There is an abandoned castle at Trasmoz, high atop the hill. From a distance, it looks both quite grand and quite ruined, and so it is.
Because of stories and legends of witchcraft, it is the only town in Spain cursed and excommunicated by the Catholic Church, with the deed done in 1511. Only the Pope can change the status of the town, and apparently none of them have gotten around to it yet. Each year, the town light-heartedly selects one woman to be the witch of the year, which could explain the Pope's ultimate slow-walk.
The road into town was closed for roadwork, so we took the dirt road up into town (to paved streets). We parked below the castle and climbed up to it. Alas it was locked, so we took the path around it and were afforded sweeping views of the valleys, rolling hills, and Moncayo Mountain.
We headed over to the town church, started in the 1200s, although most of it only dates from the 1500s. (Awake readers caught the sarcastic use of "only" in the previous sentence. Dozing readers are going back and re-reading it again.)
We then drove down the narrow winding roads, and again cut through Vera, then past the monastery, to Anon, a village with "the cuevas." Unfortunately, there was only one sign pointing toward the caves, and when we came to three options for turns with no signs, I guessed but we had no luck. Googling the caves turns up Ecuador, which seemed a little far to drive at that point in the day. It was a nice (and short) drive out to Anon, but better signage leads to happier tourists.
And so it was on to Parque Natural del Moncayo -- a state park for the mountain of Moncayo, which is a long, rising mountain between the plains of Castille and the Ebro River valley. The mountain itself rises to a height of 7,600 feet, and is often pictured snow-capped.
Did I mention that we were using a map that was hand-drawn by our two night host, and it wasn't to scale. Oh, and his F's looked like T's and his N's looked like V's (or U's, depending). After a while, I was able to parse out the map, which overall is reminiscent of Tolkien's Hobbit map. Like Tolkien, this map even has a dragon, which is a sculpture of the dragon of Moncayo. We never even tried to find it, as it was not guarding a treasure.
The drive was a pleasant one, but since it was mostly in trees, there were not a huge number of views (although we stopped at the one overlook). The place was packed, as we saw at least two cars, maybe three. (Editor's Note: Make up your mind. Blogger: Okay, it was two at the most). To be fair, it was a late September Wednesday, so that's not exactly prime tourism season.
We took the road to Vozmediano (let's face it, who hasn't?), another small town tucked in a dramatic setting at the start of the Queiles River. The ruined castle is perched high on the hill (notice a theme -- valley castles get conquered more easily, so they built on the top of hills).
Driving through town was nerve-wracking. On the way up, the roads were so narrow that Carol made a noise akin to disapproval, and I sweetly, yet pointedly, pointed out that now was not the time. To the credit of Mrs. Iron Tourist, she stopped commenting so we made it up the hill no problem. Well, after I moved the side view mirrors against the doors. We reached the end of the road, with no place to park. I let Carol out, skillfully turned the car around when one foot too far would have meant I was severely wounded (Editor's note: Or dead! Blogger: Please don't root against me!) in a ravine far below.
I parked down a ways, and hiked up, but Carol had already scouted out the place. The castle was closed, and there was only a short path to an overlook. The overlook was of interest, as we were afforded good views of houses that were crumbling in on themselves, the small waterfalls at the start of the river, and distant ridges.
We walked down via a different route, with me successfully gambling that this route would also take us to the car. At one point, we ran into an older woman, and she and Carol proceeded to have a lengthy talk. Occasionally the woman looked at me and talked intently, but she may as well been talking Martian for all I understood. Carol had more success, but even that was limited as the old lady insisted on speaking at high speed. Give Carol a month here, and she would have been able to tell me what was said at such a rapid-fire pace, but not on the second day back in Spain.
Apparently the woman has her country place in Vozmediano to escape the heat in Zaragoza. Oh, and the castle closed years ago as stone was falling down. Plus it is now a cemetery, and you need a key to get in. I'm pretty sure the woman said lots more, but either Carol didn't catch it or I don't remember, and even though Carol is in the next room, I'm not going to waste your time, her time, or my time by asking.
We then drove back to the park and turned north on the road to Tarazona, with a stop planned in Los Fayos (translation: The Fios, by Verizon). It was then we went into modest red rock country (see photos below). I felt like I was in Southern Utah.
There is a dam above Los Fayos (so, who says "let's live below a dam!" Not me!) And there are caves in Los Fayos. Caves with no signs to them. Apparently, if there are caves in a town here, they brag about them but don't provide any specific information on where to find them. So we blew that clambake, and drove up to the dam. We parked and walked across the dam. There was a dude in the parking lot sitting in his car. We slowly walked across the dam, and he stayed in his car the whole time it took us to walk the half mile across, and back (that's a mile, for math-challenged folks like my younger brother and my friend Don Minnis).
It was time to call it a day, so we cut through the austere country side, admiring the grapevines and the olive groves. Carol didn't like the looks of the distant wind turbines, but I found them to visually arresting. (Editor's Note: So, you are disagreeing with her on this. Blogger: No. I agree with her but have a different opinion. That's what you safely do when you have a wife.)
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