Battlefield tourism isn't nearly as trying for the trailing spouse as you might imagine. The places that once hosted horrific slaughter have a strange tendency to evolve into beautiful, and profoundly peaceful, spots. If you're lucky enough to have a great storyteller to show you around, battlefields are the setting for thrilling tales of conflict, heroism, triumph and tragedy, played out with intense human emotion.
The quality of your experience will vary with the storytelling abilities of your guide. My grasp, and appreciation, of the Battle of Salamanca is now profound thanks to Raúl Bellido. Should you ever be interested enough to spend four hours climbing hills and rambling through an enormous valley due south of the Spanish university town, he’s your man. We had less luck with our guide in Vitoria, who was great on the overall area but clearly not a specialist on military history and the nuances of that particular battle.
What made Raúl so special? He started with a context-setting explanation of the politics of the time and what factors led up to the conflict on the 22nd of July, 1812. He took us to the critical points on the battlefield in order, giving us a timeframe at each spot so we were always conscious of where and when we were in the unfurling story. He had the keys to the small battlefield museum in Arapiles (the village that the Spaniards use to name the battle.) Raúl works here as a volunteer so brought us in for a private visit when everything was locked up tight. Checking out the dioramas, uniforms and other collections here at the mid-way point was a great way to consolidate what we'd learned thus far, and was also a brilliantly-planned bathroom break in a day otherwise spent in the open air.
We ended our tour with a moderately-challenging hike up to the top of the highest point of the action, the Grand Arapile, where there’s a monument and an incredible view.
Raúl ended the story with a vivid description of the final hours of the conflict, brought to life by the difficult terrain. My husband believes the landscape is the real point of a battlefield tour: maps, and even videos, don't give you the true picture of how hills, valleys and rivers factor into the action. At Salamanca it's obvious, especially when you're driving from one key point to another and see the way whole parts of the landscape disappear from certain vantage points. Wellington used the hills as camouflage in a giant game of hide and seek to gain his victory.
On the magnificent hilltop, Raúl finished with a true storyteller's flare, outlining the denouement before giving us a summary and his argument for why this was one of the most significant battles in European history. (The tipping point in the power struggle that led to Waterloo and the post-Napoleonic world.)
While you could do this trail on your own, downloading a map and driving to key points on the battlefield, it would be a lot harder without a guide. The roads up to the key spots with information points were generally farm tracks with little signage. There's no clear guidance on the museum's web site of when it's open. We never would have found, or even thought to look for, the wonderful battle murals and monument to the Duke of Wellington in Arapiles village.
What you could do without a guide is simply enjoy the fabulous landscape. The enormous valley ringed with hills is all protected as a historic site, and though roads go through it the traffic is light. There are lots of cyclists and hikers here simply enjoying the great outdoors. Packing a picnic and hiking up either of the Arapile hills, or going to the more easily accessible viewpoint at the little stone church called the Ermita de Nuestra Señora de la Peña, would make for a pleasant day out.
The battlefield at Vitoria is much harder to wrap your head around, with our without a guide. If Salamanca was Wellington's tipping point, Vitoria 11 months later was where he wrapped things up and delivered the death blow that pushed the French out of Spain. But the scale here is vast. The valley in Salamanca is perhaps 5 miles across, and has been kept completely pastoral. Vitoria ranged across the vast plan of Álava, encompassing more than 1000 square miles including armies climbing up and over mountain passes to get to the battle. Key points at Salamanca were perhaps 5 minutes apart by car. At Vitoria they were more than 20. Vitoria was more of a series of conflicts happening in the same general area across a day, culminating in the city itself, rather than just one storyline. It would be hard to get a a continuous narrative across even if you were a brilliant storyteller with flawless English and a military historian’s obsession with the battle. Sadly, our guide here wasn’t quite up to any of those, though he made a valiant effort. (He was much better when it came to showing us around the city itself, which I’ll cover in a later article.)
Without the context and the story, my attention was drifting as we spent the morning driving between a series of very attractive bridges. The story of the day seemed to be about various skirmishes to get across them, but I lost interest and just appreciated the scenery.
There was a hill to climb up, but the viewpoint it offers is less clear and the vistas are more of highways and industrial estates than of romantically rolling grassland. (The battle might not have left much of an impression on me, but the tidy industrial prosperity of the Álava plain had a big impact, brimming with modern factories and industrial complexes from which delivery vehicles glide to and fro on impressive highways. This is the capital of the Basque Country, the most prosperous region in Spain, and it’s obvious.)
Things started to make more sense in Vitoria itself, where the upper floor of the Álava Armory Museum is almost entirely dedicated to the battle. Here there are several dioramas, including a huge one that shows the whole valley as it was in 1813, with buttons you can hit to trigger lights that show you who went where, when. There’s no English signage but the Google translate app that works from photos of text does a good job. A ten minute’s stroll away, on the main town square, you’ll find a striking monument to the battle.
On the magnificent hilltop, Raúl finished with a true storyteller's flare, outlining the denouement before giving us a summary and his argument for why this was one of the most significant battles in European history. (The tipping point in the power struggle that led to Waterloo and the post-Napoleonic world.)
While you could do this trail on your own, downloading a map and driving to key points on the battlefield, it would be a lot harder without a guide. The roads up to the key spots with information points were generally farm tracks with little signage. There's no clear guidance on the museum's web site of when it's open. We never would have found, or even thought to look for, the wonderful battle murals and monument to the Duke of Wellington in Arapiles village.
What you could do without a guide is simply enjoy the fabulous landscape. The enormous valley ringed with hills is all protected as a historic site, and though roads go through it the traffic is light. There are lots of cyclists and hikers here simply enjoying the great outdoors. Packing a picnic and hiking up either of the Arapile hills, or going to the more easily accessible viewpoint at the little stone church called the Ermita de Nuestra Señora de la Peña, would make for a pleasant day out.
The battlefield at Vitoria is much harder to wrap your head around, with our without a guide. If Salamanca was Wellington's tipping point, Vitoria 11 months later was where he wrapped things up and delivered the death blow that pushed the French out of Spain. But the scale here is vast. The valley in Salamanca is perhaps 5 miles across, and has been kept completely pastoral. Vitoria ranged across the vast plan of Álava, encompassing more than 1000 square miles including armies climbing up and over mountain passes to get to the battle. Key points at Salamanca were perhaps 5 minutes apart by car. At Vitoria they were more than 20. Vitoria was more of a series of conflicts happening in the same general area across a day, culminating in the city itself, rather than just one storyline. It would be hard to get a a continuous narrative across even if you were a brilliant storyteller with flawless English and a military historian’s obsession with the battle. Sadly, our guide here wasn’t quite up to any of those, though he made a valiant effort. (He was much better when it came to showing us around the city itself, which I’ll cover in a later article.)
Without the context and the story, my attention was drifting as we spent the morning driving between a series of very attractive bridges. The story of the day seemed to be about various skirmishes to get across them, but I lost interest and just appreciated the scenery.
There was a hill to climb up, but the viewpoint it offers is less clear and the vistas are more of highways and industrial estates than of romantically rolling grassland. (The battle might not have left much of an impression on me, but the tidy industrial prosperity of the Álava plain had a big impact, brimming with modern factories and industrial complexes from which delivery vehicles glide to and fro on impressive highways. This is the capital of the Basque Country, the most prosperous region in Spain, and it’s obvious.)
Things started to make more sense in Vitoria itself, where the upper floor of the Álava Armory Museum is almost entirely dedicated to the battle. Here there are several dioramas, including a huge one that shows the whole valley as it was in 1813, with buttons you can hit to trigger lights that show you who went where, when. There’s no English signage but the Google translate app that works from photos of text does a good job. A ten minute’s stroll away, on the main town square, you’ll find a striking monument to the battle.
Ironically, the monument for the 1813 conflict wasn’t installed and dedicated until 1917. The centenary of the battle sparked a local realisation that they really should do something to mark what had become the most famous event in their history. The result, therefore, is far more exuberant and cluttered than anything that might have gone up immediately after the event. It ascends in four busy tiers. First, a level of life-sized stone sculptures showing the impact of the battle and its aftermath on the locals. Then a level of bronze sculptures … which also looked life-sized but may have been even bigger … involved in the conflict with Wellington astride his horse at the centre. Then comes a quiet bit; a stubby obelisk naming the battle. Then we’re back to bronze, with a massive allegorical figure of victory waving a flag while the British Lion at her feet prepares to eviscerate the prostrate, screaming French eagle in his paws. The artists involved clearly felt far enough away from the reality of the battle to take plenty of license. Wellington’s profile lacks his distinctive hooked nose and is more heroically handsome than his portraits, while my husband had fun picking out all sorts of issues with uniforms and military detail. But it you’re not bothered by those things, it’s a visually striking memorial set in a beautiful environment.
My husband found both days worth his time, but I could have happily skipped the battlefield parts of Vitoria and spent more time in the city centre. And even after being on site, my favourite Battle of Vitoria-related experience will remain visiting Apsely House in London, where artistic treasures from the abandoned French baggage train are displayed. (Not war booty but a gift to Wellington from a grateful Spanish king for his restoration.). While my husband wouldn’t have given up his trek around the plain of Álava, he too agreed that the day with Raúl was better by far. Storytelling wins this battle.
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