Tuesday 8th December: Cuellar

I returned to Cuellar early on the following Tuesday to explore the town thoroughly. The town itself, dating from at least the 11th century if not earlier is situated on the edge of a plateau in the province of Segovia, 6okms from that city and 50kms southwest of Valladolid.

Dominated by its large medieval castle which sits at the top of the town, the town almost spills over the edge of the plateau, tumbling down the slope with a network of streets which lead down to a hollow dip in the land where much of the modern town spreads out. Cuellar overlooks a vast plain that runs eastward towards the Sierra Guadarrama, which are just visible in the cool December haze. Beyond those mountains lies Madrid some 150kms away.

The town has seen better days but, full of the joys of following the story of Francisco de Cuellar to here it feels magical to walk around the ancient streets. However, despite the excitement of being here there is no definite proof that this was actually the hometown of Francisco de Cuellar. There is a population of about 10,000 here. The castle was that of an aristocratic family, the Beltran de la Cueva, Dukes of Albuquerque, a prominent family in the sixteenth century. Five kilometers from the town is the shrine of Nuestra Senora del Henar to whom Francisco prayed at the moment he jumped from the stricken Lavia as it was pounded to pieces by the storm waves at Streedagh.

Being a holy day it was very quiet around town. Shops were closed. There were a few people around the streets, but not many. At the heart of the walled old town lies the plaza Mayor, a small square on which sits one of the towns many churches, the Iglesia de San Miguel. Huddled around the edge of the plaza are a collection of old townhouses, some undergoing repair, along with the towns principal hotel and the Ayuntamiento, the town hall. Six streets radiate from the plaza leading to different parts of the town. I followed the Calle Moreria uphill to Arco San Martin, a gate which leads through the fortifications which protected the old castle.

Cuellar appears to have been a wealthy place in the past. Old monuments that testify to its fomer splendour are scattered all around town, from the many churches to the imposing walls and the collection of plazas. I stopped for lunch in a modest bar run by a husband and wife on the Calle San Estaban. I was the only punter in the place and the wife appeared slightly bemused by me as I ordered a beer and some food from the menu. While I ate the couple sat quietly watching tv. I think I was hungier than I realized as I literally licked the plate clean which, I think, pleased the wife as a compliment to her cooking.

In the afternoon I visited the castle in the company of five or six others. In the past as well as housing the Dukes of Albequerque, Napoleonic troops troops were stationed here as well as troops loyal to Franco during the Civil War. Today a school occupies part of the castle buildings. From the battlements we watched the magnificent views over the surrounding plains.

Afterwards, as darkness fell I made my way to a bar, housed in one of the towns churches, the Iglesia de San Pedro. The refurbished church made a beautifully atmospheric cafe bar, the place was snug and warm with spanish music playing softly in the background. I ordered a hot chocolate, so good I ordered a second, and took out the copy of Francisco's carta I had originally downloaded at an internet cafe in Chachapoyas, Peru a year ago and almost ceremonially re-read his account of his experiences in Ireland. I had carried that copy with me on all of my travels of the past year and so it was fitting to conclude the journey by re-reading it once more. 'I believe that you will be astonished at seeing this letter on account of the slight certainty that could have existed as to my being alive. That you may be quite sure of this I write it, and at some length, for which there is sufficient reason in the great hardships and misfortunes I have passed through since the armada sailed from Lisbon for England......'

I took one last stroll around the town, taking in the sights under the streetlights before I made my way back to the bus station to catch a ride back to Valladolid. The journey to Cuellar was over but with a series of documents already found in Simancas, and the tantalizing possibility of finding more the real search for Francisco de Cuellar is really only beginning....