Lake Banyoles—an hour’s drive inland from the refreshing coves and sunny beaches of northeastern Spain, about two hours from the crisp alpine air of Catalan villages nestled in the Pyrenees, at the French border.
The lake is expansive enough to accommodate rowing teams, as a popular venue for training and international competitions. Its glistening shores also offer a warm welcome to swimmers, cyclists, hikers, and birdwatchers. Strangely enough, the abandoned bath houses of yesterday’s moneyed elite whet our appetite for exploration. They're a great point of departure for this part of Spain's rural hinterland.
Winding country roads take us just a bit further inland, to a place where Mediterranean pines border fields and lanes, where reconstructed farm buildings span the centuries through all their add-ons and updates, and where, as it happens, one incongruous palm tree stands perfectly rooted in the shadow of an imposing tower.
In spite of its medieval aura and arabesque ornamentation, the tower is little more than a century old. But first stones for the ancestral home beneath it were laid at the end of the 13th century; and even the farmworkers’ annex has provided additional shelter on this well-cultivated land for over two hundred years.
The current lord and lady of the manor are royal only by grace of their hospitality. They’re modern professionals—she a child psychologist, he a dairy farmer—enjoying the affordable good life in the good countryside. The ancient homestead takes us back hundreds of years, to a time when gated stones provided refuge from a less peaceful land. But stones and iron, along with outmoded courtyards and work areas stand for their own beauty nowadays, with no other reason to exist than to please the eye and the soul.
Stepping up into the solid masonry of Can Llovera, we enter the ‘Big House’ beneath a vaulted archway bathed in soft recessed light—a welcome respite from the relentless Spanish sunshine, prevalent even this far north in the summer months. Traditionally dark interiors provide the same relief, with the clean lines of simple, homespun furnishings. Where there is color, it may very well be bold, or playful; there’s no pretension here beyond the comforts of home. Double-shuttered windows allow in just enough light, when and as needed. But with the persianes fully closed against the heat, they work together with tile flooring throughout, keeping inside temperatures easily ten degrees cooler than outside.
If we look carefully, the house has its own history to tell, of change and passions. An ancient exterior wall sealed off as new rooms were added on. Stately ancestors in their Sunday best. And sadly, a farewell note from a seminarian killed during the Spanish Civil War, written the night before his execution.
We step out to another reality—never too far from a terrace, and a glance at the comforting land below. But we suspect that the finest view awaits us in the tower.
La torre—she seems to command her own space, somewhere between dining room and living room. She has her own mysterious terrace below that shows up unexpected. She's like one of those interior spaces, from another galaxy, that get larger than their exterior shells once you step into them. The scientists have warned us about those.
She's a labyrinth of stairways and befuddling doorways, with rooms beyond the doors, all connected, which somehow makes them equally befuddling. We can never be quite sure how to leave a room behind. And whether or not we've counted it. Yet. Of course, it may be the wine, or the heat, or the time of day. But we're certainly glad for the light at the top of the tower.
We step up to the highest parapet for a memorable view of the kind, rich land. In the gentle play of light and color, we have a strong sensation of the special kind of harmony that exists in this place, between nature and humankind. The realization that this is the heartland of some of the world's most brilliant culinary delights reminds us just how easy the lands of the Mediterranean are to love. 'A way to a man's heart...'
Far below, in what used to be the workers’ annex, the Belgian tourists are laughing, chattering gaily in their full-bodied French as they tidy up after themselves in the cool bower attached to the summer house.
For the next week, Cal Rajoler will be their home away from home—their own rustic, country retreat—where they can swim, barbecue poolside, take long woodsy walks, and enjoy special moments. They may want to use this as a base for daytrips to a medieval village, a cool mountaintop, a world-class concert festival at the seaside. Then again, the arbor’s breezy shade is simply the best of all possible places to savor that unique combination of good wine and cheese, fresh bread and country fare.
Rural tourism is an optional brand of ecotourism. It is sustainable where it happens without significant change to rural surroundings, participating in that harmony, and valued as an opportunity to enjoy whole environments rather than any one of their consumable parts. It’s been touted as ‘the magical wand to arrest rural decay’. But decay is not always the challenge faced by rural populations.
There are two major challenges to this idyllic setting a stone's throw from Lake Banyoles. French Electric is very interested in stringing a chain of pylons across the local countryside; and necessary overplanting to accommodate Spain’s growing industry in plant-based fuels is taking more and more acreage away from balanced food production in the area. Rural tourism can help to enhance public perspectives and political support for rural preservation.
'So, what’s a pylon or two?' we debate.
We talk about ‘manageable change’…
and ‘sustainable progress’…
‘the benefits of socio-economic development’…
‘so much to be earned by so few’…
Thankfully we are interrupted by a soft, hollow clanging from the past. Over it, a brushing of voices. Bleating and clanging, as the approaching storm casts an unreal light over the nearby woods. It's the soundtrack of a quaint, old film. A favorite Bible story. A children’s fairy tale...
And we remember that some things are simply better left as they are.
and ‘sustainable progress’…
‘the benefits of socio-economic development’…
‘so much to be earned by so few’…
Thankfully we are interrupted by a soft, hollow clanging from the past. Over it, a brushing of voices. Bleating and clanging, as the approaching storm casts an unreal light over the nearby woods. It's the soundtrack of a quaint, old film. A favorite Bible story. A children’s fairy tale...
And we remember that some things are simply better left as they are.
IF YOU GO:
- www.calrajoler.com
© Copyright 2008 by Cary Kamarat . All rights reserved.
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