Bouldering in Medieval Spain

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As we passed through the tunnel, re-entering Albarracin, it was already late afternoon. We drove straight up the hill onto the plateau and I parked at the main parking, wanting to climb on a block a mere 50m from the car. I sent a 6a on the first block with an aggressive heel hook to slopey top out. I would later send the neighbouring 6c but I knew from the very start that it would take several sessions. The moves are very strong and need to be thought out and experimented with.

In a natural alleyway of sorts I went on to do an easy feeling 6a+ and a 6b that needed a very technical but static twist of the foot to grab one of the upper holds, leading to a heartbreaking top out, so typical of Albarracin. Once you grab the lip the work is far from done.

My week in Albarracin all kind of blends together. We found great camping close to a rocky outcrop with spectacular views into the valley. I climbed once to twice a day for two to three hours a session. We spent a lot of time lying on crash pads by the river where I camped on my first night, a place which seems well known for offering a great siesta. On any given day at least five cars stay there for hours, doing little but eating, sleeping, reading and listening to the sound of the fast moving water. Occasionally the smell of weed smoke drifts in with a breath of warm air.

We spent a lot of time in the town. One day we spent two hours wandering amongst the walls, marvelling at the occupational health and safety. Or rather lack of it. Albarracin's walls are still an exciting place. In one bit you can walk along the top with fifteen metre drops on each side and no railings. In others the stair cases are just incredibly narrow with an unprotected drop on one side. In a video I'd seen climbers jumping from one tooth of the wall to the next. Although easy it seemed crazy while there with huge consequences should you overbalance. The city seems compact from this high up, as if you could walk from side to side in two minutes. People feel absent, hidden in the depths of the city's alleyways. We stayed until an hour and a half before sunset, long enough to watch a light come over the city, changing the tone of the walls from cream to an earthy orange. 

With each day of climbing I felt the pads on the tips of my fingers becoming stronger. Not once did I draw blood on Albarracin's red sandstone. I pushed many problems at 6a and a considerable amount of 6b, including one very scary 6b+ highball. The line was vertical and crimpy, sporting many interesting moves high above the ground and a crux that scared me enough that I didn't feel like trying it the first time I reached the hold beneath it. Its a monster, some 6.5m high. When I topped it and looked down at the pads far below I couldn't believe I'd topped something that high with such small, technical moves. 

On one day we headed up to the town safety fortress. You can't usually enter it except via special arrangement. This is enforced by a solid steel door guarding the only probable entrance. I took my thongs off and climbed up onto some rocks. My feet were two metres above the ground before I reached the wall proper. I climbed up another 2.5m on small holds before I could grab the top of the wall. I hurled myself over. I felt so exposed now inside, as if the whole town could see me. A couple walked up towards the entrance and saw me. “Entrada?” They asked. “Mas o menos.” I replied. More or less. There is an entrance if you want to climb up 4.5m like I just did. 

I dashed around on top, admiring this unique perspective of the town. The town is definitely at its most impressive from here, the fortress being close to the very centre and at the perfect height. I did a full lap, keeping only my head poking out over the top of the wall, trying not to attract unnecessary attention. There's little inside besides wooden walkways, designed to protect archeological projects, and the ruins of a few buildings that would have once housed weapons and supplies.

Getting back down was easier than I expected. I grabbed the inside of two blocks making up the wall and lowered myself down. My feet found two small holds from where I could grab the lip. I delicately lowered myself back onto the rocks from where I could get back to ground level. I was in the clear. I love a good little urban climb from time to time.

When Pablo had been talking to someone in town they recommended we check out a certain bar that attracts a young crowd. On the night we chose to do this we walked to the terraced square above the cathedral before descending a flight of stairs into the alleyway below. On a lower terrace we got talking to an artist with incredible skill in monochrome that had immigrated to Spain from Cuba. We found him sitting, painting on the balcony outside his house, listening to music through a speaker attached to his computer. His taste in music was defined and strong. At times I found myself struggling to listen to what people were saying because the music was rigorously stimulating my thoughts. 

 He had a good grasp of English and a clear accent which he used to give some interesting insights into how he sees Spain. He told us how he hates traditional Spain because judgments formed the first time you see people and disputes can last a life time. He told us about how people clearly know about you and have a strong opinion of you before they have even met you. I agreed with him that these elements of traditional life seem good for nothing. I'd seen the same thing in the Italian community back home and have always thought of it as petty and small minded, immature even.

On one of the nights I set out at about 7:30 to climb alone. Some guys approached me and asked me if I was going to Arrastradero, a sector literally meaning “the dragger”. I said yes. They'd had trouble finding English speakers to ask. It turns out that they themselves were from Germany. We got talking, found the sector together and ended up climbing together until it was dark. One of them climbed at an extremely elite level, 8a. It was impressive just to watch him climb. To flash Esperanza, a very technical 6c, as if it was nothing. 

One of the others climbed at a grade that was similar to mine which was nice. They were all very friendly, fun people to be around and I ran into them every day from then on. On my last day in Albrarracin one of them came to struggle with El Cocodrilo with me, a one move 6b problem that is all of half a metre high. You start on your back before lifting up your weight and turning yourself completely upside down to arrive on top, straddling the head of the crocodile. It's definitely an interesting problem.

I was definitely sad to be leaving Albarracin at the end of our week there but I'm sure I'll be back. This year even. Its perfect in so many ways. You have an amazing historic town coupled with some of Europe, if not the world's best bouldering. It has so much to offer. Now I know all the ins and outs of the place. Where the best of the camping is. Which sectors I like to climb in. The ones I missed out on. My favourite problems. Where you can find friendly locals that sit out the front of there house all day, every day. There's not many places outside of my own state I know like that and its a special experience to feel that kind of connection to a foreign place.