Albarracin

We still don’t have internet at the new house so here is a short post with a few pictures from this vacation.

We started out visiting my parents in Alcalá de Henares, and finished in Albarracin, a small village in the hills between Madrid and Valencia.

Outside Cervantes’ home in Alacalá de Henares. Sancho Panza is wearing J’s hat.

The rest are from Albarracin. The impetus for going to Albarracin was J’s rock climbing club’s trip there for bouldering, but it is a big tourist spot for the Spanish. I was there Friday to Wednesday and it seemed like all of Spain descended on Albarracin for the weekend.

It is a truly beautiful place, possibly more so than the French villages we’ve visited—comparable to Gordes, Roussillon, Sarlat, Angle-sur-Anglin… (know any other breathtaking French villages?). The old town is mostly this rusty color and all up on a hill—don’t go in high heels. The restaurants left something to be desired until we found an excellent one our last night there, called Alcazaba (calle Portal de Molina, No 10). We trekked all over the little village, did the lovely walk along the river, visited the Museo de Albarracin which, though entirely in Spanish, was well worth the 2€50 entry. We also walked up the ramparts our last evening before dinner (this being Spain there’s no rush to eat before 9 o’clock).

We watched some bouldering as well, and I would like to go back sometime with an intact knee, despite the ten-hour drive.

We slept at the campsite where they rent out four- and six-person cabins (60-75€) and rooms above the bar that were perfectly good (40€ a night).

Here are some of the pictures from Albarracin which begs you to take one about every ten seconds.