Leading the Blind (23 page)

In 1892 the most convenient way to Spain was still by boat to Gilbraltar or Cádiz, though a year or two later Baedeker could tell us that the ‘quickest connection is, of course, by railway via Paris'. Regarding the time necessary to see Spain, Murray now informs us that a complete tour may be made in five months ‘by those to whom
time
is an important consideration'.

A. & C. Black's guidebook for 1892 considers three months to be enough, remarking in the preface that: ‘The improvements affected in the country during the last decade, in the directions of travelling facilities, hotel, police, and sanitary arrangements, are hardly credible. The hotels in the principal cities are now equal to those of any other country; while the complete network of well-appointed lines of railway enables the traveller to visit the finest and most interesting localities in a short space of time, with comfort and with safety.'

Passports had been abolished in 1862, though foreigners were still liable ‘to be called upon by local Spanish authorities to declare their nationality, and object of their journey'. After assuring us of the efficiency of the post office, Black's says, ‘Letters are never opened save during exceptional
pronunciamiento
moments and electioneering time. It is also a mistake to put “Esquire” after the name when receiving letters
poste restante
, because the Spanish clerk who searches for the letter in the rack will think that is your surname.'

Regarding toilet facilities on the trains and at stations Murray says that some are very poor, and others ‘often mere hovels. The extreme filthiness of every place to which railway servants and passengers of every class have access in common is much to be deplored.' Even in 1913 Baedeker said that railway stations inside Spain were still ‘very primitive. The waiting-rooms are generally closed, or unusable, or altogether lacking. Refreshment rooms are rare and poor. It is advisable, therefore, to be provided with food and wine for consumption in the railway carriage.'

To depart from the railway routes still meant travelling by ‘the odious diligence', with distances measured in leagues which, ‘especially in the wilder and mountainous districts, are calculated more by guesswork than measurement'.

Black says, ‘Pedestrianism is unknown in Spain, with the exception of such areas as Asturias, Galicia, and the Pyrenees.' Bicycle tours were, however, possible in many districts favoured by long stretches of excellent roads. Volume Three of
The Cyclists Touring Road Book
of 1887 has a section on Spain for those of its 25,000 members who might wish to go there, and in the introduction it tells them: ‘As far as there is any rule of the road, it is the opposite to that which obtains in England.' Baedeker for 1913 says that, for cyclists, ‘Riding is practically impossible in summer on account of the heat; and the endless monotony of the Castilian plateau makes cycling very wearisome.'

‘Since the introduction of the railway system,' Murray explains, ‘there has been a marked development in the construction of highroads also; thus, whilst the total length of roads existing in Spain in 1855 was only 5920 English miles, it may be calculated that more than double that number are at the present time open. But even this amount is quite disproportionate to the wants of a country like Spain.'

As a cyclist or a pedestrian you would find it difficult to procure good topographical maps of the country. Baedeker in 1908 says, with rare humour: ‘Of the
Spanish Topographical Map
in 1080 sheets, on a scale of 1:50,000, projected in 1875, only 125 sheets have appeared, dealing merely with the centre of the Peninsula. At this rate a century must elapse before the completion of the work.'

Motoring was coming into vogue before the First World War, but Spain ‘cannot be recommended, chiefly on account of the inferiority of the roads, though those in the northern part of the country, as well as those around Madrid, are very fair'.

Regarding money, Baedeker reminds us: ‘Every shop-counter is provided with a stone slab for the testing of silver coins, and the traveller also should learn to know their true ring, as false coins are by no means uncommon. A handful of change should never be taken without examination, since even railway officials will sometimes try to take advantage of the unsuspecting stranger by passing base money mingled with the good.'

There was no longer much fear of brigands, though Baedeker's notes on law and order are worth reading. ‘
Public Security
in the towns of Spain is on the same level as in most other parts of Europe. For excursions into the interior, especially in S. Spain, it is advisable to make previous inquiries at the barracks of the gendarmes as to the safety of the route. Isolated cases of highway robbery still occur at intervals. The
Guardia Civil
is a select body of fine and thoroughly trustworthy men, in whom the stranger may place implicit confidence. On the other hand it is seldom advisable to call in the help of the ordinary police. In the case of a riot or other popular disturbance, the stranger should get out of the way as quickly as possible, as the careful policemen, in order to prevent the escape of the guilty, are apt to arrest anyone they can lay their hands on.'

Begging, as the national pest of Spain, seemed little altered from Ford's day. The Baedeker of 1913 tells us that: ‘Beggars accost the stranger on the streets, follow him into shops, cafés, and hotels, and sit in swarms at all church-doors. In S. Spain they even besiege the railway ticket-offices and the passing trains at wayside stations.'

In the section on ‘Intercourse with the People' we are told that in educated circles, ‘the stranger is at first apt to be carried away by the lively, cheerful, and obliging tone of society, by the charming spontaneity of manner, and by the somewhat exaggerated politeness of the people he meets. He should, however … above all refrain from expressing an opinion on religious or political questions. The national pride of the Spaniard and his ignorance of foreign conditions render a collision in such cases almost inevitable.'

We are told that, on the other hand, the Spaniard of the lower classes ‘is not devoid of national pride, but he possesses much more common sense and a much healthier dislike of humbug than his so-called superiors. The tactful stranger will not find it difficult to get in touch with him. Two points, however, must be carefully remembered. In the first place it is necessary to maintain a certain courtesy of manner towards even the humblest individual, who always expects to be treated as a “caballero”. In the second place the traveller, while maintaining his rights with quiet decision, should avoid all rudeness or roughness, which simply serves to excite the inflammable passions of the uneducated Spaniard. Common intercourse in Spain is marked by a degree of liberty and equality which the American will find easier to understand than the European.'

Perhaps one reason why not so many people visited Spain was because the traveller had to rely more on himself than in almost any other country in Europe. ‘Full and accurate information as to means of communication, the postal arrangements, the hours at which galleries and museums are open, and the like can seldom be obtained even in the hotel-offices. Waiters, porters, and other servants are of absolutely no use in this matter, partly owing to their illiteracy and partly to their complete indifference to anything beyond their own particular sphere. Enquiries in the street, unless of the very simplest nature, should be addressed only to well-dressed people. It is desirable to avoid all contact with the members of the lowest classes who haunt the footsteps of the stranger in towns like Burgos, Avila, Toledo, Granada, and Côrdova, offering their advice and services as guides. In dealing with guides, cabmen, and the like it is advisable to come to a clear understanding beforehand, even where there is a fixed tariff.'

Baedeker carries an accurate and detailed section on bullfighting, which is finally disapproving. Cock fighting was also popular in Spain, ‘especially among the less reputable classes, but it is attended by so much disgusting brutality that the tourist is advised to have nothing to do with it'.

The 1913 Baedeker is still one of the best guidebooks to Spain, which I profitably carried on my meanderings in the 1950s and 1960s. I still prefer it to modern editions, whose coloured illustrations leave nothing either to the intellect or the imagination, and which don't even give idiosyncratic opinions for the rootless cosmopolitan such as myself to wonder at.

CHAPTER TWELVE

THE ROAD TO THE EAST

Until Thomas Cook's first organized parties set out for Egypt in 1869 it was not easy to go much beyond the beaten tracks of Western Europe. An independent tour for yourself and family, or for yourself alone, to less civilized or wilder places, demanded a great deal of money, as well as enterprise and energy. In the early part of the century, such a journey resembled an expedition, as related by Alexander Kinglake in his
Eōthen
, a popular book on eastern travel.

Murray's handbooks for the East began to appear in the late 1840s, providing help and instruction to those gentleman-scholars and others who, having seen Rome, wanted to visit the classical sites of Greece, the holy places of Palestine, or the Egyptian wonders in the Valley of the Nile.

To reach such countries by steamship from England, via the Mediterranean, soon became comparatively easy, but those who decided to go overland found many difficulties in their path, though Murray (and gradually improving maps) helped them to find their way. Even so, when Harry de Windt wrote
Through Savage Europe
sometime before the Great War, and was asked: ‘Why “savage” Europe?' he replied, ‘Because the term accurately describes the wild and lawless countries between the Adriatic and Black Seas.' He might well have said the same of the area today.

The traveller setting out overland some sixty years before de Windt, and hoping to get to Constantinople relatively unscathed, would need Murray's
Southern Germany and Austria
of 1858, as well as
Greece
and
Turkey
, both of 1854. From these three volumes he would derive much practical information, as well as an adequate amount of interesting matter to read, leading him to agree with Thackeray as he jogged along that: ‘Much delight and instruction have I had in the course of the journey from my guide, philosopher, and friend, the author of “Murray's Hand-book”'.

Even as early in his journey as southern Germany, our traveller ‘must by no means expect to meet with splendid hotels. Except in the chief towns, the inns are generally built on low vaults; the entrance serves for man and beast; and an oppressive odour of the stable often pervades them. The extreme disregard to cleanliness and sweetness, which is most annoying and disgusting to Englishmen, merits the utmost reprobation. The Germans themselves do not seem to be aware of it: let it be hoped that their increased intercourse with the English will introduce a taste for cleanliness, and a greater appreciation of it. In the bed-rooms, the small provision made for washing, usually confined to a small shallow pie-dish, a caraffe or tumbler of water, and a handkerchief for a towel, proclaim the nature of German habits in this respect, and shows how easily the desire for ablution is satisfied.'

By now one could pass fairly quickly through the country by train. ‘The middle and wealthy classes travel almost exclusively in the second class, of which fact the traveller may easily satisfy himself by observing the very small number of first-class places in each train, and that even these are usually unoccupied, unless the conductor happens to have filled them with his friends.'

It was more than likely that the traveller's route lay through Bavaria, in which case he would have been interested in the following observations on beer, which the Bavarian is said to like inordinately, and to which ‘he seems even more addicted than the natives of other parts of Germany … The conversation of the people constantly runs upon the amount and the quality of the annual brewing; it is a subject of as important discussion as the vintage or harvest in other countries … A genuine beer-drinker will contrive to swallow 10 to 12 measures, each holding much more than a quart English. Notwithstanding this attachment to beer, it may be said that drunkenness is not prevalent – at least it is not offensively visible – the principal reason being that it is not easy even for a Bavarian to swallow sufficient to produce intoxication.'

Should the traveller stop off for a few days at Nuremberg, he may take a ride on the first railway completed for locomotives in Germany, to the nearby town of Fürth, where about a quarter of the population of 15,000 are Jews, who ‘being interdicted by an illiberal law from settling, or even sleeping, in Nuremberg, have made the fortune of Fürth by their industry and perseverance. They possess a college of their own here, a separate court of justice, 2 Hebrew printing establishments, and several schools and synagogues, and enjoy privileges denied them in other parts of the Continent. The town may be considered a German Birmingham …”

On coming to Austrian territory the traveller is treated with great civility, and ‘asked for his passport, and requested to declare if he had any contraband articles. Those expressly forbidden, and not admitted even on payment of duty, are playing-cards, almanacs, tobacco, snuff, cigars, and sealed letters. All
books interdicted
by the censor are at once confiscated; those about which a doubt exists are retained to be examined by the censor … As a general rule, it is worth the traveller's while, on entering a new territory, to give the douaniers a couple of francs, by which he will obtain civility and despatch.'

The traveller is reminded: ‘The same offences that would subject him to police interference in his own country would of course be attended with similar consequences in Austria; and if he were to get up in a coffee-room in Vienna and abuse the Austrian government, there is no doubt that he would find a gentleman from the police waiting at his own door in readiness to conduct him to the frontier. But to a mere traveller the police regulations are not more oppressive than in most other continental countries, and the officers by whom they are administered are usually distinguished for the civility and politeness with which they treat strangers, especially Englishmen, provided they themselves are treated as gentlemen.'