Category Archives: 2026

24th January 2026: Short visit to FITUR 2026 (Madrid, Spain)

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Madrid is the seat of the United Nations World Tourism Organisation (UNWTO), so it makes sense that the city hosts a yearly International Tourism Fair – Feria Internacional del TURismo, or FITUR. For years, I had been hearing how amazing it was, and how many networking opportunities for travellers there were.

I had wanted to snoop around for as long as it came on my radar, but timing never worked out until this year. I bought a general entry ticket and hoped for decent enough weather to be able to drive to IFEMA – where I can get in 40 minutes on my car or 3 hours by public transport. I’m not even kidding. IFEMA parking lot is chaotic, and so is the nearby Parque Juan Carlos I one. However, if you’re willing to add a 10 minutes’ walk to the experience, there is another convenient lot nearby you can use, where I directly headed upon seeing how traffic was. That should’ve given me an idea of the mayhem and overcrowding I was going to find inside.

Fitur entrance, decorated with Mexican flags

FITUR takes up most of IFEMA, which makes sense considering how much money tourism makes around the world. According to the UNWTO, there were 1.52 billion international tourists around the world in 2025, and 2.2 trillion US dollars in revenue from the industry. The catchphrase of this year’s FITUR edition was “where journeys begin”, so I thought that worst case scenario, I would come back with a bunch of leaflets of cool places I wanted to visit.

Upon entering the convention centre, the first thing I found was a recreation of the new Egyptian archaeology museum in Cairo. However, the reproductions of the pieces were… bad, almost childlike. I walked into the first pavilion – Europe. There I found a lot of stands, but the catch was that very few of them held actual information about countries, most were travel agencies advertising their products. I secured some information about Sardinia, because I have wanted to go there to see the Mont’e Prama Archaeological site since I learnt about the Giants. The lady was nice enough to give me a tote bag, though I was carrying my own.

The Africa pavilion had about twenty stands of companies organising safaris, some of them even playing into the Great White Hunter stereotype! I got a few leaflets from them too. In Asia Pacific I was scolded for calling Australia an “island” and not a continent (hm, hello Oceania?) and the business pavilion was so empty it looked like a completely different fair.

Collage - Egyptian archaeological artefacts (replicas), lion sculptures in front of a safari stand, Mexico written in bold colours, and a Delorean car

Next, I headed off towards the three interconnected pavilions that made up Spain. Here I started encountering mini-parades representing different tourist resources in the country. At one point I found myself surrounded by a re-enactment of the Crucifixion (Holy Week), the ladies from Valencia’s Fallas festival and a small batallion of Napoleonic troops. Here I did find actual information stands about regions and not travel agents’, but when I had questions about specific recommendations, I was irrevocably directed to “check the website”. There were never-ending queues whenever any stand gave out anything – blocking the ways and aisles – and whenever there was anything related to food, such as samples, visitors almost came to blows. I did my best to avoid all of them.

At one point I did come across a company that prided itself in “solo travel” – they even had it in the name. Upon a slight enquire, I found out that they… charge supplementary fees to solo travellers. Like, what? However, it was the Americas pavilion that broke me in the end. I got shoved twice, almost to the ground, around the Argentina stand, only to be unable to find any information regarding Patagonia’s MEF (the reportedly most important dinosaur collection in South America, and where the Patagonian Dinosaur Exhibition originated).

Collage: racing car, a group of people dressed in white carrying olive branches, parade of drummers, and ladies wearing dresses representing different monuments of the Castilla y León area

All in all, my FITUR experience felt bizarre and extremely overcrowded. It was like paying to have the right to be bombarded by travel agency commercials. Not disappointed, but having realised that FITUR was not for me, I decided to head back to the car and drive off. I had been there for around three hours, and taken a walk around the whole fair. At first I thought I would stop for junk food, but it was too cold even for that, so I just headed home, with a bunch of leaflets and a list of websites to look at. Most of the brochures are still sitting on the shelf…

22nd January 2026: The workshop that wasn’t (Madrid, Spain)

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A while back I visited the printing museum Imprenta municipal in Madrid. I’ve since learnt that they have book-binding workshops, and I would very much like to attend one. So would at least one of my parents, and I was asked to sign them up online for one on the 22nd of January, a day when I was supposed to be at work. My project got delayed, so I ended up workshop-less and a bit envious. Just a bit. There’ll be other chances.

On the 21st, I received a notification that I could pick up some paperwork in town, so we arranged we would have lunch together after I had my documentation and they were done. We would all be taking the train, and I was a bit uneasy. I’ve complained about the railway system before, but just a few days before there had been a horrible train accident that killed over 40 people, and a slightly less horrific one that killed one person.

Though it did feel a bit uncomfortable when the train shook within the rails, we reached Madrid just a few minutes late, and I hopped off. It was extremely cold, not only because it was January, Spain had been hit with a string of storms just one after the other. After getting my documents, I realised I was rather close to the fountain I had missed when I was in the Bravo Murillo area exploring after Expogema, Fuente del Río Lozoya, which honours the river Lozoya, the source of the city’s drinking water. It was my third time trying to find the fountain and… it was getting cleaned, and thus empty and fenced off. I felt it was hilarious.

A fountain with female allegory decorations

I headed towards the underground and headed towards Tirso de Molina station. The station opened in 1921, and one of the halls retains the original tiling and decoration, the historical hall – Vestíbulo Histórico de Tirso de Molina, which is considered part of the underground museum network Museos de Metro de Madrid. The station has a bit of a black urban legend / history. It is located underneath the square Plaza de Tirso de Molina, which honours a Spanish friar, dramatist and poet. The square named after him used to be home to his own convent, a building that was expropriated and demolished during the Ecclesiastical confiscations in the 19th century. Apparently, there was a small graveyard associated to the convent, and human remains were found (and quietly reburied behind the walls) during the construction of the station. Creepy.

The historical access hall to the underground station - white with blue decorative tiles

Quite close stands the manor known as Palacio de la Duquesa de Sueca, an Age of Enlightenment building which was for a while featured in one of the most successful fictions on Spanish TV – El Ministerio del Tiempo (The Ministry of Time). It has been abandoned forever, it seems, and nobody quite knows what to do with it, so it is slowly wasting away.

Façacde of a manor with many windows and balconies

I walked to the small metropolitan museum Museo de San Isidro, which was running a special exhibition about the Temple of Debod and the town it used to stand on, fittingly called Debod. 1954-1964. Debod is the only free-standing Nubian temple outside Egypt. The building was dismantled during the International campaign to Save the Monuments of Nubia between 1960 and 1980, as the rising waters from the Nile, turning into Lake Nasser, swallowed them.

The exhibition did not only focus on the temple Templo de Debod, but put a lot of emphasis on the town of Debod itself, whose people were forcibly relocated to Kom Ombo. The region of Nubia stood between today’s Egypt and Sudan. It was home to the Kerma culture from around 2500 BCE until the area was conquered and incorporated to the New Kingdom of Egypt around 1500 BCE. Kerma culture is regarded as one of the earliest civilisations of Ancient Africa. A lot of knowledge about the region, including culture and customs, was lost with the move. It was a bit heart-wrenching, surprisingly even more than hearing about it in Egypt itself. The exhibit comprised a lot photographs and videos that showed the people who left, and you could see the desperation in their eyes.

A good part of the items shown were photographs of how the temple stood and how it was documented before getting dismantled in order to rebuild it – which in the end, they did wrong, as one of the entrance pillions was placed backwards. The building was originally erected in the 2nd century BCE, dedicated to the God Amun, creator and King of the Gods. He would later be merged with Ra, hence the Amun-Ra denomination for the Sun God. The small structure would be later expanded by Kings and Roman Emperors. It reached the Nile through a processional walkway that ended at a quay.

The temple was gifted to Spain in 1970, dismantled in 2,300 pieces. The whole thing was reconstructed as well as it could be, filling up the gaps with newer material in a process called anastylosis, and experts say it’s not even a good one. Today, the Templo de Debod stands in a park in the middle of Madrid, and can be accessed at weekends. Unfortunately, the sandstone is getting weathered, which threatens the integrity of the whole structuture. What is surprising is the contrast between all the photographs in the exhibition, and the complaint that there was not enough good documentation to re-erect the building.

Numibian archaeological artefacts (a chest, a hammer, bracelets and necklaces), and a b/w photograph of a small temple next to the Nile

After the exhibition, I walked around the museum once, then went out in the cold again. At least it was sunny, and after noon, so not that bad. During a conversation about Madrid must-dos, someone had mentioned two churches I did not know, which happened to be rather close. The first one I found was the Cathedral Church of the Armed Forces Iglesia Catedral de las Fuerzas Armadas (also known as Church of the Sacrament Iglesia del Sacramento). Though Spain is technically a non-religious country, this has not always been so. For a long time it was an officially Catholic country, and there is a strong catholic tradition amongst the armed forces. As a matter of fact, there is even a Military Archbishopric of Spain (Arzobispado Castrense de España), with seat in this cathedral. I am not sure how one can be an soldier and a priest, much less a bishop / colonel, but I am not an expert.

The cathedral is a Baroque building designed by Juan Gómez de Mora, with a Neoclassical altarpiece and many frescoes. It was built between 1671 and 1744 to be the church of a convent that has since disappeared. The main façade was built by Pedro de Ribera towards the end of the construction period. Today it belongs to the Ministry of Defence – I did not know state agencies could own churches in Spain.

Inside and out of a Baroque church

Nearby stands another important church, the Pontifical Basilica of Saint Michael Basílica Pontificia de San Miguel, another Baroque structure – actually it is considered one of the most important buildings in the Spanish Baroque. It is attributed to Italian architect Giacomo Bonavia and dates from the 1730s. Unfortunately, it closed at 13:15 and it was 13:13, so I could not come in.

In front of the church there is a sculpture called The Reader El Lector, a bronze statue by Félix Hernando García. The statue was recently moved there as part of the urban sculpture program, since a library was installed there in 2011. It is apparently a homage to Carlos Cambronero y Martínez, apparently one of the first “Madrid Historians”.

I headed back towards where I had to meet with my parents, and though I was early, so were they. Their workshop, which was scheduled to finish at 14:00, wrapped up at 13:20, so in the end I had to head there in a bit of a hurry. Once I picked them up, we walked to “a random restaurant” in theory. In practice, one of them had a very specific place in mind – Museo del Jamón. Self-described as a “family chain of restaurant”, the idea of a ham-focused restaurant was born in 1978. Since then, they have opened seven different eateries specialising in ham and other pork products, alongside several typical tapas.

The Spanish word for ham is jamón. It is obtained from the hind leg of a Black Iberian pig, usually. The ideal ham-producing swine lives range-free in oak groves (the dehesa) so it can feed on acorns, as they lead to the best meat, apparently. After the animal is slaughtered, the hind legs are salted and left to dry, in a curing process that may take up to 48 months. How much acorn the pig consumes as part of its diet, and whether or not this is supplemented, determines the quality of the final product, with the best hams being “100% acorn fed” – jamón 100% ibérico de bellota, marked with a black label.

Of course, many other products might be obtained from a pig – the most important sausages are lomo, chorizo and salchichón. Lomo refers to the tenderloin, the piece of meat underneath the ribs and along the spine, cured for about four months after being marinated in spices – normally oregano, garlic and paprika. Chorizo is a sausage made from pork meat and fat with added garlic, and can be either cured or fresh (the former is eaten as is, the latter is usually cooked). The meat is seasoned with smoked paprika (pimentón), which determines how spicy it becomes, and gives it a bright red colour. The best chorizo comes in natural casings, usually the intestines of the pig, and the curing process can take several months. Salchichón is similar to cured chorizo but there are more spices added – salt, pepper (often black grains), oregano, nutmeg, and garlic – and curing can last for three months. If the animal was an acorn-fed black Iberian pig, the monicker ibérico de bellota is added to the name.

We shared a salad (Ensalada de tomate y ventresca de atún), with tomato, tuna and orange – because my parents are unable to be in a restaurant without ordering a salad. We also ordered some battered squid Calamares a la andaluza, and a dish called “Recorrido Ibérico Bellota” – with bits of the different pork cuts: jamón de Bellota 50% Ibérico, chorizo Ibérico de Bellota, salchichón Ibérico de Bellota and lomo Ibérico de Bellota. Despite Madrid being dead in the centre of Spain, battered squid is an extremely typical dish, especially in sandwich form.

Lunch - breaded squid, salad, sausages and ham

I had been extremely lucky that the rainy weather had given a reprieve and I could carry my paperwork around safely, but it was windy and not that nice. Thus, after lunch we headed back towards the train, and we were rather lucky with the connections, so we were home rather early. During the train ride, I learnt hat someone from the binding workshop had decided to leave in a huff because it was “too basic”. I could have totally taken that spot!

18th January 2026: Industrial Heritage around Entrepeñas Reservoir (Spain)

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Weather warnings, work, and a nasty stomach bug seemed to conspire against me for a lousy start of the year, and what I had originally planned for the 2nd of January had to be delayed a couple of weeks until I caught a break from everything. Eventually, the plan just became a “grab the backpack and go” when the stars aligned – and actually, I just required one star and the only thing it needed to do was shine. Whilst I’ve been around the reservoir Embalse de Entrepeñas before, I had never been aware of the not-so-hidden hiking route that departs from the parking lot, heading downstream. I found its description in a book about walking routes in the province, it was not a difficult drive, and the route could be expanded to include a couple of spots the guide did not consider.

Spain has long had a complicated relationship with freshwater. Despite being a majorly dry country, it has developed a wide net of water-intensive agricultural hubs. The cyclic droughts and low-quality soils in the centre do not help – the areas with a nice temperate climate and good soils don’t have water. Thus, once the technology was readily available (the first dams date back from the late 19th century), the first Hydrological Plan (Plan Hidrológico Nacional) was developed during the years of Franco’s Dictatorship. The government designed and built an extensive network of reservoirs in order to, well, store freshwater. Water transfers were designed to feed the eastern orchards. Of course, these were controversial on several fronts. First, the environmental one. Second, the social one – once a dam is built and the water rises, it swallows everything that had previously grown on the riverbanks, be it healthy ecosystems, entire villages, or historical buildings. And third, of course, the moral one – dictatorships are not good, so well-meaning people have to oppose anything such a system devises.

In addition, the reservoir Embalse de Entrepeñas has a bit of a bad reputation. During the 1980s it became popularised as an inland sea, along other reservoirs in the Spanish central plateau, as what became known as the Castilian Sea – El Mar de Castilla. However, despite the extensive security network decades of beach tourism had impulsed along the coast, inland water bodies were left unattended. I grew up on reports of people drowning in Entrepeñas. Everybody seemed to know someone who died there. Adult perspective says most people knew the same victim, or they were just repeating hearsay. As a kid, I really believed that the reservoir might actually been an evil entity feeding on swimmers.

The reservoir Embalse de Entrepeñas was built between 1946 and 1952, during Franco’s Dictatorship, but the plan dated back from 1902. The goal was to regulate the flow of River Tagus to keep drinking and agricultural water in storage, along with producing electricity. During the mid-1960s, the 813 square hectometres of water became a holiday spot. However, soon a “ghost” hovered over the reservoir, the dreaded Tagus-Segura Water Transfer, Trasvase Tajo-Segura. The Segura River is used to water the orchards in the east of Spain, but its flow cannot cope with the demand. Thus, water is carried from the Tagus to one of the tributaries of the Segura, in an engineering feat that was built between 1968 and 1971. The transfer established the region of Murcia as a strategic agricultural area. However, it dried up the Tagus reservoirs, killing off the water-tourism, not even mentioning the environmental consequences of the whole project.

However, as tourism dwindled, something else happened. Entrepeñas became a hotspot of conservation success when threatened griffon vultures (Gyps fulvus) started nesting in the rocky walls. Child-me was very concerned about birds of prey going extinct but had no idea about ecology, so I was halfway worried about vultures disappearing, halfway low-key worried they would make a meal out of me. Considering that during a couple of hikes I’ve actually had raptors circling me, child-me might have been onto something.

Back to the present, though. I woke up and even before pulling up the blinds, I looked at the weather app. Being January, the day was going to be cold, but the temperature would not go below zero, and the sky would be clear. To be honest, I was desperate to do basically anything, but at the same time, there was this wave of exhaustion going through me. I kicked myself into gear and got onto the car. I filled up the tank and set on my merry way towards the parking lot / viewpoint that the guidebook described as being “on the right, before the tunnel”. Dear book, there are two tunnels. You mean the second one. If you go right before the first one you end up… somewhere else. Yes, talking from experience. You can turn around in one of the parking lots on the side of the road. If you dare, of course.

I dared, else I would have had to drive an extra 9 km. I found the almost empty parking lot, parked the car, and set off onto a closed-road-turned-trail. It was around 11:00, the air was crisp and the sun was shining. When I thought in November that hiking season was over, I had not realised there are routes recommended for winter, and this is one of them, as the trees being devoid of leaves allows for a great view of the Romanesque bridge downstream.

The first part of the hike runs between the river Tagus Río Tajo and a vertical wall, eroded at trail level to form a rock shelter. The vultures were already active, treating me to some nice flights. The trail was slightly downwards, and it did not take long to catch a glimpse of the so-called Roman Bridge – actually Romanesque Puente Románico. This area of Spain tends to confuse Roman and Romanesque. The original bridge was erected in the 14th century, but it was rebuilt in the 19th, and that is the structure which remains today.

Rock shelter formed by brown rock

View from above of the valley, with the river crossed by an old bridge. The arch of the bridge and its reflection create a perfect circle

Near the bridge stands the original hydroelectrical station Central Hidroeléctrica de Guadalajara, but it was harder to see it across the river. It was not long before I reached the bridge itself, and the route said to turn right then. Instead, I crossed over and continued downstream, as I had seen that there was an abandoned train station nearby, Antigua Estación de Ferrocarril de Auñón. The original building was part of the former railway network Ferrocarril del Tajuña, a line that was originally designed to join Madrid and Aragón in order to transport people and freight, However, it was eventually dismantled since it was too expensive to maintain and yielded to too little revenue. The station was in use between 1919 and 1953. After 1946, due to the works on the reservoir, Auñón became the terminus. Today, the actual rail is gone, and there are only ruins of the passenger and warehouse buildings, and the loading docks. Unfortunately, the whole thing was covered in graffiti, and the vegetation rather overgrown.

Abandoned hydroelectrical central

Abandoned station building

I backtracked and headed upstream. It did not take long to reach the former hydrological station Central Hidroeléctrica de Guadalajara, a brick building erected in 1909. Not much further, I found the remains of the original dam over the Tagus, with a rather impressive water sprout remaining – and a makeshift bridge over the water, made with wooden logs, that I looked, photographed, and no way in hell I was going to try to step on.

Remains of the former dam

I continued upstream until I reached the modern gravity dam Presa de Buendía, a huge structure made of reinforced concrete that holds back the water. It’s a very different sensation when you look at the dam from this perspective, upwards, from the “empty” side than what I had always experienced – from the top.

Humongous river dam

I turned back towards the bridge, which I had to cross to return to the parking lot. I still had a bit of time, so I wandered towards the actual reservoir area. There’s a structure there that fascinates me… a small building with remains of a railway that goes right into the water. I have never been able to figure out what it was made for.

Tranquil river in a crisp winter morning

Rock shelter alongside a river course

Tranquil reservoir. Some stairs disappear into the water.

And that was it for the day trip, a short hike I dragged for about three hours during the one good weather day we had for a bit and that turned out to be my first outing of 2026. Afterwards, it was just a matter of hopping onto the car and heading back home, feeling recharged.