The Skyline of Madrid: a sculpture museum

I remember, as a child, how my mother would tell me off for not looking at the ground when I was walking and running around. As much as I appreciate (now) her caring for my welfare, it is a piece of advice that I always found very hard to heed. I have been a curious spirit all my life: the kind of boy whose gaze wanders about, absorbing all things around, looking for all new kinds of wonders (and ending up more often than not with skinned knees and dirty clothing after tripping in this or that crack in the pavement). Still that urge and restlessness tends to wear off as years go by and it wasn’t until past my teenage, when life put me up on top of a double-decker sight seeing bus for the first time, in my native city, that I reencountered the pleasure of wandering around looking up high. When you are in Madrid, there are many things that you do not want to miss, and the ceiling of this city is one of them.
The trend started around the XIX century, while American cities started their efforts to build their skyscrapers higher and higher, banks and insurance companies in Madrid hired baroque style sculptors in a race to make their home quarters the most evoking and beautiful landmarks of the not so high skyline of the city. And so Madrid became a monumental city, safe under the watch of mythic heroes and figures. Phoenixes, champions, roman aurigas, kings and princes, temples and magical creatures crowned the buildings; some of them have been relocated, to be best admired, in more accessible places, while others have been replaced with replicas in lighter materials, favouring the welfare of the constructions, the originals now in museums, but there are still quite a few to recreate your senses in.
You will find many of them in the axis Puerta de Alcalá – Plaza de España, spanned by the Gran Vía: stand by the famous Puerta de Alcalá and walk down towards Cibeles square keeping your gaze levelled towards Gran Via an Alcalá streets, on the other side of Cibeles; in the confluence of these you will find Metropolis building, formerly home quarters to the insurance company La Unión y El Fenix. Nowadays a Winged Victory crowns the building, taking the place of the Phoenix which left the building along said company (and can be seen in a couple of other buildings in Madrid that belong, or did, to the insurance holding, like the Gran Melia Fenix hotel, by Columbus’ square, or the Union y el Fenix building further up the Paseo de la Castellana, where it is crossed by a bridge, part of Eduardo Dato street, or the Madrid-Paris, also in Gran Via). The appeal and ornamental richness of the piece remain, howevever, intact. A little way up on the left hand side a Roman auriga, lifted above its chart for better view from the ground, looks ready to ride, soaring the skies of the city, on top of the Hispanic-American Bank. On a lower height he is watched by a worthy female counterpart: Palas Atenea, or Minerva, classic interpretation of the goddess of Knowledge and Arts, symbol of the Society of Arts, whose building protects, vigilant. As you walk along Gran Via or Alcalá in that same direction you fill find more examples in roofs and façades: temples (Callao square), Chariatides, gargoyles (dog faced, halfway through the first strand of Gran Via street a portal on the right hand side as you go up)…leaving Gran Via and Alcalá there are fantastic pieces above other buildings like the Ministry of Agriculture, in front of Atocha Train Station, or by the northwestern exit/entrance to the city, Moncloa, the Triumphal Arch, or, returning to Cibeles square, the angels holding the shield in Linares palace, or the allegories that sit high perched where this entry started in la Puerta de Alcala.
These were a few examples, I do not pretend to make an exhaustive list of items; I will be happy if I can just bring out from you that necessity of looking up high, and explore, that I am sure you too had in your days. Done? Good, then drop by my city, and take a stroll around, you will not regret it. Oh, don’t worry about skinned knees and sore shins: we have chemist and pharmacies aplenty, and you can find (or bring along) you tender caring one to tell you off and kiss the pain good bye.

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Gaztelugatxe: the Chapel of the Sea

Myth, superstition and fantasy are basic ingredients deeply embedded in human nature. Some places have an equally evoking and intimidating atmosphere that bring out and excite that old connection, which dwells within us all, with the popular lore of old times when life was harsher and answers fewer. Much of this lore is related to the ocean, a horizon too vast to be tackled or spanned by most simple, mortal souls (including mine), and so many of these wonderful sceneries occur in the confluence of land and sea, be it in battling, tender, or confusing union; it is in such spots where one can let go of logic, science and the constraints of modern life and thankfully yield to feelings and memories of many years and people before us, that seem suddenly much more appropriate to describe and handle these wondrous visions. San Juan de Gaztelugatxe takes me back to classic myths of angry gods beneath the waves, to old sailors rhymes, legends of pirates, corsairs and freebooters, and tales of loves lost to the sea in dark stormy nights, maidens looking far into the ocean for the ones that will not return to land.
A medieval small bridge spans the few yards between mainland and the crag which stands amid this cliff surrounded shallow inlet in the north coast of Spain, part of the Basque Country. The waves have been working the cliffy coast for millions of years, eroding and biting at the limestone flesh to carve, peel and sculpt, resulting in a wild, rough landscape and slowly extracting from the coast this tiny island of rock, decorating it with arches and tunnels. Only recently, just a thousand years ago, man has crested the rock with a small construction of his own design. On top of the boulder stands a small chapel dating from the X century and advocated to John the Baptist, who, legend has it, spanned in just four steps the four miles that lay between this place and the nearby located town of Bermeo to found the chapel. According to history we owe its origin to the Templars, although the details that made the chapel a temple of this order, like the orientation to the rising sun and part of its design, have been lost in later reconstructions. One thing that has not been lost is it connection with the sea and its people. Sailors have always prayed and trusted their fortunes to Saint John in this region, and the interior of the church is profusely decorated with scale ships and paintings of wreckages and ships in disastrous sea storms, brought either to thank miraculous escapes from this circumstances or to ask the saint to spare them from such destiny in forecoming voyages into the sea. Apart from this the chapel itself is a humble building as a sailor’s church must be. Many pilgrims have come to Saint John in times past, and many locals still do often, specially in holy dates, and there are many narrow trails around the densely forested coast leading to this place. They all end at the beginning of the 237 steps that climb the steep rock up to the chapel, where you can toll the bell three times for good luck. Small boats would sail round each side of the rock before going into sea, and bigger ships would face it from further offshore and steer pointing once port and once steerboard of the crag, as a horse rearing to its master, to call upon themselves protection from St John. I have heard from the locals that there is, in a cove underwater beneath the island, a sculpture of the Virgin Mary to which local divers (water sports are very popular in the area, including international competitions like the World Billabong Pro surf championship) bring small presents and tributes.
The view from the top of the stairs is awesome, covering several miles of savage cliffs, including Matxitxako Cape, the northernmost point of the country, just a mile to the east, and, just a hundred yards in that direction, the rock of Akatz, only a bit smaller that the one you stand on top of; the cliffs of Akatz are much steeper, and the rock is only trod upon by passing sea birds, in flocks that some days cover all its surface. There is a small shelter just by the chapel, featuring a fireplace and even somewhat primitive toilet facilities, so you can cook and even spend the night there.
From Bilbao (one of the five biggest cities of Spain, home to the Guggenheim Museum and accessible by international and domestic flights, as well as national rail) you can get to nearby Bermeo by train or bus. From Bermeo you can get to San Juan by bike or walking (about 4 miles). If you have a car you can reach San Juan from Bilbao in 45 minutes if you don’t get lost, which you should not if you have a decent roads map or a good GPS. One final important consideration: the road runs along the coast on top of the cliffs, but the rock is at the bottom; you have to pay attention and you will find a small wiewpoint from which a narrow not very well cared for road descends the last mile to the medieval bridge. If you are walking, that means you have a steep mile to walk down before you tackle the stairs and then you will have to walk it back up. There are a few fountains on the way with signs that say the water is not good for drinking (signs are in Basque), not because it is necessarily contaminated but because it is not chlorated. I have had a few small gulps of it and had no problems, but it is up to you to take the risk, you must know how strong your stomach and defences are.

More:
Gaztekugatxe Chapel in Wikipedia
Basque Country Rail
Bizkaia Region Buses

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El Angel Caído: Monument to Lucifer

My beginnings in the tourism business took place on top of a panoramic hop on-hop off bus in Madrid, seven years ago, pointing out the most interesting spots to the tourists; we completed, depending on traffic and time of year, an average of seven tours a day and I worked there for about a year, which more or less adds to about 2000 trips round the city: enough to get you bored no matter how much you love your city and it’s beauties. Fortunately, every trip had a few rewarding moments where you could see something in the tourist face that made it worth it: expressions of awe, disbelief, admiration or simple always welcome fun. For most people, one of the most surprising details of their visit was finding out about the Fallen Angel. “And on this corner of El Retiro Park, further up that road to your right, you will find the only monument in the world dedicated exclusively to… Satan”. Best effect if there were kids on board and you lowered and hoarsened your voice as you revealed the starring character, eyes not blinking and gaze lost, in your best imitation of “Someone flew over the cuckoo’s nest”. I am not Robert Redford, you know, and combining the acting and my face resulted more than once in crying kids and angry mums, I swear!
The statue, which presents very recognisable helenistic, baroque and romantic influences, is a beautiful piece of work of a much more melancholic than terrifying nature. It can be also disquieting though, especially if you approach it in a clouded windy autumn afternoon and there seems to be nobody around but you and an evil looking boy wearing a cardigan. Damian? Is that you?...
The sculpture, inspired by some verses of Paradise Lost by John Milton, dates from 1877, and is signed by Ricardo Bellver, originally made in plaster cast and later molten to bronze by the Thiebaut-Fils house in Paris to fit the requirements of the Universal Expo of 1878 in the French capital. In 1879 was first placed in El Retiro and in 1880 a pedestal was designed and built in bronze and stone, presenting infernal faces to match the subject. The complete piece was inaugurated in 1885.
Want to know something weird about its location? Although measurement systems at the time were not nearly precise enough to notice this, the exact official altitude in meters from sea level of the fountain’s location is… you guessed it! 666, the number of the Beast! Awesome, right? (this is no joke or invention and there is a plaque in the ground, near the fountain, certifying this fact by the National Cartographical Institute).

(…)what time his Pride / Had cast him out from Heav'n, with all his Host Of Rebel Angels, (…) To bottomless perdition, there to dwell / In Adamantine Chains and penal Fire, (…) round he throws his baleful eyes / That witness'd huge affliction and dismay / Mixt with obdurate pride and stedfast hate (…)

John Milton, Paradise Lost, Book I, Chant I.

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