University towns tend to be attractive places. The older the institution, the more true that stereotype is likely to be. Salamanca, educating Spaniards since 1218, is a case in point.
Like most Spanish cities, it's surrounded by a sprawl of modern development, but city planners have
We were only here for two nights, but there are clearly delights in Salamanca to engage people for a longer visit. My friends who studied in Spain headed to Seville or Barcelona; I'd be tempted by Salamanca. The thriving social scene we witnessed on Saturday night certainly supported that idea, though it was all quite civilised. I sensed no "town v gown" conflicts as grown ups and families mixed in the same spaces with students. Your intrepid reporter was in bed by 11:30, however, so I can't attest to what develops in the wee hours.
With limited time, we headed for the Plaza Mayor as soon as we hit town. Most major Spanish cities have a significant central square like this, with a town hall on one side, surrounded by colonnades and overlooked by balconies of residential properties. Many, including this one, were used as bull rings with spectators looking down from all those balconies. Salamanca's however, is considered one of the best in the country. It's enormous, and crowded with shops, restaurants and bars. It's made for settling down at a table, ordering a drink and watching the world go by. The baroque architecture gives it a festive, almost frivolous feel, with pinnacles breaking the rooflines, bas relief portrait busts of royals and significant historical figures decorating the space between arches on the ground level, and a froth of decoration covering the main buildings on opposing sides of the square. It's a bit like sitting inside a wedding cake.
With more time, I would have liked to explore the Convento de las Dueñas, take a tour of the university buildings, check out the substantial covered market, and dive into the museum of Art Nouveau and Deco. But a limited visit demanded prioritisation, and my choice had to be that strange double cathedral.
The newer building, where your visit begins, is one of the biggest cathedrals in Spain and a real hotch-potch of architectural styles. Built over more than 200 years, it ranges from gothic through baroque with combinations and excess that will amaze you, even if you fall a bit short on delight. The phrase "less is more" tripped though my brain more than once as my eyes fought to focus. There's such an abundance of gold leaf that it's often hard to make out what it's glorifying, as in the altar to St. Anthony of Padua. It amused me to remember that he's the patron saint of the poor, and his statue ... usually a humble one of painted wood ... traditionally stands atop a donation box inviting contributions to help the impoverished of the parish. Poverty and humility are not concepts that come to mind here.
In other places, like the ornamented ribs of the vault behind the main altar or the stone surrounds of the organs, the decoration is so thick it reminds you of the way sea life encrusts and obscures artefacts lying under water for centuries. There's one chapel so crowded with votive figures it's almost comic.
The central choir is to my eyes the most beautiful part of the building, probably because ... though ornate ... it's mostly wood and one colour, so easier to digest.
The levels of decorative detail actually make the cathedral difficult to photograph; everything flattens out and you can't appreciate the layers of decoration.
Despite my discomfort with some of the excess, I won't deny that it's a magnificent building. The trick to appreciating it, I think, is to pick out just one bit at a time and then drink in its details. Looking at small sections allows the beauty and craftsmanship to unfurl in a way the big picture obscures.
I enjoyed the old cathedral more, which is down a steep flight of steps at the back of the new building. The original church is a fraction of the size of its replacement and an austere romanesque space with just hints of the pointier, more frivolous gothic to come. Most of the walls are unadorned white stone, though there's a series of interesting wall paintings on one side. The quiet simplicity allows the carving of medieval craftsmen to stand out around the tops of pillars and the bottoms of vault ribs. The main altarpiece here is, like so much in the new building, a detail-laden menagerie of individual stories swimming in a sea of gold gilt. But the relative simplicity of the rest of the building allows it to shine in a way it wouldn't next door.
There are some painted tombs in alcoves to the right of the altar that were my star sights in the whole complex. The colours are remarkably fresh and the figures wonderfully lifelike, as if they've just laid down for a nap rather than heading to their eternal rest more than 500 years ago. Across from them you'll find a wall of unusually well-preserved medieval frescos. This is the kind of stuff that revolutions destroyed in France and the UK, while fashion wiped it out in Italy. It's beautiful to see here.
Despite its international reputation and world heritage status, most of the tourists around us in Salamanca seemed to be Spanish speakers. If you're heading this way, it's good idea to polish up your basic tourism and meal ordering phrases. Even the barkeeps in the Irish pubs, where we went hoping to catch some of the Rugby World Cup, didn't have much English. And their television-screens were staying on a Spaniard-pleasing combo of football and tennis. We defaulted to streaming over a VPN and a picnic dinner in our room to watch England beat Japan on our second night.
We stayed at the Ibis: functional, reasonably priced and within easy walking distance of the Plaza Mayor and the cathedrals. I'm sure there are more charming boutique hotels in the historic centre, but I suspect charm might come at the expense of a good night's sleep given the noise generated by thousands of university students enjoying the nightlife within those picturesque, cobbled streets. And if you're driving, the Ibis is easy to reach as it's just off the ring road that separates old town from new. It also has a car park, which is a rare and wonderful advantage for an urban hotel ... but may add a good deal of stress to your trip. It's small.
The turns to get down the ramps were so tight you could only inch your way forward, while fitting into a parking space took multiple rocking manoeuvres. We both lost a night's sleep with the anxiety of how we were going to liberate our car from three precarious levels below ground. Thankfully, a late departure meant others had cleared out before us and it turned out that getting up the ramps was slightly easier than getting down. Nervous drivers should either make sure they have a small car, or park elsewhere. But don't let that put you off visiting this fabulous city.
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