house, Can Predelló spring, is the setting for one of the poetry
recitals included in “Poetry in the Parks”. Perejaume, the eclectic artist who
lives nearby, has participated in the event a couple of times.
It is getting dark when we say goodbye to Montserrat and leave Ca
l’Agustí. The day is about to end, but in the distance the silhouette of El Turó
de l’Home still stands out, crowned by a layer of recently fallen snow and the
last rays of light.
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El Montseny
Natural Park:
A Temple of Nature
and Civilisation
Chestinut, Castanea sativa
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There are so many writers who have reflected in books their fascination for
El Montseny that some people call it “The written mountain”. The list is
extensive and includes names such as Jacint Verdaguer, Víctor Balaguer,
Raimon Casellas, Joan Maragall, Guerau de Liost, Josep Carner, Marià Manent, Llorenç Gomis and many others. Indeed, El Montseny – Monte Signi in
Latin, “The mountain of the sign” – is a mountain massif with many charming retreats whether forests, springs, lakes, paths, chapels, country houses
or castles (such as Montsoriu, a jewel of Catalan Gothic architecture) and
with majestic peaks such as El Turó de l’Home, the highest point in the massif, at 1,706 metres. Other points of interest are Les Agudes, El Matagalls,
El Tagamanent and the high plateau of La Calma in its entirety, as well
as the different inhabited centres within the area of this enormous natural
park and the surrounding villages. A total of 18 municipalities make up its
just over 31,000 hectares. Although it would be worthy of a whole book, we
have focused on visiting only the north-eastern side, with some incursions
into the heart of the massif. The poet Llorenç Gomis wrote: “Catalan society
has made El Montseny its mountain of nature and civilisation as it has made
Montserrat its holy mountain.”
“El Montseny is a very interesting mountain because it has very different climates,” Xavier tells us, a manager of the Centre Cultural Europeu de la Natura (CCEN) in Viladrau, one of the many information centres and facilities in the park. This is so for two main reasons: the drop,
as it rises from 100 to 1,700 metres above sea level; and the orientation,
humid as it faces the sea, dry and continental inland. This means that
there is a wide range of tree species, from the most southern to the Alpine.
This variety of trees, which ranges from the holm oak and oak tree
to the pine tree and fir, including beech trees, chestnut trees, hazelnut
trees, alders and many others, is the charm of El Montseny, especially
in autumn, and also what led it to be declared a Biosphere Reserve by
UNESCO in 1978.
“The difference is that a park has regulations,” specifies Xavier who,
by the way, is a biologist, “while a biosphere reserve has a philosophy.
What matters is what we do rather than what we must prohibit. We want
to protect nature, but also the people living in it. In a natural park like
that of El Montseny both aspects must be compatible.”
Joan Sala, Serrallonga
Fortunately, we are in a good place to talk about the people who live in
El Montseny as well as about those who have lived here throughout the
centuries. Very close to Viladrau there is for instance Mas la Sala, where
the most famous outlaw in Catalonia, Joan Sala i Ferrer, better known
as Serrallonga, was born in 1594. We are shown around by Nacho, the
head of CCEN together with Xavier, who shares his surname – López – although they are not related. We leave Viladrau following the road leading
to Vic, but we soon branch off on a trail that crosses the brook known as
riera Major, filled up with water in the spring, and which skirts around a
surprising polo field that confirms the high level of tourism that has taken
place in Viladrau for years.
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“There are horses here that live better than some people,” observes
Nacho, laughing. “They even have central heating!”
“Is it true that there is a kind of posh holidaymaker in Viladrau?”
“It was more so in the past than now. You can still see the big summer
houses of rich people of years gone by, which are now empty and closed
most of the time. Throughout the years, everything has changed a lot.
Now you find many middle class people here.”
“There must be a huge difference between winter and summer.”
“Winter is silence, summer is noise. When summer comes, the village is full of people and motorbikes. In winter, there must be around one
thousand people and in summer three times that.”
While we advance along the path, accompanied by the beautiful new
green colour of the trees, we can see the peak of El Matagalls (1,698 metres) in the background, sprinkled by recent snowfall, and the chapel of
Sant Segimon, perched in an almost impossible position.
“We go up to Sant Segimon every year to set up the nativity scene,
the last Sunday before Christmas,” Nacho tells us. “It takes an hour and
a half on foot. Later, for Candlemas, we bring it back. This year will be
the twentieth time.”
Mas la Sala soon appears on the left of the path. It looks like a fortified country house rather than a farmhouse, sitting on top of a rocky hill
overlooking the plain, with a defence tower and the chapel of Saint Sigismund in the background. The surrounding green terraces, together with
the pleasant murmur of the brook, make it an idyllic place.
We walk around and reach the farmhouse from behind, which
looks completely different from the front. Now the house seems bigger and
the defence tower higher, but the diverse balconies, the buildings added,
the troughs and a quiet tied up dog makes it resemble a farmhouse.
“The owners live in La Sala Nova, but there is still a tenant farmer
known here as Marcel·lí de la Sala,” Nacho points out.
Marcel·lí is not available, but his wife walks by, greeting us from the
distance and goes into the house again. It is surprising that a farmhouse like
this was the birthplace in 1594 of the outlaw Serrallonga, exalted by the popular song books and the novel Don Joan de Serrallonga, by Víctor Balaguer.
When he was four he lost his mother and in his youth he went to work at
Can Tarrés in Sant Hilari Sacalm; it was there where he met the heiress
of Mas Serrallonga de Querós, Margarida Tallades Serrallonga and married
her. Hence, his outlaw alias. After an adventurous life full of attacks and
escapes, forever chased by the troops of Felipe IV, he was executed in Barcelona on the 8th of January, 1634. He was sentenced to “one hundred strokes,
having his ears cut off, being tormented with pincers, then taken away in a
cart and quartered,” and his head was placed in an iron cage and hung from
one of the towers of the Sant Antoni portal in Barcelona.
“The myth of Serrallonga emerged for several reasons,” Xavier tells
us later at the headquarters of CCEN. “First, because he was a great
outlaw; second, because it was very hard to capture him; third, because
people attributed legendary deeds to him; and fourth, because his life was
very bloody.”
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“How much truth is there in what is said about Serrallonga?”
“This was a land of outlaws, although Serrallonga is usually more associated with Les Guilleries. Víctor Balaguer is in part responsible for
this, as in the book Don Joan de Serrallonga he wrote that Joan Sala was
born in Sant Hilari Sacalm. The truth is that Serrallonga was the head of
the Nyerros1 in the time of Carles de Vilademany, Baron of Tarradell. It
was during the period when Nyerros and Cadells confronted each other.”
“Popular imagination has made him into a kind of Robin Hood. Is
that right?”
“He had nothing to do with him. Banditry is very characteristic of
Catalonia and it emerged out of a political issue. Catalonia was subject to
the king of Spain and had its own laws, but the nobles of Catalonia had
been fighting against each other for some time. It was not a declared war,
to prevent the king from intervening, but it was waged clandestinely,
through outlaws.”
“And where did these outlaws come from?”
“Young people became outlaws out of necessity and, in some cases,
because they were fugitives from justice. In mountain areas such as
Viladrau, people were born in a Nyerra land under the command of a Nyerro lord.”
“Didn’t they work for themselves?”
“When they didn’t work for their lord, they could do whatever they
wanted. They attacked rich people on the main roads, forged currency,
kidnapped heirs to get ransoms, assaulted farmhouses… Many rich peasants had their bottoms marked, because if they didn’t tell the outlaws
where the money was, they had to sit on a tripod support over the fire
until they confessed.”
“When did banditry end?”
“We can really say it ended with the death of Serrallonga. Let’s talk
about this last period. The local lords had lost power and Serrallonga was
doing his own thing. Serrallonga is a mix between a outlaw mostly working for himself and a crook.”
“After his death, how did oral tradition turn him into a myth?”
“The first songs were composed when Serrallonga was still alive.
Then came the short folk songs, the romance stories… Around the fireplaces of the houses Serrallonga was very much alive, but the problem is
that ninety per cent of what was said was wrong. Víctor Balaguer made
him a literary character by writing that he was born in Sant Hilari and
that his father had a castle. Moreover, he added pro-Catalan ideals. All
false. Until the Serrallonga trial was found, around 1843, the truth was
concealed.”
To recreate this outlaw atmosphere, every year Viladrau organises
the Outlaw Summer, with music, theatre, routes and even an outlaw dinner; as Nacho explains, an outlaw route is also planned to encourage hikes
through El Montseny Natural Park. The Chestnut Fair and the mushroom season are other attractions that bring more visitors to Viladrau
throughout the whole year.
Nyerro is a member of a CatalanFrench political, civil and
military faction which emerged
in the 16th century, formed
by highwaymen and middle
class country people, which
represented half the noble class of
the time, defended the interests
and territories of the feudal
lords and was in an ongoing
confrontation with the cadells,
another faction that defended
part of the nobles and the urban
classes.
1
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“El Montseny is such a big park,” reflects Nacho, “that there are people from Seva not fully aware that Sant Esteve de Palautordera is on the
other side. It seems like a contradiction, but the same mountain unites
and separates us.”
This is why the managers of the park promoted programmes such as
“Experience the Park” which counts, among its main objectives, to consolidate the awareness of belonging to a protected area.
«Gothic similar to the beech, ||
the sombre fir rises up, secure,
|| with rigid cold leaves, || as
it is of an early Gothic. || With
its shivering, neat, foliage || in
stark contrast, the beech smiles
|| more playful than erect, || as
it is of a renascent Gothic…»
2
Viladrau, the Village of Writers
After saying goodbye for today to Xavier and Nacho, we go walking along
the route of the Castanyer de les Nou Branques (Nine Branched Chestnut),
located at the top of the village of Viladrau. When we pass through it, we
see some manor houses, with closed shutters and well-kept gardens that
show that this is a quality holiday resort. When there are no more houses,
we continue through a path surrounded by oak trees, ash trees, hazelnut trees and holm oaks until we reach Castanyer de les Nou Branques,
an immense and chronicled chestnut, with a hollow trunk and very high
branches that rise up straight towards the light. Around it there are other
chestnuts, all with the stocky, tortured trunk, forming a kind of magic
circle that seems to evoke a temple of nature.
Josep Pla, recalling the Viladrau of the past, writes: “El Montseny
– mainly the northern part of El Montseny – was a marvel of immense
rusticity. A chosen few were lucky to discover it and became a sect of
initiates who preserved its secret, as if more visitors would unfailingly
make it lose its charm. The high mountain located deep in the south was
an unknown distant area. It boasted an array of fascinating beauties.”
One of these Viladrau enthusiasts was the critic Jaume Bofill i Ferro
(1891-1968), who wrote that “on the northern side of El Montseny – the
southern side is already somewhat arid – we find an area that brings together the beauties of the most admirable lands in the world: those of Europe.”
It is this European landscape, so different from everywhere and so
close to Barcelona, which fascinated 19th century writers. Guerau de Liost, pseudonym of Jaume Bofill i Mates (1878-1933), dedicated the book
La muntanya dametistes (The Mountain of Amethysts), 1908 to it, including some poems that are found today engraved on the stones in the springs
of Viladrau. One of them reads:
Gòtics semblant el faig, l’avet,
puja, segur, l’avet ombriu,
rígid de fulles, d’aire fred,
car és d’un gòtic primitiu
Amb son fullatge trèmul, net,
Ben altrament, el faig somriu,
Més joguinós que massa dret,
Car és d’un gòtic renadiu...2
Another poet, Marià Manent (1898-1988), published in 1975 (El vel
de Maia) (Maia’s Veil), the diary he wrote between 1936 and 1939, when
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he spent the Civil War in refuge at Ca l’Herbolari de Viladrau, a manor
house built by the herbalist Bofill, great great grandfather of the poet
Jaume Bofill i Mates (or Guerau de Liost). In this diary he explains on
several occasions how the landscapes of Viladrau make him think of the
highlands of Scotland.
We stop at Les Paitides spring, as the nymphs are known in El Montseny. While a couple of retirees fill big bottles under the shadow of a large
fir tree, we entertain ourselves reading the poem “La Font de les Paitides”
(“Les Paitides Spring”) by Guerau de Liost engraved on a slab:
Entre les feixes esgraonades,
cada una d’elles com un retall,
brollen les aigües mai estriades
com ansa llisa de pur cristall.
Ton marge dóna granada userda.
Les cueretes beuen de tu.
D’una pomera que ja s’esquerda
Neda en tes aigües el fruit madur.
3
«Among the terraces || each
one like a piece of patchwork,
|| the undisturbed waters
sprout || like a smooth handle
of pure crystal. || Your bank
gives garnet-red alfalfa. || The
wagtails drink from you, ||
From an appl1e tree already
split || the ripe fruit swims
in your waters. || When the
peasants come back from mass
|| with their hoods folded under
their arms, || they taste the
shifting water. || And when
they go, erect, on their way, ||
among the weeds of the barn
|| they find the calm of their
pasturelands.»
4
«Poetry? We must search for it
you know where || as it is, like
the grace || of the pure and hard
water || of a spring within the
forest.»
Quan les pageses tornen de missa
Amb la caputxa plegada al braç,
Tasten de l’aigua bellugadissa.
I quan reprenen, testes, el pas,
Entre les herbes de la païssa
Troben la calma de llurs quintars.3
Nearby, further up the mountain, there are a couple more springs, El
Ferro and El Noi Gran, confirming that, in Viladrau, water is abundant…
as are poets. The springs emerge in the forest, between beech trees and
oak trees, with the ground covered in dead leaves. In that of El Noi Gran,
the poem is by Carles Riba (1893-1959):
La poesia? Cal cercar-la on tu saps ja
que és, com la gràcia
de l’aigua pura i dura
d’una font emboscada.4
The fresh water gushes from the spring and flows down the mountain, opening its way between a bed of dead leaves, towards the village,
towards the brook.
Hostal Bofill
We stop for lunch at the Hostal Bofill, a classic of Viladrau. It is located
right in the centre of the village and was founded in 1898 by Doctor Ramon Bofill i Gallés (1858-1931) who, along with his friends Valentí Carulla, Dean of the University of Barcelona in 1913, and Doctor Antoni Ariet,
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the Mayor of Viladrau at that time, did a lot to promote summer holidays
in Viladrau recommending both the fresh air of this village, located at an
altitude of over 800 metres and the waters that are so abundant in these
surroundings. Those were the years when, unlike today, the summer holidays of the Catalan bourgeoisie sought the freshness of the mountain and
lasted up to three months, as it started around Saint John’s Day, on the
21st of June and ended around La Mercè, Barcelona’s main festival, on
September 24th.
The architect of the Hostal Bofill was Josep Domènech i Estepà, the
creator of emblematic buildings in Barcelona such as the Palau de Justícia (Palace of Justice), the Model Prison, the Clínic Hospital, La Salle
Bonanova school and the headquarters of Catalana de Gas. Some old
framed photographs at the entrance of the hotel bear witness to the long
life of the establishment.
“My parents bought the hotel a couple of years ago from one of the
founder’s granddaughters, but they had already been running it for about
fifty years,” Anna, daughter of Ramon Pagès i Morera, owner of the establishment, explains to us. “As they told me, Ramon Bofill i Gallès, the
founder, had many patients and had this hotel built with the intention
that it would become a health resort where people would come to spend
their holidays and breathe fresh air.”
“Has the clientele changed a lot over the years?”
“Many people continue to come from Barcelona. In the summer, it is
mainly old people. We have a well-established clientele; some people even
spend two whole months here. In contrast, during winter we only have
people at the weekends.”
“It is the low season.”
“For the hotel, it is, but the dining room has a lot of work both in winter and autumn, because there are mushrooms, chestnuts, wild boars…
Every Monday they bring me a wild boar and it doesn’t last long, believe
me. The varieties of mushrooms we cook mainly include carlets, rovellons
and rossinyols... But in general we offer traditional dishes. The cannelloni
are really good.”
“Do you also have an outlaw menu in homage to Serrallonga?”
“Well, yes, but it is only comprised of a Catalan meat dish called carn
de perola and beans. They are peasant dishes, from the land.”
“Has the atmosphere of Viladrau changed a lot over these years?”
“There used to be people… How can I put it? …Of a certain level.
Now they are people of more modest means. It is even difficult for some
to maintain those big houses. Now there are more middle class people.”
“Do they still go to the springs?”
“Some clients do but for older people they are too far away. Older people walk a little, sunbathe and eat. The springs are too far in.”
“But the water of Viladrau continues to have a great reputation.”
“And it deserves it! It has no calcium here, which is good for cooking,
plants, the washing machine… Not so much for the people, because bones
need calcium. But in contrast we recommend it for the kidney.”
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We sit at a table in the café, where one finds more of a mountain atmosphere than in the dining room, more polished, with tables dressed
with linens, and views of the mountain. In the café, there is a stove in the
centre which shows how cold it gets in winter in Viladrau, but all eyes are
set on the big television screen in one corner.
We eat the cannelloni the landlady has recommended paired with
grilled lamb. Everything is very good; the problem now is that, after such
a filling meal, it takes a lot of effort to continue walking. Nonetheless, we
get up and move on to the next chapter.
Valentí Blancafort, Mushroom Picker
Close to the Hostal Bofillm, we visit Valentí, a 79 year old man born in
Viladrau who became famous when he appeared, for five seasons, in the
TV3 programme “Caçadors de bolets”. We were told us that he knows the
history of the village and its surrounding forests very well and, of course,
that he is an expert mushroom picker. He does not disappoint, because
as soon as he arrives he shows us some múrgules and some moixines (also
known as cama-secs) that he hand picked this May morning.
“I was born in 1931, before the war, and I live here, at Cal Petit Janic,”
he explains straight away. “The post-war period was very harsh... In each
village there was a Falange leader. My father refused this post and we suffered for it with rationing, because they gave us fewer things. We were five
brothers… If you were not a Falange member you were allowed less food.”
“And what work did you do during all those years?”
“I worked in the fields but as it didn’t go very well, when I was fifteen
I started to work with in construction. This is why I now have a pension.
Life in the countryside was very tough… If you had dry farming land,
like me, you had to rely on the rain, unfortunately.”
“But there seems to be plenty of water here.”
“It comes from up there, from the mountain, but the rain runs towards the Pyrenees.”
“And what did you plant?”
“Rye, chickpeas, potatoes…”
“Life here must have been very different fifty years ago.”
“This was a very small and quiet village. There were more people living in the farmhouses, but this is being lost. Life was quite harsh. There
was no construction back then. You had to go to the forest or work as a
collier, or chop trees with an axe, not with electric saws like now… It was
a countryside village, but there were some holidaymaker’s houses. There
always have been. My mother used to go to Balenyà with a light cart to
pick them up. There were thirteen kilometres up to Balenyà, where the
train station is.”
“I have been told that you often go out walking.”
“Now I am old, but years ago I went out every day. You have to get
used to it… Not far from here is L’Oreneta spring and one day I found
a couple from Barcelona there. I saw that the woman was wearing high
heels and I thought: ‘Not much good for the mountain.’ They were look-
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ing for mushrooms, but they did not know how to go through the forest.
When they leave the city, some people are really ill-prepared...”
“But there are mushrooms around here.”
“Of course! It is a good place for rossinyols, carlets...
“And rovellons?”
“No, not rovellons, because there are few pine trees, which is where
they grow. In El Montseny there are sabateres, mushrooms as big as a shoe
which grow where there are beech trees.”
“And ceps?”
“You also find them. The French are only interested these mushrooms. Here we call them siurenys.”
“And ous de reig?”
“There aren’t many, to tell the truth. It is a very good mushroom,
but in general mushrooms have declined in quality. It must be the climate change… Seasons are no longer as they should be: one week it is hot,
the other cold… Trees feel it. In the past there were more and they were
healthier. Chestnut trees are infected with a fungus, and they’re trying to
see what they can do about it.”
“Anyway, Viladrau continues to be a good place for hikes.”
“You can do many, for sure. When I was young I had a mule and,
as there was no television or anything, holidaymakers hired us to carry
their food. We used to go to El Matagalls, Sant Marçal... We were quite a
procession: the ladies and gentlemen, the children and us with the mules.
Sometimes there were even four mules! They had a lot of food and we did
well, of course!
“Has the atmosphere of the village changed a lot in comparison to
those years?”
“A lot. Now the young say that this village is boring, and I tell them:
“You are always in the square or at the bar... Of course, you get bored.”
There are plenty of springs here and nice places, and you do not know
about any of them. If there is no hiking in a mountain village, it is dead.”
“And, for you, what are the best hikes?”
“For the views, El Matagalls and El Turó de l’Home. But El Montseny is very big and you can do plenty of walks. There is an incredible
variety of trees.”
“Do you think that the forest is less well cared for?”
“The forest does not give the owners as much as it did in the past.
There’s wood from abroad, nicer, in a better state, at a very good price...
It is not profitable to have a labourer... As a result, the forest is abandoned. Moreover, there used to be flocks of sheep that cleaned the undergrowth. Many farmhouses have been abandoned, the weeds have spread
and the terraces end up full of trees...”
“Did you prefer life in the past?”
“It was quieter… although in terms of progress it was not better.
Those of my age have seen the arrival of the refrigerator, television, dishwasher, telephone… In the summer, we used to put the meat on the window sill or in a mine to prevent it from spoiling. The transformation we
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have seen from the post-war period until today has been tremendous. I
have always known electricity, but my mother told me that they used to
have carbide lamps. No central heating at all... We have everything now.
I always tell my grandsons about it.”
“Are today’s holidaymakers different?”
“In the past you had to nod as a show of respect and take your cap off,
and you had to address them as sir and madam. It was like a colony. Now
this difference no longer exists. The boys from the colony have married
local girls and things have changed. In the past they told you: ‘Look at
that lady, so pretty, so white.’ Now they want to be brown-skinned, even
too brown… Life was so different. If you didn’t have a good relationship
with the priest or the secretary, it was better to leave the village. In the
past there was one coach bus and that was it. By the time you reached Vic
it was colder than it was outside.”
L’Oreneta Spring
When Valentí hears that we are going to L’Oreneta spring, he immediately offers to take us there, going down through the Guerau de Liost path,
made official by the Town Council in 1978, the year of the centennial of
the poet’s birth.
“Looking down from my house I remember all this used to be fields,”
he comments incredulously. “They built too much. They have chopped
down so many trees that I do not recognise it. There were plenty of black
poplars by the brook and all have been removed now.”
After we cross the brook known as riera Major and Valentí tells us
that this water flows into in the Sau reservoir, we find some dried piled up
branches and he shakes his head.
“This is dangerous,” he says. “In the past they made coal and nothing
happened. Now the forest is dense, it is like a powder keg.”
We soon arrive at L’Oreneta spring, surrounded by old black poplars
and chestnut trees which fortunately have not been chopped down. “If
they had done so, there would have been a riot,” Valentí complains. On a
monolith there are some verses by Guerau de Liost:
Voldria ser enterrat al peu
d’aquesta font que endegà el pare.
Té campanetes arreu,
d’aquelles que plaïen a la mare.
Un aire ben senzill
hi porta els sorolls de la vila
i neteja de brossa l’espill
d’aquesta font tranquil·la.
Sovint amb el germà
hi fèiem un atur, suats de la cacera.
En el seu bassal clar
es mirava el llebrer, vanitós que era.
El berenar posava la muller
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a la taula que fa aquesta roca.
L’ombreja un castanyer:
damunt la seva casolana soca
un dístic em plauria del meu Josep Carner.
La gent ara en diu
la «Font de l’Oreneta».
Vora la teva font, fes, oreneta, niu:
faràs, demà, companyia al poeta.5
Over the spring, there is the distich by Josep Carner that Guerau de
Liost wanted:
Filla del cel jo só la font de l’Oreneta
em descobrí l’ocell i em coronà el poeta.6
“In the summer when it is very hot, you sit here under the shade of
the trees and it is really cool,” Valentí breathes. “It is very nice here...
although when it was all covered by forest the spring it was more beautiful.”
As we leave, we remember what Nacho told us about L’Oreneta spring
in the morning: it was inaugurated in May 1936 by Ventura Gassol, then
Minister of Culture for the Government of Catalonia. Two months later,
however, the Civil War broke out and what was an idyllic landscape suddenly became a place of pain.
«I would like to be buried at
the foot || of this spring that got
my father started. || It has bell
flowers everywhere || like those
my mother loved. || A very simple
air || carries the sounds of the
village there || and cleans the
brushwood || off the mirror of this
quiet spring. || We used to stop
at it || with my brother, sweating
from hunting. || The vain
greyhound || used to look into ||
its clear pond. || The wife laid the
tea || on the table of this rock. ||
A chestnut lends it its shadow:
|| above its home-loving bark ||
I would like a distich by Josep
Carner. || Now people call it ||
“L’Oreneta Spring”. || Near your
spring, make your nest, swallow:
|| tomorrow you will accompany
the poet.»
5
«I, daughter of the sky, am
L’Oreneta spring || the bird
discovered me and the poet
crowned me.»
6
Can Rusquelles
Before going our separate ways, Valentí shows us the path to Can
Rusquelles, because he prefers to return home. We walk there unhurriedly, until the forest transforms itself into a half-defined garden around a
farmhouse which shows some signs of civilisation: a pond decorated with
ornaments, a carved fence made out of box tree, and an elegant avenue
previously embellished by a row of acacias. At the end, Can Rusquelles
looks a farmhouse mixed with a touch of the aesthetics of the nineteen
hundreds.
We are in the farmhouse of the Bofill family, transformed by Jaume
Bofill i Mates (Guerau de Liost), into his refuge in El Montseny. On the
threshold, there’s an invocation, a name and date: “Ave Maria Puríssima. Joaquim Bofill i Noguer. 1888.” It is here, at Can Rusquelles, where
Guerau de Liost had meetings with friends such as Pompeu Fabra, Josep
Carner or Father Miquel from Esplugues.
In his Civil War diary, Marià Manent writes: “We have spent much of
the morning in Can Rusquelles, which has become a historic house, a place
of literary pilgrimage like the houses of Keats or Goethe. The imprint of
the powerful personality of Jaume Bofill i Mates is everywhere; the decoration of the house, the furniture, the small details, reflect the curious
mixture of that noble spirit of both austerity and refinement, of Franciscan and sybarite features. We have seen his bedroom, the corduroy suit,
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the straw hat, worn on so many occasions walking along the paths of El
Montseny. We have seen the joyful gallery where he used to work, with
the books, the blue-square patterned curtains, the Catalan flag in a glass,
an 18th century engraving (Costume espagnol), and a small bronze canon
that used to be fired with real gunpowder.”
The house is closed, but we manage to see from the outside the famous
gallery where the poet would write. There are some terraces in the front,
horses graze and El Matagalls and the chapel of Saint Sigismund preside
over the landscape. The air is clean and pure, a delight.
When we leave along the path of the acacias, removed some years ago
due to a fungus that attacked them, I remember the nostalgic verses by
Josep Carner:
«I will no longer see you this
year, oh dusky house || in the
old Montseny, full of grace: ||
i will not arrive suddenly into
the clearing || between the
path of the acacias…»
7
«God save you, wayfarer! ||
May El Montseny give you love
and sense…»
8
Ja no et veuré aquest any, oh casa bruna
del vell Montseny, plena de gràcies:
no arribaré de sobte al clar de lluna
entre el camí de les acàcies...7
Sant Marçal, the “Ratafia” and the Bad Hunter
We leave Viladrau with the feeling that out of every tree a poem is born.
The concentration of writers in this village is so great that we feel like
going up to the mountain to see the trees and the peaks, to touch nature.
We take the road to Sant Marçal, where there is a beautiful 11th
century chapel located in a privileged site, at an altitude of 1,140 metres, between Les Agudes and El Matagalls. The mist starts to descend and there is nobody in the chapel, is f lanked by a hotel that was
a refuge for hikers in the past (and is now the setting for marriages
blessed by El Montseny) and the so-called Taula dels Tres Bisbes (table
of the three bishops), located where the bishoprics of Barcelona, Vic
and Girona meet. We do not know if it is a legend or a true story, but
Jacint Verdaguer explains that it was in this place, after a long meeting, where the three bishops sent a monk to ask for something to drink
in the hostel. The monk brought them liquor that they found delicious,
but when they asked him for the name of the drink, he told them that
it did not have one. When they were searching for a name for the liquor, the secretary who was writing the report of the meeting said,
absentmindedly, “rata fiat”, which means “it is ratified”. This is the
name with which this liquor, made of walnuts and many herbs from the
mountain is known: ratafia.
Close to the Taula dels Tres Bisbes, the beech trees are sprouting
new leaves; they are almost transparent, shivering, and resemble a Japanese watercolour painting. Nearby there is a spring known as Font Bona,
which gives life to the Tordera river. Once again, a slab bears some verses
by Guerau de Liost:
Déu te guard, vianant! Que t’imposi el Montseny
una mica d’amor i una mica de seny...8
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It is also said that the legend of the bad hunter, versified by Joan
Maragall, took place in this chapel of Sant Marçal, where “the morning mass / is given up above / as soon as day breaks...” The bad hunter
attends mass with one knee on the f loor, but when he sees a hare jump,
just at the moment of the consecration, he forgets about mass and goes
out running to hunt it in the company of his dogs. He runs through the
mountains for days and days, without giving up, but unable to catch
it… For years and years he will continue to pass in front of the chapel
without going in, seeing how the priest and the parishioners are getting older and dying while he, because of the yearning which made him
renounce to holy mass, is forced to eternally hunt through El Montseny forest like a lost soul.
Santa Fe, the Nymphs and the Witches
Some kilometres beyond, when the fog has already thickened enough to
become what the British call a pea-souper, we stop at Santa Fe del Montseny. The hotel, built in 1912, is closed and it seems that there is nobody
around. Suddenly, however, a photographer wearing a red anorak emerges from the mist.
“I live in Sant Celoni,” he tells us, “and when I see that the weather is
like this I always come to take photos.”
“Is it not it too misty right now?”
“Not at all! The mist between the beech trees makes everything more
beautiful, more mysterious… I think the light is beautiful now. I have
just taken some photos of the brook, the small lake and some rain drops
on a leaf, which have turned out very well. I love this weather.”
The photographer vanishes in the fog and we walk towards the brook
and the small lake. It starts to drizzle and it looks as if the water seems to
be everywhere in El Montseny. There are torrents, brooks, pools, waterfalls, small lakes and even a reservoir, that of Santa Fe, which was built to
provide electricity in the early 20th century. At that time there was also
a sawmill in this area.
We visit the chapel, sheltered behind the hotel, and later go down
to the reservoir, walking among the beech trees and the mist. The only
sound we hear are the twigs under our feet on and the drops of water falling slowly as if they were tired, in a monotone whisper. In this moment,
when water is the protagonist, the legends of the nymphs that wander
through El Montseny are worth recalling.
As the story goes, one day, a nymph appeared in a puddle before
the heir of a rich farmhouse in these lands. He fell in love with her and she
agreed to marry him on one condition, that he would never remind her
that she was a nymph. In time they had a son and a daughter and everything went very well. One day, however, when a storm was threatening
to damage the harvest, the woman, for safety, ordered all the wheat to be
reaped. However, the storm did not come after all and the man, angrily,
reproached her: “You had to be a nymph!” At that moment the woman
vanished. However, every morning the children, woke up clean, tidy and
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well-groomed, assured that their mother visited them every night and got
them ready for the next day, crying continuously. As the years went by,
the farmhouse fell into decay and the family became poor, until one day
the father found, in his children’s hair, a few pearls which had come from
the tears of the nymph.
Nymphs have always had a good reputation, while witches, also
present in the stories of El Montseny, are almost always linked to evil.
“We must remember that the world of witchcraft and banditry usually
go hand in hand and emerge out of misery,” Xavier, with us again, explains.
“Witches and outlaws are closely linked to the mountain, where there were forests and many hiding places. In the 11th, 12th and 13th centuries, there were
some women who made brews, and who were highly respected then. It was in
the late 14th, 15th and 16th centuries when they started to pursue them.”
“Was that when they were taken to the bonfire?”
“Here they would cut off their heads with a cleaver or hang them.
Witches were burnt in Europe and in some places of Spain, because they
were pursued by the Inquisition. But never here. They were hanged, but
it was not the Inquisition that pursued them, it was the civil power. The
nobles pursued them in times of scarcity when it was good for them to find
scapegoats.”
“Are there any historical records that confirm the presence of witches
in these lands?”
“It is documented that in the early 17th century, 14 women from
Viladrau were sentenced to the gallows accused of being witches. Moreover, around here there are places with names such as El Pla de les Bruixes
(The Witches’ Plain).
The tree trunks, which now and then cut through the curtain of mist,
seem to take on outlandish long shapes, as we walk through the forest. In
the end, we decide to turn back and head towards the car. We will come
back another day, when the mist is not persistently enveloping the landscape, to go up to El Turó de l’Home.
Masia Mariona and the Legacy of Rafael Patxot
We go back to El Montseny through the side facing the sea. We exit the
highway, and leave behind the town of Sant Celoni and, before starting
the ascent, we branch off towards Mosqueroles, in the municipality of
Fogars de Montclús to visit a farmhouse, the Masia Mariona. It is a clear
day, with no mist, and we are situated at a modest altitude, on a still gentle slope of El Montseny with views over vibrantly green fields. The house,
recently restored by the Barcelona Provincial Council, is beautiful and
reminds us that we are again in the most civilised section of El Montseny.
Masia Mariona was built between 1927 and 1930 by the architect
Josep Danès at the request of the patron Rafael Patxot who, it is said,
bought these lands after having placed an advert in La Veu de Catalunya
where he clearly specified that he was looking for an estate at an altitude
between 300 and 400 metres, at the foot of El Montseny and protected
from the strongest winds.
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As we can see, Rafael Patxot knew very well what he was looking
for. It is not surprising, because he was a highly cultivated man, as demonstrated in the exhibition “Patxot Universe” which can be seen on the
ground floor of Masia Mariona. Born in Sant Feliu de Guíxols in 1872, to
a family who had gotten rich thanks to the cork industry, from a very
young age he had a large fortune at his disposal which allowed him a fine
education while growing up and to become a patron as an adult, always
showing a strong inclination for the world of culture and science.
Rafael Patxot studied astronomy in London and, in April 1896, he
commissioned an observatory to be built in Sant Feliu de Guíxols to
study the stars. Meteorology (nephrology in particular), was another passion of his, and in 1900 he published Meteorologia catalana. Amb observacions de Sant Feliu de Guíxols (Catalan Meteorology. With Observations
from Sant Feliu de Guíxols). Both his father and mother died when he was
young; when he moved to Barcelona he got in touch with Joan Maragall
and the group of writers linked to the journal and the publishing house
L’Avenç. He translated Urania for them, a novel about the celestial muse
written by the French author Camille Flammarion, and Viatge al voltant
de la meva cambra (Voyage Around My Chamber), by Joseph de Maistre.
When Patxot was appointed executor by his sister-in-law, Concepció Rabell, he created a foundation under her name which sponsored the
Rabell music composition award and the Obra del Cançoner Popular de
Catalunya, for which he sent, between 1922 and 1936, over fifty missions
through Catalonia, Valencia and the Balearic Islands, and managed to
collect more than 40,000 documents. In 1919, in memory of his father,
the pianist Eusebi Patxot i Llagostera, he created, within the field of the
Orfeó Català, the musical contest that bears his name. Four years later,
in 1923, he created the Fundació d’Estudi de la Masia Catalana, aimed
at collecting all possible information on the farmhouses in Catalonia, Valencia and the Balearic Islands; he compiled a total of 7,700 documents
which are currently kept at the Centre Excursionista de Catalunya. In
1921, he sponsored the publication of the International Cloud Atlas, in
French, English, German and Catalan. In 1936, following the outbreak of
the Civil War, Rafael Patxot went into exile in Switzerland.
Masia Mariona received her name as a tribute to Patxot’s late daughter, who died in 1925 at the age of 28. A few years before, in 1919, another
daughter had died, named Montserrat. At the entrance of the farmhouse,
as an eternal memorial, two big cypresses rise up. On the façade, above
the entrance door, Rafael Patxot had engraved the phrase “Hostes vindran que de casa us trauran” (Guests will come who will cast you out from
home), accompanied by a “farewell” and a date, August 1936, when he
had to go into exile. He died in Geneva in 1964. Some years before, in
1952 in Geneva, he had published a memoir: Adéu a Catalunya. Guaitant
enrera. Fulls de la vida d’un octogenari (Farewell to Catalonia. Looking
Back. Pages from the Life of an Octogenarian).
“They burnt the house during the Civil War, during the retreat of the
Republican Army, but the structure survived,” explains Dolors, the girl
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who gives information about the exhibition. “It was abandoned for many
years until the grandson, Rafel Carreras, ceded it to the Barcelona Provincial Council after it showed its interest in recovering the building and
promoting his grandfather’s work. It was restored and opened to the public in October 2009. Since then it has also been the park’s office.
Inside, a showcase exhibits his book Guaitant enrera. The dedication,
dated in Geneva on 8th May 1952, says: “Farewell to all those who, understanding human nature, and, therefore, their birth right, keep alive
the affirmation of OUR CATALONIA and do not submit to the yoke of
the public social lie. This book is the fulfilment of a duty of awareness and
I would like to believe that the CATALONIA TYRANNISED by agreement of the three transferred arms, the military, the ecclesiastic and the
civil, will respect it without distorting the personality of the author.”
In his ex-libris, also exhibited, Rafael Patxot proclaims: “What you
know is always less than what you do not know,” with a drawing of Urania, the muse of astronomy, reading a book under a starry firmament.
In one of the sections of the exhibition, in the books and nature room,
there are some references to hiking, another of Patxot’s hobbies, who in
1923 refused the presidency of the Centre Excursionista de Catalunya
(Catalan Hiking Club) for health reasons. In this room we can see some
photos of him on Aneto and the first hut used as a meteorological station
in El Turó de l’Home. Outside, we are surprised us to find two sundials,
one on the façade and the other on the shaded area. The latter was placed
by Patxot’s grandson according to an idea of his grandfather who said
that if the earth was transparent, the sun would reach everywhere. On
the face there is a quotation from a song by Sisa: “On any night, the sun
can come out.”
El Turó de l’Home
After leaving Masia Mariona, we drive with Andoni until we reach El
Turó de l’Home. The ascent, along a fine road, is constant, with steep
slopes taking us up in a few minutes. Down below, intermittently, between the trees, we see the town of Sant Celoni and the long stretch of the
highway; the fields gradually give way to the forests and the prevalence
of beech trees and firs at this altitude is soon established. From time to
time, the sun filters through the new leaves of the beech trees, which enclose the road creating the impression that we are in a chapel of trees, in
a temple of nature.
In La Plana Amagada (The Hidden Plain), we leave the car and walk
until we reach first Les Agudes and a while later the peak of the mountain, the 1,706 metres of El Turó de l’Home. It is midweek and there is
no one in sight; even the trees have vanished from the landscape. We are
alone, surrounded by a unique panoramic view, with clouds that seek to
hold onto the rocks, at our feet; it looks as if the whole of Catalonia is
displayed before the eyes of the traveller; the valleys, the Pyrenees mountains, the massif of Montserrat, the mountain range of El Montnegre, that
of El Litoral... We go up the final section of the path, full of slate, until we
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get to the Meteorological Observatory, a house with a corrugated asbestos roof open to all four points of the compass. A little higher one finds the
triangulation pillar that indicates the 1,706 metres of El Turó de l’Home
and, on one of the exterior walls of the house, a plaque dedicated to Eduard Fontserè, the meteorologist who in 1932 fostered its creation.
Eduard Fontserè i Riba (Barcelona, 1870-1970) was, like Rafael
Patxot, an important figure in Catalan meteorology. His main work was
in fact the creation of the Servei Meteorològic de Catalunya, where he
served as president between 1921 and 1939. With Franco’s victory in the
Civil War he saw his career truncated, but he continued working in secrecy for the Science Department of the Institut d’Estudis Catalans.
The first idea of building an observatory in El Turó de l’Home, the
highest point at El Montseny, dates back to 1881 and emerged from the
Associació Catalanista d’Excursions Científiques (Catalan Scientific Hiking Association), precursor to the Centre Excursionista de Catalunya. In
April 1881 the committee for the creation of the refuge-observatory went
up to El Turó de l’Home and chose the location for the facility. The work
began in July with money collected by popular subscription and at the
end of the summer they had managed, despite the storms, to build a cabin. However, the project had to be abandoned due to a lack of money.
In 1932, on the occasion of the second International Polar Year, the
Servei Meteorològic de Catalunya resumed the idea of setting up an observatory in El Turó de l’Home, thanks to the enthusiasm of Eduard
Fontserè. The facility was finally inaugurated in the summer of 1932,
when a wooden hut which had previously been the Norwegian pavilion
at the 1929 Barcelona Universal Exposition was placed on the top of El
Montseny, supported by cables fixed to the rock.
It is clear that it was not at all easy to live in this observatory, especially in the past, when the house-refuge was exposed to the force of
storms testing its structure. Fernando García de Castro (Úbeda, Jaén,
1922-1999), who lived there for 36 years, between 1951 and 1987, wrote a
diary in which he explains, for instance, that in autumn 1952 the wooden
cabin had to endure a hurricane that made it shake dangerously; realising that things were getting worse, the meteorologist decided to leave the
cabin in the early morning, but as he was leaving, a strong wind threw
him to the ground, thereby breaking his hand. Two years later, in 1954,
a new wooden cabin was built, attached to the previous one on the northern side. García de Castro explains that, when in 1956 a wave of Siberian
cold affected Catalonia, in El Turó de l’Home they reached 20 degrees
below zero, the tanks froze and the pipes burst. The isolation of the site
changed in the seventies when a new road was constructed to reach the
small military communications base that the Spanish army had built in
El Puigsesolles, neighbouring El Turó de l’Home. It was then that the
shelter construction was made for the observatory.
Another figure linked to the history of the observatory is Miquel, born
in 1960, who lived in El Turó de l’Home until 2004. However, according
to the engineers, the current measurement tools make the presence of a
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meteorologist on the peak of El Montseny no longer necessary and there
are plans to move the observatory to what remains of the small military
base, currently demolished, to clear the peak of El Montseny and restore
the original landscape.
Sitting at the foot of the concrete block that makes up the triangulation pillar of the peak, facing the wind and surrounded by the immensity
of a privileged landscape, I believe that El Turó de l’Home should be a
compulsory subject for all Catalans. Climbing up here means, to some extent, rediscovering a natural paradise that we very often tend to forget
and finding oneself in the midst of a magnificent setting.
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Les GuilleriesSavassona
Natural Area:
The Landscape
of Verdaguer
English oak, Quercus robur
133
Les Guilleries-Savassona Natural Area, comprising the municipalities of
Folgueroles, Sant Julià de Vilatorta, Tavèrnoles, Vilanova de Sau and Sant
Sadurní d’Osormort, is characterised by extensive forests and cliffs overlooking the quiet waters of the Sau dam, filled for the first time in 1963. The
strength of nature prevails in this area, although it also has a rich heritage
in terms of farmhouses, castles, chapels, churches and monasteries, which
surprise us from time to time as it if they had come out of nowhere. Another
element that helps to shape the personality of this unique area is the trace
left behind by the poet Jacint Verdaguer, born in Folgueroles in 1845, who
was very familiar with these lands.
We start our journey in Folgueroles, participating in a group walk
through sites related to the poet organised by the Verdaguer Museum House
in Folgueroles and the Consorci de l’Espai Natural de les Guilleries-Savassona. By coincidence it is also the European Day of Parks, which commemorates the declaration of the first four parks approved in Sweden, just over
one hundred years ago.
Verdaguer, a Well-Known Poet
Early morning, the main square of Folgueroles is already full of people who
are getting ready to walk though this part of Les Guilleries. They stand under the monument to Jacint Verdaguer inaugurated in 1908, and close to the
house where he spent the first years of his life, and which is now a museum
house. The house is closed today but it is worth visiting at later to review the
life and work of the poet.
Verdaguer’s popularity is shown by the fact that the monument in the
square, created by the sculptor Josep Maria Pericas and erected only six
years after his death, was paid for by the village people and that the stonecutters worked for free. Needless to say, this love was requited. Verdaguer
wrote in Aires del Montseny (Airs of El Montseny), 1901: “Later, in harsh and
painful days, fleeing the hustle and bustle of the city, I went to seek comfort
in the view of that peak, which sees, among all the villages in the plain of
Vic, my beloved Folgueroles, and among the houses of the village, that of
my parents, and in it the humble bedroom from where I looked at it half a
century ago.”
We leave the village along an avenue flanked by plane trees which slowly take shape in the early mist. Our steps sound muffled when we pass by
the spring known as Font Trobada, a natural area where the artist Perejaume drew a beautiful tribute to the poet on the occasion of his centennial:
a signature that benefits from the flow of the brook, and draws the name of
Verdaguer in its course; the name fills up with water and can only be seen
from the sky.
We leave behind the last houses of the village and, advancing along
the former highroad from Folgueroles to Vilanova de Sau, we delve into a
landscape of fields that smell like freshly cut grass, and where poppies add
a touch of red to the borders. Then we remember the passionate verses that
Verdaguer wrote for this flower which has “the colour of the barretina”, the
Catalan cap.
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...que per la nova gent com per la vella,
la flor de la rosella
sempre serà la flor de Catalunya.1
1
«...that for both old and new
people || the poppy will always
be the flower of Catalonia...».
At the first stop, still enveloped in fog and very close to the Iberian
ruins at El Casol de Puigcastellet, a sprig of thyme is placed on the walkers’ lapels. Carme, the director of the Verdaguer Museum, later tells us
that this tradition was started by Verdaguer when, at the age of 18, he was
living in Can Tona, in Sant Martí de Riudeperes. “Next to the spring of El
Desmai (Weeping Willow),” she explains, “he placed a sprig of thyme on
the buttonhole of his friends’ jackets as a symbol of poetic initiation.”
The River Pool of Els Llitons
After we pass a large pond, we start walking up through a forest of pines
and holm oaks. It rained recently and the humidity has taken possession
of the trees and shrubs. After climbing for a while, at a crossroads we find
the river pool of Els Llitons, half concealed among the leaves, where the
water has eroded the rock and has now formed a narrow passage, around
five metres deep. This is known as the bridge of La Bruixa (The Witch),
which indicates the many traditions and legends associated to the river
pool. One of these legends told that at the bottom of the river pool there
lived mysterious goblins, the nitons. “Verdaguer refers to them in an autobiographical account, Tempesta a les Guilleries (Storm in Les Guilleries),”
Carme Torrents tells us. “He explains that one day, when he was still a
child, he saw his mother crying in the kitchen because she had no wood.
Then, joined by the men of Folgueroles, he went out to find some in the forest, but at the river pool they were caught in a storm. Verdaguer hid there
and cried, afraid that the nitons would come out, since these goblins were
said to enter your head and eat your memory.”
With the distressing legend of the nitons in our minds, we continue
up the mountain while the sun starts to tear through the curtain of mist.
On the edges of the road, we find heather, thyme and strawberry trees, all
very characteristic of Mediterranean forests. Upon arriving at Collsameda, the organisers offer us some figs and a shot of barreja, liquor made of
muscatel and anisette.
“If you don’t like it, tell us at the end of the walk,” shouts one of the
men who distribute it. “Maybe one day we’ll stop doing it…”
The man smiles while everybody praises the sweetness of the figs and
someone tells us that, in Verdaguer’s time, the young people of Folgueroles
used to go on Sundays to see the old lady of Collsameda. Those are bygone
years when the terraces surrounding Collsameda were full of vines and
among the stock there were peach, apple and fig trees. “When they were
ripe,” we read on an information sheet, “the people of Folgueroles, aware
of the virtues of figs, feasted on them heartily. The godmother of Collsameda allowed people to pick figs straight from the tree, but only on the condition that later they had to drink a shot of liquor that she sold them for
five or ten cents. In this way she earned some badly needed money.”
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From Collsameda you can to take the long GR 2 trail and visit heritage
sites of interest with fantastic views such as Sant Llorenç del Munt Castle
(9th century) and the sanctuary of Puig-l’agulla (17th century).
El Salt de la Minyona
We continue, step by step, until we glimpse the rocks of the peak among
the misty spirals. We are already on the upper part, and we can feel it: the
large extensions of forest and the rocky peaks are taking shape. At a given
moment, we see below a section of the road leading to Vilanova de Sau and
one or two cars passing by at high speed; above, if we raise our heads, we
see Els Munts. This is where we have to climb to, along a track that rises,
until we find the small road which will take us up the 846 metres of El Salt
de la Minyona (The Maiden’s Jump).
The view from here is quite impressive, panoramic, with Vilanova de
Sau at our feet, among fields and forests, the cliffs of Tavertet in the background and the village of Viladrau that can be made out on the other side,
far away, at the foot of El Matagalls. At El Salt de la Minyona, nature
takes on a vibrant feeling of openness; it is as if we were on a balcony from
where we can enjoy the best of views.
The small statue of the Mare de Déu dels Cingles presides over the place
from the top of a column, while someone next to us recalls the legend of El
Salt de la Minyona, about which Verdaguer also wrote. This legend tells
that a maiden from Els Munts who was going to mass in Vilanova de Sau
one day realised that she was late. Having decided to take a short cut,
she jumped over the cliff and managed to arrive at mass on time, without
hurting herself. Some days later, however, she wanted to show some sceptic
peasants that she was able to jump again, however this time there was no
miracle and the maiden died, crushed at the foot of the cliff.
The Wings of the Poet
At the top of Els Munts, 864 metres high, we stop to eat a sandwich and
drink some water and wine. While we relax, Anna Maluquer recites a few
of verses written by Verdaguer; among them, we hear “A una alzina del
Passeig de Gràcia” (To an oak in Passeig de Gràcia), published by the poet
in the newspaper La Veu de Catalunya in 1903. It starts with these words:
“Daughter of the mountains, who placed you here next to an avenue and
in the middle of an enlarging city? Nobody, of course. You are a reminder
of the old jungles that descended from the Tibidabo, a tassel of its green
satin cloak that reached the sea. Providence has left you in the middle of
the new Barcelona to remind it that it was a meadow (...). But, are you not
homesick, here all alone? Do you not miss your sisters who are far from
here on the other side of Collserola or El Montseny, at odds with this civilisation that consumes, weakens, and dishonours you?”
The contrast between the countryside and the city becomes clearer
than ever when we listen to the words of Verdaguer. “Poor girl of the gorge,
how will you come to an agreement with the titanic fashion of the citizens?
All the trees here, bowing their heads once a year to the woodcutter, like
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sheep to the shearer’s scissors, allow their surplus or non-surplus shoots
to be pruned by the cruel axe. Trees are not allowed here to have knots or
warts, or insects that are unbecoming for civilised garden trees.”
As we are close to El Salt de la Minyona, the poet recites a story similar to the legend, about the little shepherdess Griselda, who appears in the
poem Canigó, by Verdaguer. She does it so well that an audience member
spontaneously shouts at her: “If perfection is 10, you are 9.99. Congratulations!” The girl modestly answers that all the merit belongs to the poet.
She next suggests reciting the poem “Ales” (Wings), as we are “in such a
wonderful place that we seem to be sprouting wings.” It ends with these
verses:
«If azure is the carpet in your
rooms, || when will I see it
emerge at my feet? || Oh, my
God, oh my God, give me wings
|| or give me the desire to fly!»
2
«To the top of a promontory
dominating || the waves of the
sea, || when the sun towards
the east declines, || I climb to
meditate. ||At the light of this
lit candle || I contemplate my
nothingness; || I contemplate
the sea and the sky, and their
grandness || crushes me like a
weight...»
3
Si catifa és l’atzur de vostres sales
quan lo veuré a mes plantes enflorar?
Oh, Déu meu, Oh, Déu meu, dau-me unes ales
o preneu-me les ganes de volar! 2
The following fragment comes from a poem entitled “Vora el mar” (By
the sea). We are far from the Mediterranean, but the sea of mist that has
extended at our feet during most of the morning is a perfect excuse:
Al cim d’un promontori que domina
les ones de la mar,
quan l’astre rei cap al ponent declina,
me’n pujo a meditar.
Amb la claror d’aqueixa llàntia encesa
contemplo mon no-res;
contemplo el mar i el cel, i llur grandesa
m’aixafa com un pes...3
The participants on the walk are gradually arriving. They sit on the
grass and listen to Verdaguer’s verses, which seem to cling to the landscape of Les Guilleries like a second skin.
After a while, we continue walking, now downwards, back to the village of Folgueroles. We go through a dense forest until we reach the holm
oak of Masgrau, a splendid large-crowned tree, alongside a very big farmhouse. Next to it, some white horses are grazing, immune to the movement
of this usually quiet path. It is inevitable, contemplating this centenary
tree, to recall the poem “A una alzina del passeig de Gràcia”, which we listened to not long ago in Els Munts.
The Chapel of La Damunt
We go down to El Compòsit or Can Pericas, where meet the road once again,
and continue walking to Els Foquers among the fields and forest. Once there,
we must go up the steep steps that lead to the chapel of La Damunt, close to
Folgueroles. We are welcomed with open doors and, once again, remember
Verdaguer, who evoked La Damunt in the poem “L’Arpa” (The Harp):
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Damunt de mon poblet hi ha una capella
d’una roureda secular voltada,
és son altar lo trono d’una verge
d’aquella rodalia sobirana
Era ma pobra mare, que al cel sia,
sa més fidel i humil vassalla,
i sent jo petitó, cada diumenge
a dur-li alguna toia me portava,
a son Fill oferint-me que em somreia,
com jo, assegut en la materna falda...4
A little later, in this same poem, Verdaguer explains that the charm of
these landscapes enabled him to discover the poetry muse:
...i al pondre’s damunt seu l’astre del dia,
corona d’or irradiant de flama,
engolir-se’l vegí l’alt Pedraforca
fet un vesuvi atapeït de lava,
i entre el floreig d’estrelles que naixien
del vespre hermós entre les fosques ales,
com aurora divina que em somreia
vegí en lo cel la Musa Catalana! 5
Anna Maluquer, the same poet who recited Verdaguer’s verses on the
top of El Munts, continues to do so now next to the chapel of La Damunt,
this spiritual centre for the people of Folgueroles from where you can see El
Montseny, the Pyrenees and the plain of Vic. The verses of “L’Arpa” are undoubtedly most in keeping with the landscape, and especially with the Brins
d’Espígol (Thread of Lavender) garden. The association Amics de Verdaguer
de Folgueroles created this garden next to the chapel in 1990, on occasion
of the 25th anniversary of the association, trying to include the plants that
Verdaguer makes reference to in his poems.
Anna Maluquer recites a fragment of Canigó which fires the audience
with enthusiasm, especially when she recites the final verses:
«Above my village there is
a shrine || surrounded by a
secular oak wood, || its altar
is the throne of a virgin || who
reigns in that land. || My poor
mother, who is in Heaven, ||
was her most loyal and humble
subject || and she sent me, as a
child, every Sunday || to take
some flowers || to His Son who
smiled at me, || and I at Him,
sitting on His mother’s lap…»
4
«...and as the sun set upon it,
|| a golden crown radiating
with flame, || i saw it engulfing
the high Pedraforca || made
a Vesuvius full of lava, || and
between the flourishing of stars
rising || from the beautiful
evening between the dark
wings, || like a divine dawn
smiling at me, || i saw in the sky
the Catalan Muse!»
5
«…What one century built,
another demolishes || but
forever remains the monument
to God, || and tempest, storm,
hatred and war || in El Canigó
they will not pull it down,
|| will not strip the haughty
Pyrenees of its branches. »
6
...Lo que un segle bastí, l’altre ho aterra,
mes resta sempre el monument de Déu;
i la tempesta, el torb, l’odi i la guerra
al Canigó no el tiraran a terra,
no esbrancaran l’altívol Pirineu. 6
Asserting the Figure of Verdaguer
Sitting before the chapel, we speak with Carme Torrents, the director of the
Verdaguer Museum in Folgueroles, about the grandeur of the poet. Today,
Carme is happy because around two hundred people have participated in the
walk, and because for some days the museum has hosted a series of events
that have brought together an audience of several generations.
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“The advantage of Folgueroles,” she points out, “is that it is located between the plain of Vic and Les Guilleries, which allows us to take very interesting walks. In his work, Verdaguer always lays down the contrast between
the peaceful world of the plain and the wild world of Les Guilleries.”
“Verdaguer was one of the most popular poets in Catalonia while he was
alive. Do you think his work is still relevant?”
“Undoubtedly. We currently have a project underway called ‘Help us
find Verdaguer’, which seeks to measure his popularity in Catalonia. We can
say that there are 399 streets bearing his name, which means that almost
50% of all Catalan villages and towns have a street or square dedicated to
him. There are also 65 summits with his name, and even a peak. Oh, and an
asteroid as well! We opened a Facebook account so that people could send
us information about Verdaguer places and, in five months, we already have
three thousand entries.”
“Do you believe that Verdaguer is as highly regarded as he should be?”
“I think that in general he is poorly regarded. If we were in a normal
country, Verdaguer would be like Shakespeare, he would have greater standing than that he has now.”
“And why has this happened?”
“For several reasons, because the Franco regime made him its own, because his texts were written before the establishment of the Catalan grammar by Pompeu Fabra… You should keep in mind that the first doctoral
thesis on Verdaguer is from 1980. Verdaguer has never been adequately
studied and now we’re trying to make it right.”
“Did you say that the Franco regime made him its own?
“In 1945, on the occasion of the 100th anniversary of his birth, Folgueroles was full of soldiers and Franco supporters… They were interested
in vindicating him because he was a priest and because he wrote in a nonnormalised Catalan. In contrast, my father used to tell me that at school
they weren’t allowed to talk about Verdaguer. Because he disobeyed the
bishop and with Franco supporters making him their own...”
Carme Torrents points out that there were plans to open the Verdaguer
Museum in Folgueroles on the 25th of July, 1936; that is, one week after the
outbreak of the Civil War. However, it wasn’t possible until 1967, when the
people of Folgueroles bought the house in the village where the museum is
now established.
“Verdaguer will live forever because he is the poet of poets,” she proclaims, finally, convinced of the poet’s worth.
From La Damunt, there is a gentle drop towards Folgueroles and the
hikers disperse. From this point on, we all find our own way back home,
with the Verdaguerian landscape still very fresh in our memory.
Sant Feliuet de Savassona
Realising that walking through the places associated with Verdaguer is not
enough to appreciate all the beauty of Les Guilleries-Savassona Natural
Area, we return a few days later. This time we approach it from the northern
side, through the village of Tavèrnoles, crowded around the Romanesque
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belfry of the church of Sant Esteve. A few kilometres away, along the road
leading to the Sau dam, we stop at the foot of the chapel of Sant Feliuet de
Savassona, another Verdaguerian site, at the top of some rocks, which we
have been advised to visit.
The path to Sant Feliuet looks like one of those initiation routes and
take us back to bygone times. For around twenty minutes we walk, first
among box trees, holly and moss, through a fantastic holm oak woods
where from time to time an immense fallen rock is glimpsed. The enormous rounded rocks are scattered among the trees, as if they were witnesses to ancient times when the mysteries of Mother Nature were revered.
When we reach the so-called Pedra dels Sacrificis (Sacrificial Stone), bigger than the others and with some horizontal grooves midway, our imagination overflows. According to the legend, these irrigation channels were
to collect the blood of the sacrificial victims of the witches in the county;
close by, some Neolithic burials were discovered dating back 4,200 years,
with a skeleton and material from the Iron Age, as well as from the Iberian
and Medieval periods.
There are some climbing pitons in the Pedra dels Sacrificis, and also on
the rocks nearby. Not far off there is a group of young people camping; a
couple of them are sleeping on the grass, while two others struggle to climb
one of the rocks with a protective mattress below them. It is the coexistence
of two worlds: rocks associated with ancestral legends and young people endeavouring to defeat verticality.
The path continues upwards to the chapel of Sant Feliuet, with steps
for the final stretch and welcoming moss on some of the surrounding rocks.
The last section, narrower than the others, confirms that we are on a kind of
magical route that blossoms at the top and we find a chapel surrounded by
ponds full of rainwater.
The view of the holm oak woods, the rocks and the ploughed fields underneath, and Savassona Castle on the other side of the road is splendid. The
cliffs of Tavertet and the mountains form a barrier on the eastern side; and
in the north, the peaks of the Pyrenees and the Ter river, flowing towards
the dam, complete the spectacular panorama from the top of a hill where the
remains the Neolithic to medieval eras can still be found.
The chapel, restored in 1962 by the Centre Excursionista de Vic, is small
and dark, made of stone. It dates back to the 11th or 12th century but it
was reformed in the 16th century. Helped by the perspective of time, we can
imagine that this chapel, constructed almost to hover over the landscape,
was intended in some way to counterbalance the power of a unique, almost
magical, nature.
Verdaguer, a great hiker and lover of these lands, used to walk to Sant
Feliuet de Savassona from Folgueroles. A plaque reminds us that we are on
the Verdaguer Route, and adds that, as the poet wrote in the preface to the
novel Castell de Savassona (Savassona Castle), by Joaquim Salarich i Verdaguer, these lands “divide the plain of Vic from Les Guilleries, the simple and
reflexive people who work the art of the land, from that of shepherds and
woodcutters.”
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In this place, in front of the church and close to the cliff, a recital included in “Poetry in the Parks” has taken place for five years, with the spirit
of Verdaguer hovering over the words of the invited poets.
The Tourist Hotel of Sau
We continue along the road to the Sau dam, a large extension of water,
seventeen kilometres long by three kilometres wide, an inland sea emphasised by the natural wall of the cliffs of Tavertet. The belfry of Sant Romà de
Sau is the evidence of an old village that was sacrificed to the gods of progress, and raises its head to remind us that it still exists beneath the waters.
The tourist hotel, built in the sixties on the top of a hill overlooking
the Sau dam and expanded in 2006, has the intimidating appearance of a
fortress. The view, however, is quite worthwhile. Along with being a highly
appreciated place to relax, the tourist hotel became famous in July 1978
when a committee of twenty members met there to draft the first Statute of
Catalonia approved after the Franco regime. At the entrance, a monument
to Josep Ricart, with four strips made of bricks, commemorates it.
The great views of the dam, the forests and the surrounding cliffs are
good reasons to stay at the hotel; then there are also the hikes that you can go
on from this establishment. One of them leads to the monastery of Sant Pere
de Casserres, part of the Osona Regional Council, which despite being beyond the limits of Les Guilleries-Savassona Natural Area, is worth visiting.
Sant Pere de Casserres
The site that now houses the monastery of Sant Pere de Casserres, on an
elevation overlooking a very tight meander of the Ter river, just before entering Les Guilleries, is quite exceptional. We reach it when afternoon falls
accompanied by Oriol, a guide from Folgueroles who tells us that every year
the monastery receives around 25,000 visits.
“Sant Pere de Casserres was opened to the public in 1998, after the restoration works which started in 1994,” Oriol explains. “It used to be a ruin,
it was pitiful. You must take into account that it was abandoned for nearly
three hundred years.”
The legend tells that the monastery, built over the remains of a castle
and a necropolis, was founded by the viscounts of Osona and Cardona over
the relics of a mummified child. On the third day after he was born, he spoke;
he said he would live no more than thirty days and that, when he died, his
body had to be placed in a chest on a blind mule. They had to let it wander
freely and build a monastery dedicated to Saint Peter wherever it stopped.
For many years, the relics of the infant were preserved in the monastery
and were highly venerated, but in 1904 the Vicar of Vic prohibited this, as
their authenticity was uncertain. In 1966 someone stole the body from the
monastery and returned it in 1989 in a very poor state. At present, it is kept
at Mas Pla de Roda.
We start the visit in the cloister, largely reconstructed: two of its sides
are made with stone columns and the other two with pillars with capitals,
filled in with concrete.
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“The earthquakes of 1427-1428 demolished the cloister,” Oriol points
out, “and the monks decided to reconstruct it with pillars, although originally there were stone columns. Finally, it was half and half.”
The belfry, with its oak wood staircase from 1551, the chapter room, and
the prior’s chamber are impressive but the most spectacular part of the monastery is undoubtedly the church. It is wider than it is long, was consecrated
in 1050 and comprises three naves and three apses.
“It is much more startling when we bear in mind that here there were never
more than twelve monks,” Oriol observes. “Look at this column: there are remains of paint which show us how the church must once have been decorated.”
It is known that the church was completely painted, like the Orthodox
monasteries, and there is a model to give us an idea. The most documented
paintings are those on the apse, made by the artists from the Vic workshop.
In the lower part there were motifs with curtains; in the middle, images from
the Old Testament; and, in the upper part, images from the New Testament.
Everything was crowned by the Christ Pantocrator.
It is difficult to imagine how the church looked when it was completely
painted. Its appearance, in any case, must have differed greatly from what
we see now, with the majestic quality that the bare stone walls lend to it.
On one side, we notice a casket with the mortal remains of Guillem de
Tavertet, Bishop of Vic between 1195 and 1233, who died in Casserres on
September 25th, 1233.
“These relics were also stolen,” Oriol explains. “An unknown person left
them some years ago in the Vic Town Hall. He said that he was returning
them now that the monastery was restored. The analyses show that they are
from the period, but there is no guarantee that they are the bishop’s.”
It is not surprising that the Sant Pere de Casserres monastery is surrounded by legends and mysteries. It was abandoned after a splendorous
time in which the counts and bishops frequented and favoured it, in the 16th
and 17th centuries. In the late 15th century, there were only two monks, and
in 1572 it was unified with the college of the Jesuits of Bethlehem in Barcelona, who only used it as a farm. After the expulsion of the Jesuits in 1667,
the monastery was sold to Pau Pla, from Mas Pla de Roca, for 6,407 lliures,
5 sous and 10 diners. The religious activity ceased and it later passed into
the hands of the Arisa-Pallàs family, from Les Masies de Roda, who kept it
as a tenant’s farmhouse.
In 1931, when the monastery was declared an artistic historical monument, there were attempts to preserve it, but the Civil War put an end to the
works and they were not resumed until the period between 1952-1962, when
architect Camil Pallàs, a member of the family that owned it, undertook
important consolidation works. In 1991, when it was acquired by the Osona
Regional Council, the extensive restoration of the monastery began, opening its doors to the public in 1998.
Vilanova de Sau
Vilanova de Sau, a municipality covering 60 kilometres, takes up most of the
lands of Les Guilleries-Savassona Natural Area. When the former village of
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Sant Romà de Sau was flooded by the dam water, its lands were distributed
between three municipalities – Vilanova, Sant Hilari and Susqueda –, and
Vilanova got the largest part of the share.
We have an appointment at the Hotel la Riba, on the other side of the
dam, to talk about the characteristics of this natural area with Joan Carles,
Councillor of Culture, Environment and Sports at Vilanova de Sau Council.
“This is a good place to meet,” he says as we sit at the hotel bar, “because it belongs to Àngel Font, the only resident of Sant Romà de Sau who
still lives close to the dam. The rest left when they filled it, in 1963, and all
the fertile lands were lost.”
Àngel Junior, who is serving coffee behind the counter, smiles and comments: “There are many people searching for my grandfather, who saw the
end of the village first hand, but he is old and doesn’t want to know anything of the past. You have to talk to me.”
We agree to see him later and we start by letting Joan Carles fill us in.
“In Vilanova de Sau there are now 330 residents,” he explains. “We’re
making an effort to keep the rural school as it was in the past.”
While we walk in the area round the hotel, Joan Carles names the aromatic and medicinal herbs; he knows them very well because he is an herbalist.
“This is a very curious valley,” he says, “because it’s a haven of flora.
One third of the flora in Catalonia is here.”
Every year on the first Sunday in June the Medicinal Herbs Fair is held
in Vilanova, which fills the village with intense aromas.
“We have a plantation of 1,500 square metres, the Garden of Scents, in
Vilanova de Sau, and we collect herbs from the forest. Those we can’t find
we buy mainly in the area of Lleida. Unfortunately, there are no longer any
peasants here.”
Vilanova de Sau is also renowned for its six summer camps that benefit
from the idyllic site of the dam, as well as for some hotels and restaurants
which receive a large number of tourists at the weekend, mainly in spring
and autumn.
“Many people who enjoy active sports come here,” he comments. “You
can practise kayak, rock climbing and scuba-diving. In other words, sports
integrated into nature, rather than adventure sports. Tonight, in fact, we
have a kayak outing under the full moon.”
Outlaws and Romans
Joan Carles explains that it is the steepest area in Les Guilleries and that for
some centuries there were outlaws in these lands. He looks on the map until
he finds the Masia Serrallonga, which is where the outlaw Serrallonga got his
name, born in Viladrau.
“The Bachelor of Sau, who was his right hand, was from Sant Romà,” he
continues. “His house is now underwater.”
He next explains an interesting finding, made by chance in 2005, close
to the old village of Sant Romà:
“One day when the waters were very low, a dog turned up with a bone in
its mouth. It looked like a human tibia. We followed the dog until we found
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a hole with a stone slab, next to the village of Sant Romà. It was a necropolis. We had suspected for some time that there could be a Roman road in
the valley. Further up there was what we thought were the ruins of a small
Romanesque church. However, when the archaeologists examined it, they
realised that it was a pre-Romanesque domus, the Domus del Pi, with lateRoman walls from the 4th and 5th centuries, and with tombs from the 7th
to 8th centuries.”
After the excavations led by the archaeologists Jordi Amorós and Roker
Yll it was discovered that the house, destroyed by the troops of the Bishop
of Vic in 1276, was a medieval defence fortress, with very thick walls, where
the people who lived by the Ter river protected themselves from the attacks.
The Dam
The idea of constructing a dam close to Sant Romà de Sau comes from very
far back and, in fact, in the 19th century there was already one further down
the Ter river, to supply power to the textile industry.
“Around 1917 the Sau dam was designed,” Joan Carles Álvarez explains.
“There are photos of the German engineers who came. It cost 14 million
pesetas, which was a lot of money at that time. It was postponed on many
occasions and the Civil War marked a period of inactivity. The project was
resumed in the post-war period and, in 1948, the works of the dam began,
although it was not filled up with water until 1963.”
At the Hotel Riba there is an exhibition of old photos and cuttings from
publications that illustrate what the valley was like before the dam. One of
these cuttings begins as follows: “Thursday the thirteenth; on such a day
of August 1963 they started filling the dam...” The most recurrent photo is
that of the top of the belfry above the waters, as an eternal witness to the
village drowned by the dam.”
“When it is full, we go through it with the kayaks,” Joan Carles Álvarez
explains. “In 2000 we warned that it was heavily damaged and that it ran
the risk of collapsing. As they took no notice, in the end, the residents of
Vilanova de Sau, filled the tower with concrete to reinforce it. It’s a symbol
that we don’t want to lose.”
Joan Carles remembers that for some years a kind of golondrina, a boat resembling those in the port of Barcelona, transported tourists through the dam.
“The boat was called El fadrí de Sau (The Godfather of Sau), but they
removed it following the accident in Banyoles lake, in 1998, when one of
these boats sank and 21 French senior citizens died,” he adds. “One day I
went scuba-diving in Cala Monjtoi, close to Roses and when I emerged from
the water I came across this boat. When I read the name of El fadrí de Sau
I felt puzzled. I thought for a moment that perhaps it had arrived through a
tunnel from the Sau dam...” he observes smiling, “but no, the truth is that
they sold it to the people there.”
The Memory of Sant Romà
Àngel Font, born in 1951, was twelve when the waters of the dam flooded
Sant Romà de Sau. His father, who owned the village guesthouse, now un-
144
der water, built another on the upper part of the estate, where he knew that
the waters would not reach. He gave it the same name, La Riba, and now it is
a hotel with thirteen rooms where they serve dishes made mainly with food
from the same farm, striving for a sustainable production.
“It’s funny, but I have many memories of the valley, but not of the
house,” Àngel tells us, sitting at one of the tables in the bar, under a large
photo of the valley before the dam. “We had been out for a long time when
the dam was filled; we were living on the upper part, but we still went to the
school of Sant Romà and had lunch at Cal Ferrer. I remember the sheep,
the cows, the river, the bridge… everything. We worked the lands up to the
end.”
“What was the old house like?”
“It was the farmhouse and a typical guesthouse, with a barn... It was a
stopover for many hikers to have lunch.”
“Is the new Riba, where we are now, very different?”
“When the expropriation process took place, which was very long -ago
almost twenty years- , my father opened a shop and a bar for the workers of
the dam, where La Morilla is now. In 1963 he sold it and the whole family
came here. There are three of us.”
“And where did the rest of the residents go?”
“Most of the people in the valley gradually scattered through the county. We are the only ones left because we had lands on the upper part of the
estate.”
“Is life outside the village very different?”
“As the works lasted twenty years, the oldest people died. My grandfather, the priest… It was a very slow death and we gradually got used to
it… Since we knew that the waters would flood it, people stopped repairing
the farmhouses and everything fell to pieces… The only thing that was not
touched was the church, which belonged to the bishopric.”
“Do you miss those years?”·
“No. It was so long ago… When you look at this photo,” he points with
his head to the photo of the village before the dam, “you say: ‘How beautiful
was the valley!’”
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Castell de
Montesquiu Park:
From Wilfred the Hairy
to Emili Juncadella
Scots pine, Pinus sylvestris
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Montesquiu is the smallest park of the dozen that make up the Barcelona
Provincial Council’s Natural Park Network. It covers only 547 hectares and
it can be said that it is limited by Montesquieu Castle and the surrounding
estate. Despite the small size, it does have some interesting features, starting with the castle itself, dating back to the 10th century, and continuing
with an idyllic combination in which a green mountain landscape conjoinedwith the meanders of the Ter river in this land located on the border between
Osona and El Ripollès, also known as the sub-county of El Bisaura.
We enter the park after going through the village of Montesquiu – although there is another point of access from the village of Sant Quirze de
Besora –, which emerged in the shadow of the castle centuries ago, and the
Ter river, and we immediately find ourselves amidst a green setting that
relaxes the spirit. After a brief climb, the castle appears: large, imposing,
surrounded by a garden that gives it an air of nobility, like a French style
château.
A Castle with a Long History
Eduard, the director of the park, receives us in the house where the offices
of the natural area are established, near the castle. It is a peaceful day, midweek, and calm reigns in his office, where he works surrounded by maps,
books and diverse reports.
“The main point of interest of Montesquiu Park is the castle,” he explains with the map spread out on the table, “but hiking is also an attraction. People go up from here to Besora Castle and to the Bufadors moderate
rise mountain ridge.”
Looking attentively at the map, we note that the structure of the park is
very clear, with the castle in the southernmost extreme, the river at its feet
and three mountain ridges covering its back in the northern part: El Castell,
La Rovira and Bufadors. On the other side of the river there is a small part
of the park, with Les Codines farmhouse and the Gran mountain ridge as
reference points to bear in mind.
The recent history of Montesquiu Castle indicates that its last owner, Emili Juncadella, left the estate to his sister Mercedes in 1936, when he
passed away, with instructions that it should go to Barcelona Provincial
Council after her death. In 1976, after Mercedes Juncadella died, the legacy
passed on to the Council and in 1986 the park was created; thus, the whole
area of the castle was protected.
“We don’t know exactly who built the castle, but we know that its history began as a fortified tower which must have been built around the 9th
century to control the river pass,” notes Eduard. “This is what happens
with these old buildings, they are not founded by anyone, but built over the
years. It started with a tower, as I said, and other parts were added around
it later on.”
“Is there an illustrious knight linked to the castle?”
“All the historical documentation is now at the Museu Comarcal de Ripoll. Although this is Osona, we have always had a closer relationship with
El Ripollès, as we are on the juncture between the two counties. It seems
that Wilfred the Hairy was responsible for having the tower built.”
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Wilfred the Hairy! Goodness! The nobleman who started the dynasty
of the counts of Barcelona, born around 840, turns out to be connected with
the origin of Montesquiu Castle. From Wilfred the Hairy, who died during
the Muslim incursion of 897, emerges the legend of the four stripes on the
coat of arms of Catalonia, which tells that the King of France traced four
fingers covered in blood over the golden shield.
“And what else is known about the castle?”
“We know, because of documentary reference, that one of Wilfred’s
daughters, Emma, bought Besora Castle in 921. She was the first abbess of
the monastery of Sant Joan de les Abadesses, which before had previously
been known as Sant Joan de Ripoll. The noblemen lived up on the mountain
in the beginning, in Besora Castle, which today is just a ruin, but in those
days there was probably not a trace of the Montesquiu Castle that we see
today was here.”
“And what other names are linked to the castle?”
“Arnau Guillem de Besora decided to move down to Montesquiu Castle
in the 14th century. He believed there was already enough peace not to have
to live in an elevated castle.”
“I suppose the castle was extended over time.”
“That’s right, but it was especially in the 17th century when Lluís Descatllar extended it the most... He added the bigger windows and gave it different appearance.”
“Until we reach the present.”
“In the 20th century the most interesting person is Emili Juncadella,
who belonged to the third generation of the current Juncadella family.
Grandfather Juncadella bought it from the lords of Queralt and it was Emili
Juncadella who carried out the last big reform, basically between the years
1917 and 1920. Unfortunately, we don’t know what it was like before, as
there are no surviving photos or engravings.”
“Did the Juncadella family live here all year?”
“They spent periods here. Most of the year they were in Barcelona. Emili Juncadella was an interesting character, fond of hunting and travel.”
“And how did he die?”
“He was shot in El Prat airport, then called Muntadas airport, on the
21st of July, 1936, when he tried to flee to Italy after the outbreak of the Civil War and the threat of the anarchist groups. He was a member of the Barcelona Provincial Council, did not have any children and left the castle to
his sister with instructions that it was to be left to the Council afterwards.”
The sister, people say, would go up to the castle, especially in the summer. At first she went up making a big fuss, like a real lady of the manor, but
gradually, as her income dwindled, the level went down. The last few years,
they say, she would come to Montesquiu by train and started to exploit the
forest on the estate to collect some money.
“The Barcelona Provincial Council reformed the roof of the castle first
and carried out the last reforms in the 1990s, converting the granary in the
attic into conference rooms. They also installed a lift and a heating system.”
“Can you sleep there?”
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“It’s prohibited by the legacy. Emili Juncadella didn’t want the castle
to be a residence or a restaurant. He clearly established that Montesquiu
Castle had to be used for cultural and educational purposes. They now hold
conventions there but sleeping is out of the question.”
The rest of the park, explains Eduard, is made up of different agricultural estates: that of El Castell, Les Codines, La Solana, Les Planeses and
Sant Moí. In all of them the farmhouses ended up uninhabited over the
years. Moreover, the Council plans to finish the refurbishment works of the
nature school in Les Codines and to consolidate the specialised forestry centre project in La Solana, although at the time of our visit they were not operational. A third facility in the park is the restaurant of La Casanova del
Castell, where you can eat in a relaxed atmosphere.
“We are now recovering all the agricultural terraces and managing the
forest as well,” continues Eduard. “Within a programme undertaken in
partnership with Fundació la Caixa, we are recovering the terraces of Sant
Moí and part of those of La Casanova del Castell. On this last estate, an
agreement has been established with the Faculty of Veterinary Science of
the UAB to gradually reintroduce the ripollesa sheep, which was in danger
of extinction, in order to keep the weeds at bay. We now have around twenty
sheep. In Les Planeses, on the other hand, we have introduced the Limousin
cow, which mostly grazes in the forest. The idea is to also take the sheep to
Les Codines and set up a stockbreeding school there.”
“Do you have much to do with Montesquiu?”
“94% of the municipality is within the park. Therefore, we have a great
relationship. There are also parts of the estate that belong to Sora, Santa
Maria de Besora and Sant Quirze de Besora.”
“Do you also have plans for the Ter river?”
“The river is under the management of the Agència Catalana de l’Aigua.
We have an educational walking route, so that children become familiar
with nature; it goes from the shaded areas and continues along a section of
the riverbank.”
A Riverside Walk
To familiarise ourselves with the green environment of the park, we
will walk on the sign-posted route along the shaded area of the castle.
It takes around an hour and is a circular route, easy and pleasant, that
goes through the pine and oak woods, along the banks of the Ter river
and along some brooks. The splendid castle garden is nearby, with foreign
trees planted by Emili Juncadella, such as Lebanon cedars and sequoias. The village of Montesquiu appears on the other side of the river, with
mostly new houses, a big sports area and the road that passes through it
and encourages haste.
Next to the river we see some well kept allotments, of an imprecise green
and the typical bank vegetation, with some occasional springs to relieve the
walk. The holly, the emblematic shrub of the park, is plentiful. At a certain
point, there is a chance to turn inland to go to La Solana, but we prefer to
continue along the riverbank.
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When we reach La Farga de Bebié, which occupies the extreme of the village of Les Llosses, outside the park limits, the landscape suddenly changes.
This old forge, located in a meander of the Ter river, currently closed and in
a state of considerable abandon, began its activity in 1899. There used to be
an old mill, known as Rocafiguera, in the same place but the industrialisation period at the end of the 19th century in the basin of the Ter river and El
Llobregat made it clear that this was a good place to set up a forge.
To tell the story of La Farga de Bebié we must go back in time to meet
the Swiss engineer Edmond Bebié, owner of a yarn factory in the Swiss
canton of Aargau, near Zurich. According to the historian Rosa Serra in
Colònies tèxtils de Catalunya (Textile Industrial Estates in Catalonia), Edmond’s son, Ernest, who studied in the city of Winterthur, “came into contact with a fellow student from Vic who told him of the possibilities of hydraulic exploitation offered by the Ter river and the fact that many Catalan
textile manufacturers were established at its feet to take advantage of the
hydraulic energy.”
Around 1985, Edmond Bebiè bought 400 hectares of land along the Ter
river from the Rocafiguera family and began the construction of a yarn factory, with a housing estate for its workers. The factory started its activities
in 1899, had many years of prosperity during the First World War (19141918); from the 1920s onward, it had a train station and, since 1955, even
its own church. In 1978, however, the factory went bankrupt and, although
it experienced some revival, it is now an abandoned place where the main
building stands out, with the Swiss flag on the façade and the gardens that
used to be well tended.
However, walking around La Farga de Bebié today it seems that progress has passed it by. The factory had great moments of euphoria, but it is
completely closed now (including bar with a discoloured advertisement for
Calisay on the façade). In front of it, on the other side of the road, the old flats
of the housing estate are empty, the shutters are down, the railings of the
balconies are rusted and there is a total feeling of abandon.
On the other side of the river, very close to the bridge where the train
crosses, and surrounded by riverbank vegetation with very tall trees, the
small church of the estate surges. Not far off, the chapel of Sant Moí gives
the place a rural touch.
“I have been to the Bufadors mountain ridge and to Besora Castle,” explains the only walker we find there, a retired man who prefers to remain
anonymous. “I really liked it. I am from Barcelona, but from time to time I
take the train and I walk through the mountain.”
“Do you always come here?”
“It varies. Sometimes I exit at Puigcerdà or at another station. On a
nice day, however, I like walking in the mountain. It’s a pity to stay in the
city with this weather. During the week I am always alone, but at the weekend my wife comes with me.”
The man is heading toward Montesquiu, walking at a good pace, without turning around, as if he preferred not to see the decadence of La Farga
de Bebié, a factory that a few decades back was a model of industrialisation.
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The Visit to the Castle
Mercè, the coordinator of the park guides, comes along with us for the visit to the castle. We start in the French garden and the courtyard in front,
dominated by a false well and, on the right, by a church added by Lluís Descatllar in the 16th and 17th centuries.
Once we have gone through the main door of the castle we stand in a
large hall presided by a gothic stone staircase that is easily identified as foreign.
“Emili Juncadella bought it from a demolished palace in Barcelona,”
explains Mercè, “and he put it back together here piece by piece.”
In this part of the castle you can also find the preserved kitchen; as it is,
it now shares the space with a lift that goes up to the Conventions Centre, on
the top floor. At the side there is a library with just a few books, as the most
important ones have been sent to Barcelona and the rest of the documentation is in the County Library.
On the first floor we find another example of the great reforms that Emili Juncadella made to the castle; in this case, it is a monumental stone portal
that needed to be adjusted a little so it could fit. Inside, in the large hall, a
portrait of Juncadella in hunting clothes, with a hunting dog at his side, sets
the scene for the visit.
“He had more the air of an English gentleman than the Catalan middle
class,” Mercè explains. “He travelled a lot, and loved mountaineering and
hunting.”
From the terrace, another added touch, there is a unique view of Montesquiu Park and the surrounding mountains, with El Revell plain in front
and the French garden at its feet.
“The course of the Ter was controlled perfectly from here,” Mercè points
out. “The main road that went from Vic to Puigcerdà through Ripoll passed
alongside the river, which is why in the Middle Ages it was important to
control it.”
In a number of glass cabinets in the castle there are very interesting objects, such as a chasuble and a set of toiletries from Paris, and on one of the
walls, conveniently framed, there is a papal bull, from 1949, signed by Pius
XII to Mercedes Juncadella. In another room we notice a photo of Mercedes
with the counts of Barcelona, signed by them and dated 1946.
The northern part, which corresponds to the section that was extended
in the 17th century by the noble Lluís Descatllar, has been reformed by the
Provincial Council with modern materials, as it was in a very poor state. On
one of the tables, as a record of old times, we see a bakelite telephone bearing
the number 1.
“On the north terrace, overlooking the Pyrenees, Juncadella wanted
two covered sections, one for the women and the other for the men,” Mercè
continues the tour while we look at the garden fountain, surrounded by very
high trees, with the snowy peaks of the Pyrenees in the castle’s background.
An audiovisual presentation screened in the former cellar, with the participation of several characters involved in the history of Montesquiu Castle,
concludes the visit, although in keeping with tradition we should mention
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a legend related to the castle. According to this legend, a sad and lonely
marchioness who lived in one of the wings of the fortress, decided to throw
herself out of the window one August day many years ago. Since that day,
on every 1st of August the anguished cry of the marchioness as she fell into
the void can be heard all over the county.
The visit to the chapel, which in a way is separate from the castle, and
the so-called Juncadella Cabinet is all that is left to finish the tour. But, in
fact, the cabinet deserves a separate section.
Traveller, Mountaineer and Hunter
On the lower floor, next to the castle gift shop, the Juncadella Cabinet, a
room for the exhibition of a set of Emili Juncadella’s personal objects, helps
to redraw the life of the businessman, owner of a carbide factory. Here we
can admire, among other pieces, a climber’s ice axe, a salakot, (as he was
very keen on safaris), a camera, some golf clubs, skis and snowshoes, and arrows and spears that he must have taken from distant countries.
The photos of a zebra and a buffalo hunted in Sudan in 1928 and of a
tiger hunted in India in 1929 complete the profile of this man keen on travel,
mountaineering, hunting and, evidently, castles.
“He was a very skilled mountaineer,” Mercè observes. “In the area of La
Maladeta there is even a peak which bears his name.”
There is no doubt that Emili Juncadella was an atypical middle-class
person. He travelled to Africa to hunt wild animals, spent seasons in India and in his youth he very much enjoyed hiking and climbing. Among the
documents found at Montesquiu Castle there are many photographs of his
travels; a set of these photos correlate with the long trip he made in 1929,
when he travelled to India on board the cruiser Chenonceaux, with stopovers
in Suez, Djibouti, Aden and the former Ceylon.
Emili Juncadella’s mountaineering notebook, found in the castle, is
headed by the Latin phrase Mirabilia sunt opera tua Domine (Your works are
a marvel, Lord) and contains detailed annotations of hikes made between
1908 and 1913. Most of them, according to the catalogue of the exhibition
devoted to him in 2003, are very careful descriptions of the route, but from
time to time Juncadella allows himself to express the emotion he felt. In
Cabrioules, for example, he wrote in 1911: “If the mountain is admirable
during the day, lit by the brilliant sun of the Pyrenees, during a full moon,
like that of the 6th of December, 1911 when we arrived in Espingo at 9 in the
evening, along with its own charms, it takes on the appeal of mystery and
silent placidity of the purest nights, arousing unforgettable pleasure.”
From 1913, Juncadella stopped writing his mountaineering notebooks
although it is recorded that he continued hiking through the Pyrenees. The
travel notebooks have not been conserved, although it is known that he
travelled a lot during his life.
Les Codines
After having had lunch at La Casanova del Castell, a restaurant with a view,
set in a great location and with good value homemade cuisine run by Pere
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and Mercè, we cross the Ter river and the village of Montesquiu again to
visit the other side of the river.
Les Codines farmhouse, recently restored as an educational facility, is
closed and we do not see anyone around. In any case, we must admit that it
looks imposing. Very close by, a new youth camp has been set up, managed
by the Minyons Escoltes i Guies de Catalunya, the boy scouts, which was
moved from its former location because of the work being done on the nearby
turnoff. A little further down, in the Sora brook, we find a small Romanesque bridge, Les Codines bridge, showing all its charm in an idyllic setting.
The riverbank trees provide cover over this bridge without railings,
while in the transparent water of the brook tadpoles and water striders
idle seemingly announcing the good summer weather, when the brooks and
springs are the best attractions on a walk in search of pleasant shade.
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