RENFE Train Tourism in Spain

 RENFE Tourism in Spain

 

 

RENFE is the state owned, but non-monopoly, railway company in Spain. (RENFE is of course an acronym; but only the most ardent hispanist would thank me for spelling the name out in full.)

 

RENFE operates many kinds of trains, from the AVE network (Alta Velocidad Espana – the high sleek high speed trains) to narrow gauge tourist trains of traditional pullman style.

 

In September we experienced travel at both ends of this spectrum, on a journey from Malaga on the Mediterranean in the South to Bilbao next to the Bay of Biscay in the North. This took three (planned) days: from Malaga to Leon, via Madrid, on the first day, and then from Leon to Bilbao, spending two nights on the tourist train called La Robla.

 

The AVE network and trains are extremely impressive, linking many main cities across Spain and beyond. On our journey north, once through the mountains behind Malaga, the country is largely flat. Olive trees, occasionally other crops, stretch away on either side. 

 

A personal screen shows the train’s position and speed. As this picks up the sensation, especially in the flat surroundings, is like being in a plane at take-off. Indeed, when the speed passes through the 280 kph mark on the way to the top speed of 300 kph, it is sobering to realise that, in an actual plane, one would have left the ground.

 

At Leon, there was an initial moment of bathos. We disembarked from the AVE and made our way to what I had assumed to be a coach to take us to the overnight hotel (we were in an organised group of some 25 people). Instead, we boarded one of those toy tourist “trains” that ply some Spanish towns – more or less open cars pulled by a tractor disguised as a locomotive, with a recorded tourist commentary in Spanish and English. After the instinctive cringe, the little journey did provided a welcome introduction to Leon, chugging through old and modern areas.

 

Leon is an ancient City, founded as the fortified base of a Roman legion. Hence the name, from Latin “legio”. But corruption of spelling and pronunciation has ended with the city being swallowed by the lion,“Leon”, that is now its name and symbol.

 

The Moorish invasions washed over Leon, but this area of Spain was always debatable because of the nearby Christian kingdom of the Asturias, the kernel of the Reconquista. There is nothing like the massive and splendid Moorish castles and palaces in southern Spain. Indeed, at the end of the 800s Leon became the capital of the expanded kingdom of Leon, replacing Asturia. The legacy of that development consists of Romanesque and early gothic churches of impressive design.

 

 

The Basilica San Isidro is a vast complex of Romanesque church, cloisters and former royal apartments. It is built into a length of surviving Roman wall. One of its treasures is a painted crypt where once early Leon monarchs were entombed.

 

The cathedral was constructed over the watershed between Romanesque and gothic styles. Its glory is its stained glass windows, on all sides and at every height, second only, we were told, to Chartres.

 

Apart from the Old Town, Leon possesses elegant avenues, prosperous business areas and the civic architecture of the Regional government of Castile y Leon, the modern successor to the old kingdom.

 

Leon is well worth a visit longer than a night and a day. But we had to join our tourist train.

 

Castile y Leon’s wealth was funded on mining. The railway we were about to travel was constructed to carry ore to the Basque coastal area. It’s a narrow-gauge affair, driven through mountain valleys and alongside torrents.

In many places the track is overhung by the thick foliage of valley woodlands, and the branches scrape and tap along the train’s windows.

 

The great disappointment of our onward journey was that we spent relatively little time travelling on our train through this compelling landscape. We were tourists after all; and tourists must be shown the sights of Castile, away from the wilderness of the track. So we were treated to hours travelling on a bespoke coach, which picked us up, moved us about between sights and returned us for the night to a stationary train, which had gone further along the track without us.

 

By and large the sights we were taken to were not such as to make up for loss of train time. A vast cave (but our party was from Nerja, well-endowed with a vast cave); small, heavily restored Romanesque churches on the Santiago pilgrim trail; the remains of a large Roman villa that by no means outshines the Roman remains in the South, apart from a magnificent floor.

 

Suggestion to RENFE: spend more tourist time in Leon and Bilbao and keep your passengers on the train in between.

 

The train (called La Robla) is a mixture of comfort and discomfort. There are three lounge/dining cars of traditional pullman design, where passengers may take breakfast and sit when permitted to travel with the train. Then there are very small couchettes of modern design, with little room to move and short bunks – and the tiniest ensuites possible.

Between the edge of the basin and the toilet is a minute gap. Quite how passengers of girth negotiate this sliver of space I do not understand; nor did I dare enquire.

 

There are plentiful staff on the train, all very efficient and friendly. They will serve you out of hours drinks and snacks. Although main meals, including wines, are part of the package, bar bills are separate and payable- although in our case they were all waived by announcement at the end of the trip.

 

La Robla train is an experience I am glad to have had. But it is not an experience to repeat as presently set up.

 

We ended in Bilbao, our second visit after a short stay last summer. 

 

Bilbao’s river is its fortune (the Bilbao Estuary). The city became an important port in medieval times, exporting wool and iron, but was never endowed with truly magnificent buildings compared to other Spanish cities. Industrialisation and the expansion of commerce in the nineteenth century rapidly increased the city’s size and wealth, producing the grand avenues and buildings of the centre.

 

When in the late twentieth century the port became to small for modern shipping and industry in the area declined, the river provided the setting for Bilbao’s regeneration. The vast silvery slopes and angles of the Guggenheim and assorted other daring bridges, conference and performance centres now grace the river. Bilbao’s economy switched to tourism and services.

 

The Guggenheim is a curious place. For its size it contains few permanent artworks. Its large spaces for temporary exhibitions do not on the whole host blockbuster displays by artistic stars. Altogether the experience is better outside than in, a consolation when the queues are too long. The building stands in a big, open concourse and the river walkway passes close in front.

 

Indeed, an evening stroll along the wide river embankment from the Art Deco railway station to the Guggenheim is recommended.

The curious bridges are lit up, the sunset reflects off the upper panels of the museum, and the moon rises over steep hills behind the old medieval quarter.

 

October 2024

Boating on Coniston Water

 Coniston Boating

 

In the middle decades of the last century there was much public interest in the pursuit of world speed records on land and water. In the UK, the leading pursuers were father and son, Malcolm and Donald Campbell, Donald being the more successful. 

 

In the 1950s and 1960s Donald set several records on land (flat desert terrains in  the US or Australia) and on water. Interest was such that sponsorship money from the oil and aerospace industries was forthcoming. Replica toys of his “Bluebird” vehicles were popular (I had one…).

 

In the course of time, jet engines became the propulsive norm for water vessels and, later cars (too late for Donald, as it turned out). Huge speeds were attained.

 

In the mid 1960s Donald fixed on Coniston Water in the Lake District as the ideal location for hunting water records. It is long enough (5 miles; 8 kilometres), still enough and, unlike its larger neighbour, Windermere, free of mid-lake islands.

 

For several years Donald Campbell brought his Bluebirds to the Water, improving his speeds and records. Finally, in January 1967, he came aiming for 300 mph, measured as the average speed over a marked 1-kilometre course.

 

Donald made one very high speed pass from north to south, falling just short of his goal. He immediately turned Bluebird round and started his second pass, south to north. Bluebird accelerated- and started to lift its nose, beyond its safe parameters. In effect, it began to take off. Something caused the jet engine to stall, flooding perhaps. The sudden de-acceleration made Bluebird rear up and somersault several times backwards before hitting the water and destroying itself and its pilot. (a scary Pathe Newsreel film of the accident is on YouTube.) The body of Campbell and the main Hull of Bluebird were not recovered until nearly 25 years later.

 

Coniston today remains in its traditional role – a lake for swimming, pleasure yachts, dinghies, rowing boats, kayaks and paddleboards – plus a little tourist steam-paddle boat that plies up and down. On either side steep but mostly small hills rise. Coniston village is the only sizeable settlement on the Water, at the northern end.

 

Coniston, lightly fictionalised, is the setting for Arthur Ransome’s children’s adventure books, Swallows and Amazons. My grandmother fed me them one by one every Christmas and birthday for a few years. I must have enjoyed them, I suppose; but I remember nothing of them, except that they feature four children and sailing boats.

 

It is many years since I ventured on water in a small craft. On a recent stay on the shores of Coniston much was on offer – we had the choice of kayaks, paddleboards and rowing boats.

 

(Yachts, unconnected to our arrangements, were moored on the side of the Water opposite. I thought that they belonged in coastal marinas. What was the point of a relatively large, cabined, sailing boat on a narrow lake only 5 miles long? Unless they served as houseboats – but there was no sign of that.)

 

We had our afternoon on the water, in two of the rowing boats. These were handsome wooden affairs, propelled by two pairs of oars each. They featured a fairly ornate stern seat for someone to take the rudder – but no rudders were fitted.

 

After initial clashes of fore and aft oars, we managed a passable rhythm and completed a 4-5 km round trip to little Peel Island (referenced by Donald Campbell in his live radio commentary during his doomed last run). Our speed was at the far end of the spectrum from Bluebird’s, down there with the slower ducks.

 

I was glad that I had had the foresight to bring gloves for the rowing.

 

Later, satisfied with our achievement, we sat with our backs against the boathouse wall and watched the magnificent sunset, which a cameraphone rendered as a passable Mark Rothko painting.

 

August 2024

Thomas Gainsborough; Goya

 Thomas Gainsborough; Goya

 

 

What did Gainsborough think of the sitters for his famous society portraits? This question was prompted by a recent visit to Gainsborough’s family home in Sudbury, Suffolk. 

I Went to Athens and...

 I Went to Athens and…

 

 

It’s a quip that has stuck in my memory. The great American comedian WC Fields: “Last week, I went to Philadelphia. It was closed”. An elegant but doubtless completely unfair barb. Of course, I’d never reach for that jibe to describe my actual experience…

 

This month (May 2024) I went to Athens. I had not been since one day in 1980. On the way to a stay on the island of Alonissos  (in the Aegean Sporades), the plan was to spend a couple of nights in Athens and day-trip the Parthenon (again, after 44 years).

 

It started well. There’s a hotel offering modest rooms but a sensational roof terrace bistro. Arriving late in the evening we were looking out to the illuminated heights of the Acropolis. A fantastic visual appetiser for the next day’s exploration.

 

In the morning we set off on foot. Central Athens, apart from a few big squares and wide boulevards, is a city of undulating, crooked and narrow streets. Some are pedestrianised, given over to tourist ambling, and some dedicated to taxi rat runs.

 

For the novice foot traveller, orientation is not easy but wandering, hopefully not too erratically, is pleasant.

 

Our first stop was to be the Acropolis Museum, to learn the basics and more before tackling the vast site itself. We wended our way, with a few false turnings. Then, the Museum was, large and modern…and CLOSED. Google, hastily consulted, insisted that it was open. Google was refuted by the fact.

 

So, nothing for it, on to the Acropolis itself. A few steps away from the closed Museum there’s an entrance- not the main one. It was CLOSED. No explanation given. Google again insisted that the site was open.

 

We decided to walk round the base of the great rock, thereby reaching the main entrance, although now fearing the worst. The worst was confirmed – CLOSED- Again, no notice.

 

We tramped round, admiring the changing view upwards- like failing trumpeters round the walls of Jericho. There was obviously some reason for the closures but we couldn’t discover it. It was the Tuesday after the Greek Orthodox Easter Sunday. Easter Monday was indeed a holiday; but not, according to all the calendars, the Tuesday.

 

A last throw of the tourist dice. We would try the Archaeological Museum , 1 ½ kilometres to the north. Google said it would open at 1400. Could Google be third time right?

 

Navigating the way on foot meant descending, from the path around the final eminence of the Acropolis, the steep, stepped and narrow alleys to the north.

They are crowded to the point of impassibility by restaurants. Then we followed wider modern avenues (passed closed shops, including Marks & Spencers).

 

On our trek we came across an archaeological site about a kilometre north of the Acropolis. It’s not especially grand: a stretch of ancient road just outside a now lost City gate. But the distance from centre of ancient Athens told us something of the ancient city’s size – considerable.

 

We reached the Museum at opening time (according to Google). It was CLOSED for the day. Finally, however, there was a (handwritten) notice to that effect.

 

We turned towards the region of our hotel, and perhaps an early supper at a recommended restaurant in a secluded square.

 

We found the square and the restaurant. It was CLOSED. Fortunately, its neighbour in the square was OPEN – and perfectly acceptable.

 

It was here that the friendly waiters explained the day of closures. May Day, 1^st May, the workers’ holiday, had this year fallen in the Greek Orthodox Holy Week. To avoid conflict between the secular and sacred, the Greek Government had decreed that the 1^st May holiday be “transposed” – to our day (7^th May) of frustrated tourism. (Keep up, Google.)

 

We went back to the hotel’s rooftop, and again admired the profile of the Acropolis, and a magnificent sunset.

 

Next morning, we left for the Sporades, on a small propeller plane.

Behind us, Athens was now OPEN again.

 

May 2024

Frigiliana , Acebuchal the "Lost Village" and Wars

 Frigiliana and Acebuchal, The “Lost Village”

 

Frigiliana is a well-known pueblo blanco (“white village”, of Moorish origins) in the hills some six kilometres inland from Nerja on the coast. 

 

Justice in War: Michael Walzer

 Justice in War

 

 

Michael Walzer is the pre-eminent exponent of modern Just War theory. This is the philosophical tradition that debates the “justice” of going to war and the moral constraints that should be observed in the waging of it. 

 

Valley of the Kings; Abu Simbel

 The Valley of the Kings; Abu Simbel

 

The Valley is an impressive deep desert feature. It is marred by the modern infrastructure of a tarmac road, which takes tourist buggies from the lower-lying visitor centre to the edge of the site, at the Valley’s far end, where are concentrated the tombs.