TOURING IN SPAIN

Evening Star, Issue 23122, 23 November 1938, Page 2

TOURING IN SPAIN

MOTORIST'S JOURNEY LITTLE SIGH OF STRAIN I have lately returned from a tour —perhaps it would be more correct to call it a jaunt—in my own car in Nationalist Spain, writes E. Wortham in the ‘ Dally Telegraph and Morning Post.’ It was hastily arranged, and, because I dallied in the Basses-Pyre-nees, the Campania of France, severely limited in time. I went alone, covered nearly 800 miles in under a w'eek, and was free of the whole territory under General Franco’s Government. My motive was the purely selfish one of the holi-day-maker. 1 went not to investigate, but merely to see and enjoy. It was perfectly summed up by the Spanish official at the frontier, for whom 1 filled up one of those inquisitive forms which delight officialdom the world over. He suggested that the purpose and object of my visit which I was required to state was covered by the single word—turismo; Eleventh-hour preliminaries in London proved easy enough. True, the A.A. pointed out that the international carnet now specifically excluded Spain, and that I must therefore make special arrangements about my car with the Nationalist Spanish authorities in London. These assured me I should have no difficulty, and leaving three photographs with them I was told that if I called at the Spanish Press Office in St. Jeau-de-Luz everything would be ready. THE FRENCH BORDER. A British visa at the Passport Office I received in a quarter of an hour, the only formality being my signing a form promising not to take any part in the war. The French Embassy added their visa with even more businesslike despatch. At St. Jean-de-Luz, on the Basque frontier of France, I duly met an official of tho National Spanish Ministry, which looks after journalists and tourists. AVhen, in his wake, I drove my small but energetic G.B. car to the French dbuaties at dlendaye its passage excited a mild interest in the sightseers whd’.habitually congregate at the F’rench end of the bridge. They come in charabancs and in private bicycles, too. They stand and gaze at the bridge which joins Spain to France. They watch the barriers at either end, raised for the passage of an occasional car or lorry, and then immediately lowered again. They see a trickle of pedestrians passing across, their luggage sometimes in a wheelbarrow. They look into Spain and at a distant prospect of cars by the side of the road, which proves, when you get there, to be a taxi rank. The fascination which draws them there lies in Spain being at war with itself and in the consequent divorce of Hendaye and Iron, formerly almost as good neighbours as Eton and Windsor. FINGER-PRINTS TAKEN. \ If not a necessity, my guide, who carried courtesy to dangerous lengths in looking round to see if my car was duly following his, was certainly a luxury. My Spanish was far too Italianate to a ready means of communciation with frontier officials. With his help 1 was soon through. The carnet proved perfectly acceptable, not less because the exclusion of Spain, I was told, was the work of the Valencia Government. No one attempted to check my car number. Apart from the three-minute business of being photographed and having ray finger-prints taken, which was an interesting though grubby experience, I might have been crossing any frontier where currency is controlled. A small boy with an impressive technique on an adding machine worked out how many pesetas 1 got for ray English money at 52 odd to the £. It seemed little after the generosity of francs, but I soon discovered it was better than it looked. We started off, but a few hundred yards further on ray pilot car stopped before a villa. It was the office of the military commandant of Irun. Everyone except the sentries seemed' excessively busy’. For me there was nothing to do but watch serious officers and less serious senoritas deal with the press of business and mankind. Very soon my guide beckoned me out again, and I was following him through scarred Irun. An hour and a-ha!f after leaving St. Jean-de-Luz I drove through the crowded streets of San Sebastian. ' FULL OF SOLDIERS. The summer capital of the former Spain is full of soldiers, convalescents, in training or on leave. It also contains 60,000 refugees. Everywhere one comes across the sign Refugio. One church so marked bore the indication that it could shelter 400. But if San Sebastian is pulling its weight in the war—and the number of steamers_ unloading in the adjacent harbour indicated that it was not only a pleasure resort—it retains its light-hearted atmosphere. There was more animation in the crowd parading the-Concha Bay front that evening than I had seen in France at Biarritz or Arcachon. This, perhaps, is because Spaniards promenade when Frenchmen dine. At the hotel where, with official help, I secured a bed 1 noticed that the Spanish hour for dinner'was not appreciably advanced by General Franco’s ukase. The menu bore no

sign of war scarcity. The bread was excellent—in pleasant contrast to that which one now has in Italy. x ln fact, apart from being unduly crowded, the only sign of-war in the functioning of what used to be considered the best hotel in Spain was that to save current the lift was out of action. My bill next*morning told me that National Spain had also staved off war prices—an impression strength-* ened when I discovered that petrol was Is 3d a gallon. A* VOYAGE OF DISCOVERY. It was suggested to me that I should visit the War Museum of captured trophies, to which a fine example of the latest Renault tank had just been added. I was content to spend tha earlier morning in normal sightseeing. This included two defeats by bootblacks, who have a fine offensive spirit in approaching likely clients. Then, after calling for the safe-con-duct. as I had been told to do overnight, I set out to discover Spain. Soon I discovered the. safe-conduct’s usefulness. For where the road forks to Burgos and Bilbao fully accoutred gendarmes stopped me. They wanted “ documentos ” —otherwise the “ salvo conducto ” which authorised D(on) Hugh Wortham to circulate throughout the freed territories, including ■ tho fronts. The same thing happened about onco every 100 miles or so. Sometimes it was only to ask if I would jgive a lift—usually to a soldier or soldiers. Once I carried a gendarme himself—arid, like his French brothers, the Spanish gendarme is a personage of consequence and dignity. His thanks when ha alighted’ were magnificently phrased. My most amusing soldiers were a couple returning more or less fully equipped from the Madrid lines. It ■ became my job, after asking the way, to take them,with me to Avila. Conversation was spasmodic. They thought I was Portuguese—but were more interested in the car. On inquiry whether, there was much'-dbing on their front, one of them answered r by laying his head on his upturned palm and closing hie eyes. VERY LITTLE TRAFFIC. There is very little traffic on the roads. Tho magnificent highway that runs from San Sebastian via Burgos and Valladolid would be a paradise ; for the young sports car blood.* The ; sports car-vis. not seen;in Spain .to-day, | but I was told that Spanish*' staff offi- s cers allowed three hours to--get from • San Sebastian to Burgos—l6o miles or so. I can well believe it, .For if I was not surprised at the perfect order everywhere, I expected the main roada to show more signs of war use. Approaching Madrid, the pot-hola did begin to show itself,: and road repairs were being actively pursued. Also, for some 20 miles south of Valladolid a new top-dressing rather spoilt the motor’s freedom of style. Otherwise, through what Baedeker unjustifiably calls the dreary plains of Castile, the main national roads approach the best French standard. Not the secondary roads, however. ■- Going from Avila to Medina del Campo by a short-cut, with the encouragement of Senor Pablo Merry del Val son of the former Spanish Ambassador—who now occupies an important post at Burgos, my difficulties increased to such an extent that 1 decided to return across country to the main Madrid-Burgos road. ■■ KEY OF CASTILE." I did so at Arevalo, a magnificently situated little town which cannot have altered since Philip H. Its castle, splendid and semi-ruinous, confirmed Baedeker’s statement that it was once the key of Castile. . After filling up with retro!—stations as in France and England are more plentiful than the demand arrants—t followed the eager, but- to me barely, comprehensible, indications of the natives, and for ten miles and more weno along such tracks as. jolted S. Teresa in her numerous journeys from Avila. But springs and tyres held, after thinking that I might be benighted, and worse still go dinnerless, I struck my objective, -in military phrase, and could again travel at 80 kilometres an Never have I passed a touristically quieter time. No guides, no touts annov the guileless stranger. Everybody is intent on his own affairs. War naturally is mirrored in the towns, and Burgos, the present capital, is filled with officers of alh ranks, and soldiers of all arms. The lower windows of the cathedral are sandbagged and notices warn the inhabitants' what not to do in an air-raid. On the citadel, where our Edward I. married Eleanor of Castile, some anti-aircraft guns point to ' the clear skies. FOREIGNERS AT BURGOS. The atmosphere of Burgos reminded me of Cairo in the Great War, with the newly-opened Condestable Hotel a* its Shepherd’s. Of the palpable foreigners there 1 counted three Frenchmen—hommes d’affaires—one German, who might have passed for an engineer, and two Englishwomen. The only Italian 1 came across was the bartender. He does not do much business, and 1 tried to brighten his existence at apertif time —which lasts till 10 or 10.30 p ; m. If wind-swept Avila, with its head 4,000 ft in the air, was the only city I visited which seemed remote from the war—in fact ft is only about 40 miles from the nearest front—the countryside everywhere was living its normal life. Men, women, and children were busy threshing and garnering. Flocks of sheep in the dusty stubble reminded me of Don Quixote’s famous, adventure. There was none for me. The nearest I came to adventure was when. I had stopped to explore a village and returned to find niy car the centre of a herd, with a bull meditatively gazing at the bonnet. A_ small herdsman at once had the situation in hand.

Finally, my “ turismo ” over. I turned my ear north-eastward and said (jood-bve to the country which, as some have it. is ruled bv rebels at the behest pf foreigners ,v hen ’ in*’'!** un m\ "v----ponses sheet at St. desn-de-T uz I fe”r>d that 1 bad spent £l.os 6d a dav— including the running expenses of the car*