The traveler returns to the Way and, after leaving behind the diverse fields of Soria, enthusiastically embraces the picturesque paths of the old Roman Caesar Augusta, that is, Zaragoza, seeking that immemorial collection of history and art of a town, not in vain considered a Cultural Heritage site as a whole: Uncastillo.
Located on the edge of the Ayllon Peak and fortunately retaining much of its ancient medieval essence, a detail that, combined with the numerous municipal restrictions, makes parking extremely difficult. The traveler fears having to adopt the vulture's tactic of circling overhead until he locates his prey. But today, luck is on his side, and he finds a providential space a short distance from the place that interests him most and which, in fact, is the reason for this suggestion: the church of Saint Mary.
He knows, without needing to resort to the wise recommendations of Juan Eslava Galán, that this is, without a doubt, one of those thousand and one places in Spain that one must visit at least once in a lifetime. Which is to say, in his opinion, that he is about to be dazzled once again by the majesty of one of the most spectacular sacred sites of that metaphorical school of applied Romanesque architecture, the Five Villas of Zaragoza.
His excitement, therefore, is justified upon re-encountering, after all these years, this priceless work of art, in whose execution, or at least in part, he believes he can discern the hand of a prolific and mysterious master stonemason, who left trails of eternity in his wake, much more substantial than the trails in the sea to which the poet Antonio Machado alluded, comparing them to our footprints.
Saint Mary, therefore, becomes, in the traveler's incorrigible imagination, a poem that, handcrafted in stone, invites one to allow oneself to be carried away by one's imagination to unravel the hidden meaning of its enigmatic verses.
He is also aware that, even resorting to that odious world of comparisons, what he sees before his weary eyes is something more than a simple reminder of secular restrictions: it is a small but invaluable encyclopedia of customs and traditions, which, like the riddles of the Sphinx, summarizes a good part of medieval philosophy.
The journey, then, carries with it a cultural nourishment that encourages one to indulge in the adventure of details, in scenes imbued with double meanings, like the giants that the stern Cervantes placed in Don Quixote's path. It's also important to note, however, that these same iconographies, these detailed sculptures, also speak the plain language of a son of the people, like Sancho Panza, for it was for them, for the medieval sons of the people, that it was created as an illustrative text.
In reality, given the profusion of courtly scenes, where the presence of musicians, dancers, and contortionists is evident, there comes a moment when the surprised traveler thinks they are attending a spectacular concert frozen in time, which, beyond its apparent and repressive moralistic meaning, nevertheless induces one to think that, like the ambivalences of Ecclesiastes, medieval man was also dominated by a seriousness of spirit and an irrepressible joy of the flesh.
The vital and the spiritual face to face, eternally immortalized for the hair shirts of some and the joy of others, characteristics that, after all, are still circumstantially human.
Saint Mary, then, in the eyes of the imaginative traveler, becomes, depending on the perspective from which one views it, a hymn to life, an acceptance of the Latin poet Horace's maxim about Carpe Diem, the here and now, because everything else, after all, clouds our vision with the dark clouds of uncertainty.
NOTICE: Both the text and the accompanying photographs, are my exclusive intellectual property and are therefore subject to my Copyright.
