(click on any picture for an enlarged view)

At the end of January (2015) I shot off on a brief excursion that took me from Xàtiva to  Zaragoza to Canfranc to Vic and then back to Xàtiva.

Once a day, an Intercity train, originating in Cartagena, goes from Xàtiva to Zaragoza. But because it does not arrive at the destination until late in the day, when I go to Zaragoza, I usually take an early Cercanias (commuter train) from Xàtiva to Valencia, then get on an Intercity to Zaragoza. It is a long but scenic journey, with about a dozen stops, including Sagunto and Teruel. Along the way, it passes Sarrión, the town whose picturesque view provides the heading photo for this site.

Upon arrival in Zaragoza’s Goya train station, I took the Tranvia (a sleek, modern, streetcar) to my hotel near some ruins of the old Roman walls.

I lucked into a room with a small balcony and a lovely view over the rooftops to the cathedral of Pilar. Across the street from the hotel, right below my window is the long metal roofed structure of the Central Market- a collection of stalls selling a colorful mix of fruits, vegetables, meats, embutidos, and fish. Looking to the right were more

churches poking up past residential rooftops. Zaragoza is a picturesque city, with a wealth of history in evidence. Interestingly it does not seem to be a destination for many American tourists.

It was almost 3:00 pm, and I sought out one of my favorite restaurants in the city for a plate of Migas. This is a humble but tasty regional dish made from fried breadcrumbs that can be garnished with a variety of offerings. I chose loganiza (a style of sausage) and an (over-easy) egg on top. Very traditional choice!

When I left the restaurant, the city appeared unusually quiet, and it seemed as if almost every store was closed. Although most businesses in Spain observe the siesta from about 1:30 to 4:30, it was late enough that they should have been open. As it turned out, it was a holiday! It was the festival of San Valero (Sant Valerius), patron saint of the city, former bishop of the town, who died in 315 CE. All the fun stuff, including a parade with Gigantes y Cabezudos (giants and “big headed dwarfs”) had occurred in the morning, hours before my arrival.

One of the fun things about Spain, is that there are so many fun festivals, and one of the frustrating things is that you will never know they are about to occur if you are in a town a few hundred miles away.

The next morning, I went back to Goya Station, and got on the Regional train, that heads north from Zaragoza to Huesca, and then

winds it way through a bunch of towns including Jaca, and ending up in Canfranc, a town close to the border with France.

Along the way, the train passes near the village of Riglos, at the foot of massive (conglomerate) rock formations, understandably popular with rock climbers.

 

 

 

 

If you have ever tried to take photos from inside a moving train, then you know the frustration I felt trying to capture their majesty.

These stunning formations played peek-a-boo behind embankments and small stands of trees, as the train’s path drew close. Even when you got a momentary clear view, reflections from interior lights on the train spoil the picture. If you want to see them in their glory, you can do a web search on “Mallos de Riglos”.

 

The train’s route then runs along the Gallego river and the Yesa reservoir before it reaches Jaca.

I had expected that along the way I might see a bit of snow. Perhaps a white mantel on the higher peaks of the Pyrenees.  By the time we reached Jaca we were socked in, with no view of the mountains, and it was spitting snow.

As the train wound its way toward Canfranc, the snow was heavier and heavier. Soon the countryside we passed was buried in a thick blanket of snow, with more falling.

As the train pulled into Canfranc, I was suprised at the large throng of bystanders snapping photos

and taking videos of the train’s arrival. The last time I came to Canfranc, it was on foot, descending from Somport Pass. So I am not sure if visitors to Canfranc are always excited to see the train come in, or if it was because of the snow.

The train pulled to a stop next to a snowman, and we all exited.

The train stop was just outside the fenced off old Canfranc International Train Station. A beautiful building, built in the late 1920s, it is now an abandoned, crumbling ruin. Close to the station is a tunnel that passes under the peaks. The other side is France. This had been an important rail link between the countries. But in 1970, a train crash on the French side destroyed an important bridge that was never rebuilt.

They say the old station was used in the filming of the epic film “Doctor Zhivago” (what a great movie!), but when I watched the movie again, I could not identify it in any scene. Certainly the stunning exterior does not make an appearance.

I worked my way to the back side of the station where you can get a view of the entire building. To get there, I had to tromp through thick wet snow, my running shoes sinking into the snow (I wasn’t very well prepared!). Along the way, I passed several people wearing snowshoes. That was how I should have done it!

There are legends about the tunnel and station and events of the Second World War. It is said that the Nazi’s smuggled stolen gold on trains to Canfranc. Who knows!?

I spent the next few hours wandering around the town in the snow. It was coming down hard, heavy, and wet. It was amazing that through it all my feet stayed dry!

 

 

 

 

 

I stopped in a store and picked up a couple souvenirs, went to the tourist office and got a map, and went to a restaurant to eat my midday meal. I had chosen the restaurant based on a listing in the Guia Azul (Blue Guide) for Aragon. It was OK, but… I end up doing better using gut instinct!

After three hours I was cold. And with the weather as it was, this was not a good day for outdoor wandering or trying to catch the shuttle bus up to the pass. (besides, I heard in the restaurant that they had closed the pass due to snow and high winds!)

 

So, even though the train would not leave for another two hours, I walked back to where it was parked. The engineer was just climbing aboard to start the diesel engine. I motioned to him and he opened the window a crack.
“Can I get in?”
“The train doesn’t leave for another two hours!”
“I know. But it is snowing and wet out here.”
“What’s your destination?”
“Zaragoza”
“Oh, OK.” He tilted his head toward the door. “Get on.”
And I spent the rest of my time in Canfranc snug inside the train as I waited for it to leave.