We were drawn to Segovia by photos of the Alcazar...the castle rising from the hillside in the grande manner of Walt Disney. It is truly out of fantasy land with it's many turrets and high walls. Built in the 14th and 15th centuries, it was rebuilt about 100 years ago after being destroyed by fire in the middle 1800's and it was here that Columbus came to beg the funding of HIS fantasies.

welcome to fantasy land

We were unprepared however for the magnificence of the cathedral, I assume built during the same period. It was the last major gothic building in Spain and dwarfs the small Plaza Mayor with it's flying buttresses and it's flamboyant pinnacles. The interior, while immense, is quite simple and unadorned when compared to the overly endowed exterior. I wonder at the "spare no expense" nature of this edifice in a town that currently has a population of 55,000 and which must have been much smaller during it's golden age. While pondering this I am struck with the realization that it was the golden age of Spain, and she was busy plundering the riches of the "new world" and just as busy squandering those same riches on monuments such as these.

bandstand and cathedral

We took it as a good omen that we had the "happy accident" and the good fortune to be spending the weekend in Segovia during it's celebration of it's patron saint, Santos Frutas. After increasing the abundance of my blisters from ankeling it down to the Iglesia Vera Cruz and back, the once repository of a splinter of the true cross of Jesus the Christ, we dutifully indulged in the siesta. Ours ended around 8 of the evening and we arose to cleanse ourselves and adjourn to the nearest bar for an aperitif before ambling over to the Plaza Mayor for the evening paseo, that right of the night whereby seemingly all in the village stroll around and around the square, chatting, seeing and being seen and generally fraternizing with their friends, neighbors and country men.

There seemed to be an abundance of folks, but we paid this no mind and wandered over to the cathedral to experience it under the cover of darkness. After getting caught out sneaking behind the ropes we asked about music, the next day being Sunday and there being an organ greater than mine in this church. We were told that at noon there would be a concert before mass and that additionally at just this moment there was a concert going down in a chamber in the rear. We went, we saw, we enjoyed accapella singing of the religious sort in a room resplendent with gold gilded carvings festooned above us on the ceiling, in a room hung with magnificent ancient tapestries on the walls.

view of the city from the Alcazar

While indulging ourselves afterwards at "our" tapas bar, Jose's bar on the Plaza Mayor, indulging ourselves on roasted suckling pig, a specialty of this region, 21 days of mothers milk and then melt in your mouth, roast suckling pig and quaffing a few canas of beer followed by Spanish brandy, while amusing ourselves thusly, what should we espy but a large band setting up in the band stand in the middle of the afore mentioned Plaza Mayor.

It was then we discovered that this was no ordinary weekend after inquiring if there was music every Saturday night. This was the fiesta of Santos Frutas.

We wandered outside and discovered that a soup kitchen was being set up and that seemingly the whole world was queuing up to pass through the line and receive a traditional bowl of garlic, ham and egg soup. I estimated somewhere around 3,000 in the plaza enjoying the discordant notes of the municipal brass band, receiving the sacrament of garlic soup and generally having a good time on this day of Santos Frutas.

This fall festival, for indeed that is what this was, all started at the stroke of midnight, as the saints day is Sunday, when another band, a marching band, equally discordant and provincial in the best sense of the word, came playing upon the square to be answered in turn by the one upon the bandstand in a call and response battle of the bands.

We too queued up and partook of soup, we too danced, we too were in the thrall of the evenings festivities.

We garnered our knowledge of the weekend's events while chatting it up with Celia, Eduardo and Irena. A young single mom and her spore of 9 and 10 years respectively. Beautiful, charming and cheerful spore, happy to be still awake after the witching hour during the fiesta. The mom of Segovia and the children were born on the isle of Canary so that they were Canarios. We took our leave of our informants and rejoined the throng for another turn about the plaza before retiring to our digs at the Hostal Plaza to dream of brass bands in the night, full of people, full of sopa de ajo.

a gate within the city

The following morn we awoke muy tarde, sobre 11 de la manana after our and Segovia's night of revelry and quickly consumed some pastries, tea for me, coffee for she. Then off we dashed to see and hear the concert in the cathedral at noon. Many others were rushing to church as well and when we tried to follow them to the rear cloisters as the night before we were stopped by a monsenor of unknown name and told that this entrance was just for the musicians and the concert would be at noon in front of the alter at the north end of he church. We sauntered thus and saw but a few souls getting chairs and sitting down just behind the ropes.

Wondering why so few were in attendance just 10 minuets before the gig, we joined them and did the same. It turned out that we were an hour early as we were to set our clocks back the night before whilst leaving daylight savings and entering standard time, although our time in Spain for us is anything but standard.

It turned out that it was well we were early as we, as I have mentioned, were in the front row and seated, unlike the poor souls who arrived, as we believed we had, 10 minuets before the performance. We enjoyed the wait, whiling away the hour chatting with those around us, watching the orchestra and choir set up and seeing the cathedral fill. From our neighbor we learned that it was not a professional group that was to perform but a local assemblage led by the parish priest and that her son was to play contra basso, or bass to the likes of you. As the time slid by we saw her husband arrive with the son and as a dutiful dad he was carrying the instrument that was much larger than his offspring. We wondered what that must be like and wondered if dad regretted not having encouraging sonny to take up the piccolo.

Soon almost all were assembled and the priest was pacing nervously, observing the evening t. v. news crew erect their battery of equipment, the priest pursing his lips and looking hesitant, expectant, impatient. Soon the crowd parted, mutterings were heard of the cardinal and sure enough one appeared, preceded by his entourage of alter boys bearing a huge incense burner, priests, some official types, the local military and 2 of the Vatican's Swiss guards. Wow ! Presently all were seated behind bars, separate from the rabble. Actually the bars were to keep out marauding thieves I'm sure. All the gold gilded alters in all the cathedrals I have seen are surrounded thusly, with wrought iron fences adorned with spears on top to discourage the poor from receiving those alms for the poor. I mean after all, the poor are there to give, give, give and support the tax free church, bla, bla, bla, but I digress. So the townies, cardinal etc. al were finally seated and the organ began the intro, to silence the masses, rather like the warm-up band before the main act and loe the band began to play.

I am unsure of the musical selections, not having a program, but it was lovely. A young lad of about 10 years was sitting in front of the orchestra and on queue shuffled up nervously and began to sing. There was nothing nervous about his voice, however, he was in great form and gave a bravura performance. After his solo he was exultant and almost pumped his fist like Tiger Woods. Presently his parents and the choir master will have to decide, as in days of old, if he is to be gelded or not, so as to preserve such a fine voice.  And the band played on..... to be joined by the choir. It was indeed stirring. Rosemary and I silently wept tears of joy and I thought of how much our uncle Austin would have enjoyed this event. Too quickly it was over, the cardinal and co. had paraded out and so did we, as they were off to mass and I hope to never experience another, having begun at 13 years of age to find religion in general and Catholicism specifically suspect. The rich get richer and the poor build cathedrals and support the priestly class, but now it's further onward we must tread and onward we went, stopping but briefly to refuel on tapas and beer and supporting a worthier group....tavern owners.....suppliers of food and drink.... true food for the soul.  Onward we went to the opposite end of town to view another monument from the past. This one much older, built around the time of the nacient church, around the time of Jesus the Christ, this one being Segovia's aqueduct, built by the Romans.

Segovia's Roman Aqueduct

Those Romans, they were not tourists, no they came to stay and even if they didn't their handy work did. Segovia's aqueduct was built in the 1st century AD   to supply water to an important military enclave. It has a total length of 15 kilometers, one of which consists of a series of arches and the rest of it being in   underground channels. It is a granite structure with no binding material between the component blocks  (caution, you have entered a mortar free zone,)  which stay in place thanks to a perfect study of the forces of thrust.  At it's highest point in the Azoguejo Square, it rises to 28 meters or approximately 92 feet, what a feat!   No those romans were not tourists, but we were and after about 20 minutes we had seen all we needed to, been awed as much as we cared to and like those legionaries of Rome's Imperial past after a hard days work went off to wine and dine.

But wait, our days adventure was not over. Earlier Rosemary had seen a poster advertising a play at the Teatro Jose Brava that very evening and so we went.   In a lovely theater that seats about 300 or so thespian lovers, a theater recently restored, a theater of main salon and 4 balconies, a theater of understated, tasteful charm, we saw performed "Los Titeres de Cachiporra"  (the marionettes of Cachiporra)  by Frederico Garcia Lorca, the poet and playwright who was kidnapped and murdered by the minions of Franco and who's plays were not allowed to be performed in Spain until the dictators death, that F. G. Lorca. This play was not particularly political however, good thing too as "serious" theater is not MY thingggg........... This play was and is a farce, a tragicomedy about Don Christobal and the senorita Rosita. It was minimally staged in outrageous costume of many illegal colors with major hair by the compania Teatro de la Danza out of Madrid. Performed well I might add and I was surprised at how much I/we understood with my Spanish skill level of a child who can't seem to transcend present tense.