Tarazona: Where Stone Tells Stories
They say that Tarazona, that city whose banks embrace the slow flow of the Queiles River with maternal instinct—a river whose birthplace still provokes bitter arguments between the people of Soria and Aragon—was founded by Tubal and rebuilt by Hercules in those obscure periods of history where the lack of conclusive documentation supports the uncertain pillars of legend.
What is certainly not legend is the verifiable fact that Tarazona, like Daroca of the Holy Relics or even like the popular Calatayud—in whose visit, dear traveler, we honestly advise you to avoid asking about Our Lady of Sorrows—is another of those monumental capitals of Aragonese Mudéjar art, which we recommend visiting at least once in a lifetime.
Perhaps it's due to its picturesque charm, or perhaps because, in addition to that, some of us still passionately embrace the cult of beauty, but whenever I have the chance—and if I don't, there's always an excuse to create one—I return to Tarazona, much like the instinctive storks return to church bell towers for the feast of Saint Blaise.
My instinct, like that of the storks, also compels me, each time my steps cast shadowy patterns framed by the dreamy grandeur of that aforementioned Mudéjar architecture that conjures fantasies from brick, to seek out the traces of that fantastic medieval tale that gradually imposed the fires of reason upon the shadows of a Europe beginning to break free from the yoke of a period of bloody uncertainty, which, after the fall of the Western Roman Empire, came to be known simply as the High Middle Ages.
And there's nothing better, and therefore nothing more advisable, than to return to that marvelous cultural sounding board, which is undoubtedly the cathedral of Santa María de la Huerta. After suffering a slumbering ostracism, similar to that produced by the wonderful story of Sleeping Beauty, which Disney knew how to exploit as the goldmine it truly is, it awoke a few years ago, like that story, to reveal to the astonished eyes of the visitor a surprising tale, where stone, painting, and sacred geometry continue to send flashes of immortality to the world.
It is true, however, that despite the losses of much of the original narrative that transformed medieval society for centuries, it remains, like other cathedrals, a marvelous time capsule. Its stylistic variations make it another of those special schools that open their doors in the major cities along Spain's dusty roads, ensuring that the mastery of stone continues to challenge us to awaken that driving force—curiosity—which propels the vehicle of our lives forward.
Or, if you prefer, to reawaken within ourselves the brilliant awakening of that first glimpse when everything surprised us, everything fascinated us, everything was an infinite universe to discover.
Therefore, fellow traveler, if you are moved to surrender to the power of the archetype, to the profound inner peace that those filtered baths evoke in the spirit, where the sunlight caresses your thoughts with a whisper of mystery as its rays pass through the stained glass, or if you simply wish to engage in an inner dialogue with the unique storytelling of images that seem to pierce your soul with a glance, do not hesitate: here you have an unmissable rendezvous with destiny.
NOTICE: Both the text and the accompanying photographs are my exclusive intellectual property and are therefore subject to my copyright.
