A few days ago I was just sniffing around, like I usually do, and I found an old leaflet hidden under a cupboard. With a lot of licking and pawing I managed to get it out. Now I admit I’m not that good at reading but I could see the letters “T O R T …”. Great I thought – a recipe. It starts with TORT so maybe it’s a tortilla! I love those eggy omelettes! Or maybe some type of torta! Who doesn’t like cake! So I took the recipe to Dad and to my disappointment it was a leaflet for the local city – Tortosa and not food at all! Dad suggested we go to explore and the next day we were all in the car on the way to the city.
The journey was about 40 minutes and we were soon turning off the motorway towards the city centre. The road twists and turns past a canal but I can’t see any boats and in fact the bridges passing over the water only just skim the top. I ask why they built it here like that. Dad points to the fields that stretch out on either side of the canal but are lower than the banks. What’s that growing I wonder as I spot small green grassy looking plants sticking out of flooded fields. It’s rice! Did we take a wrong turn somewhere? I thought rice only grew in China but no this is Spanish rice!
Finally we reach the city centre. We park near the river. It’s very busy and traffic whizzes past. I’m not so keen but Dad says it’s going to be quieter soon. Tortosa is an ancient place and walking through the streets soon turns into something from Harry Potter!
We start at the river that has been at the heart of the town from its beginnings back in prehistoric times. I can just see it over the wall, stretching into the distance. It’s wide and on both sides I can see the lush green trees, something that’s rare here as the only rivers we have seen have been dried up and dusty. Tortosa is just 12 metres above sea level and I wonder if the town has ever been flooded. I’d prefer to be a bit higher, just in case!
We soon turn away from the river into a maze of little streets and then just as quickly we arrive in the huge square in front of the ancient cathedral. It is enormous and I can hardly see the top. The massive metal looking doors standing firm under the finely decorated arches. Dad says it’s been here since the 14th century and that makes it older than him! The carved water spouts high up on the roof – I think they’re called gargoyles – scare me a bit and they remind me of a picture I once saw of Notre Dame in Paris that had something similar.
High up on the hill above us I can just see the castle that has been protecting the locals since the Moorish invasions back 1500 years ago. The thick walls make me feel a bit safer as we pass under the archway and into the old medieval part of town.
The streets are really narrow and the buildings reach up to the sky. Narrow fronted with a small doorway and usually only one window, most tower above us to three or four floors. People still live here in these streets that are hardly wide enough for a donkey and cart to pass through. I can see washing drying from the little balconies and I’m sure that everyone knows their neighbours as you can almost hold hands across the street. Harry Potter and his friends from Diagon Alley would surely be at home here!
As we turn another corner, squeezed into the medieval maze, we come across a big surprise. It’s a beautiful art deco (modernisme style in Catalan) house, right in the middle of an ancient street. It’s Casa Grego and was built as a fancy family house back in 1910. I love it! It’s my favourite type of architecture and something surprising in this old city. As we walk on we find another, and then another. This is a city of contrasts!
Finally we turn the corner of the street again and we are back at the river. In front of us is a huge monument made from rusting metal. Dad says it’s the memorial for the people that died during the Spanish civil war in the 1930s. He explains that Spain was divided into supporters of the facists lead by General Franco and the nationalists. People who lived in the countryside didn’t get the option of who to support and they had to follow the local government supporters. In the cities there was a lot of fighting and Tortosa was the site of one of the bloodiest battles in the war. Even though underground shelters were built, which you can still visit today, thousands of people died. Franco eventually “won” and he controlled the country until he died in the 1970s. Apparently no one knows exactly how many people died in the civil war but it is estimated to be around a million.
The memorial in the river was put up by Franco in 1960 and is made from the metal of the bombed bridges. After his death the Catalan people repurposed the monument to commemorate everyone that died in the war, not just those fighting for the facists.
This scares me and now I understand why we had to leave Hungary and my brothers and sisters. It’s scary how one man can breed such hatred and have so much control and I feel sad that my birth country is moving towards a horrible dictatorship where anyone who doesn’t agree with the government or is “different” can be eradicated.
It’s been an interesting adventure. My little legs ache and I need a snooze. Learning about the past was good but hearing about the war is scary. Now I wish the leaflet I found was for a tortilla recipe. I’m hungry now!
A Dog's Travel Adventures in Spain (and other places too!) 