For my birthday this year, I decided to treat myself (and hubby, who, fortunately, is as keen on history as I am) by visiting two places in Spain I have always wanted to see: Carmona and Ronda.
Carmona is a small town about 45 minutes from Sevilla, sitting upon a high rise surrounded by a veritable sea of billowing fields. Everywhere you look, it is fields, fields, fields, ringed in the distance by the mountains of Spain’s southern sierras. As an aside, Spain is actually the second most mountainous country in Europe, after Switzerland. Not something most people think of when Spain comes up, is it?
Carmona is an ancient town. The early inhabitants found the high ridge a nice, protected position, as did the Tartessians, this mysterious civilisation we know so little about, but which is mentioned by ancient texts. They seem to have been around since the Bronze Age—some argue the Tartessians were part of the Peoples from the Sea (and anyone who has recently seen Odysseus, will know this mysterious wave of immigrants caused the collapse of many of the previous civilisations), some say they were an Indo-European people that arrived in Iberia well before the Celtic tribes. Whatever the case, they settled in Carmona and have left plenty of artefacts.
Known for their high quality metalwork, the Tartessians traded widely, coming under the influence of the Phoenicians with whom they traded wheat, meat, minerals and metals. Hop a bit forward, and the Tartessians are long gone, but we have the Carthaginians arriving in force. They improved the ancient defences of Carmona, laying the foundations for the present Alcázar de la Puerta de Sevilla (the Gate of Seville).
As we all know, Rome defeated Carthage in the second Punic War—Scipio Africanus won a decisive victory at the Battle of Carmona in 207 B.C. Carmona became Roman, a town called Carmo. This south western part of the province of Hispania was one of the empire’s prime sources of grain. The Romans, ever practical, reinforced what the Carthaginians had built and enclosed their city with walls. They also built roads—the Via Augusta ran all the way from Cádiz, to Sevilla (Hispalis to the Romans) onwards to Carmona where it entered the town through the Alcázar de la Puerta de Sevilla and exited it through the Gate of Córdoba, winding its way all the way up to Narbonne. The Romans also quickly discovered that the ridge the town was built on had a huge supply of underground water—aquifers. Being Romans, they quickly set about constructing water mines so as to channel the water from the aquifers to where it was needed the most.
After the Romans came the Visigoths—a rather slow progress over several centuries—who converted Roman temples into basilicas, And in the eighth century, came the Moors. This area of Spain would remain under Moorish control until the thirteenth century. Quick to appreciate Roman engineering, the Moors maintained the water mines (and built new ones, based on the Roman blueprint in other locations). And as to that impressive fortress guarding the gate in the direction of Ishbiliyah (Seville), the Moors dismantled the Roman temple in its midst, added a further tower or so and maintained the city walls. The Visigoth basilicas became mosques, and for centuries the people spoke Arabic. Initially part of the Cordoba Califate, it would become one of the first taifa states before being absorbed into the larger taifa state of Ishbiliyah, and, in 1247, Carmona was “reconquered” by Fernando II.
Originally, the Muslim population wss guaranteed to keep their faith, homes and possessions, but as future kings needed to reward their loyal retainers, the Moors were pushed back, forced to settle for small, simple houses and substantially less land. Ultimately, they’d be given the choice of converting or leaving. Many left, making for the last remaining Muslim kingdom, Granada.
When we enter the 14th century is when I get all excited. Carmona was one of the towns that remained totally loyal to Pedro I, and it is because of this I so wanted to see it. Pedro had one of his favourite residences here, the Alcázar de Arriba. Originally a Moorish palace, it stood more or less on the opposite side of the more fortress like Alcázar de la Puerta de Sevilla. Sitting at the highest point in town, the views must have been breathtaking, and after Pedro finished renovating it, it was considered something of a gem, akin to the beauty of the Mozárabe palace within the Alcázar of Sevilla (also built by Pedro, who had a great appreciation for Moorish art and architecture)
Unfortunately, there’s nothing left of this palace today. Two major earthquakes, one in the 16th century as well as the Lisbon earthquake in the 18th century, caused it major damage. The Parador de Carmona hotel sits within its old grounds and offers some of the similar views Pedro would have enjoyed, but of the buildings, the tiled floors and walls, the elegant patios, nothing remains. Sniff. But at least I got a feeling for how it must have felt, to stand so high up above the rolling vega – plains – that surround the town.
After Carmona, we drove to Ronda. Driving in Andalucia is a beautiful experience, rolling hills becoming mountains, extensive plains narrowing into valleys surrounded by snowcapped heights. Okay, not so much snow this time around, but still. . . On one hilltop stand the ruins of an old Moorish castle, on another, a Castilian construction. Here and there are the remains of ancient crumbling walls, far away, a herd of black bulls stand on a field dotted with olives and holm oaks. The road began to climb and then we were in Ronda, this city perched atop an even higher ridge than Carmona—but mostly famous for the deep gorge that divides the old town from the new, el Tajo.
Where Carmona was somnolent and allowed this tourist to wander through narrow alleys while lost in daydreams, Ronda is chockfull of tourists. Most of the crowds stick to the famous viewpoints and the new bridge over the deep gorge (new being relative, as it is over two centuries old) So we decided to go deeper into the old town, which meant going down I don’t know how many steps before going back up, then going down, then going back up. Those ancient Ronda inhabitants must have been very fit!
Ronda is also an ancient settlement, although it is a few thousand years younger than Carmona. Still, it’s been around for 2 500 years or so, and was originally a Celtic settlement. But it was Scipio Africanus who sort of laid the foundations for the old town by building a Roman fort there after having defeated the Carthaginians, and by the fourth century or so, Ronda’s people were Roman citizens. In the years after the fall of Western Rome things became a tad turbulent. The Visigoths ended up controlling Ronda for some time, but by the mid eight century, Ronda was a Moorish town and would remain so until 1485 when Fernando of Aragon (one half of the power house Their Most Catholic Majesties, Isabel and Fernando) conquered it after a long, extended siege. They seem to have succeeded breaching the city through the gorge, finding a way into the lower levels of some of the buildings sitting so high above them.
Once again, the Moorish inhabitants were allowed to keep their faith and possessions—for a while. Soon enough, they were being pushed out, victims of the growing intolerance fostered by the Inquisition. This led to rebellions, the local people using guerilla tactics to keep their new lords on their toes. It didn’t help in the long run, but the locals would revert to such tactics during other periods of turbulence.
More recently, Ronda was badly affected by the Napoleonic wars, to the extent the population shrank from around fifteen thousand to five thousand. The old alcabaza (once the Roman fortress constructed by Scipio Africanus) was destroyed by the retiring French troops—troops that were constantly plagued by the guerillas.
During the Spanish Civil War, Ronda was a Republican bastion after the Falangist coup in the summer of 1936. The republicans in Ronda executed numerous nationalists/falangists. Once the falangists took the city, they returned the favour, executing republicans. (They too had their hands full with the republican guerillas who refused to give up) Some say many of these unfortunates (no matter what side they supported) were beaten and then thrown off the cliffs into the gorge. I find a lot of references to this—and the most famous fictional one is of course Ernest Hemingway’s chilling description in For Whom the Bell Tolls—so I imagine it may have happened, but I suspect most of these executions were by firing squads.
Our wander through Ronda was mostly about the somewhat more distant past—and the sheer beauty of the place. It included a walk along the bottom of the gorge (so, so, so many steps up and down, but well worth it) It took us along the old city walls, had us meandering down narrow alleys, stopping for an instant by an old minaret, now incorporated into a church. Mostly, Ronda was about views. It was about holding on hard to hubby’s hand while leaning out over the parapets to stare down at the very distant ground or resting elbows on the parapet and just gaze out at the beautiful landscape before us.
Carmona and Ronda have views in common—even if Carmona never offers quite as dramatic sights as Ronda. Places where I imagine people throughout the centuries have found a spot to sit down and just look, drinking in the beauty. I have stood very close to where Pedro I may have sat, his gaze on the morning fog that danced over the plains. And as I walked the many, many steps downhill in Ronda, heading for the ancient Arab baths, I was walking in the shadows of all those who’d gone before me, eager for some R&R after a long day’s work.