16th November 2025: Day trip to Monaco {France & Monaco, November 2025}

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Ready to brave a 100% chance of rain, I woke up, drank my coffee, and left my hotel in Nice to head to the station. At that point, Nice was in weather alert for storms, rain, flooding, waves, winds, and landslides. However, my destination, Monaco – less than a half-hour by train – was chill. It was drizzling when I stepped onto the street, but not enough to even need an umbrella. When I reached the station, I set to fight the ticket machines, which were so confusing that I missed my train while trying to finish the transaction. Fortunately, with a frequency of 30 minutes, it was a train I could afford to miss. I spent the time taking pictures of Gare de Nice-Ville. The station is a typical example of the use of iron as building material at the end of the 19th century. It was designed by architect Louis-Jules Bouchot in the Louis XIII style, inspired by Parisian buildings. Though it originally sat outside the city, now it is right in the middle of it, and it has been in service since 1864.

In the train shed of Gare de Nice - glass ceilings and wrought iron beams.

When my train arrived, it was only 20 minutes or so to reach the principality Principauté de Monaco, a city-state that spans little over 2 square kilometres in area – it qualifies as a microstate, and it is the second smallest state in the world, with not even 10,000 nationals. However, almost 38,500 people live there, making it very highly populated – think Malta on steroids.

Monaco has been ruled by the House of Grimaldi since around 1300, when the family conquered the territory. It was annexed by France after the French Revolution, but after the defeat of Napoleon it was given to the Kingdom of Sardinia. When Sardinia became part of Italy in the 19th century, Monaco regained its sovereignty by conceding outer territories to France, with independence being achieved by the Franco-Monégasque Treaty of 1861. At this time, it had become a tourist giant, establishing hotels and a famous casino. Nowadays, the city-state is considered one of the most expensive and wealthiest places in the world – around 30% of its residents are millionaires. It has no personal income-tax and low business taxes, which makes it a tax heaven and money-laundering hub, while still using the euro though it is not part of the European Union – hello there, unexpected Internet roaming charges!

Most of the city is in levels due to the slopes of the French Alps plummeting right into the Mediterranean Sea. Though originally there were different municipalities in the country, today Monaco is basically one big city – with a lot of parks, for sure. In 2015, it literally ran out of space for houses, so it began a project to create “land in the sea”, using concrete blocks as foundation. This is one of the nine administrative wards, the most important – or famous – of them being Monaco-Ville (the technical capital) and Monte Carlo.

Besides tourism and money-laundering, one of the most important industries in Monaco is gambling. The casino Le Grand Casino de Monte Carlo single-handedly makes so much money that it is the reason Monegasques don’t need to pay taxes besides social-insurance ones. Since 1929, the country has held the Monaco Grand Prix on an annual basis, along with other major races, on a “designated” circuit Circuit de Monaco, which is part of the actual town’s streets and roads.

I reached Monte Carlo station half an hour later than intended, but well within my self-impose timetable. I followed the signs to the casino and walked through steep streets lined with manors in the Belle Époque architecture style. After ten minutes or so, with just a few droplets of drizzle in the air, I reached the park Jardins du Casino de Monte Carlo, composed of two different gardens (Jardins des Boulingrins and Jardins de la Petite Afrique), with a beautiful classic merry-go-round within, and some ducks frolicking in puddles. The gardens lead to the Place du Casino and of course the casino itself – Le Grand Casino de Monte Carlo. I am not a gambler, but the architectural interest of the building attracted me, and cultural visits can be carried out in the morning. However, these cannot be booked online, and time was quite limited. Thus, I had chosen to make it my first visit.

Outside the Casino de Montecarlo.

The two security guards – metal detectors in hand – smiled at me and waved me through. I must not look like a casino risk (which also made me chuckle remembering how I had been so thoroughly checked in the Paris Palaeontology Gallery, maybe they saw me as suspicious for some reason?). When buying my ticket, I understood why you could not book online. When you purchase the cultural visit, you are given the chance to “invest” that money into a voucher for playing slots once the casino opens for actual business. I declined, citing that I was not dressed for that. I later learnt that there is a gaming room for the “rabble” before getting into the actual high-class room – but the cultural visit allows you to snoop almost everywhere.

I was not interested in gambling anyway, so I went on my merry way to do the aforementioned snooping. The casino is owned by a public company controlled by the government and the Grimaldi house, and it is only open to foreigners. It was established in 1863, and the architectural style of the current building is a bit on the eclectic side. Architect Charles Garnier combined elements of Baroque, Renaissance, Belle Époque, some Art Nouveau… to create a luxury environment. Some of the classical games gambled on include poker, craps, blackjack and baccarat, along with different kinds of roulettes. However, the sheer amount of slot machines for different games threw me off. They looked completely out of place in the classical environment. The two halls with only classic games were my favourite, and I saw that some of the tables had a minimum bet in the hundreds of euros.

Lavish interior of the Monte Carlo casino - everything is gold and golden!

Not having run into James Bond (the casino was featured in Never Say Never Again and Golden Eye), I left the casino and headed to the real reason I had been wanting to visit Monaco since May 1992. I am not even kidding.

Probably the Universal Expo in Seville in 1992 was my first big trip. I was just a child, so my parents organised everything, but I’m told I behaved like a trooper. One of the pavilions we visited then was the Monaco one, where there was a giant aquarium with an underwater tunnel. I was immediately smitten, and promised myself that one day I would visit Monaco and the Oceanographic Museum there. Today was that day.

The Musée Océanographique de Monaco was the brainchild of Prince Albert I of Grimaldi, who ruled the principality between 1889 and 1922. While he cannot be considered the father of oceanography, one could say that he was one of its main early-adopters. He owned four research vessels, studied ocean currents, and collected biological specimens and soil samples – he did a lot of cool stuff. After his death, the most famous diver in the world, Jacques-Yves Cousteau, became director of the museum between 1957 and 1988.

However, before I entered the building, I had to get there. Adjacent to the Le Grand Casino de Monte Carlo stands the Opéra de Monte Carlo. To the other side, one of the most famous stretches of the racing circuit Circuit de Monaco, the Fairmont Hairpin Curve. I snuck into a hotel terrace for a good picture, but left before any security guard could come to kick me out.

Afterwards, I explored a park with ocean views, where there was a seagull on duty to make noises at tourists. I am glad I entered the park using the entry I did, thus I was not confused by the footprints left there. When I saw “Maradona” and “Pelé” I realised that the park was dedicated to footballers. It makes sense that it is called The Champions Promenade – but if I had used any other entrance, I would have had zero idea who those people were.

Young seagull standing at the pier.

I walked past the already-getting-ready Christmas market, and walked around, and headed south along the Mediterranean Sea coastline. I strolled past interesting buildings such as the Auditorium Rainier III and some monuments to famous racers – William Grover Monument and Statue de Juan Manuel Fangio. On the other side of the road I spotted the small chapel Église de Sainte-Dévote, the patron-saint of Monaco.

The Quai Albert 1er had been taken over by a funfair, so I could only snoop around the commercial gallery. I finally tackled the ascent to the ward of Monaco-Ville, the highest part of the city, I think. I went up through pretty stairs through a park until I reached the historical Rampe de la Major which, through the Medieval Gate Porte d’entrée au Rocher lead me into the heart of Monaco – Rocher de Monaco, the area known as “The Rock”, in the ward of Monaco-Ville.

There stands the palace, the Old Town, the cathedral and the museum which was my destination. I stopped for some panoramic views and photos of the Monte Carlo area, and them I scurried through the narrow traditional streets, now turned into restaurants and souvenir shops. I stopped to take a couple of photos of the cathedral, since it was not raining yet, and continued on. A few minutes later I was walking up the stairs of the Baroque Revival building, which perches over a cliff – the Musée Océanographique de Monaco.

My inner child squealed. My outer adult might have too. We both headed downstairs to visit the Aquarium first. The central ocean tank hosts turtles, sharks, and tropical fish, while smaller aquariums focus on species from different ocean regions: Mediterranean on one ward, Tropical on the other. It was actually smaller than other aquariums I’ve visited before but there was something special about this one.

Oceanographic Museum of Monaco aquarium - clownfish, nautilus, scorpion fish and gobid hiding in a pipe.

I then went up to the first floor, which hosts the main exhibit rooms. As I got there, I was greeted by a model of a giant squid, after having some fun with the giant clams decorating the stairs. The central ward of that floor is named Océanomania. It hosts specimens from all the oceans around the world, including a polar bear model and a huge walrus skeleton. Smaller but in no way less cool, there were shells, fish in formaldehyde, and a taxidermied / mummified mermaid. I kid you not. Of course, it’s a souvenir made in Japan using the body of an ape and the tail of a fish, but for a while those were considered the real thing.

In the middle of the room there was a sculpture of a sperm whale breaching. On the right stands the Whale Room Salle de la Bailene, whose ceiling is populated by a few skeletons of cetaceans. There is an immersive temporary exhibition there, Méditerranée 2050 L’Exposition. It is some sort of virtual reality, playing with how a submersible dive would look in 2050 in the Mediterranean if we somehow managed to solve all our problems with pollution immediately. I sat through the English version, and the animation was beautiful.

Oceanographic Museum of Monaco exhibits - a sculpture of a breaching sperm whale, cetacean skeletons and a fake mermaid skeleton made from the remains of a monkey and a fish.

Before exploring the left ward Monaco and L’Océan (Monaco and the Ocean), I decided to go up to the Terrace Restaurant and have some lunch. It was underwhelming, but convenient. I was given the worst table – though it was for four people – next to the door (which people forgot to close all the time) and the waiter was pretty unfriendly. But I sat down for 30 minutes, got some warm food into me – faux-fillet sauce au Roquefort (rib eye steak with blue cheese sauce) with chips.

When it was time to leave the restaurant, it was raining hard, and I had to walk across the building actual terrace to get to the door again. I hurried through, protecting the cameras, and got down to see the remaining ward. There stands a replica of a research ship and interactive exhibits of oceanographic instruments, along with the discoveries made by Prince Albert I.

To finish off, I left through the shop. Throughout the museum there are little machines where you can purchase souvenir coins, and I hoped that they also had them in the shop – I did not have enough change for all of them. If they had not had the coins, there was a machine outside, quite literally next to the Yellow Submarine where I would have bought one. Since they had them in the shop I got… all five.

It was still early, and the rain was back to a manageable drizzle, so I wandered the gardens Jardins Saint-Martin, a bit of a botanic garden with views of the ocean, the Musée Océanographique de Monaco, and the harbour Port de Fontvieille.

Oceanographic Museum of Monaco standing above the waves, with a seagull in the front of the picture.

The 100% chances of rain were still holding, and it didn’t feel like the weather gods would favour me for much longer. I reached the Cathedral of our Lady Immaculate, a Neo Romanic building which – luckily – had the altar lit up. Actress / Princess Grace Kelly is reportedly buried there, but most of the graves were covered by carpets and I was unable to find hers. What I did find was a commemorative coin machine. By the time I left the building, I had run out of favour from the gods. I pulled my umbrella and marched on towards the Place du Palace, where the Palace Principier, the official residence of the head of state is. The Palace can sometimes be visited but it’s at the moment closed. But do you know what it had? Commemorative coins.

Cathedral of Monaco - neoromanesque building, inside and outside.

One of my (albeit silly) goals for the day had been walking from the south to the north borders of the city-state. Imagine the bragging rights, crossing a country from west to east (I had done that from the station to the ocean border), going from the lowest point (the harbour) to the highest (the Oceanographic Museum terrace), and from south to north. However, it was raining in earnest now, so my umbrella and I headed to the private collections of cars that the Prince owns La Collection Automobiles de S.A.S. le Prince de Monaco. I went down towards Monte Carlo using the same stairs I had used before, which had turned into a bit of a waterfall. I was not far from the car collection, but the straight line was blocked by the funfair I had seen before. I had to stop under a roof to throw my rain poncho on.

View of Monaco in the middle of a stormcloud, showing the marina and the tall buildings on the coastline.

The Private Cars Collection of HSH Prince of Monaco is quite impressive, containing ancient cars, classical ones, modern machines and quite a few F1 engines. I saw Fords from the first batch of Fords ever built, Rolls Royces, Aston Martins, Ferraris, Lamborghinis… I even inspected the sub-collections of helmets. This time I didn’t buy the commemorative coin, but a casino chip imitation.

Some cars in the Prince's collection - racing and luxury Ferraris.

I undid my way from the morning. The storm was now pretty bad, and water ran down the streets. I decided to take one last picture of the Casino de Monte Carlo, lit up, and then head back to the station. Of course, when I got there, the rain stopped. However, my shoes were waterlogged, and so were my jeans up to my knees. I decided to head back to Nice anyway, and give up my cross-country endeavour.

Casino de Montecarlo in the evening while it rains.

Trains were delayed due to rain, but one came shortly after I had reached the platform. On the train, I reflected that my inner child was extremely happy. My inner adult too. My outer adult was pretty drenched. Upon arriving at Gare de Nice-Ville, I stopped at the supermarket for supplies and went back to the room. As soon I reached the hotel, the skies opened again. However the meteorological alert had already passed. I had to talk to reception to get a working remote for my air conditioning machine, because the previous evening had been okay, but today I was going to need some extra heat. I had a shower, changed into my PJs and devised a strategy to dry off my shoes, trousers, and maybe socks, using the hair dryer without overheating the machine. I was mostly successful. Socks had to come back in a separate bag, wetter than merely damp, though.

The shoes were pretty okay (though the inner soles will never be the same), and the trousers fine. Around midnight, I left the former wrapped in a towel and the latter hanging, and went to bed to dream about seahorses.

15th November 2025: The Côte d’Azur {France & Monaco, November 2025}

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D****e was leaving Paris about an hour earlier than myself, so I decided to tag along to her station and then backtrack to mine (hey, it was extra friend-time). I’m not good at going back to sleep after waking up, anyway. Thus, we checked out of the hotel together, and I rode with her, then changed platforms towards Paris Gare de Lyon to take my long-distance train. The ride across France was six hours, but it was very cheap, and not much longer than I would take flying from home to my destination.

The current iteration of the Paris Gare de Lyon station was erected following designs of Marius Toudoire around 1900, so it was ready for the World Fair. It features a clock tower and an inner ironwork structure combined with decorative details typical of the Belle Époque design. The station was bustling even early in the morning – I arrived before 7:00 for my 8:21 departure. My ticket said that I would have to leave through hall 3, but there was an announcement from hall 1, where I waited.

Inner platform of Gare de Lyon station.

Since the previous day I had been tired and had not thought to buy food for the day, I had to pay the price of travel-hub lunch. I got myself some cookies, a Coke and a sandwich – chicken in traditional sauce. I also decided to start a Christmas ornament collection, and got myself a shiny Paris bauble. Access to the train opened ten to fifteen minutes before departure, and it was a bit chaotic. My seat was in the low 500s, and for some reason you could not go from one carriage to another (or at least from my carriage to another?) so I’m happy I got the right door on the first try. The train left on time, at 8:21 sharp, and I slept for the first couple of hours. Around 11:00 I was hungry, so I decided to pull out my sandwich… which ended up being “tandoori sauce”, not “traditional sauce”. Take that, caffeine-deprived brain. For a second, I considered not eating it, fearing it would upset my stomach. However, I was hungry enough that I did not really care, and it was not too spicy. I had another nap afterwards again, and before I knew it I had arrived at the Gare de Nice-Ville station in Nice, in the south-east of France, the area known as the Côte d’Azur (Azure Coast) or French Riviera.

Gare de Nice station from outside.

The first hominids may have roamed the area as far as 400,000 years ago. However, the city was founded around the 350 BCE by settlers of Greek origin, naming it after Nike, goddess of victory. There was a nearby Gallic-then-Roman settlement, Cemenelum, which was eventually absorbed by the growing Nice. During many years throughout history, it could be considered that the region was part of Italy in one way or another. In 1860, the territory was given to France, though not all the Niçoises were happy about that. The Italy sympathisers were repressed without much success.

After the annexation to France and the modernisation of the railway network, Nice became popular amongst the English aristocracy, who enjoyed spending winter there. Holiday-makers included Queen Victoria, for whom a full hotel was built, and her son Edward VII. This would eventually lead to the city’s economy boom during the second half of the 20th century, after it was liberated from the WWII occupation.

In 2021, Unesco recognised the uniqueness of Nice declaring it World Heritage as Nice, Winter Resort Town of the Riviera, with emphasis on the winter part. The development of winter resorts was different from the summer ones, creating layer upon layer of new structures. The so-called Belle Époque architecture became popular, but all in all, the layout of the city is quite complex, due to both history (grand hotels near Roman ruins) and geography (beaches and cliffs).

I headed out to the hotel, which was very near the station, dropped off my stuff and went on exploring. The weather was great, so I could forego one of my layers, even. I was starting to understand the “mild winter” reputation. I first headed down the Avenue Jean Médecin, the main commercial artery of the town, until I reached the promenade.

On the way, I stopped at the basilica-church Basilique Notre-Dame de l’Assomption, a Neo Gothic building designed by Charles Lenormand and erected in the 1860s, after the city was incorporated to France, as gothic was (is?) considered a “very French style” (thanks, Viollet-Le-Duc) and more “French architecture” was desired in the city. The building was not open, so I continued down the avenue until I reached the large Place Masséna, the main square of the city. It is surrounded by red buildings of Italian architecture, and a fountain called Fontaine du Soleil, the fountain of the sun, representing the Greek god Apollo.

Neo-gothic basilica.

Place Masena with Italian-architecture building and a monumental fountain.

After crossing the Esplanade Georges Pompidou and leaving behind an ugly monument thing Neuf lignes obliques, I found myself at the famous Nice promenade and the Mediterranean Sea. In front of me, a line of private and public beaches made of rounded boulders. On my right, the Promenade des anglais (the Walkway of the English), and on my left the Quai des États-Unis (United States Quay). I turned left, but I could not prevent getting distracted by the beaches. Leaving behind the opera house Opéra de Nice, where nothing was on, I spent some time sitting by the ocean before I continued my way.

Etats-Unis quai and the beach.

Waves on a pebble-and-stone beach.

I diverted a little back into the old town to visit the cathedral Cathédrale Sainte-Réparate de Nice – Cathedral of Saint Reparata. Construction started in 1650 in the Baroque style, and it went on for centuries until it was declared complete in 1949. The building has one bell tower and ten lateral chapels. It enshrines the relics of Saint Reparata, which arrived in Nice in 1690.

Catholic cathedral of Nice, a Baroque building.

After wandering Old Nice for a bit, I started the climb up the historic park Colline du Château, where the old Nice castle and cathedral stood. Today it offers panoramic views, ruins, playgrounds and… cemeteries for some reason. There is a “free” lift, but someone stood at the entrance, looking very much like they were charging a fee. I wanted to climb up the stairs on foot for the views anyway. Though it was before 16:00, the sky was already in sunset mode.

Sunset over the sea.

The ascent was not difficult, three or four flights of stairs before I reached the small building that tops the tower Tour Bellanda, the first viewpoint. The structure was originally a medieval defensive structure, but it was destroyed and rebuilt as a place to enjoy the views. I continued on, through the hill / park / historical site. There are several viewpoints towards both sides of the city, along with historical ruins, mosaic decorations, fountains, even the aforementioned cemeteries… All in all I had a lot of fun exploring.

Views of Nice - roofs, coast and ocean.

Collage of the Chateau de Nice: ruins, a waterfall and an octopus-shaped collage.

It had become dark by the time I left the parks, and I somehow ended up re-entering the city down some historical stairs which landed me right into the Medieval quarter again. After going back to the beach for some more wave sounds, I undid my path towards the hotel, taking the exact same route.

Medieval Nice at night, with the cathedral tower at the end.

Waves on a pebble beach at sunset.

There was a bookshop on the way, and I really wanted to stop and buy a book I knew was out that weekend, but honestly? D****e had brought so many presents for me that it would not have fit into the backpack… What I did buy was dinner and breakfast for the following day at the supermarket in front of the hotel – read: coffee and a sandwich. Oh, and a smoothie because it looked awesome.

I spent the last couple of hours of the evening in the hotel, watching bad creature films on YouTube before I went to bed.

14th November 2025: Hyde [Inside] Live 2025 World Tour {France & Monaco, November 2025}

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The sun was not even up yet when we reached the queue (I refused to learn what time D****e had set the alarm clock) for Hyde [Inside] Live 2025 World Tour at Le Bataclan, which was a couple of minutes away from our accomodation. We stepped out of the hotel, and had to walk right back inside for umbrellas and raincoats, because just as we set a foot on the street it started raining. The line had already been started, and in front of the venue door stood a stone memorial, flowers and candles. It was eerie. Throughout the morning, Paris cleaning services came to take care of the tributes. I had never stopped to think about what happened to mementos that people put up for vigils and memorials. In this case, the flowers were very carefully arranged in baskets and carried away to the permanent memorial in the park opposite the venue. The candles were also moved, still lit, there.

Flowers and candles in front of the Bataclan venue at night.

Origins of Le Bataclan can be traced back to 1864, when architect Charles Duval designed it as a theatre in the Chinoiserie architectural style, a current that depicts European interpretations of China’s artistic tradition, which was popular between the 17th and 19th centuries. The original name of the venue was Grand Café Chinois, and it was a typical Belle Époque establishment, known as a café-concert, with a theatre, a dance hall and a café. It became popular for its vaudevilles and went on to change hands, appearance, and functions several times. In 1969, starting with the band Soft Machine, it became today’s modern concert venue, featuring artists such as Velvet Underground, Ramones or Iron Maiden. In the 1980s, it was dubbed “the temple of hip-hop”. In the 21st century, it was revamped and repainted to resemble its original appearance and started catering to techno events.

Le Bataclan Building

After the massacre in 2015 during a concert of Eagles of Death Metal, Le Bataclan was closed for a year, with bands such as U2 cancelling their acts. The venue rose from its own ashes 364 days later with a minute of silence for the victims and an exclusive show by Sting. Aside from the tragic memory attached to the mass shooting, the building itself has been considered a historical monument since 1991.

One expects that a venue with such history, experience and tragedy would be able to smoothly manage a queue, right? Wrong. This was probably the most disastrous line I’ve ever had the displeasure to be part of.

The first security team arrived around 8:00, and they were obviously displeased. The queue at that time was about 20 or 30 people, who were sitting by the walls to brave the cold and drizzle, and respecting the doors of the nearby shops and houses. We were minding our own business checking out the doggies on walks when the staff started putting out barriers. No issue there.

Mid-morning, D****e and I went for breakfast and a toilet break, along with a visit to the Memorial to the victims in the park Jardin May Picqueray, where all the flowers and candles had been taken. It felt weird to take a picture of that, but I wanted to remember the image, the feelings it caused within me.

Memorial in front of the Bataclan concert venue, with a plaque and hundreds of flowers.

It was around 13:00 when the security guard had his power trip. The line was relaxed at this time. Some people were sitting, others were standing to the side, but the “expert concert goers” knew that it was around the time the band would be coming in, probably with the chance of spotting Hyde. The staff started putting out more and more barriers, forcing people to crowd behind them, so the whole concept of queue went to hell. Fortunately, a few locals who spoke both French and English were able to bring the queue, at leas the first hundred VIPs or so, to a resemblance of order.

It did not help that the soundcheck would be watched from the upper floor, and then we had to make it back to the main floor if we wanted arena spots. It was a damn mess. Then they started checking us in for the VIP experience – which I didn’t understand. Fine, the VIP tickets had our names on them so they could not be resold. But they did not ask for ID, which beats the whole purpose of it.

When they finally opened doors, we were subjected to a fast pat down, then we went upstairs. We had a few minutes of relaxing of sorts then – presumably to buy merch – but in the end it was stupidly stressful. What was the point of queueing for hours if when it mattered, we were back to a crowd? In the end, some fans managed to negotiate that the French and Japanese staff would allow people to step down the stairs in the order we had arrived – supported by the numbers we had written on our hands.

The soundcheck, which started at 18:00, lasted around 10 minutes was… lacking. There were three song bits and that was it. Whether that and “stress free” merch shopping justified the price… I honestly don’t think so. Early entry? Maybe. I mean, Hyde is a huge artist in Japan, where your entrance to the venue is determined by the number in your ticket. Fanclub members will always get the best numbers, so they are the only ones with a chance to do first row. This was my one and only time in a Hyde – or Hyde-adjactent project – when I was able to get barrier, and that was only because of D****e’s knowledge of the Japanese fandom and what time they would head there. I don’t think I’ll ever do that early of a queue ever again, even though we were extremely lucky with the weather. Besides a bit of drizzle early in the morning, the weather was stunning, especially for mid-November in Paris.

The concert was scheduled to start at 20:00, and it did so around 20:10. We were at the barrier around 18:15, and it turned out that the background flag was too big for the stage. All this time, I was trying really hard to concentrate on what was to come and not the flowers outside and what they meant. Maybe that atmosphere spoiled the concert a little. Maybe I’ve lost my passion. Or maybe it was the fact that I did something stupid, queued for too long, the next day I went off sightseeing, and a week after returning I had not completely recovered. I’m not sure. But I lack the normal fuzzy feeling I used to get after concerts. I thought not having that after The Raven Age was normal, because I was just checking them out. However, Hyde used to be one of my big artists.

Hyde was born Hideto Takarai in Wakayama, Japan, in 1969. He has been active since the late 1980s. In 1991, Hyde formed the rock band L’Arc~En~Ciel [ラルク アン シエル, Laruku an Shieru, Laruku for short] alongside bassist Tetsuya, a music ensemble that went on to sell 40 million records. From 2001, the band has been more or less separated, coming together on and off to launch a single or do a live in order to remain relevant.

During the period of inactivity, Hyde launched his solo career, often collaborating with arranger and guitarist KAZ from Oblivion Dust, with whom he formed the rock band VAMPS in 2008. VAMPS was active until in 2017 it went “on hiatus” with a press release in Japanese and English, and nothing was ever heard of them again.

Hyde went back to his solo activities right away, with a tour in summer of 2018, which felt a bit lacking. He collaborated with other artists such as Yoshiki and Starset. For a little while he was part of the “supergroup” The Last Rockstars alongside Yoshiki, Miyavi and Sugizo. The current tour Hyde [Inside] Live 2025 World Tour is the promotion of Hyde’s 2024 album Inside, so most of the songs from the setlist came from there, with some “old hitters” he holds the rights to, and a couple of covers.

The concert was good. Objectively good. I enjoyed it. But it was not that deep, belly-felt enjoyment I had before with songs like The Jolly Roger (during VAMPS times), or the one-and-only time I’ve seen L’Arc~En~Ciel.

Setlist:
1. Let it out
2. After Light
3. Defeat
4. Devil Side (VAMPS)
5. Taking them down
6. On my own
7. 夢幻 [Mugen, Fantasy]
8. 永久 –トコシエ [Tokoshie, Eternity, but written with weird kanji]
9. Faint (Linkin Park)
10. 6or9
11. Mad Qualia
12. Social Virus
13. Midnight Celebration II
14. Last Song
15. Pandora
16. Honey (L’Arc~en~Ciel)
17. Glamorous Sky
18. Sex Blood Rock N’ Roll (VAMPS)

HYDE: Inside concert in Le Bataclan. Hyde singing

The concert started at 20:10 with Hyde perched up a high tower. He was supported by guitarists Yas Nomura (Yas) and Julian, keyboardist Hiko (Hikonyan), drummer Shuntaro Kado (Kadoshun) and bassist Tomohiro Miki (Miki-T), all wearing masks – Hyde included, for the first couple of songs. The music was powerful, and the delivery impeccable.

HYDE: Inside concert in Le Bataclan. Hyde close-up

Hyde knows how to own his stage. For 6or9 he wanted us to crouch and jump and… no. I was holding onto the barrier, and there was no way I’d make a jump. I hid a little and then stood up. He also tried some French. He managed quite well with ça va? (“what’s up?” of sorts), but merci beacoup (“thank you very much”) sounded hilariously like the English word “mercy” and the Japanese standard-male I boku [僕]. He also enjoyed yelling swear words around.

HYDE: Inside concert in Le Bataclan. View of the whole stage.

On other concerts, Hyde has poured a bottle of fake blood on his head towards the end. Knowing what had happened in that venue, I am extremely happy he did not do such thing. During the goodbye, he sent “his condolences to those who passed away in this venue”. That almost broke me, honestly.

HYDE: Inside concert in Le Bataclan. Hyde wrapped in the French flag as he gives his condolences for the terrorist attack ten years prior.

All in all, it was a really good concert, and I enjoyed it a lot but… in a different way from I used to. More like I enjoy Starset. I thought it was just that I had a different connection to them, but I now believe it’s a change within me since the Pandemic. I just do not live concerts in the same way any more. I think I am okay with that. I really liked the aforementioned 6or9, Midnight Celebration II and, somehow, Glamorous Sky, which was a song I had never really felt a connection with before.

After the concert, we went through the typical Japanese ritual of waving goodbye to the artists as they leave, and someone from the flats above through a bucket of water at the car. They must have been annoyed by the noise, though it was a Friday and not even 23:00, along with it being a busy boulevard with lots of bars and restaurants around. D****e and I made a short pit stop at the nearby convenience store, which apparently was open beyond its usual time to carter to the concertgoers (I love when they do that). I got a sandwich and a coffee for the next morning, but I never thought about buying lunch too. Afterwards, I took a shower and we went to sleep (or try to) for a few (very few) hours.

13th November 2025: Notre Dame, twice {France & Monaco, November 2025}

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I left the house a little earlier than 6:30, and I reached the parking lot at 7:50, though the theory is a 38-minute drive – the joys of mid-week rush-hour traffic. But I made it, and it was only a few minutes’ wait for the shuttle-bus, so I got to the terminal pretty quickly after that. Security was smooth, boarding went well, and I got to snooze on my 9:45 plane. Pretty good jump, all things considered. We landed at Charles de Gaulle airport a few minutes early, and I was at the train station relatively fast. It was a short walk away, and it looked familiar – I had done it to get to my first-night hotel for the Saint Seiya Symphonic Adventure Weekend. I needed to buy a Navigo transport card too, on top of the price of the ticket, but after wrestling the machine, I just took the RER, and was downtown Paris around 13:00. I stepped out of the underground stop right in front of Cathédrale Notre-Dame de Paris.

Notre-Dame (Our Lady) is the Catholic cathedral of Paris. It was founded in 1163, and its construction spanned about a century. It was repeatedly modified afterwards, with some reconstruction. The building is considered one of the most important examples of the French Gothic architecture, including innovations such as the flying buttresses, rib vault, and the rose window above the gate.

The cathedral was damaged during the French Revolution (1789 – 1799), and converted into a secular “temple of reason” – the Cult of Reason tried to take over Christianity during the period. In 1831, Victor Hugo’s novel The Hunchback of Notre-Dame (original title: Notre-Dame de Paris) was published, and it sparked renewed interest in the building. Around this time, architect Eugène Viollet-le-Duc was promoting gothic as the purest form of architecture, so he took up the refurbishing of the cathedral. He had a vision of restoration which implied “doing what the Medieval Builders would do with modern technology”, an approach that has earned contempt with time. He placed a spire on the roof of the cathedral, despite the original having been lost centuries before.

This spire was later destroyed during a fire in 2019. While the cause of the blaze has not been disclosed, flames ravaged the structure during 15 hours, destroying most of the wooden parts of the cathedral, and damaging the upper walls. The fire broke out around 18:20, and due to problems or mistakes, the firefighting brigade was not notified until almost 19:00. Paris firefighters had trained extensively to prevent a disaster in the building, but the old wood had been burning for 40 minutes when they arrived. Most of the extinction work was carried out within the walls of the building itself – I clearly remember that there were fears that a tower would collapse on the brigade.

Fortunately, the stone structure of the ceiling and walls withstood the blaze, and the building did not cave in. The cathedral holds relics important to Christianity, including the purported Crown of Thrones, and those were taken out for safekeeping. Furthermore, a number of artworks had been removed because there was restoration going on. When I was in the area in February 2020, just before the Covid lockdowns, I was shocked that the site still reeked of smoke.

Though the Catholic church as exclusive and perpetual right to use the building, Notre-Dame belongs to the French Government. It was declared historical monument in 1862, and it has been part of the Unesco Heritage Site Paris, Banks of the Seine since 1991. All these characteristics protected it from “daring” post-fire projects such as modernist windows or alternative spires. The first phase of reconstruction were consolidation projects, to make sure the water had not damaged the stone, building scaffolds which have not been completely taken down yet. Then the debris was taken out, and finally rebuilding work would start in 2021. Though some experts predicted decades of reconstruction, the cathedral safely opened for Advent in 2024, though there are still works going on.

Despite having a timed ticket for peace of mind, I did not need it. There were barriers to optimise a queue, but I only had to walk through. I went to show my backpack to the security guards, and they were extremely nice and laid-back. When I said I was coming from the airport, they waved me through after a quick visual inspection.

Exterior of Notre Dame.

My feeling when I got inside was “woah, white”. The walls were treated with a special solution that not only removed the soot, also did away with centuries’ worth of patina. The building was packed, so it was hard to wander around and enjoy, but Notre-Dame is one of my favourite pieces of architecture, and I loved being able to walk inside once more. Nevertheless, I preferred the old, greyish interior. To collaborate with the cathedral’s maintenance – or so I tell myself – I bought a commemorative coin. Then I decided I needed the second one (do keep score, this whole thing with the coins was to become a pattern in this trip).

Interior of Notre Dame.

I could see people working on the second floor behind the altar, it was a bit surreal. After I had walked the inside, I went around the building to check out the construction, then moved on along the Seine towards another of my favourite places in Paris, the Gallery of Palaeontology and Comparative Anatomy, Galerie de Paléontologie et d’Anatomie comparée, part of the French National Museum of Natural History, Muséum national d’Histoire naturelle. The gallery is going to be “closed for refurbishing”, which I fear will make it lose its charm, so I really had to visit this time around.

The French National Museum of Natural History was established in 1793. However, the project that would eventually lead to this gallery did not start until the Gallery of Zoology had been inaugurated, in 1889. The building was designed by architect Ferdinand Dutert, with two floors and three levels, alongside a few balconies. It was erected between 1893 and 1898, when it was inaugurated. The structure is stupidly impressive and beautiful – the outside is made of brick and the interior has mainly metal and wood. Most of the second floor is actually a mezzanine, which originally held the collection of anthropology, and now the plant fossils. The first floor holds the palaeontology specimens, and at ground level stands the compared anatomy collection. It is a museum of its time, with that charm that contemporary ones do not hold.

Upon entering, my backpack was thoroughly checked – the guard even made me use my phone to give him light as he went through my stuff before he let me in. I paid my fee and stepped into the ground floor, with its cavalcade of skeletons. As you enter, a human figure greets you, and behind him stand hundreds of mounted skeletons, the Gallery of Comparative Anatomy, following a very specific order – and one day I hope to know enough French to understand. First there are the pinnipeds and land carnivores, then herbivores and after a small separation, the cetacean group. On the cases along the walls, birds and smaller mammals are protected. The the far right corner, there is a small (but creepy) collection of “aberrations”.

Gallery of Paleontology and Comparative Anatomy: model human in front of the skeletons of mammals.

Gallery of Paleontology and Comparative Anatomy: skeletons of modern cetaceans.

The first floor, which is accessed through a stone staircase, holds the Palaeontology Gallery, with casts of the specimen of diplodocus, a T-Rex, allosaurus, a replica of one of the Bernissart iguanodons, allosaurus, pterosaur, sarcosuchus… On the other side of the ward stands an impressive mammoth, known as Le mammoth de Durfort (the Durfort Mammoth). Discovered in 1869, it is one of the largest of its kind (Mammuthus meridionalis) ever assembled. It has been recently restored, too, so it looks rather impressive. To its side stands the only authentic skeleton of the only woolly mammoth (Mammuthus primigenius) preserved outside Russia.

Gallery of Paleontology and Comparative Anatomy: second floor looking at the dinosaurs and the gallery.

There is also a skeleton of a Cynthiacetus peruvianus, a toothed whale, one of the oldest cetaceans ever discovered. This creature lived around 37 million years ago, in the Late Eocene. The whole gallery is fascinating, if also a bit unsettling, especially the ground floor. I could’ve stayed there for hours, but my friend D****e’s plane had landed a little early and I had promised to meet her at the station.

Gallery of Paleontology and Comparative Anatomy: skeletons of toothed whale, giant sloth and early quadrupedal mammals.

I then ran into a problem in the underground. It turns out that you cannot put a ticket in a Navigo pass that you have used for the airport (at least on the same day), so I had to purchase yet another pass! We managed to meet and headed to the hotel, where we only got one room card because it was strictly not taking it out. They were very upset with me for not speaking French – I can speak a bit of it, and I read it pretty well when it’s simple (so no detailed anatomy explanations) and I’ve got time, but I can’t understand much beyond the super-basics to save my life.

D****e suggested going out for a walk, and we headed off. The street where Le Bataclan was closed off as there was a remembrance ceremony for the victims of the terrorist attacks. We then headed further towards Cathédrale Notre-Dame de Paris (yes, again. No, I did not complain). We were shocked about the number of police officers that were around, but later we learnt that there was another ceremony at the nearby town hall, which was lit in the colours of the French flag, like the Palais de la Cité opposite Notre-Dame. There was again no queue to enter the cathedral, and the building was open late, so we took another tour inside, as it was artificially lit. On top it being Thursday, there was a mass, maybe for the victims of the attack too. The night felt pretty heavy, to be honest.

Notre Dame cathedral, outside and inside, at dusk.

Paris town hall at night with the French flag projected on the façade.

We walked a bit further, strolling along the Seine. We passed by the church Saint-Germain-l’Auxerrois on our way to take silly pictures with the Louvre Pyramid Pyramide du Louvre, the polemic skylight entrance designed by architect I. M. Pei and installed in 1989. Back then, it was incredibly controversial, especially due to how it clashed with the French Renaissance style of the square and buildings around it. I personally think the structure is ugly, but it has been there for most of my life, I can’t remember the Louvre without it.

Paris and the Seine riverbank at night.

Louvre Pyramid at night.

We then headed back towards the hotel area. We walked back by the memorial service at the town hall, they had launched drones up to the sky. For dinner, I had found a fun place called Stellar which reminded me of the rock band Starset, and booked it. I figured that if she was too jet-lagged, we could always cancel, but that way we had a secured spot. Stellar is managed by the group Ephemera, which creates “immersive restaurants”, and this particular place is “set in space”. The light is low, there are planets and stars hanging from the ceiling, and the solar system slowly slides around you in giant screens. It was really cool, and they were happy to help us in English.

Drones in the Paris night sky to commemorte the 13 November 2015 attacks.

Stellar makes a point of telling you where their dishes, recipes and ingredients come from. We chose three items to share: Truffle baked Camembert (from France), Galactic houmous (from the Middle East, but with a Mediterranean twist – olives), and Shallot flank steak (medium-rare, also from France, though the actual meat was Irish) with fries. The houmous was a bit too heavy, but everything was delicious. The decoration was amazing too, and we had a great time as planets and moons floated around us. Once you book, you have a table for 75 minutes, and they were so efficient that it did not even feel short – we were waiting for food for a very short time. We forewent desserts because we were full – even if I had somehow managed to skip lunch. That was not a great idea… I think I’ll try to chase a couple more of the immersive restaurants if / when I come back to Paris.

Food at Stellar in Paris.

We headed back to the hotel for an early night, though I did not sleep that much, if at all, and the night was very short.

13th – 17th November 2025: City breaks in France & Monaco {France & Monaco, November 2025}

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When back in May 2025, Hyde announced his [Inside] Live 2025 World Tour with several stops in Europe, I wished that I could feel the excitement that used to take over before the pandemic. But truth be told, both Japan and JRockers have made a bunch of questionable decisions as of late. It fell kind of flat, to the point I even considered not going. Hyde himself has said and done a few things I can’t agree with, and I did not know if I wanted to give him money. I was in Malta when the ticket sales started, and I decided something – if the concert was not sold out when I came back, I would go to the show in Paris, France (and see a friend or two, hopefully).

I found tickets upon my return, even VIP options. Though apparently there were a lot of issues with the upgrades, I was able to purchase a VIP package without a hiccup. Not that it had many perks – early entry, priority merch shopping, and soundcheck. However, French fans are hardcore, and I thought being a VIP gave me more leeway to find a safe spot in the venue.

Once that was taken care for, I started organising the trip. The concert was on a Friday in November, a month when I have usually finished work season, so I could take off for a few days. I fumbled with dates a little, and – just for kicks and giggles – I looked for things to do outside Paris. I found an insanely cheap train ticket for Nice, and it turned out that flying round trip to Paris was about the same price as flying to Paris, then taking this train, and flying back from Nice. Furthermore, I found a Nice hotel at a great price.

You might wonder about the sudden Nice idea. Nice was not the goal here (though I ended up enjoying it more than expected), Monaco was. Since I was a little child, there is one place I’ve always wanted to visit, but the stars never aligned for it – the Oceanographic Museum of Monaco. This time around, everything seemed to be fitting in flawlessly. I know I cannot afford to stay in Monte-Carlo, but Nice is about 20 minutes away using public transport.

I locked planes and trains. I found a hotel near the Paris venue to share with a friend, booked tickets for the Oceanographic Museum, bought a small Nice and Monaco guidebook, and turned on about a hundred alarms to remember to book free tickets for Notre Dame (three days before in May, two when I actually got down to it in November). It kind of looked like a trip like any other.

France & Monaco, November 2025

It was not.. There is something else I feel I need to address beforehand. Hyde’s concert was in the venue called Le Bataclan on the 14th of November. Ten years prior, on the 13th November 2015, 90 people died there.

During 2015, France suffered a number of terror attacks, linked – by self-claim – to the Islamic State, or IS. Thriving between 2013 and 2017, IS was designated as a terrorist organisation by the United Nations, as it enforced an extreme version of the Islamic Law and the war against the infidel. They stated they had control over worldwide Muslims, though most of them refused. On the 13th of November, a terror operation was launched in Paris, ending the lives of 130 innocents and 7 attackers.

Three suicide bombers attacked the stadium Stade de France, though they could not gain access. Another group ran rampart shooting at cafés and customers downtown. Around 22:00, a third cell broke into the Bataclan, shot at the 1500 concergoers, and took the survivors hostage. The attackers claimed to be avenging airstrikes against IS. Police attempted to enter the building twice, and tried to negotiate for 50 minutes, until there was a full-blown charge shortly after midnight.

Most of the victims died in the first few minutes of each attack, but some took their own lives at later dates due to PTSD. On top of the 130 casualties, there were 416 injured, about a hundred in serious condition. The attacks sparked rejection by thousands of people – there were vigils all over the world, social media campaigns spread like wildfire, and monuments were lit with the colour of the French flag. In Paris, a state of emergency was declared, people were urged to stay home, and residents opened their doors to those who became stranded and couldn’t go back to their own places due to lack of public transport. Schools and universities did not open on the 14th, sports events were cancelled, and the army was deployed in town. Even Disneyland and the Eiffel Tower closed down. On the 15th, the French Air Force launched its largest operation against IS, carrying out airstrikes in their claimed territories, mostly in Iraq and Syria.

French President François Hollande declared a nationwide state of emergency, which was extended until mid 2016. But then, the Nice attacks happened – around 22:30 on Bastille day (14th July) 2016, a man drove a truck into crowd celebrating at the promenade, killing 86 people and injuring 458 others. IS also claimed responsibility for the attack, and the state of emergency was extended again until 26th January 2017.

Thus on this trip, a lot of this was weighing on my mind, especially in Paris, as we were there during the ten-year anniversary. We saw the police officers, the candles and the flowers. People coming and going, people who might have been there that day. People who lost someone.

So thank you, Hyde, for foregoing your act of singing drenched in blood, because that would have been traumatising. On my account, nothing further from my intention than exploiting the pain of so many people, or making it about me, but there is no way I can describe those two days in Paris without referencing the memorials and vigils. I’ll do my best to do it in the most respectful and caring way possible. However, as I look back on the unadulterated joy my inner child felt in the Oceanographic Museum of Monaco, I wish I could return to that actual innocence, and not have to think about how the world can be a scary place sometimes…

Before the trip I did try not to read up much on the attacks and remind myself of what I had heard a decade before. My plane was scheduled to land in Paris Charles de Gaulle around noon, so I hoped to be downtown around 13:30. Though the RER is only about 45 minutes, the last time I landed there, we had to wait 40 minutes for buses to get to the terminal. Since people had been complaining about the queues at Notre Dame, I booked a free entry ticket for 14:15. I actually was up at midnight two days before to secure the entrance spot (and one the following day for emergencies).

I also purchased my Oceanographic Museum ticket in Monte-Carlo, and tried to find out how to book at the Casino, though whenever I tried, I ended up at the luxury items page. Don’t get me wrong, I would have loved a tour on a Ferrari through Monte-Carlo, or – even if I have no idea about car racing – a ride on the circuit. But I don’t have the budget for that, even in the lowest low season. Oh, and I bought a raincoat because the weather app forecast rain with a 95% chance on Saturday, and 100% on Sunday…

Thus, here are my adventures in Paris, Nice and Monaco in November 2025.

2nd November 2025: Chasing autumn (Guadalajara & Yebes, Spain)

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I tend to judge the advance of autumn from the tree in front of my windows, but I’m starting to suspect it’s an early adopter. Mid-October it was completely gold, and when I left the house, about one third of its leaves had fallen and another third was completely brown. I thought I might get lucky with the forest Bosque de Valdenazar, and see it in its acclaimed fall colours (Spoiler: I didn’t). There had been a recent press release about the restoration and upcoming reopening of the nearby Poblado de Villaflores, so I decided to go check both out, telling myself that it was the last visit to the oak forest this year. Let’s see if I keep it up (Spoiler: I did).

I got on the road mid-afternoon. I reached the entrance / detour / clearing where you drop off the car to Poblado de Villaflores, which technically belongs to the city of Guadalajara, around 14:00. The village was designed by architect Ricardo Velázquez Bosco in the 19th century, and though called a village, it is one of the few agricultural colonies ever built in Spain. The colonies were production units etected on fertile soils, usually designed to be self-sustaining. It’s debatable whether the actual place is located on fertile soil, but rumour has it that the Duchess of Sevillano, an important noblewoman and owner of the land, was more concerned with the actual construction, in order to have something to pay her workers for.

The village has a large farmhouse, several small building blocks, a chapel, and the most recognisable building – a dovecote. All structures were built combining limestone and brick. After the duchess died, the village became abandoned and almost forgotten, and it changed hands several times. Local politicians announced their intention to rehabilitate it in 2002. Nothing happened, even when the area was declared Important Cultural Property (BIC) in 2015. In 2016, the clock tower that crowned the façade of the main house collapsed. An emergency restoration project was finally approved in 2022, with an investment of over two million euro, but there was no serious work on the site until 2023.

I walked through a small oak tree forest and the cow path Cañada Real de Las Matas, and soon I found myself within the village limits. Of course, all the buildings were fenced off, but the restoration looks really good! The last couple of times I visited, everything was ruined and overgrown. It’s still overgrown, but the clock tower has been rebuilt (though the shield that was recovered from the collapse has not been replaced), doors at the houses have been installed, and the chapel completely re-erected. The buildings look clean and stable.

Farming house in brick and mortar, with a belltower at the centre.

Construction finished about a year ago, and the security warnings still look pretty new, but the restoration information sign has already been vandalised. There is no informational signage yet, and I fear the whole thing will end up all derelict again – nobody really knows what to do with the village. It would be such a pity, the whole thing is an interesting unit, though I am not sure what can be done with it. Maybe yet another perpetually-closed interpretation centre… Seriously though, with all the urban orchards boom and rural depopulation, along with the cow paths nearby, something related to actual agriculture or livestock would be fun. Or homing pigeons! I mean, the dovecote is there for a reason, right?

Buildings in Villafloes, in brick and mortar, by Ricardo Velazquez Bosco.

Afterwards, I crossed the road to explore the not-so-small Portuguese oak (Quercus faginea) forest along the cow path. The trail also goes above the main road, and it’s not accessible by car. It felt like a very nice place to explore in spring, though I can’t tell how many cows one would run into these days (and I’m okay with no more encounters of the moo kind). I wandered around for a bit, then headed back towards the car.

The cow path, still in summer colours.

There was still a serious lack of autumn colours, but that was over when I reached Ciudad Valdeluz itself, a neighbourhood of Yebes. The local park Parque de la Paz y los Derechos Humanos did have trees that had turned gold, brown and red. There was also a pond full of fish and waterfowl, particularly a couple of very opinionated geese who quacked their disapproval that I was not carrying any snacks for them – the pond had until recently been quarantined due to avian flu, but the sanitary cordon had been taken down now.

Lake in the public park.

Geese and ducks. One of the geese is honking and almost launching itself at the camera.

I continued on towards the Bosque de Valdenazar, mainly composed of Portuguese oaks (Quercus faginea), holly oaks (Quercus ilex) and a few riverbank species. The only animals I’ve ever seen are red squirrels (Sciurus vulgaris), but I’ve spotted some deer and boar tracks. The Portuguese oaks actually seem to just be a continuation of the part that I had seen on the other side of the road, along the cow path. It strengthened my idea that I need to explore the Cañada Real de Las Matas better. Unlike that area, the little forest was packed, including couples taking romantic pictures and families with young kids. The weather was nice, so there were quite a few people having a picnic. The colours were slightly more golden than the previous time, but not much. Since it was a Sunday and there were people around, there was no chance to catch a glimpse of any wildlife, so after taking the standard walk, route Ruta SPG-24, I left, hoping not to catch much of a traffic jam on my way back to the city.

The Valdenazar forest in autumn, seen from the viewpoint, halfway through turning gold

16th October 2025: Ruta del Agua (Patones, Spain)

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This day trip happened because of a fortune cookie, really. A couple of days prior, I had gone to the supermarket and found they already had fortune cookies, which is scary because they usually only have them around Christmastime. But I like them, so I bought a pack. When I came back from Alcalá de Henares on the 15th, I opened one. It told me to take a relaxing break to recharge. I don’t really do relaxing, so I decided to take a hike instead. Two day trips in a row? Why not? The weather was being uncharacteristically mild, but it was autumn after all. The landscape should look pretty, and the weather could turn any day now. Furthrmore, I had a project starting the following week, so I decided to tackle what would probably be the last hike of the season.

When back in August I decided that I was tired of waiting for people to come hike to the gullies Cárcavas de Mingo Negro and just headed there, I discovered there is another route along the other side of the river Río Lozoya. This route is maintained by the public company that manages water supply in the Community of Madrid, and by extension the dam, Canal de Isabel II.

The main reason I decided upon this route was the fact that I did not need to plan anything. Coordinates to the parking spot were right on my Sat-Nav and the route has its own app, with its map, GPS location and videos you can watch at every stop. It offers two options , the short and the long routes. Ironically, the time for both is almost the same: the long circular route takes around four hours, and the short one only takes a couple of hours… but it is linear, and then you have to return. I tried to reason with myself that I’d do the short route and when I reached the end, I would decide whether I would turn back (on known terrain) or venture through the circular hike. I also know that I would need to be very tired in order not to explore the complete route.

I waited for sunrise before I left the house, and I reached the parking lot around 9:30, earlier than I thought I would. I changed into my hiking shoes and set off. The dam Presa del Pontón de La Oliva, where the route starts, belongs to the municipality of Patones. It was originally designed to gather drinking water from the river Río Lozoya, and built between 1851 and 1856, though it failed shortly after, as water seeped around and underneath the structure.

After Madrid was made the capital of Spain (as early as 1561), it grew in size and population, and in 1848 the government started a project to increase the water supply to the city, which until then had been just covered by public fountains. The physical canal that would carry the water from the river Río Lozoya was named after the then-queen Isabella II (Isabel II) – Canal de Isabel II. After the failure of the Presa del Pontón de La Oliva dam due to percolation, a new one (Navarejos) was built in 1860, and a reservoir (El Villar) created further upstream in 1882.

The Canal de Isabel II project expanded throughout the 19th and 20th centuries. In 1977, the entity became a public business. It was then weirdly semi-privatised. Since 1995, its main stakeholder is the actual Community of Madrid, so besides drinking water, it is in charge of residual water treatment and “improvement and protection of rivers”. It manages 13 reservoirs which hold almost 950 million square metres and 78 access points to underground water.

The hiking route Ruta del Agua is part of the wider outreach and cultural plan of the company. It runs along the Río Lozoya river bank, and then back along the service paths and some of the water management buildings. The app is ridiculously easy to use, it is actually a map that pings your location so you know where in the path you are. There are specific points with videos which explain details about the flora, fauna and geology, nifty ARs, and a friendly voice congratulating you on your achievements aka reaching the predetermined spots.

I started at the dam, and there were two surveyors there. I let myself be noticed, but apparently they were not paying attention and I startled them. I asked if it was all right  for me to proceed, and they said I would do so under my own responsibility. As if… there was anything else. The first bit of the route runs parallel to the river on the dam structures, and you see the stream underneath. From the path, I checked for cattle since the last time I was there I saw grazing cows. Being free range and all, they might end up in my way. However, most importantly, I wanted to make sure I was not in their way – cows are amongst the deadliest animals in the world, no point in bothering them unnecessarily.

Walkway alongside the vertical rock wall.

Once I left the man-made bit behind and stepped onto the actual dirt track, I was standing between the two vertical walls that create the valley, the porous limestone that allowed water to seep through it, making the dam project fail. A little upstream from this area, geology changes, and black slates compose the walls and soils. This metamorphic rock is not permeable, so it is great to hold the river course.

The Lozoya valley

This, as well as the high purity of the water that streams down Río Lozoya, was the reason to choose the area for Madrid’s drinking water. Long before that, it influenced the landscape, creating an uncharacteristic riverbank forest, more typical of the north than the centre of Spain. Where there should be shrubs and bushes, trees grow, particularly ash trees.

I admit that during this part of the hike I went off track twice. Both times I used animal trails though, and tried not to disturb anything. The path was well maintained except for a small landslide which had taken down a few metres. I was slightly annoyed that I could not manage any photographs of birds, especially the very-common Eurasian crag martin (Ptyonoprogne rupestris, a rock-dwelling bird). I did spot some blue blurs which I want to think were kingfishers, but were probably Eurasian blue tits (Cyanistes caeruleus).

The Lozoya river

The cows I’d seen last time were on the other side of the river, or so I thought. As I turned on the path, I came eye to eye with one of them, just a few metres away. We stared at each other for a couple of seconds, neither sure of what to do. I stepped to the side to clear the path so she could do whatever she wanted. Since I was not in a hurry I thought I could wait for her to go on her way rather than walking past. She grazed for a few more minutes, then went to meet her friends. I guess it was a close encounter of the moo kind.

Free range cows grazing

The path alongside the Lozoya, covered in golden fallen leaves.

Free range cow right in the middle of the path, staring at the camera.

I continued walking and found the enclosure where the cows are kept when not roaming free. I’ve only seen a handful of them both times, but it was big enough for a decently-sized herd. The cows are there – I think – more for historical / sentimental reasons than actual farming. The area used to be criss-crossed by cow paths so the cattle moved around during the year, chasing better pastures. Today, these cows live here all year round, and they get extra hay when they need it.

The Lozoya river

After I had reached the enclosures, I walked onto a wider trail, one fitted for cars. This was about half point, and I’d been walking for about an hour and a half. I had no idea whether actual vehicles would be coming by, so I stuck to the left. The trail went slightly upwards, but it was not hard at all. I was on the slate rock now, and flora was bushy due to deforestation. I was hoping for some pretty autumn colours, but I did not get many of those, unfortunately.

At some point I reached a sign reading “working bees, please take detour”, which placed me in the right position for my best wildlife photography (which was still rather bad, I need lots of practise) of the day – a leaping roe deer (Capreolus capreolus). After the detour, I started coming across other hikers, amongst them a group of deaf people whom I remembered to greet in sign language. I felt proud of myself for that.

The Lozoya valleu from above, including the dam.

The last leg of the hike runs through tall grass and drinking water structures, including aqueducts, pipes and deposits. The water still comes from the river Río Lozoya’s reservoir Embalse del Atazar. This last kilometre or so goes down the hill again, and I got to see gliding vultures and the gullies from afar.

Water channeling pipes

The Lozoya valley hiking track with the gullies in the background.

As the route is circular, towards the end I reached the start point. I had seen the small ruined hermit church Ermita de la Virgen de la Oliva. From the original path it just looked like a ruined hut, but from this perspective, I saw that it was actually an interesting building. It is one of the oldest of its kind in the area – it was erected around the 12th century, in a mix of Romanesque and Mudejar styles, using brick and mortar. Though it is ruined now, it is still an noticeable sight.

Ruined hermit church in the middle of the field.

Afterwards, I just headed back towards the parking lot. I took three hours to hike the circular route – 8 km, 360 metres up and down, and quite a bunch of photographs. I will come back to the area again, I think. I want to see the village, a nearby wind mill, and the large reservoir nearby, El Atazar. But I guess it’ll have to wait till next hiking season…

15th October 2025: The Antiqvarivm at Complvtvm (Alcalá de Henares, Spain)

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Though October is usually my holiday month and I can go on long trips (such as Türkiye in 2024), this year I came across an unexpected project. That means extra money, but less time, and even though I had a blast in Loarre and Zaragoza, it was not really a holiday. I decided to take a day trip before the weather turned and work took over. I mulled over several ideas, and in the end I came down with two – basically an urban day trip or rural day trip, and in the end, I decided to go for the urban trip. A while back (longer than I thought), I visited Complutum, the archaeological remains of the Roman town which stood underneath what today is Alcalá de Henares. That time, one of the main buildings was closed off due to archaeological works, but it was now open. Furthermore, the city has recently opened a new museum. These factors pushed me to go there in the end. It helped that I needed to do some shopping.

The Romans first established provinces in Hispania around the 200 BCE, after the second Punic War. In the year 19 BCE, the first Roman Emperor, Augustus, formally added the Iberian Peninsula to the Empire. Despite some strife, Spain remained part of the Roman Empire until the latter collapsed in the 5th century CE. There’s a lot that Spaniards owe to the Romans, including a good road system, aqueducts and waterways, and lots of mosaics, a good number of them in the MARPA.

The city of Complutum was founded in the 1st century CE, and greatly expanded through the 3rd century. At the turn of the 2nd century, during the Christian persecution, two children were killed and are now considered martyrs. Unlike other sites, the city was never really abandoned, just gave way to newer civilisations and it was built over. During the 19th century, the archaeological sites were pillaged, and between 1970 and 1974 a lot of the remains were destroyed to build new dwellings. The archaeological site received protection from the 1985 Heritage Law, and further recognition as Cultural Asset (BIC) in 1992.

I did not feel like driving in the chaotic Alcalá de Henares traffic, especially now that they’re having construction along the main avenues, so I parked the car a bit away and walked – this is something I do when I go to the centre. The weather was nice so the 40 minutes did not feel long. I visited the three main spots: the larger archaeological site Ciudad Romana de Complutum, the new museum Antiquarium and, since I was not crazily far, the house Casa de Hippolytus.

I first headed off towards the Antiquarium, the “new” museum. I call it new because it has opened in 2025, though the building had been erected over a decade earlier at the very least. It is a large space which hosts some of the elements recovered in recent excavations – though due to the general pillage of the site in earlier centuries and all the losses due to modern construction, it is not as rich as it should be in its own right. There are two key elements in the museum – room F of the House of Griffins, and the mosaic of the Winning Chariot Racer.

The House of Griffins, Casa de Los Grifos, is considered the best example of Roman mural painting in Spain. It was a large domus of 17 rooms at least. It was built in the 1st century CE, but it burnt and collapsed in a fire at the beginning of the 3rd century. Outside of Pompeii, it’s probably one of the best preserved houses I’ve ever seen, even if it is in two places. The room moved to the Antiquarium names the house. Amongst other mythological representation, the entrance is guarded by two griffins, animals with the head of an eagle and the body of a lion, facing each other.

(Collage) Casa de los Grifos - Roman chamber painted in yellow and black. The upper part of the collage shows the two griffin that name the house facing each other.

The other key exhibit is the mosaic El Auriga Victorioso, which was found in an outskirts villa where Romans bred horses. The museum has woven a whole story around the mosaic, to the point that you could actually believe that everything they tell you about the hypothetical character is based on facts instead of just speculation.

Roman Mosaic of an auriga, missing a chunk. The art depicts the auriga and four horses.

Outside the building there is a fountain Fuente del Juncal, part of the water distribution system of the city, channelling water from the nearby river Río Henares. It was heavily restored in the 19th century, so there is no way to know how it looked originally.

Old fountain with a small pond in front

After the museum, I headed to the actual city to see the rest of the House of Griffins in situ, in the Ciudad Romana de Complutum Roman city. The vermilion walls which still stand were probably painted with cinnabar from Almadén. However, it was difficult to see from afar what parts were original and what had been restored. Other spaces that can be seen throughout the city are the foundations of a dwelling block, the forum and the therms. Two spaces require a lot of imagination – a piece of wall is supposed to be where the child martyrs Justus and Pastor were killed, and the restored auguraculum, where the oracles worked.

Casa de los Grifos in situ - a red chamber with painted columns

Ruins of the Roman City of Complutum

The last time I visited Complutum, the Antiquarium had not opened and the House of Griffins was closed due to excavation works there. I did visit the other house Casa de Hippolytus, which was completely accessible. However, since I was nearby, I decided to get there again. They have a very cool mosaic with Mediterranean fishery themes, including a moray eel, an octopus, a dolphin and a very-accurate lobster. Interestingly enough, Hippolytus was not the owner of the house, but the artist who signed this mosaic.

Fish mosaic, Casa de Hyppolitus

I headed back towards the shopping centre where I had left the car and went into a The Good Burger there, because I am very partial to their Cheese Lovers hamburger (and their soda refill policy). They had a menu option so I decided to go with the chips – I had the choice between chips with salt and chips with salt (and that’s not my typo). The burger in question is garnished with American cheese, goat cheese, Gorgonzola cheese, poached onion and honey-and-mustard sauce. Lots and lots of cheese, for real.

Actual cheese burger - a burger with a lot (and I mean a lot) of cheese, and chips.

I did not do much afterwards. I bought a few items I needed and headed to the car to drive home.

10th October 2025: Too early for autumn: Bosque de Valdenazar (Yebes, Spain)

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A friend phoned me for a day out, and I gladly agreed. Their idea was to check out the small forest Bosque de Valdenazar, in Yebes. We were hopeful for some nice autumn colours, but as it turned out, we were a tad bit too early for them.

We both had done the route before, myself back in May. The forest is supposed to be astonishing in fall, with plenty of gold and red leaves. Unfortunately, weather in 2025 has been crazy, with summer-like temperatures right up to late October, so most trees were still green, and they would probably just lose their leaves before they could turn gold. I am not a fan of autumn weather, but the colours are pretty – I ended up taking another go later, even.

The route Ruta SPG-24 has recently gained traction as a pretty spot since the town hall fitted it around the neighbourhood called Ciudad Valdeluz. The population of the area has been steadily growing lately due to lower housing prices and an increase of services offered. But maybe, the biggest impulse that the Route had might have been that the local park has been quarantined due to an avian flu outbreak – everything was cordoned off.

During the walk, which takes less than an hour, we spotted some red squirrels (Sciurus vulgaris). These rodents live on trees and enjoy nuts. In Spain, it is said that they love acorns – or at least, hoard them in autumn so they can feed through the winter. As a good part of the forest is composed of oaks, these two have a good chance to survive. We thought they might be a couple, but it turns out that squirrels just mate sporadically when they’re in season, so they were just neighbours, as red squirrels are not territorial.

A view of an oak forest. Most of the trees are greyish green, but osme of them have started turning a bit yellow with autumn.

A path in an oak forest. The trees seem to arch over it. Some have started losing their leaves, which has carpeted the path with them. The trees have started showing yellow, brown and reddish colours, but the leaves on the ground are all brown-grey.

A red squirrel looks at the camera from a tree trunk.

A red squirrel peeks at the camera from behind a tree trunk, only its upper body is visible, but it seems to be smiling.

A red squirrel gathering acorns from a leaf-covered ground.

A path in an oak forest. The trees seem to arch over it. Some have started losing their leaves, which has carpeted the path with them.

We did not let the lack of autumn disappoint us, and grabbed the car to go back to town and enjoy some pancakes in a local café.

3rd & 4th October 2025: Wicked Madrid (Spain)

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I am not a big fan of musicals – not because of the genre, but because in general the stories don’t seem to appeal to me. However, I like Wicked. Just before the first instalment of the movie duology was released, it was announced that the musical was getting a Spanish version. I was on the fence as to whether buy tickets or not, because I have often come across horrible translations into Spanish. After a lot of pondering, I decided to get an opening-day ticket, which I purchased in late November 2024. If in the end I backed up from attending, I could always give it to someone else, as it was sure to be a full house. Thus, I got a spot for Wicked: El Musical in Nuevo Teatro Alcalá in Madrid. However, once the film was released and I got to read the subtitles – I’m a visual person, I can’t ignore subtitles no matter how much I try – I became a bit more apprehensive.

In March 2025, I received an email advertising the option to get a VIP upgrade, Experiencia Premium Wicked, which included early entry, the booklet, a guided tour of the theatre, and what was de-facto dinner in the VIP lounge (which had its own private toilets). It was convenient, so I purchased it. Since I had originally bought the ticket on presale, some kind of discount was applied to it. I can’t be sure how much due to the anything-but-transparent Spanish ticket pricing. The nice seat on row 13 had a face value of 84.90 €, there was a fee of 6.79 € and a discount of 17.98 €, yielding to a final price of 74.71 € for the seat. The Premium upgrade was 29.90 €, value for money for the convenience only. Thus in total, I paid 104.61 €, without even being sure I was going to attend – I think my nibling was praying I would back out in the end and gave them the tickets…

I was not completely sure what to do with myself that day. I got a hotel because the 21:00 session would wrap up late, especially on opening day. The theatre Nuevo Teatro Alcalá was not in a convenient point to drive to. Trains would not be running any more when I reached any station, but the underground would. The only affordable but private room I found was 20 minutes away on said underground, but a big city would still have reasonably-full trains around midnight on a Friday in what is climatologically late-summer. The hotel was relatively close to the largest cemetery in Madrid, Cementerio de La Almudena, which reportedly holds some masterpieces of funerary architecture. I thought that it being October, it might be an appropriate visit, following a cultural itinerary provided.

On the day of, I set towards Madrid so I could reach the hotel a bit around check-in time, at 15:00. I dropped my luggage and set off towards the graveyard. Cementerio de La Almudena is the largest cemetery in Western Europe. It opened in 1884, though it was officially inaugurated in 1925. There were several architects involved in the design, but the current appearance is due to Francisco García Nava, who substituted previous styles with different Modernisme trends. Looking from above, the cemetery is designed as an adorned Greek cross, a design that eventually yielded to the creation of a secondary civil cemetery across the street.

I had wanted to visit for a while, but once there, I found Cementerio de La Almudena oppressive. Though there are green areas, it had nothing on the nature feeling northern Europe cemeteries give off. The niche walls felt overcrowded and cold, and the paved paths seemed designed just for vehicles and not people. I mean, the cemetery is big enough that it has its own bus stops inside, but there was something off about it. It was not a Victorian Garden, I guess. Since I was not enjoying myself, I decided to cut the visit short. I left after an hour, and headed towards the Central District.

La Almudena graveyard, with some neobyzantine decoration and traditional cross-decorated graves

When I reached my underground stop, I saw there was a matcha bar nearby, but upon reaching it, there was long a queue outside – it turns out that it belongs to a TikTok influencer – and I decided to just go to Starbucks instead. I had a vanilla drink sitting at a park, then headed out to one of the few buildings representative of Modernisme in Madrid, the manor Palacio de Longoria. It was running an exhibition on the history of Spanish comedy cinema. I am not a fan, but exhibitions are the only way to visit the manor. The building was designed by José Grases Riera and built in 1902. It features a central staircase with a colourful skylight which is always cordoned off, but it is incredibly beautiful.

Longoria Palace, a Modernisme building with a stunning skylight with a red stair in a sun and a blue stela. It is over a staircase with an intrincate railing.

My next stop was the national library Biblioteca Nacional de España for an exhibition I wanted to see in July, but it was not running. It turns out that the temperature control in the room had broken down, and the exhibits were removed for safety. The exhibition El papiro de Ezequiel. La historia del códice P967 (The Ezekiel Papyrus. History of Codex 967) displays part of the oldest surviving document preserved in the National Library of Spain, and discusses its history. The document is a Greek translation of some of the books of the Bible, copied on papyrus probably in the 3rd century CE. It was discovered in the necropolis of Meir (Egypt), probably in the 19th century, and sold by the page to different institutions and collectors around the world between 1930 and 1950. Its excellent conservation is probably due to it being sealed in a vase until it was dug up.

The Spanish National Library is depositary of several sheets, which were originally bought by private collector Pénélope Photiadès. Upone her death, her collection of around 350 papyri, now called Papyri Matritensis, was bequeathed to the cultural organisation Fundación Pastor de Estudios Clásicos. As for the rest of the original codex, 200 out of 236 pages are accounted for in different places around the world. The pages in deposit in Madrid contain the oldest version of Ezekiel’s prophecies

The Book of Ezequiel is part of the Hebrew Bible [Tanakh, תַּנַ״ךְ] and the Christian Old Testament. Ezequiel was an Israelite priest, considered one of the 46 prophets to Israel, who lived around the 600 BCE. His prophecies or visions revolve about the fall of Jerusalem and its eventual restoration. In-between, there are prophecies against other nations or rulers who had wronged the Israelites.

Regardless of the importance of their contents for the Abrahamic religions, it was really cool to see something that old. Especially considering that all those centuries ago, someone thought the writing was important enough to have it preserved and protected for the future. The exhibition is held in a round room, with photographies of all the known pages and their location. At the moment, there are five collections – Cologne, Princeton, Dublin, Madrid and Barcelona.

The exhibition displayed five sheets mounted over mirrors so both sides could be seen. Alongside, there are other translations of the Bible, and a small display on how to write on papyrus. The whole collection was displayed in a circular room, so it felt really immersive. It was really cool.

Ezequiel papyrus - two pieces of papyrus with ancient writing on it

The weather was nice and I still had time, so I headed out to the park Parque del Retiro. This large park in the centre of Madrid originates in a Royal possession in the 15th century, and it opened to the public in 1767 under the reign of Charles III (Carlos III). Today there are several buildings remaining, alongside the royal gardens, now the large green area. There are ponds, fountains, sculptures and extremely old trees – which end up being a potential hazard when it’s too hot, too cold or too windy. This yields to quite the controversy when the park closes during summer due to the risk of collapsing branches. Parque del Retiro is considered a historical garden and part of the Unesco Heritage Site Paseo del Prado and Buen Retiro, a landscape of Arts and Sciences.

I finally headed off towards the nearby theatre Nuevo Teatro Alcalá. I ended up joining a loose group of people waiting for the theatre to open, and I got shoved away by a group coming out from a taxi. Later, one of the ladies would claim that she was there before anyone else – everyone who had seen them pushing me knew she was lying, but obviously her group needed to go in first. Ironically, though they made it to the hall first, I ended up reaching the theatre and the VIP lounge way before them. The irony.

Teatro Nuevo Alcalá with the promo of Wicked for the musical.

Upon entrance to the hall, I received my VIP lanyard and booklet. I am not well-versed in Spanish musical theatre actors, but I’m told the cast is really popular. First, we were shown inside the hall, where we had an introduction to the building and the play. Wicked is the musical adaptation of the eponymous book by Gregory Maguire (1995). The novel is in turn based on the world created by L. Frank Baum, The Wonderful Wizard of Oz (1900). While the original book is aimed to children – I read somewhere that it was conceived as the first “US-based fairytale”, later adaptations would take a turn towards more mature audiences.

In The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, a normal child from Kansas, Dorothy (with her little dog too), ends up in the magical world of Oz after being flown away by a tornado. There she partners up with a Cowardly Lion, a Tin Woodman and a Brainless Scarecrow. Together they travel to meet the eponymous Wizard, who promises to help them if they kill the Wicked Witch of the West.

The book has been both praised and reviled throughout its history. While the original story gives no room to think that the Wicked Witch is anything but gratuitously evil, the very way the protagonist party is just sent to kill her may sound… strange. It did to me when I was young and read the story for the first time. Other versions just have the Wizard tell the party to bring him the Witch’s broom.

It might have also been like that for Maguire, whose novel focuses on the evil witch, whom he names Elphaba. In the novel, Elphaba is ostracised and radicalises as she grows up, which leads to her fall into evil. In the musical, she is not really evil, but the circumstances around her life and powerful people’s manipulations make her a scapegoat. She chooses her own path rather than either give in or become a victim.

The original musical features music and lyrics by Stephen Schwartz and book by Winnie Holzman. It first opened on Broadway (after a San Francisco try-out) in 2003 – and it has run since then, except during the Covid pandemics. In 2005, it went on tour in the US, staying on different cities for literally hundreds of performances. The London production opened in the Apollo Victoria Theatre in 2006 – I have seen that one twice, in 2018 and 2022. There have been two German productions (2007 – 2011 and 2021 – 2022). There have also been runs in Australia, New Zealand, Japan, South Korea and Brazil. Between 2013 and 2015, the first Spanish adaptation was staged in Mexico City, though I cannot be sure the translation is the same as the Mexican one. The Spain version is considered a “non-replica production” as the setting is different. For starters, there is no dragon hanging above the stage and no map of Oz on the curtain.

Wicked stage, surrounded by a circle of runes and a stylised Z in the middle

We did not hear any of this at the small explanation, but we learnt that they have 140 pairs of shoes. Then, we could go up the stage to get our picture taken with the giant Z on the curtain. I was amongst the first to get up there, so I also was lead to the VIP room quite early – remember the lady from before? I beat her every time, I did not even try, but it amused the hell out of me to realise it. To be honest, I had chosen the VIP experience not only because I’m a snob, but because it included what could be counted as dinner – cheese, ham and breadsticks with a drink before the play. And also the private bathroom, which was great. Ten minutes before curtain the waiters started telling us, along with taking orders for the drink during the break.

VIP package at Teatro Nuevo Alcalá - cheese, ham, breadsticks, soda, a commemorative grass, the program, and the menu.

I was at my seat at 20:55, and the theatre was not full yet. The play started a little late, and I was a bit apprehensive, to be honest, because as mentioned before Spain has a less than stellar record with translations, but adaptors David Serrano and Alejandro Serrano have done a general good job. Main singers included Cristina Picos as Elphaba; Cristina Llorente as Glinda (that must have been confusing during rehearsals); Guadalupe Lancho as Madame Morrible, Javier Ibarz as the Wizard and Xabier Nogales as Fiyero. The latter was, in my totally-non-expert opinion, the weakest performance. When trying to sing with both the witches, his voice was barely audible, and he just did not have the… charm nor the presence. There is more to Fiyero’s character than choosing a cute actor, I think. There is one line that defines Fiyero in Dancing through life, which hints that there is more to him than the deeply shallow character he plays. After babbling about being brainless and shallow, when the “Ozdust ballroom” is mentioned, he sings that in the end “dust is what we come to”.

The play was well carried by the main characters, despite a couple of wardrobe malfunctions with Glinda’s dress and Chistery’s wings. The translations of the songs and the jokes were mostly on point. An exception was “magic wands, are they pointless?” – that one either completely flew over the translators’ heads, or they tried to localise it – and failed. The lyrics were well-chosen, carrying as much parallel in form and meaning as the originals. Unfortunately, the song that suffered the most was Defying Gravity, which just… can’t be easily done. It was decent though. In general, I’d give the effort an 80%.

The main cast of the Spanish Wicked musical greeting after opening day

During the break, I returned to the VIP lounge to skip the bathroom lines, and have a snack (popcorn) and my second drink. I have to say that the VIP experience is much more value for money than the London one, even if it catered to way more people – maybe because it was opening day. After the event was over, I made it to the nearby underground station and… the trains were crowded. I’ve seen fewer people on the platforms on a random weekend morning. Maybe in the future, I can drive closer to Madrid and park somewhere with an underground station so I won’t need to book a hotel.

However, staying over had a few advantages. When I woke up in the morning, I headed towards a cosy café (as cosy as a franchise can be), Santa Gloria, to order a “glorious latte with vanilla” whipped cream and cinnamon, and a salmon-on-avocado toast, which was delicious. Afterwards, I took the underground to meet up with some family members (amongst them my very-disappointed nibling). Their house is actually quite near the Museo del Aire y del Espacio, Museum of Aeronautics and Astronautics and we headed there to spend the morning.

The Museum of Aeronautics and Astronautics is a space where the Spanish Air Force preserves historical aircraft. It is located in the neighbourhood of Cuatro Vientos (Four Winds), close to the military air base. Since it was established in 1975, the site has expanded its collection to 200 aircraft. There are seven hangars full of stuff and almost 70,000 square metres of exhibition. Along with all the actual preserved items, there are reproductions of important planes in history, models, engines, uniforms… I know next to nothing about the history of aeronautics, but it was really cool to see all the machinery and even go inside a couple of planes. There were even a few items from space exploration.

We were there from around 11:00 until closing time, 14:00, and it was barely enough to have a quick look at everything. There are guides who show you around, and it might be interesting to take a visit with one of them in the future.

Several aircraft at the Cuatro Vientos - helicopters and military planes, along with a historical biplane.

I had seen there was a big shopping centre nearby, but we got lost and then caught in a traffic jam, so we ended up having a very late lunch before everyone headed home for the day. Oh, but the mall had a Lego store where I could get stamps on my passport. When the salesperson asked me how many I wanted, he was somewhat surprised that I said I wanted all of them…

21st September 2025: Alarcos on the way back {Road Trip & Almadén, September 2025}

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The lady in Almadén had recommended a pretty hermit-church-castle place in the nearby village of Chillón, but when I reached there, it turned out to be closed and expecting a bike race, so if I stayed… well, I would have to stay till the race was over. I left as fast as I could, so I was not able to see the church Ermita Virgen del Castillo and the Bronze-Age paintings nearby. I just stopped for a quick picture of the mining park Parque Minero de Almadén.

A general view of the town of Almadén. It shows that it is located on a hilltop. The main structures seen are the mining complex on the left (a grey mass on top of a black gorge) and the castle at the very top.

I stopped for fuel, then went onto the road. It took a couple of hours until I reached the village of Alarcos. Nearby stands the archaeological site Parque Arqueológico de Alarcos, which displays three historical periods – there are remains of an Iberian town, a ruined castle, and a Reconquista battlefield. The Iberian town was built around the 6th century BCE, located all over the hill. There are remains of a neighbourhood, a sanctuary, and further away, a necropolis.

Remains of house blocks in the Iberian village - foundations built in rock.

Remains of the Iberian sactuary with the Medieval wall in the background.

During the Middle Ages, there was a project to build a town and a castle. The town would have been protected by a wall, and the castle would have stood at the highest point. However, Alfonso VIII decided to fight a battle against the Almohad Caliphate there before the castle was finished. The battle of Alarcos happened in 1195, and the Christians lost miserably. The castle was then turned into an Almohad town until the battle of Las Navas de Tolosa recovered the whole area in 1212. However, nobody wanted to live in the town any more, so eventually its population would be moved to “The Royal Villa”, later the Royal Town – Ciudad Real, the current capital of the region.

Alarcos Battlefield with the sign that positions the troops.

Ruins - more like just the foundations, actually - of the 11th century Medieval castle. It would have been huge, perched atop a hill, but the most one sees is the intention of a tower, and it's not even the keep.

There is also a small hermit church, but that was locked away behind a fence. The castle is extremely derelict, though some of the Moorish houses can be guessed on the blueprint. Any archaeological findings have been taken to the museum in Ciudad Real – which I still have to visit, but timing was not on my side today. Fortunately, that is doable on public transport – if I ever decide to trust Spanish long-distance trains again.

On my way out, the nice person at reception gave me a bag of goodies – a booklet about the site, some brochures, a magnet and a Medieval music CD. She recommended my trying to reach a hermit church on the other side of the motorway to find the interpretation centre about the prehistoric volcanos in the area, but that is for another, focused trip.

I just hit the road to get home. There was an accident on the way and the subsequent traffic jam added an hour to the drive. The last 40 minutes or so, I felt very tired, so even if I had wanted to have lunch somewhere, I also had the feeling that if I stopped, it would be harder to keep driving. I made it home around 15:30 and had a very late lunch.

I consider the trip was a success. I saw the Mine, which is something I have been wanting for years. Food in Almadén was horrible, and maybe future road trips should be broken with a night in-between, so lessons were learnt. More supermarkets, more overnight stops. But I only had a long weekend, so I made the most of it. And splurged on a mercury vial for my mineral collection.

20th September 2025: The Mercury Mine in Almadén {Road Trip & Almadén, September 2025}

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My lodging in Almadén included breakfast, so I had a coffee and a toast – better than dinner the previous night, but this time there was the hotel lady working the bar. Afterwards, I just grabbed my things and redid half of my tour from the previous night, and re-visit all the spots inscribed as World Heritage Heritage of Mercury. Almadén and Idrija.

The former mining school, the first one created in Spain, Antigua Escuela de Ingeniería de Minas was still closed – it is not open to visitors due to its poor conservation state. It is a Baroque building erected in the 1780s, with a sober façade and wooden interior with basements and semi-basements to deal with the steep street outside, the whole building designed around a master staircase.

I climbed up towards the castle Castillo de Retamar. Historically, the Romans were the first to intensively exploit the mines, as they used cinnabar for pigments. Later, the Moors started distilling mercury, which they used for decoration. There are testimonies of fountains of mercury running in Al-Andalus – let’s face it, quicksilver is a fascinating thing. As the Moors wanted to protect their dominion over the mine – and the whole territory, including the water sources – they erected the castle in the 12th century. The building was later reinforced by the Order of Calatrava, but today there are only a few remains: the brick foundations of what could have been the keep, topped with a 14th-century bell tower.

I finally headed out towards the mining complex Parque Minero de Almadén. When the mine closed down in 2003, it had been the largest producer of mercury in the world throughout the current era – it is calculated that one third of the mercury used in the world comes from Almadén. The catch? Several of them, actually. First of all, mercury is toxic. Second, the exploitation of the mine was less than stellar – at a point in history, digging in the mine was a punishment for capital crimes, considered worse than being sent to row in the navy, with workers being little more than slaves. Third, the mine is surrounded by underground water reservoirs that percolated slowly into the tunnels, which reach 700 metres deep, threatening to inundate them. If breaking down rock was hard, so was carrying the mineral, along with bags of never-ending water, up and out. Since the mines closed, the water has flooded most of the 19 under-levels of the mine, rising up until the third one.

With the mine closed, life in Almadén dwindled down. The area opened to visitors in 2008. When the Unesco Heritage Declaration came in 2012, it breathed a bit of a new air into the town, turning it into a tourist destination, but lack of management makes it, in the end, barely worth a day’s visit. Visits to the mine are only guaranteed at the weekends, when the museum located in the university is closed down. Reservation of activities is confusing, and unless you’re a whole group there is no way to book a complete visit. I had booked the guided visit to the mine at 10:30 in the morning and a visit to the museums in the afternoon. I was not sure that I could do both before Spanish lunch time, but figured out I would be able to talk my way into the museums early if both things could be combined in one go. It was actually the cashier’s idea to have me do so, even better. One of the museums was closed and there was no warning about it anywhere but Google Maps, which feels a bit like cheating.

The main entrance to the mining complex Parque Minero de Almadén is locked down. There is a side building with an open door and a sign reading “we don’t have any information about tourist visits”, which leads to the Visitors’ Centre. That was confusing. As I came in, there was a large group who had not booked in advance because they were afraid they’d feel claustrophobic, and now they had no tickets. The cashier managed to fit them into the afternoon visit. I talked to him about my bookings and he told me to go to the museums after my mine visit, and to wander around while the rest of the group came together.

The lift that reaches inside the mine (modern lift in old encasing)

Of course, there was a family with young children absolutely in the wrong mind frame to get into a poorly-lit underground tunnel for a couple of hours. Fortunately, there were two groups organised and I made sure to insert myself into the child-free one. I didn’t want a repeat of the Cueva del Viento, where a bunch of information was lost due to kids being kids. And I understand that kids are kids but… for me it’s hard enough to focus on the information from a guide without the added distractions.

The visit into the mine only goes down to the first floor and an upper sub-gallery, after which you ride out in the “mining train”. Before starting, you need to get your helmet, and some lanterns are dealt out to each group to improve visibility in the tunnels. The rules are simple: distribute the lanterns throughout the group, keep light pointed at the floor. Apparently, those pointers are too hard to follow – my group had three lights together in the middle of the group, pointed upwards all the time. Good thing phones have torches now.

The descent to the mine is done through a modern-times lift installed in a former shaft Pozo de San Teodoro, down 50 metres to the gallery. It did not feel claustrophobic to me, and surprisingly, I was more impressed about knowing about the water creeping up than the rock above my head. The visit took about two hours and a half. Along the walk we saw areas that were worked on from the 17th to the 19th centuries, along some of the machinery that came into play in the 20th.

Inside the Almadén mine - corridors and mining galleries and a well to extract the water.

Inside the Almadén mine - corridors sustained by brick. In one of the pictures there is a bat flying but you can't see it.

Don’t get me wrong, back in the day mining those tunnels must have been beyond horrible. It is impossible to describe the history of mine without considering the harsh conditions the workers had to endure, especially the prisoners that were all but enslaved there for decades. The most intense exploitation of the mine happened during the age of the Spanish Empire and its expansion to America. Mercury became a key ingredient in the production of gold and silver in the New World.

Inside the Almadén mine - corridors sustained either by brick (newer) or wood (older).

Inside the Almadén mine - corridors and an image of the Virgin Mary.

Throughout the works in the mine, various exploitation strategies were used, digging both horizontally and in angles. We saw different methods and tools, from plain old pickaxes to modern hydraulic hammers, and the room where the mules would work to help extract the cinnabar. We were shown corridors held up by wooden beams – which were discontinued after in the mid 1750s there was a fire that lasted two years – and later brick ones. We saw shafts that had water at the bottom, and in the end we rode a little mining train to come up to street level. The visit ended with a brief lookout and explanation of the furnaces used to purify the mercury.

A piece of cinnabar embedded in the rock within the Almadén mine.

The mining train that used to transport cinnabar and now transports tourists out of the mine.

Rusted distilling equipement, metres high, where mercury was produced from cinnabar when the mine was in operation.

Afterwards, I had my visit to the museums. One of them has an explanation of the mining procedures, the same thing we had heard within the mine itself. The second held the former workshops, which displayed machinery to keep up with the maintenance of all the apparatuses used within the mine. I was the only person who had booked those tickets, so it was a quiet visit. I was also allowed to amble around the outer part of the mining park, seeing all the heavy-duty machines.

I left the mining park and tried to find the historical gates. The entrance to the mines has always been walled off – historically to protect the valuable resources it held. I could see the restored Puerta de Carlos IV. This gate would have taken me to the Mercury Museum, currently closed. There was another gate, but the overgrown vegetation made it impossible to do more than glimpse it.

Mining equipment and buildings on the outer part of the mine in Almadén, including an excavator, the mechanical shop and the classic door, in red brick.

My next step was heading back downtown until I reached the bullfighting ring Plaza de Toros de Almadén. During thirty-month fire of the mine, which started in 1755, the miners had to work on anything, anywhere, to raise some money. One of their ways to get income was converting the communal garden into a bullfighting ring – at least that is one theory. Today, it is considered the second-oldest ring in the world, with the characteristic that the coso (the actual bullring) is not a circle but a hexagon. It is an important national monument and part of the Heritage Site.

Bullfighting ring in Almadén. The sand pit is hexagonal, which is its main characteristic.

In front of the entrance to the bullring stands the Monument to the Miner Monumento al Minero, which takes a new meaning after having visited the mine itself and heard about all the hardships and dangers within its galleries.

And then came the hard job to find a place to grab a bite. I wanted to try a typical dish from a restaurant with a typical name, but they had run out… For real. At least they let me have lunch at the bar… It made me decide to buy something from the local supermarket to have dinner later on. After lunch, I went back to the hotel to wait for 17:00, when the last monument would open.

This was the former hospital Real Hospital de Mineros de San Rafael. It was built between 1755 and 1775 – started during the fire – in order to treat miners who became ill or had an accident in the mine. The most common malady was hydrargyria – mercury poisoning – though of course there were physical accidents, especially loss of fingers after dynamite was introduced.

The visit has three parts of sorts. On the right there is a bit on the history of mining medicine and mercury poisoning. On the left, a very humble display of what is called “the archive” – documentation related to the mine and mining operations. Upstairs, a ward with some archaeological items and an exhibition about how the layman lived outside the mine, with a chilling panel explaining that the work in the mine was considered so dangerous that children would not be allowed to play when there was a relative in the galleries.

Mining hospital - a baroque building with some exhibits inside, amongst them cinnabar, mercury (sealed away) and a wagon

Afterwards, I moved towards the current university, which has been built around and over the former prison Real Cárcel de Forzados, but there was nothing to see from the outside, and the campus was closed as it was a weekend. However, I was on a small hill, so I decided to continue upwards and see if I could get a general view of the mining park. I ended up at a small forest-park, but did not get a great view.

A general view of the town of Almadén. It shows that it is located on a hilltop. The main structures seen are the mining complex on the left (a grey mass on top of a black gorge) and the castle at the very top.

I headed downtown again and I headed towards a tobacco shop I had seen in a small side street. They had souvenirs in the window, so I hoped that they would sell some mercury. Technically, you cannot buy mercury in Europe – both the Mining Park and the Hospital staff had told me so – but this little shop had a little for sale. So yay me, now I officially own some Almadén mercury.

I found the side entrance to the church Iglesia de Santa María de la Estrella, but no other shops open – I wanted to buy some local cheese. Not even the supermarket had anything that I would not find in my local one. I did buy some dinner and snacks though, and a thermally insulated bag because mine is old and is not working that well any more. It helped keep dinner fresh until I reached the hotel and could use the small fridge there. Pity about the cheese though.

Baroque church in Almadén, showing the exterior in and the main altar.

I turned in afterwards to decide what I would do on my way back, and study the routes.

19th September 2025: A knot of roads {Road Trip & Almadén, September 2025}

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I woke up early – way before the alarm clock went off, so I decided to hit the road. I first topped up the fuel tank at the cheap petrol station near my place. Afterwards, I drove off to the motorway and the morning rush hour. As I was caught in the traffic jam, there was a pretty rainbow in front of me – no pictures, though, for obvious reasons. Traffic dwindled a lot when I left the A2 behind and merged onto M50. From there, I took a couple of hours to reach my first stop, the village of Consuegra. On the mountaintop of the so-called Cerro Calderico, in the outskirts of this ten-thousand inhabitant, stand some the best examples of restored traditional windmills.

During the Middle Ages, the area in central Spain known as La Mancha proved a challenging place for watermills, the dominant technology at the time. The rain regimes cause irregular river flow, with a lot of the currents drying up in summer. As demand for flour grew, windmills were built near but outside towns, on high ground. They provided clean flour, cheap enough to be affordable, without being subjected to draught or flood seasons changing. The windmills lived its golden age from the second half of the 16th century until almost the 20th. Towards the end of the 1800s, most of the cereal crops were exchanged for vines in order to supply wine to France, leading to the decay and progressive abandonment of wind-milling. The Industrial Revolution and the appearance of fossil fuels and electricity finished off whatever little remained in the early 20th century.

However, besides their practical function, there was something else about the La Mancha windmills. They had gone viral centuries before the Internet was a thing. In the year 1605, Miguel de Cervantes – considered the greatest writer in the Spanish language – wrote his masterpiece El Ingenioso Hidalgo Don Quijote de la Mancha, worldwide known as “Don Quixote”. The novel is amongst the most translated literary works in the world, and tells the tragic story of a minor nobleman, the title character, who goes crazy from reading too many chivalric romances. He decides to leave his home and become an errant knight, having great adventures in his mind, which are more misadventures in real life. He is accompanied by a farmer-turned-squire, Sancho Panza.

During one of his delusions, Don Quixote fights giants with long arms – which the reader knows, from Sancho’s warnings, that are in reality windmills. Of course, the madman is “defeated” by the blades, which shatter his spear on impact. It is one of the most famous passages of the book, even if it is barely a page or two in the eighth chapter. Throughout the novel, which starts “in a village of La Mancha, the name of which I have no desire to call to mind”, several locations are explicitly mentioned, others are implied, and some have completely imaginary names. Experts have placed this fictional encounter with windmills either in Consuegra or Campo de Criptana – which was not on my route.

Thirteen windmills were built in the 19th century on the Cerro Calderico, and twelve have been restored and turned into tourist attractions – one even works. They stand in a row alongside the ridge and next to the local castle Castillo de la Muela (or Castillo de Consuegra). After all, both castles and windmills need the higher ground to be effective, in a way. The castle already existed in the 13th century, with roots in a 10th century previous fortress.

I parked at the foot of the hill and walked up to see the castle and the windmills. The castle was closed as it was a local holiday, and the fortress is managed by the town hall. I stayed around for an hour or so, walking from one end of the hill to the other. I had a snack as I snooped around, then I moved on.

Consuegra - a line of windmills with a castle in the background

My next stop was the National Park Parque Nacional de las Tablas de Daimiel, a weird place. I call it weird because despite its status as a protected area, it has been on the brink of collapse for the last century or so. The wetlands have been drying out for decades.

The area is the literal last of its kind in Spain, a kind of wetland generated when rivers break their banks in their middle course on flat terrain. In the middle of the de facto Spanish Inner Plateau desert, it is formed by the rivers Guadiana (fresh water) and its tributary, the Cigüela (brackish water), and fed by a number of underwater aquifers. These have been exploited for farming, which seems to be the cause for the dessication. So out of what it should be, there is only one medium-sized pond, Laguna de Navaseca (usually referred to the “permanent pond” Laguna Permanente), where a number of birds, fish and amphibians live either seasonally or all year round. The area was designated a national park in 1973. Later, it received other protections, especially regarding the bird population.

I parked in the allocated space and had a sandwich before I went in. The visitors’ centre was manned by a very disgruntled employee who explained the dessication to me as if I were personally responsible for it. I really felt like apologising. The truth is that the first place I visited was the pier, which has not seen water for at least a decade. I could do two of the three walking routes, but in the end I only did one and a half, as the second I tried was way hot and dry and I gave it up three-quarters in, as there was no water any more.

In the end, I stayed around the main pond Laguna de Navaseca, where wooden walkways have been built. I felt horribly guilty whenever the wood cracked under my feet and I scared the ducks away, but the local guides could be heard from across the whole pond. On the banks, there are bushes of common reed (Phragmites) and rushes (Juncus). The only tree in the area is the tamarix (Tamarix gallica), small and brime-resistant.

In the pond – and flying over it – I found a flock of greater flamingoes (Phoenicopterus roseus) – which are for some reason not listed anywhere that explains the park. I also saw herons, ducks, geese and I swear ibises – the latter are not mentioned either, but my bird identification book suggest a glossy ibis (Plegadis falcinellus). I was hoping that autumn had modulated the temperatures a bit, but it was extremely hot. It was also… stupidly dry for wetlands… That is why I gave up on the second route halfway.

Doñana National Park - view of the main pond, surrounded by low bushes

Doñana National Park - view of the main pond with flying flamingoes

An ibis waddling for food

A flock of flamingoes flying

I went back to the car and drove to a small parking lot at the entrance of the park which allows you to see the watermill. It was closed, and again dry, but it was an interesting structure.

I continued on the road towards the archaeological site Yacimiento Visitable de Calatrava la Vieja in Carrión de Calatrava, which has a very nice and shaded parking area, where I had my second sandwich as I was there 30 minutes before schedule – read: they had not opened yet.

The archaeological site is considered one of the most important of Moorish origin in Spain – a city and a castle from that period, erected on older remains, probably Iberian. Back during the Arab vs Christian wars in Spain, the fortress was right in the middle on the way between Toledo and Córdoba, along with other important commercial routes, so it became a key defence point. It is known that the castle already existed before the 8th century, on the Guadiana riverbank. When it fell to the Christians around 1150, it became the first line of defence, and it was entrusted first to the Knights Templar and then to the Cistercians. It became the birthplace of the first Spanish military order, the Order of Calatrava Órden de Calatrava.

Calatrava castle from the outside - a ruined fortress with a roundish shape, built in clay-coloured rock, with no vegetation whatsoever around it

The castle was built on a plateau, defended by the river itself and the walling structure, which included at least 44 flanking towers. There were four fortified corridors (corachas) that protected access to the water. The entrances to the inner fortress had several turns to make them easier to protect. Between the inner core and the walls stood the medina, the Islamic city, and the alcázar rose as a sort of triangular keep, accessed through a triumphal arch. The inner castle itself is the best-preserved area, having even rebuilt furnaces to make clay. During the Templar times, part of the alcázar was repurposed into a budding church which was never finished. On one of the inside walls there are carved drawings of vessels.

Calatrava castle, collage: The inside of a room with a Templar cape as sole decoration, the inside of a pottery oven, a view of the mdina arched entrance and two inner archways.

As I climbed the walls, clouds had started gathering and the wind had picked up. I decided to get going, trying to outdrive the storm. At first I thought I had been lucky, but about 20 minutes away from Almadén, the skies opened and there was a torrential downpour. I was lucky enough to find a parking spot where I hoped, down the corner from the hotel, and I have an umbrella in the car. A few minutes after parking, the storm stopped though, albeit the rain did nothing to cool down the evening. I checked in, and the hotel lady gave me a map with all the spots that have been inscribed as World Heritage Heritage of Mercury. Almadén and Idrija.

Mercury (chemical symbol Hg) is a native metallic element, the only one which is liquid under normal temperature and pressure conditions. In nature, it is usually found as cinnabar (mercury sulphide, HgS), a bright scarlet mineral. Its formation is linked to volcanic activity and alkaline hot springs (the area of Ciudad Real comprises the extinct volcanic field called Campo de Calatrava, which I drove through, but found no way to stop anywhere to explore). Liquid mercury, also called quicksilver, is extracted from cinnabar by heating it, as sulphur evaporates with heat.

Mercury is toxic to the nervous system, dissolves gold and silver, and has long been associated with “mystical” powers and sites – the first emperor of China was buried in a tomb with rivers of mercury, there is mercury under one of the Teotihuacan pyramids in Mexico, and in the end it carries the name of the Roman God of Messengers and Travellers. It has fascinated humans throughout history.

The name of the five-thousand-inhabitant town, Almadén, comes from the Arabic Al-maʻdin [المعدن], which means “The Mine”. The site was already exploited in times of the Romans – the extracted bright-red cinnabar was used to create vermilion paint for the walls of Pompeii and Complutum. When I was a child, my history book had some information on Almadén, and the accompanying photograph showed someone who had thrown a cannonball into a mercury pool, but the cannonball was floating on it. I have wanted to see the mine since then, even knowing that there was no way I would ever see that one pool any more, due to the legislations that have deemed mercury as “too toxic for anything”.

I went to have a look around town. It was dusk and everything was closed – not that many things would open the next day anyway. I did a small circular walking tour which included the main church Iglesia de Santa María de la Estrella, and down the main street the central square with the town hall Ayuntamiento de Almadén and the church Iglesia de San Juan. I continued on and found the the old mining school Antigua Escuela de Ingeniería de Minas. To the side of the street stands the former castle point Castillo de Retamar, where only a turret remains. Up a little, I reached the third church, Iglesia de San Sebastian and the ruins of the manor house Casa de la Superintendencia.

Almadén Castle - a derelict tower in brick, with a stork nest on top

I undid my path and headed to the other side of town. In a secondary square there is a monument to miners Monumento al Minero, and across the street the bullfighting ring Plaza de Toros de Almadén. My final stop was the former hospital Real Hospital de Mineros de San Rafael. I had dinner at the hotel restaurant, which honestly was a little disappointing.

Almadén: monument to the miner at night; a huge sculpture in metal that represents miners. Two of them have picks and are breaking a rock, two others are pushing a wagon. The miners have helmets with actual lights.

I headed back to the room to have a shower and some rest, and get ready for the following day – and try to digest dinner.

19th – 21st September 2025: Windmills, Mercury and Castles Road trip {Road Trip & Almadén, September 2025}

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Though work season had started once again, there was a four-day weekend, and I decided to spend three of them on a kind-of road trip. Plane-ticket prices were off the charts even weeks in advance, so I thought that if I had made it to Loarre and Zaragoza, I could just drive an extra 40 minutes and head to Almadén, a place with horrible public transit connections that I have wanted to visit for a long time.

I sketched the itinerary again and again, and due to weather concerns I ended up sticking to the first one I had drafted. The idea was to make a few stops on the way there, one or two on the way back, and spend a whole day in Almadén. I tried to book a “complete” visit to the main attraction in town, the mine, but I was not able to, because they only run it for eight people or more. When I wrote to the Mine to try and understand how that worked, their answer was all caps and felt rude – later I realised it was more of a lack of netiquette understanding. To be fair, it discouraged me a little, and I thought of giving up the whole thing. And honestly, up until the 15th, when the hotel became non-refundable, I was on the line as to whether I really wanted to do it. In the end, of course, I decided to go.

For the first day (Friday), I had drafted a bunch of itinerary options that I planned to decide upon depending on time and tiredness. The only clear thing was that I was to arrive in Almadén in the evening. Saturday would be entirely spent in town, and in the evening I would decided the return day’s stops.

I am always surprised when places that want to live off tourism won’t just… coordinate. Half of the stuff is only open at weekends, and the other half only on schooldays. Most of the restaurants in town were closed and food was pretty much awful in the couple of them I found open. But I saw most of what I wanted to see, so I count the weekend as a success.

19th – 21st September 2025: Road trip & Almadén

5th September 2025: Ara Malikian. Conciertos de la Muralla, Alcalá de Henares (Spain)

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The “Wall Concerts” Conciertos de La Muralla is a late-summer music festival that takes place in Alcalá de Henares. As far as I have learnt, it has been going on for almost a decade, with “artists of the highest level”. I’ve only heard about a handful of the musicians that have played there, but I’m not much into the Spanish music scene. A while back, I read that violinist Ara Malikian would be making a stop in town as part of his promotional tour Intruso.

When checking for tickets, I found a lonely fifth-row empty seat in the arena, too good not to be bought. The show was to be held in the outdoors area known as Huerta del Obispo, where Alcalá de Henares also carries out its RenFair. Since tickets and seats were numbered, there was no need to queue or be there early. Though the show was outside and I was prepared for chill, it turned out to be just a bit windy so I did not need the extra layers of clothing I had brought with me.

Born in Lebanon to an Armenian family, Ara Malikian started playing violin in early childhood. He was good enough to give his first concert and 12 and be invited to study in Germany at 14. He went on to play with and for the best orchestras in the world. He has published 30 albums, composes, and covers classical and modern pieces.

His stage persona is outlandish, with crazy hair and clothing. He tells stories on stage that are a little real and very embellished with fantastic details, to the point that you’re not even sure if the outrageous titles he’s quoting for the setlist are even the actual ones beyond the covers of famous composers and musicians.

Ara Malikian playing violin

For this gig, Malikian was accompanied by drums, piano, guitar / bass and cello. He played alongside a quartet of Cuban musicians, whom he claims met in Havana 30 years ago. After he received a scholarship to go to Cuba to play a “contemporary piece” he did not prepare, he met these young artists who had not rehearsed either. Together, they decided to improvise while the composer yelled “imposters” and “pigs” at them, thus the piece being now called “Concert of Pigs and Imposters” Concierto para cerdos e impostores. The ensemble comprised Iván “Melon” Lewis on piano, who almost died a couple of times choking on his own laughter due to the bizarre stories that the violinist told; Ivan Ruiz Machado on classical double bass and regular bass; Georvis Pico, specialised on jazz, on drums; and finally Dayán Abad García on guitar.

Ara Malikian playing violin

Thus, Ara Malikian claims such titles as the aforementioned “Concert for Pigs and Imposters” or “Ratboy” (Niño Rata) or “Rhapsody of not doing anything” (Concierto Rapsódico de No Hacer Nada). The first comes with a tale of a quartet of musicians improvising with him on stage in spite of the composer of the piece they were supposed to play hurled insults at them. The second derives from a crazy story about being hired to stand in a bar and not doing anything to create curiosity amongst the patrons.

Ara Malikian playing violin

There were covers of famous composers, both classical – such as variations of Niccolò Paganini’s Caprice No. 24 in A minor – and more modern, like Paco de Lucía’s Zyryab. The concert ended with a beautiful song called Nana Arrugada (Wrinkled Cradle Song). All in all, I enjoyed the concert very much – though I could not find a believable setlist to compare my information anywhere.

Ara Malikian and his support musicians performing

My seat was honestly fantastic, and not even the wind could spoil the sound or the ambience. If any complaints, the fact that people seem not to understand that if they enter the area at 20:00 and drink a huge glass of beer, they are going to need a toilet before the concert is over – making everyone around them stand. Also, a concert might not be the best place for random people to yell political slogans…

Ara Malikian and his support musicians waving at the audience after the concert

I had a good time, and when the show was over, I walked around the city centre to see if there were any monuments lit up. There were some, and the main street was packed with people enjoying the last days of summer. I thought I would get some frozen yoghurt, but there was a queue. Thus, I decided to wait until I got to the ice-cream parlour a bit further up the street. Even a longer queue. And at the last parlour, it was even longer than both of the other two combined.

Façade of the classical University of Alcalá de Henares under a full moon

It became less crowded when I left the pedestrian area, but there were enough people so it did not feel dangerous to walk to the car – despite the town having been on the news due to violence a few times in the few previous weeks.

I was home before midnight, not even extremely tired. Since I had to do some shopping before the concert, I decided not to combine it with any visits or anything. And as there had been no ice-cream for me, I ended up having some home-grown watermelon I had been gifted…

23rd August 2025: Cárcavas de Mingo Negro (Spain)

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For all the solo exploring I do, I still second-guess my abilities when something I want to see involves a reported-as-difficult hike. However, I got tired of waiting for people who had expressed interest in tagging along for this small adventure. Thus, when the summer heatwave gave way to more bearable temperatures for a couple of days, I drove to the area. There is a convenient parking lot to leave the car without breaking any laws and since I reached it before 9:00, it was still reasonably empty, even if it was a weekend. I changed into my hiking boots and got on walking.

The spot I wanted to reach were the Mingo Negro Gullies Cárcavas de Mingo Negro, in the municipality of Alpedrete de la Sierra, within the nature reserve Parque Natural Sierra Norte de Guadalajara. Gullies are erosive landforms usually created by a combination of running water, especially torrential rains and floods, and small landslides as the sediment collapses. Gullies tend to be devoid of vegetation and generally quite vertical, as they commonly form on steep landscapes, often on sandstone or conglomerate soils. These particular gullies are the remains of an alluvial fan, an accumulation of sediments characteristic of mountain areas in semi-arid climates, which opens as it leaves a confined area, so when you look at it from above, it resembles a fan – hence the name. Gullies are common in badlands as the dry terrain is drained downwards and no vegetation holds it. They are considered to be unstable landscapes.

The Mingo Negro Gullies are on the left bank of the River Río Lozoya. A dam Presa del Pontón de la Oliva was built to contain the river in the 19th century, and though it is still standing, it could not be used as a reservoir. There is a kind of road / bridge that crosses the river and leads to the trail. It was rather easy to follow at first, but eventually I reached the steep part. Though there is technically a trail there, somewhere, the ascent is not easy to follow due to poor maintenance and water erosion. Hiking up the 370-metre slope took me about 20 minutes, and it was tiresome for but not as hard as I had pictured. To be fair though, I’ve recently bought a hiking pole and that was helpful. The terrain was a bit unstable and I kept my eyes on the ground, which is why I almost missed the first sight of the gullies (a later visit to the area revealed that I should have already seen them from right out of the parking lot, but the sun was in my eyes).

A landscape of reddish gullies in the far background

The trail is not well maintained, so plants are overgrown. If you actually want to see anything of the gullies you have to go past the “do not cross” signage, even at the viewpoints. However, you have to be very careful not to approach the border as the terrain is inherently unstable. While I was coming up, the sun masked the clay-red colour a little, which was a pity.

A landscape of reddish gullies

Though some of the online-sourced routes do so, it is also ill-advised to go into the actual gully, so I just stayed in the upper part along one of the marked trails. I did step beyond a couple of barriers, but made sure to stay a respectable distance from the border. I ventured through some of the secondary paths for pictures on my way down. However, I did not go down to the ravine, as cool as that must be, because there is a risk of collapse.

A landscape of reddish gullies with hills in the background

A landscape of reddish gullies

There are several trails that go to or around the Cárcavas de Mingo Negro, the most common of it circular. However, I did not feel like doing that one, which takes over four hours. I wanted to see the dramatic gullies, so once I was done around that area, I turned back using the same trail I had used to climb up. By that time it was around 11:00, and though I had seen nobody on my way there, now I started meeting people climbing. A family became quite indignant because I was not following the circular trail. Someone else had decided to tackle the hike in flip-flops. Some people are… peculiar.

There is a bar somewhere at the beginning of the route, and there were some buildings indeed. However, it was either closed – or I did not find it. I had thought I would stop for breakfast there, and then head to do something else.

I reached the Presa del Pontón de la Oliva dam again. The structure, in the municipality of Patones, belongs to Madrid’s Water Management system Canal de Isabel II and it is considered local heritage as it was the first dam built in the area. Madrid became the capital of Spain in 1561, and in the 19th century its population was growing fast. Water was obtained through fountains, whose waters came from underground water canals built 400 years prior. From the 18th century onward, architects started studying how to channel water from the nearby rivers into the city. Part of this program yielded to building the dam between 1851 and 1856 with the idea to create a reservoir. The structure is a gravity dam, with a height of almost 30 metres and a width of 72 metres at its longest. Two years after it was built, the rest of the project was completed, and water reached Madrid. However, the location had not been correctly chosen – water filtered through the rock walls to the sides and underneath the ashlar construction – and in 1904 the reservoir was closed down, so water flows freely through a tunnel under the construction.

I heeded the “flood plain, do not enter” warnings, but neither Sunday hikers nor free-range cows did. I remained on the upper area and explored a little of the area called “the balcony”, built alongside the dam to admire the structure. There is another hiking route, Ruta del Agua that starts there, but again, this was not something I wanted to tackle today, as it was my first day out after a long period at home. Had I found the bar open, I would have hiked further (the whole route is about four hours though, so it was probably good I did not).

Dam - Pontón de La Oliva with some cows grazing. Since the dam is no longer in use, the area around the dam is dry

In the end, I headed back to the car and drove off. I thought I might stop to see a windmill on the way, but I somehow missed the turn to the hamlet where it stands. I was almost surprised when I saw the road sign for the last village before home. All in all, I saw what I wanted to, and found a nice easy drive with further routes that can be taken and enjoyed in other circumstances. I think I can reasonably squeeze a couple other visits to the area.

29th July 2025: Birds with great PR (Madrid, Spain)

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The National Museum of Natural Science Museo Nacional de Ciencias Naturales in Madrid announced that they were having an exhibit called Dinosaurios entre Nosotros / Dinosaurs among us, a collaboration with the American Museum of Natural History (though the original exhibition was apparently called Dinosaurs among us: The ancestry of birds, which feels slightly more accurate).

When I was young, it was believed that dinosaurs came from birds. With the new definition of what a dinosaur is, it turns out that birds are dinosaurs. The key features used to define a dinosaur is that the animal belongs to the clade (natural group) archosauria, and it has hind limbs which are erect underneath the body – as opposed to growing sideways and bent. Currently, two groups of archosauria exist: crocodilians (with bent legs) and birds (with straight legs). I think if you ever look into an emu or a cassowary’s eyes, you’ll understand what a deinonychus’ (the real species of the Jurassic Park velociraptor) prey might have seen.

Dinosaurs among us sign, showing a feathered T-rex

The characteristic that originally defined archosauria was the hinge-like ankle structure. As time went on, protofeathers developed and some animals adopted a straight-legged stance, which is the start of the real dinosaurs – first the ornithischians (triceratops), then the sauropods (patagotitan or diplodocus), and the theropods (tyrannosaurus), the first with a wish bone. Then the forelimb became wing-like (deinonychus), yielding to the Avialae clade, which developed flapping flight. Some scientists declare that all Avialae are already birds. Others claim that birds are the subgroup Aves.

I took the train to Madrid and walked to the museum Museo Nacional de Ciencias Naturales. It took a second to be admitted because their computer system was down, but I was carrying cash, so I could was able to purchase my ticket (I had not bought it in advance because entry is timed, and I did not trust public transport delays). It was around 10:30, still early enough so that the museum was not crowded even during the school holidays. I headed directly to the exhibition, which, mostly through panels, taxidermy, and mounted birds, summarised how dinosaurs behaved similarly to today’s birds – laying eggs, brooding those eggs, protecting the nests… The biology and anatomy of birds and dinosaurs, especially theropods, are very similar.

Fossil of Caudipteryx zoui (replica) and skeletons of a cassowary and an ostrich. They all share uncanny similarities, except the fossil is about one metre long and the current birds are larger

There was a very special exhibit – and no, it was not the Tyrannosaurus rex skull they’ve got. It was the original (and only) fossil of Iberomesornis romerali, a holotype from the MUPA, which you cannot photograph at its home, but you can here (just like my photography spree with the Concavenator at MARPA). Iberomesornis was the sparrow of the Early Cretaceous. There was a reconstruction of how it would look in real life (though I’ve read some texts that say it’s an outdated view?).

Iberomesornis romerali fossil and recreation. It was a crossing between a sparrow and a crocodile.

Similarly, there was a model of Archaeopteryx, the first ever-discovered feathered bird-like dinosaur. With only 13 specimens ever found, it was key in palaeontological studies before more avialans were discovered. This one was a replica, I’ve only seen one real slab ever in the London Museum of Natural History (I hope I can see the Berlin one at some point). The model was so ugly, the poor thing, but somewhat endearing.

Archaeopteryx fossil (replica) and life-sized recreation. It looks like a bald nightmare with a beak and teeth.

There was also a model of Anchiornis Huxleyi, discovered in China and named after Thomas Henry Huxley, the biologist who in 1869 suggested that maybe birds were related to dinosaurs. He did this comparing the hip of a Megalosaurus and an ostrich (for a while, dinosaurs were classified using “bird hip” and “reptile hip” criteria) amongst other similarities, and of course he used Archaeopteryx as evidence. Unfortunately, the poor guy is more often remembered for being a Darwin fanboy – he was even nicknamed “Darwin’s bulldog”. Palaeontologist Xu Xing described the species in 2009, and chose to call it “Huxley’s almost bird”. It has allowed to rebuild almost completely the colours of dinosaur feathers.

Anchiornis Huxleyi, proof that dinosaurs evolved into birds. Something between a rooster and a lizard

The rest of the exhibition was most… modern birds, sprinkled with children’s disappointed “Where are the dinosaurs?” wonderings. Truth be told, at the end of the exhibit there was a life-sized reconstruction of Velociraptor mongoliensis, the “real” one, not the presented in Jurassic Park, along with the explanation that Michael Crichton found the name cooler than Deinonychus, which is the animal he described in his book.

Taxidermy bird collection

Reconstruction of a Velociraptor mongoliensis, with a crocodilian face, long arms with proto-feathers and powerful claws.

So in the end, the exhibit was a lot of information about birds, hyped up with the buzzword “dinosaur”. Interesting enough but… not really what it was pumped to be. That’s what good PR does, I guess. And erasing half of the exhibition’s original title…

Back to Darwin though, the museum has a bit on him in its gallery of biodiversity – which is just a way to… continue exhibiting the old taxidermy specimens that they already had, some of them… made with more success than others – while some of the works they’ve got are extremely realistic, some others are… horror shows – such as the famous giant panda that the Zoo Aquarium first hosted.

One of the most interesting parts of this museum is the science cabinet Gabinete Científico, which recreates Carlos III’s scientific collection. It shows a glimpse of how science was understood at the time (though the human skeletons it used to host have been quietly removed).

Natural Science Museum Madrid - Diversity collection: elephant, giant squid, manatee skeleton, 19th century cabinet

Recently, the museum became the custodian of Santiago Ramón y Cajal’s legacy, including his Nobel Prize certificate and medals. Ramón y Cajal was a Spanish doctor considered the father of modern neuroscience. In 1888, he discovered how nervous cells work, even before they were called neurons, and that they were separate entities that created the nerves and the brain, explaining how impulses are transmitted through the nervous system. He described characteristics that could only be observed in real life almost a century after he wrote abut them. In 1906, amongst many other awards, he received the Medicine Nobel Prize alongside Camillo Golgi, who designed the methodology to colour cells, a process that allowed many of Ramón y Cajal’s discoveries. The museum exhibits microscopes, drawings, and his original office and library. For some reason, next to the ocean display and the giant squid.

Santiago Ramón y Cajal legacy: reconstruction of his office and Nobel Prize

This was all in the first ward of the museum. The second one is on the other side of the building that it shares with the Industrial Engineering School. To get there, you have to follow the dinosaur footprints, but I took a couple of detours. First, I got a bit distracted trying to figure out the “Mediterranean Forest” garden, but honestly it was too hot to stay there for long. Maybe some other time with better weather.

My other stop was at the Engineering School, Escuela Técnica Superior de Ingenieros Industriales (UPM). I had recently discovered that its main hall hosts an 1832 steam engine, built by the company David Napier & Son Limited. The machine was designed to power coin minting, and it was one of the first machines to arrive in Spain, purchased by the Royal Mint. It is not clear in the description if it was designed by James Watt, or just similar to his models, but it seemed a piece of history worth seeing – and the janitor was distracted while I snooped around. The engine was donated to the Engineering School in 1914, when the Mint replaced it.

Watts Machine

I reached the second building of the science museum Museo Nacional de Ciencias Naturales, which is the palaeontology, geology and anthropology ward. Nothing had changed there that much since my last visit. Here’s a funny story though – they have a replica of a Diplodocus carnegii, of Dippy, exactly the same one that the London Museum of Natural history has – albeit on tour. Why am I so obsessed with the London one, having another replica so close? I think it’s because the “care” the NHM gave it, while in Spain it has just been set against a wall, mixed with all the other dinosaurs from whichever age. It actually took me a while to realise they were the same cast…

The original Dippy fossil was unearthed in 1898, and soon Andrew Carnegie bought it for his new museum in Pittsburgh, hence the name of the species. In 1902, King Edward VII convinced Carnegie to donate the original cast to the NHM while the skeleton was still unmounted (there was no museum to house it yet). In later year, Carnegie would donate a few more casts to other museums in the world, including Madrid, Paris and Vienna.

This time around (call it selective perception, or plain looking out for them) I spotted the trilobites from the Murero palaeontological site, one of whose characteristics are how deformed they are, due to the earth’s internal forces and movement. The museum has a large mineral collection too, but I think it lacks something. Maybe it’s me mentally comparing to other natural history museums in Europe, or even other incredible museums in Madrid itself, such as the Geomineralogical museum nearby. It is missing… loving, in a way. I think the Natural History Museum is a bit of an ugly duckling in the cultural system, because even if it’s considered a “national museum”, it is not part of the national network, so there is something weird going on there.

Natural Science museum Madrid - diplodocus, deformed trilobite from Murero, allosaurus, geode

As I left the museum, it was incredibly hot. It was early for Spanish lunch, but some places had already started opening. I had been looking at an “Asian Market” called Oiko, but then I read that you have to order through a machine (okay) and input your phone number so they call you on WhatsApp when your order is ready, and I get too many spam calls already. I was not planning on giving out my phone number to anyone who does not need it. Even if they had taiyaki desserts.

Instead, I found a burger joint called Steakburger, which self-describes as a gourmet burger restaurant, trying to become a franchise. I later realised that they are not 100% upfront with their prices, as the online menu lists one price, but the details shows another – and the desserts don’t even come with prices. It might also be a coding issue, since once you’ve checked the details, the correct price shows everywhere. Also, the machine translation is awful. Anyway, I had seen that they carried a burger with matured Angus and a topping of raclette – red cheddar, Gouda and mozzarella which were poured onto the burger, alongside Batavia lettuce and tomato, La melting cheese madurada. Honestly? It was good but not worth the price. The desserts looked decadent, but the burger was enough for me.

Hamburger being bathed over with melted cheese.

Afterwards, I just headed off to the station to take a train back, and for once I was there when a train was about to arrive. It was just too hot to look for something else to do, and during August a lot of things close at 15:00.

26th July 2025: Gladiators in Alcalá de Henares (Spain)

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I am weird. Give me an exhibition of things I’ve seen (from the MAN) or I’m planning to eventually see (from the Roman Museum in Mérida), and – even if it is nearby – I won’t feel like coming. Add a thirty-minute historical recreation, limited-time only and I’ll be all in. The archaeological museum Museo Arqueológico y Paleontológico de la Comunidad de Madrid MARPA, in Alcalá de Henares, was running an exhibition on gladiators from Hispania called ¡Hispano! Gladiadores en el Imperio Romano (“Hispanian! Gladiators in the Roman Empire”. I have no clue what the exclamation mark is doing there). It’s not like I was not interested, it was just… not really drawn to it.

Gladiator exhibition poster, showing two Roman fighters in the Colosseum

However, I did hear about the historical recreation just about it was going to end. And you know how I am with “now or never” feelings. The way it was organised made it a bit of a challenge though – tickets were free but handed over at 15:00 for three sessions: 16:00, 17:00 and 18:00, and I had no idea when people would queue or whatever. I arrived at the museum around 13:30, and asked at reception. They told me that people usually started queueing around 14:30, and thus I decided to head there around 14:15 to secure entry.

Meanwhile, I checked the exhibition out. The majority of the pieces were reproductions, but there were a few originals. The most important real artefacts came from the Mérida Roman Museum, which as far as I know is closed at the moment. There was a guided visit going on, and I reasoned that a bunch of those people would also want to see the recreation.

The collection included reliefs, mosaics, and some sculptures. There was also a copy of the Roman Law from the MAN. In glass cases, helmets and weapons – most of them real – were displayed. In the centre there was a round amphitheatre where the recreation would take place. It was a small exhibition.

Exhibits in the Gladiator show: reliefs and a mosaic showing men fighting, and a helmet.

Afterwards, I wandered the rest of the museum for a bit, and around 14:15 I went to queue, displeasing the security guard who said that lining started at 14:30. That was not what I had been told. I offered to move, but he muttered “never mind”. What is with security suddenly going weird when there is queueing involved? I’d never had any kind of problem with the MARPA staff before.

At 14:55, I got my free ticket and headed outside the museum for a quick bite. I had planned to try a typical pastry, but all the patisseries close from 14:00 to 16:00, which was inconvenient. I ended up having yoghurt ice-cream instead. I had never seen the main street Calle Mayor or square Plaza de Cervantes so empty, but I guess that was because of the heat. Afterwards, I walked towards Puerta de Madrid, an 18th-century monumental gate that took the place of the actual wall gate. Coincidentally, the structure shows up in the 1960 gladiator film Spartacus.

Main street in Alcalá de Henares, during summer mid-day. The only shadows is under the covered area behind the columns at the sides

Puerta de Madrid - monumental entrance to Alcalá de Henares

I went back to the museum and we were soon admitted into the “theatre” that doubled as arena. The recreation was carried out by the historical recreation group Antiqva Clio. There were three actors: the lanista, and two gladiators. There was a kid running around too, but he was sort of the mascot, and a lady in plain clothes helping out.

The recreation started introducing the concept of ludus (plural ludi): a gladiatorial school, where the gladiators were housed (kept) and trained. The owner or lanista selected the fighters – slaves, criminals or free men – and assigned them to a category, either heavy-weight or light-weight.

The lanista was the owner of the school. He invested in the gladiators and their training. Gladiators who were slaves or criminals could eventually buy their freedom if they won enough fights. Once the gladiator entered the ludus, they took the “Gladiatorial oath”, which was akin to “we accept to be hit, burnt, chained and killed by the sword”. Which… was not the expected one, right? To get it out of the way from the get-go, apparently the whole Ave Caesar! Morituri te salutant (Hail, Caesar, those who will die salute you), was popularised in the 19th century, and there is only evidence that it was said in real life as Avē Imperātor, moritūrī tē salūtant, once. It was in the year 52 CE on Lake Fucinus (not even a circus), where a group of criminal and prisoners sentenced to death were to fight on a naumachia (mock naval encounter) until there were no survivors.

Anyway, back to what I learnt. After swearing the oath, gladiators chose a fighting name, and got right into the fray. They trained together and became a sort of family, even taking care of each other and their relatives. Gladiators tended to specialise, as there were different classes with styles and weapons, and the ones who fought each others were different from those trained to hunt beasts. Fighters trained with weighed weapons so the fight would seem much smoother on the show. They were well-fed and even a little chubby so there could be wounds and blood without jeopardising their lives too much. As a matter of fact, when a gladiator died, his lanista had the right to monetary compensation for “loss of investment”.

The standard Roman circus games, ludi circenses, were sponsored by an editor, a sort of promoter who paid for everything. He hired the gladiator schools ludi to offer free entertainment to the people around him. The games started with Wild Beast Hunts (a fighter who was trained in this was called a venator or a bestiarii), then came executions, then the gladiatorial fights (munera) happened.

The gladiators who fought each other were paired: a light-weight versus a heavy-weight, and each fight took about ten minutes. There were different classes of gladiators, and we had an example of a murmillo (Leandrus) and a hoplomachus (Pintaius). The murmillo was a heavy weight-gladiator, equipped with a large shield and a sword. He was the defensive party. The hoplomachus was the light-weight and thus the aggressor. He carried a spear and a small shield. In general, one was “too armed to move” and the other one was “not armed enough” to somehow balance their differences. Both wore helmets with bad visibility in order to increase the drama.

Gladiator in fight pose, hiding behind a large shield

Gladiator with a small shield and a spear

There were two more figures in the games, the rudis, sort of a referee, and the lorarius, who made sure the fighters gave everything they could using a whip to motivate them. Though there was a risk that fighters might die during the fights, it was not the common thing. The winner received a laurel crown, a palm, a purple coat, a silver tray, and a bag of money. The loser could be pardoned or killed, but the whole thumbs-up, thumbs-down thing? That is not historically accurate either. If a winner gladiator was ordered to kill a loser who came from the same ludus, he made sure to do it as quickly as possible.

When a gladiator had won 10 fights, he had enough money buy his freedom and leave the life completely, though he could continue fighting and even assume another role in the ludus, such as a trainer or doctor of sorts. There is no historical information about how a fight was refereed, but here they did a first-to-reach-three-hits scheme. The lanista divided us in two groups to cheer for each gladiator, and the one on my side lost. Apparently Antiqva Clio‘s fights are not staged. The members of the recreation group actually train (with non lethal weapons of course) to learn how to fight, and whomever wins has won. No idea, but I felt sorry for the guys, who had to do it again in 30 minutes, and they were exhausted.

Gladiators fighting. The light-weight is launching his spear forward

Gladiators fighting. The light-weight's spear has made contact with the heavy-weight's shield.

Afterwards, we could take pictures with the gladiators – and they let me hold the weapons, since “my mum was not around to grant or deny permission”. In the end, I just headed home. The walk to the car was a bit scorching though… The price you have to pay for an easy parking spot is a ten-minute walk that… gets hard towards the end of July.

But there was a limited-edition activity and I had got to do it. Good job me.

19th July 2025: Highway → Murero → Highway → Home {Dinosaur Eggs Loarre & Zaragoza, July 2025}

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While Zaragoza (Saragossa) is not a super-busy city, the noise from the large avenue the hotel was in woke me up early enough to be amongst the first customers at Pannitelli Original Bakery. I had a toast, orange juice, and a coffee, then set off to the not-so-easy task of retrieving my car, driving back to the hotel, getting my deposit returned, and going on my merry way. It took a while, but once that was taken care of I could drive off. Getting out of Zaragoza was easier than getting in had been, and there were few cars on the road. One of them was the traffic police, so every driver seemed on their best behaviour…

Once in the speedway, the first stop of the day was a petrol station, as there was no way I made it home with one quarter of a tank. Unfortunately, there were no low-cost fuelling points on my way, so I had to use a big-name one. Thirty euro don’t take you as far with branded fuel…

To be fair, I could have driven home the previous day, but I thought that after such a week, an extra night of sleep could only be beneficial. Staying also allowed me to see the Asian treasure exhibits in the Lonja and make a stop on the way. My first idea had been going downtown to see the Natural History Museum, but it closes at the weekend. That was why I asked about the visit during the course, and it turned out it was doable. Thus, in the end, I decided to make a stop in a small palaeontological site that I would not travel to otherwise. Furthermore, the site popped up during the course twice – the signage had been handled by Paleoymas and the Natural Science Museum had quite a few specimens from there.

View of a valley with a sign that reads 'Plaeontological site' in Spanish

The Yacimiento Paleontológico de Murero palaeontological site holds remains from the Cambrian Period, extremely important because there are around eight million years’ worth of fossils (511 to 503 million years ago) preserved in the strata. Palaeontologists have found about eighty species of trilobites, along with echinoderms which had not yet developed five-way symmetry, brachiopods, worms… It is mainly composed of shales which allow for soft-bodied organisms to be fossilised along the hard bits like shells or exoskeletons. The site is famous because it allowed researchers to identify sexual dimorphism in trilobites – they were able to describe two distinct types of animals within a same species, which are interpreted as male and female. What they don’t know is which animal is which sex.

I left Zaragoza using the A23, then turned to a national, smaller road (N234) that crossed over to the A2. The site and the municipality it technically belongs to, Murero, lie halfway through this road. As mentioned before, not somewhere I would purposely travel to, but since I was literally in the area, it was a convenient stop. The regional road was all right, but the local one was narrow and the curves were very sharp and steep. I was thankful that all of the cars I saw passed while I was hiking or taking photos of the site, and none while I was driving. I decided to only stop at the area which had a small parking lot so it was safe for me and any potential driver.

To be honest, I expected to see more in the palaeontological site. The signage has either weathered out or been vandalised and nothing is readable. It is a short walk up and down a hill where you can’t really see anything except for a box at the top where people leave what they find, but there was not a chance to see anything in situ. I guess the palaeontologists and the amateurs have taken out everything that is worth anything already – or left it well buried so it can’t be pillaged. I wouldn’t even consider it a nice hike because broken pieces of slates made the path extremely slippery (I forgot my hiking boots in the car…).

Walking upward to the site, among the pines. On the lft there is a rock with the number 6 painted on it with yellow paint.

Side of the mountain with pine trees

And oh, the temptation to steal a trilobite from the display box was strong! I resisted it though, and headed back to the car after an hour or so. I undid the path towards the N234 road and continued onto the A2. I made a stop in-between for some caffeine and a snack, but I was home for Spanish lunchtime. I have to admit I had pondered stopping somewhere along the way, maybe Daroca, Belchite or Calatayud, but considering that I still had to drive back, I decided to leave it for another time.

Cool crystal dendrite, which is not a fossil but still neat

Fossil equinoderms on a stone

Fossil trilobite, deformed by pressure and the pass of time

On my first solo road trip, I was surprised by the sheer amount of people who like driving at the same speed all the time. A bunch of drivers in the regional road, with limits of 90 kph, did 70 kph even when they drove through 50 kph towns. The same happened in the speedway – some people drove at 110 kph, both at the 120 kph or the 100 kph stretches. There were also those who liked aligning their cars with the markings that separate the lanes, effectively occupying both. The lorries were more manageable on the way back than towards Loarre, as it was a Saturday morning, and because the speedway feels more “downwards”.

Once home, it hit me how tired I was, so I guess it was a good thing that I had not made another stop. Checking Murero out was a good idea as it broke the trip in half and was a small hike that helped me keep alert, but more would have been overdoing it.

As a recap of my experience with the course Técnicas de restauración en paleontología a través de la preparación de los huevos de dinosaurio de Loarre: Palaeontological Restoration Techniques through the preparation of Loarre dinosaur eggs, I can say that all in all, it was amazing. The professors were extremely knowledgeable, they made learning effortless and entertaining, and the group was fun and easy-going. The course was way more hands-on than I had expected, literally covering everything from geological analysis to the fate of a dug-up piece, either in display or in storage within the museum, including working with the fossils themselves. It was not cheap, mostly due accommodation choices, but booking in advance probably made it better – and honestly, decent hotels were a must. As Loarre is a small village, food options were limited. Though there was a bakery / shop, we were out doing stuff while it was open. However, I made do with crisps or nuts for dinner, as I had a good breakfast. Probably lunch in Ayerbe was the weakest, and most awkward since it involved getting to know each other (and ten bucks for a frozen pizza was daytime robbery).

The whole trip involved driving around almost 700 km. It did show me that I (and my coffee-maker of a car) can manage the long drives better than I had expected, even during a “peak” time such as a holiday-period opening date. I am more comfortable on the road than in towns, though, even when caught in a jam. Was it the smartest idea to head to Loarre directly after work? Probably not, but if I had to do it all over again, I probably would – it was the only actually available option. And knowing that not all the course openings were filled, I would not have stressed as much over the University’s lack of efficient sign-up.

The only downside I can find is the lack of mental reset – I was constantly learning new facts, and I did not get much me-time. It was extremely fun, but not really a holiday where I could plan and do stuff at my own pace. Would I do it again? Well, the University of Teruel runs a similar summer course using Dinópolis resources, and sign ups open in February…

Stay tuned.

18th July 2025: In the University of Saragossa {Dinosaur Eggs Loarre & Zaragoza, July 2025}

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I woke up and for the first time in days I put on “person clothes” (for the city) instead of “scarecrow clothes” (for hiking & working in the field). Before setting off on the trip, I went to the sales to buy some jeans that would work for sitting on rock or walking through thistles and dry grass, and while they are not particularly nice, they are comfortable and resistant. Saragossa / Zaragoza was still waking up as I headed for breakfast to a bakery close to the hotel, Pannitelli Original Bakery, which I had chosen for two reasons. One, they opened at 7:30, which gave me plenty of time to walk to the university afterwards and two, they had waffles, I had seen them online. I wanted waffles, and a big coffee. I had both (and some orange juice, just because I could).

It turned out that not driving to the university Universidad de Zaragoza had been a great idea. Though it had been my first thought (dump the car there, then walk to my accommodation), I was lucky that in the end I was able to reserve my parking spot with the hotel. It happens that access to campus is restricted to working staff. Students can drive into the parking lot ten times in the school year. And on top of that, there was a farmers’ market for some reason.

Having 20 minutes to walk, I was the first one there, and I sat down in the rock garden of the Earth Sciences building to wait for everyone else for the last day of the course Técnicas de restauración en paleontología a través de la preparación de los huevos de dinosaurio de Loarre: Palaeontological Restoration Techniques through the preparation of Loarre dinosaur eggs. By 9:00, when class was to start, I was the only one besides the teachers who had managed to arrive. Everyone else had either got lost, left Loarre late, or was taking forever trying to park. So yay me being lucky for once (and for the 20 € which the hotel parking cost for the whole stay).

The first chunk of the morning was a tour through the Rock and Hard Material Preparations, 3D Printing and Scanning Service (Servicio de preparación de rocas y materiales duros, impresión y escaneado en 3D) in the university. They have two main lines of work. One is to make thin translucent sections out of specimens so they can be studied under the microscope, and the other is digitalising and making 3D models and copies of items so they can be lent or studied through a computer. The inner works of the department were explained by Raquel Moya Costa, who not only described in detail all her complex machinery, she also gave each of us a 3D printed T-Rex charm from the Dino Run Game!

We then moved onto the Petrology lab to look at thin sections on the transmitted-light microscopes – preparations of a sauropod eggshell, a crocodilian eggshell and an iguanodon eggshell. There were other preparations we could snoop around if we promised not to take pictures and publish them. We also got to play with the 3D copy of one of the first eggs recovered from Loarre. Much less heavy than the real thing, for sure.

Microscope used in geological studies

Microscope preparations and how they look under the microscope. There are three egg specimens: one from Loarre (sauropod), a crocodile and an iguanodon, The crocodile is the thinnest, and the sauropod is the brightest and more complex

Then a bit of chaos ensued as we got distracted by the shiny exhibits of the Palaeontology department, and a couple of post-docs offered to show us their lab and what they were working on. Having finished all the activities of the course, the coordinators had organised an extra visit to the Natural Science Museum Museo de Ciencias Naturales de la Universidad de Zaragoza (which might have actually been my fault as I asked how come that would not happen, considering that most of the region’s fossils are officially deposited there). A few people left first, but some of us got delayed looking at the lab specimens, and then we had to hurry to the museum…

Zaragoza Natural Science Museum: Exhibits in the Geological science building. Replicas of dinosaurs and invertebrate fossils

Once we were at the site of the Museo de Ciencias Naturales, we were taken on an express visit of the palaeontology ward by Ester Díaz Berenguer, curator of the collections. The museum is located in one of the historical buildings of the Zaragoza campus. Designed by Ricardo Magdalena in 1886, it was erected with academicist criteria, in brick, with large windows and striking symmetry. It opened in 1893, and during the 20th century, it served as Faculty of Medicine. When the university moved to the newer campus, the building was refurbished as cultural spot and seat of the government body. The basement was turned into the exhibition site of the Science Museum, which has three main areas – palaeontology, natural science, and mineralogy.

The palaeontology ward of the museum comprises nine rooms. The first one is an introduction to the science and the concept of fossilisation, and the following ones run through the Earth’s history, from the Precambrian to the Quaternary. The Precambrian is the earliest “calculated” period in geological time, and spanned from 4567 to 539 million years ago (give or take). Though we cannot pinpoint when life actually originated, it was already there when this “supereon” gave way to the Cambrian. During the Ediacara Period, at the end of the last Eon of the Precambrian, the Proterozoic, the earliest complex multicellular organisms that we know about thrived in a state that has been called “The Garden of Ediacara”. The word “garden” tries to evoke the idea of the “Garden of Eden” as there was no active predation and life just… existed.

The next rooms focus on the “Cambrian Explosion”, a term used to refer to the point in geological time when living things took over the planet. At first, this brand-new life was comprised of ocean-dwelling invertebrates. In the room there are impressive trilobites from the Murero Palaeontological Site, which I had actually planned to drive through on my way back. But not only animals appeared, so did plants – organisms which produced a new toxic gas that would change the planet forever: oxygen. To the side of this area there is a curtained room, the “aquarium”.

Zaragoza Natural Science Museum: Two trilobites from the same species showing slightly different shapes, thought to be a male and a female

Here you can see the cranium of Carolowilhelmina geognostica, a fish which lived around 392 million years ago, during the Devonian period. It was a placoderm, a group whose main characteristics were being covered in armoured plates, and having developed an actual jaw and true teeth. The specimen is not just the holotype, it is the only known fossil of the animal. The cranium alone measures almost 45 cm, and by its shape, palaeontologist speculate that the animal was probably a predator of invertebrates. A first fragment of the fossil was found in Southern Aragón in 1971 by palaeontologist Peter Carls. Carls kept returning to the site to search for the rest of it every summer, until in 1986 he unearthed the rest of the skull, which was finally extracted in 1993.

Zaragoza Natural Science Museum: skull of an ancient armoured fish

The following room is devoted to the Mesozoic, and it hosts another of the museum treasures, the skull of the holotype and only specimen of Maledictosuchus riclaensis, the “Cursed Crocodile from Ricla”. This crocodilian lived in saltwater around 163 million years ago, during the Middle Jurassic. It had flippers instead of legs, and probably ate fish. The fossil was found during the construction of the high-speed railway between Madrid and Barcelona in 1994. It earned the name of “cursed crocodile” because despite the fact that it was the oldest crocodilian found in Spain, exceptionally preserved on top of that, it took 20 years until someone could tackle its study and description. The “curse-breaking” researcher was Jara Parrilla Bel, one of the post-docs who shown us her lab work at the university.

Zaragoza Natural Science Museum: Skull of an ancient crocodile

Of course, the “stars” of any palaeontological exhibit are dinosaurs. The museum hosts several iconic pieces, amongst them replica of the feet of the first dinosaur ever described by researchers belonging to the local university Universidad de Zaragoza, Tastavinsaurus sanzi (a titanosaur), a whole specimen of the Mongolian Psittacosaurus (a small ceratopsian), and a good part of an Arenysaurus ardevoli, a hadrosaur which lived in the Pyrenees area around 66 million years ago, during the early Maastrichtian; the rest of the specimen is located in Arén, where it was located, and which is one of the museum’s satellite centres, just like Loarre’s museum-lab. In the same room there were trunks of fossilised wood that could be touched, and a skull of the extinct crocodile Allodaposuchus subjuniperus.

Zaragoza Natural Science Museum: Skeleton of a small Mongolian dinosaur

Zaragoza Natural Science Museum: some bones from a hadrosaur, including the tale, hind hip and some ribs

After a small room with an audiovisual representing the impact of the meteorite and the K-Pg mass extinction (which we skipped due to time constraints), there was an exhibit of the spread of mammals. The specimen of honour in this exhibit is the ancient sirenian Sobrarbesiren cardieli (holotype, and the topic of our guide’s thesis). This species lived during the Eocene, around 45 million years ago. Sirenians (manatees and dugongs) are a type of marine mammals whose closest relatives are elephants – and not other ocean-dwelling mammals. After life spread through land, a number of mammals went back to water, and it looks like this species is a snapshot on the readaptation process: it was already completely aquatic, but it still had four functional limbs. Its hind legs had started reducing and its tail was getting flat. It was a strict herbivore, eating sea grass, but less efficiently than current sirenians.

Zaragoza Natural Science Museum: Skull of an ancient sirenian.

There was also an impressive aquatic turtle of the genus Chelonia, several remains of Gomphotherium angustidens, an elephantimorph, and smaller pieces including crabs, sea urchins, gastropods and even insects. Several of these specimens are holotypes, too.

The final area was almost contemporary considering when we had started. It hosted remains of cave bears (Ursus spelaeus, 40,000 years ago), the skull of an aurochs (Bos primigenius, a species that actually lived until the 1600s), evidence ancient hyena nests, micro-invertebrate bones, mammoth defences… These animals coexisted with human beings, whose skulls comprise the ending room before moving onto the “nature collections” which we did not visit because a) the course had after all to do with palaeontology and b) it was closing time – quite literally, museum security was turning off lights behind us since the museum shut down at 14:00.

Zaragoza Natural Science Museum: Skull of an ancient bull, curved mammoth defence, a pile of bones from a hyena nest and several human-ancestor skulls

We had a mini closure “ceremony” in the hall of the building – coordinators Miguel Moreno Azanza and Lope Ezquerro Ruiz thanked us for attending, we clapped and thanked them back. Then we all went off to have a drink, a snack and a chat. A bit after 16:00, when most students had already left and the professors had been joined by university staff, I took my leave.

Palaeontological Restoration Techniques through the preparation of Loarre dinosaur eggs

Hopping from shadow to shadow to avoid the sun and the heat as much as I could, I headed downtown. On my way I made an exception regarding the walking in the shade when I found the only remaining gate of the original Medieval Wall, today called Puerta del Carmen. Calling it “original” is a bit of a stretch though. While it is in the same place as the first gate, it actually dates from the early 1790s, and it follows Neoclassical patterns.

I also stopped at Starbucks for a Vanilla Frappuccino – I’m on a bit of a matcha remorse trip due to the alleged shortage, so I’ve reverted to my old drink of choice. With a temperature of around 38 ºC, I reached the most important square in town, Plaza de Nuestra Señora del Pilar, where the namesake basilica is. I kid you not, what was running through my head was “I’ve got a 0.5 zoom on my phone now, I’ll be able to take a nice picture of the whole building with its towers…”. Only to find said towers covered in scaffolding. I was able to take the picture, but it could have been nicer. I entered the Cathedral-Basilica of Our Lady of the Pillar Catedral-Basílica de Nuestra Señora del Pilar, a Baroque / Neomudejar catholic temple which is considered the first-ever church dedicated to the Virgin Mary. I sat at the chapel for a little bit, but when I was ready to have a walk around the church, there was a call for mass, so I did not do it out of respect.

Chapel of Our Lady of the Pillar, a baroque chapel for the workshop of a small figurine of the Virgin Mary carrying a child and standing on a pillar

Instead, I strolled to the former exchange building Lonja de Zaragoza, which has been turned into a free exhibition centre. The building is Renaissance with a touch of Neomudejar, and it is considered the most important civil architecture construction erected in the whole area of Aragón during the 16th century.

I had read that there was an exhibition on Asian culture called Tesoros. Colecciones de arte asiático del Museo de Zaragoza – Treasures: Asian art collections from the Zaragoza Museum. At the moment, the Zaragoza Museum is closed and has loaned a few of its artifacts to be displayed elsewhere. This one exhibition displays items that were originally part of personal collections and were donated to the museum. The Colección Federico Torralba, comprises religious items and art pieces from China and items from Japan. The Colección Víctor Pasamar Gracia and Colección Miguel Ángel Gutierrez Pascual have woodblock prints – landscapes, noh [能], kabuki [歌舞伎], even modern ones. The. Finally, the Colección Kotoge displays lacquered tea bowls (chawan [茶碗]). There are also modern calligraphies, paintings, and the compulsory samurai armour. The regional government has undertaken buying artefacts to engross the Asian collections. Though they looked a bit out of place in the historical building, the items were fantastic – and you could even make your very own “woodblock print” at the end.

Zaragoza exchange ceiling, decorated with architectural flower-like patterns

Though the exhibition was the reason I had wanted to go downtown, after I left the (nicely air-conditioned) Lonja, I still had some time to do stuff. I wandered back into the cathedral for a bit – between the 17:00 mass and the 18:00 mass, and left before the second one started.

I continued towards the Roman Walls Murallas Romanas de Zaragoza, which sadly have had to be fenced off because people have no respect (I vividly remember a mum letting her toddlers to climb all over them one time I visited). At the end of that square stands the marketplace Mercado Central de Zaragoza, a wrought iron architecture building designed in 1895 by Félix Navarro Pérez. Being a Friday evening, in the middle of summer, many of the stands were closed, so it was not crowded.

Zaragoza Roman ruins

Iron and glass architecture market

I continued towards the Fire and Fireforce Museum Museo del Fuego y de los Bomberos, where a nice gentleman wanted to give me a guided visit which I declined. Honestly, I just wanted to look at the old fire trucks (and actually, support any initiative by firefighters if it helps fund firefighting). It is a little quaint museum located in part of a former convent, the other half is an actual fire station. The exhibition covers documentation of historical Zaragoza fires, firefighting equipment, a collection of helmets, miniatures, and quite an impressive collection of vehicles used to fight fire. There were two immersive rooms, one which showed damage to a house and another about forest fires. I really enjoyed it, though I only had a quick visit – they closed in an hour, and I was the only guest along a family.

Firefighting museum: collection of vintage vehicles in a brick cloister

On my way back towards the hotel I walked by CaixaForum Zaragoza, where they were running the Patagonian dinosaurs Dinosaurios de la Patagonia. Seeing the Patagotitan on the balcony made me want to go in, but I had already seen it, and I knew I was just on a palaeontology high.

Patagotitan installation on a balcony

I headed back to the hotel – crossing a couple of quite unsavoury neighbourhoods – and bought some fast food dinner again. It was stupidly early, but after eating I could have a shower and relax on the bed while I studied the route for the following day. Furthermore, it was so hot I really needed that shower, and I knew I would not be going anywhere after taking it. Thus, I showered and plopped down to watch the Natural Science Museum’s YouTube Channel after I had learnt how to get out of the city.