Zamora's Medieval Treasures: Romantic Ruined Castrotorafe

The structures at Castrotorafe were made with red Zamoran bricks.
All photos in this post 2017 Jessica Knauss 

Castrotorafe's complex history highlights even further the sense of past glory evoked by contemplating its ruins. It's not just Castrotorafe Castle that's fallen into disrepair. The entire village was declared a ghost town as early as the seventeenth century.

The land had been settled since time immemorial, enjoying special prosperity during Roman times because of its position on the Silver Road between Mérida and Astorga. It's still a stop on one of the pilgrimage routes to Santiago de Compostela, and when I was there, our tour group spotted two lone pilgrims.

The Esla River, which has a history with another impressive monument, sustained human populations here for thousands of years.

Much of the town wall survives, giving an impression of a vast fenced-in territory.

In the twelfth century, Castrotorafe entered and fell out of royal favor, with the first documentary evidence granting a town charter. A later expropriation perhaps occurred as punishment after the people of Castrotorafe sided with Portuguese separatists.

The current castle was likely built by Don Juan, one of Alfonso X's sons, who declared himself King of León in spite of his brother Sancho's status as King of Castilla y León.

The town and its castle belonged at different times to the Order of Santiago and to various nobles, all of whom ended up disappointing their kings.

In 1475, the town was taken by forces against Isabel la Católica's rule. By promising Castrotorafe to the Mayor of Zamora, Isabel finally prevailed.

Castrotorafe's long history came to an end sometime after the wars of Castilian succession. In 1688, we find the first written notice that the town had been abandoned and was in need of repair.

In the nineteenth century, Napoleonic troops bothered to sack the church when they passed through. That's the last time Castrotorafe was sideswiped by history. Various organizations are trying to prevent further deterioration at the site, but in 2010, one of the castle towers fell.

The recent drought has created long swaths of dried-out ground cover, and Castrotorafe likely won't be suitable for picnicking without mouthfuls of dust until the rains return. Even more than Castillo de Alba, the ghost town of Castrotorafe evokes a distant past never to return.

Zamora's Medieval Treasures: Romantic Ruined Castillo de Alba

A corner of Castillo de Alba's homage tower overlooks Ricobayo Reservoir
All photos in this post 2018 Jessica Knauss 

I'm pleased to report that I've seen more than ten castles since I arrived in Castilla y León in the middle of September 2017. Yes, there are so many castles here that it's hard to keep count! I've seen beautifully maintained Gothic masterpieces of defensive architecture and lovingly restored bulwarks of several different architectural schools. But the castles that give you the most immediate sense of the passage of time are those that have fallen into ruin.

In this post and the next, I present two ruined castles of Zamora province. Whether they provoke wistful nostalgia for what's gone, a Romantic remembrance of a brave past, or just seem like good places for a picnic, there's no denying that ruined castles present a unique pleasure when you get to climb around on them. In the case of Castillo de Alba, the climbing is literal.

Castillo de Alba is perched on a hill tucked into a valley. To get the full effect, you have to feel a cool breeze on your cheek and hear the shepherd calling gruffly as his sheep move along to the symphonic tones of their bells. I'm not exaggerating. That's what I experienced while taking this picture.

Every area of Castilla y León has a signature stone fence style. Looking at this one, there's no mistaking we're in Alba y Aliste.

The name Castillo de Alba (Alba Castle) might lead to some confusion, as a village that grew up in the castle's shadow is also called Castillo de Alba. The fertile hills and valleys of this area have been occupied by humans since pre-Roman times, and the current castle of Castillo de Alba was first constructed in the twelfth century as an important defense on the border with Portugal on the site of a Neolithic fort. In the thirteenth century, Alfonso IX of León granted the castle to the Knights Templar, and they held it until the crown took it back to grant it to a noble dynasty. Finally, Enrique IV of Castile and León created the County of Alba y Aliste and declared the castle its seat in 1489.

The town of Castillo de Alba seen from the castle 

You approach the castle via a steep and picturesque mountain trail.

At the top of the trail, you're confronted with the largest surviving chunk of the castle, which used to be one of the towers. Its imposing robustness gives the sense that the people who constructed this castle wanted you to stay away!

Looking closer, you see the modern caretakers want you to stay away, too! And with good reason. Rocks are falling off the castle structure at random moments and the approach is steep and inhospitable, such that if you aren't an experienced climber, you might get stuck on top of the castle and have to be rescued.

Luckily, I was with a Castilian who is apparently part mountain goat, and I made it to the top of the castle and back down again to show you these photos.

Inside the most intact tower, it's a Romantic tangle of overgrown nature.

The castle has an irregular floor plan that adapts to the hillside that protects it so well.

A lot of the outer walls remain. It's sometimes not easy to distinguish what is construction and what is natural rock formation.

This sliver of corner is all that remains of the homage tower.

The castle became neglected when the border with Portugal stabilized and noble and royal interests focused elsewhere. Rest assured, Romantic warriors! It was never defeated or destroyed by humans.

Next week, not just a castle, but an entire ghost town!

Zamora's Medieval Treasures: Espíritu Santo

Espíritu Santo on its unobstructed side
All photos in this post 2018 Jessica Knauss 

Some of Zamora's medieval treasures are so humbly self-effacing that they don't even have visiting hours. One such place is the Iglesia del Espíritu Santo, which was consecrated on the pleasing date of June 12, 1212, by the bishops of Zamora and Coria, with a third from somewhere in Portugal. Ten years later, Alfonso IX of León confirmed its importance by declaring it and the nearby hospital royal property with his full protection.

In spite of these auspicious beginnings, it seems today Espíritu Santo is visited only by parishioners and those in the know about the Romanesque scene in Zamora. I attended mass one recent Sunday in spite of my lack of Catholicism, and I'm glad I did.

One of the smaller Romanesque gems in this city, Espíritu Santo gives a first impression of being boxed in by more modern constructions. The only facade not blocked to view is the southern one. Even the eastern side, with its lovely Romanesque rose window, makes you work for the privilege of a closer look.

It's crowded in under the bell gable, too. Don't even think about going around the back. There's no way to get there. I've read that the church has a nice back garden space with archaeological findings on display, but only at certain times of year.

Utilitarian corbels 

Like a few other churches in Zamora, most notably the cathedral, Espíritu Santo is influenced by the austere Cistercian school of architecture. While its exterior is agreeable with its warm Zamoran stone, the only flourishes are the rose window and two curlicue-shaped acroteria flanking the lowest part of the building, which you learn when you walk in is the apse. Even the corbels are utilitarian.

The double arch entrance could hardly be simpler. 

You don't expect the quiet yet colorful delights awaiting inside. To begin with, the elegant apse evokes heavens above, drawing the eye upward with a subtle point after the smooth semicircle of the double archway. The small windows above had stained glass installed in 1963 that gives a Gothic feel without making a secret of their "mid-century modern" origin. The wooden ceiling is a restored version of what was installed in the fifteenth century.

We can also see 1963 stained glass appropriately depicting a dove--symbol of the Holy Spirit (Espíritu Santo)--from this interior perspective on the rose window.

The main altar is home to an attractive thirteenth-century crucifix that was discovered in bad shape during the 1963 renovations. Known as Cristo del Espíritu Santo, it's been lovingly restored and is now taken out in procession during Easter festivities. (Easter or Holy Week is a huge deal in Zamora. More on that in a later post.) Its early Gothic curves are evocative without being gory, and the long modesty panel recalls its Romanesque predecessors while commanding a more realistic sense of fabric drapery.

What's this behind the Cristo? It's something else wonderful discovered in 1963, a swath of stone painted in the late thirteenth century. (This is my favorite period of medieval painting because it encompasses the Cantigas de Santa Maria.) A cross is flanked by blurred forms we can still distinguish as angels.

On the other side of the church, on the northern wall, awaits a trio of unexpected curiosities. On the left, you can see an image of St. Isidore the Farmer created in the eighteenth century that goes on procession through the streets of Zamora on May 15 every year.

The second of the recovered thirteenth-century paintings shows a cross surrounded by geometric forms.

Although the inscription is all but illegible, this recumbent abbot is identified as Franco de Ribera, who died in 1350. I haven't found out exactly why the statue so unusually lies on its side, sticking out of the wall. It must've once occupied a niche in another location, where it could assume the normal posture.

The southern wall, opposite the apse, displays the last of the recovered thirteenth-century paintings: the Tetramorphos, or the four apostles who wrote the Gospels, arranged around another cross.

This Baroque Pentecost used to occupy the center of a large altarpiece. 

Small, boxed in by the unyielding tide of time, but unexpectedly feisty in the way it reveals its own historical personality, Espíritu Santo was well worth sitting (and standing) through a cheerful Lenten mass with guitar and voice accompaniment throughout. It is only one of more than twenty Romanesque temples in my dear Zamora, and just the third one I've presented on this blog. As hard as it may be to believe, the best is yet to come!

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