- katetodd502
Travel Diaries: Ávila, Spain
Updated: Sep 20, 2022
April 2022
If you’re a traveler who cringes at tourist-trap plazas laced with performance artists and trendy, instagramable restaurants adorned with fake florals, Ávila may be your solace. A town nestled in the province of Castilla-La Mancha, Ávila exudes old-world medieval character, stripped-down beauty, and religious grandeur, being the birthplace of St. Teresa. Ávila will not check all of your boxes if you are seeking a more typical, hedonistic trip to Spain replete with sunshine, sangria, and nightly Spanish guitar shows (cue the film Vicky Cristina Barcelona) - but I promise it's worth the visit.
My first impression of Avila was rose-colored from the beginning. The day was cloudy, a chill in the air imbuing the trip with mystery and intrigue as we boarded the train out northwest from Madrid. On the two hour trip, our eyes were treated to cows grazing verdant grass, horses flirting with each other in vast fields, towns nestled in dense forest, and snow-glazed mountain tops in the distance. My boyfriend, Pepe, and I hopped off the train at half past noon, the ten-degree drop in temperature from Madrid biting us teasingly (49 degrees in April), and rain droplets kissing our heads. After unloading bags in our hotel a bit of a trek from the town’s center, we took a bus back to town and ambled around the quaint streets, marvelling at its bare-boned, quiet beauty, our stomachs rumbling audibly.
After a quick Yelp search for the best restaurants in town, we approach the stairs up to Los Candiles. We are turned away, but are prudent enough to reserve a table for the next day. Our bones chilled, we turned some corners and our eyes wandered up to a nondescript deli: Mesón Gredos. Upon entry, I was immediately comforted by the chili peppers, garlic, and jamón knotted together adorning the walls and banister like Christmas garlands. “Donde quereis,” the chaval behind the deli counter assures us, gesturing us to sit wherever we desire upstairs. As we walk up the winding staircase to the second floor, I am once again convinced that best restaurants in Spain make you feel as though you are walking into someone’s dining room. We sit down at a table in the corner, dining with about two other families in the intimate space.
For a mere 18 euros each, we share a bottle of Rioja and a three-course meal. Our first pick is clear-cut: judías del barco to warm our bones, which is served boiling in a clay pot, steam dancing up to warm my face. The salty chorizo paired with savory broth and juicy beans is sinfully scrumptious. Pepe orders patatas revolconas topped with pork belly, and I’m awestruck that his head-sized appetizer is only course one of three. We then slowly savor our second course: his a red-wine glazed beef, mine a thin entrecot with papas fritas. Our young waitress carries a surly, tired look about her. I could sense that she'd been working at this family business as soon as she was old enough and wished to be whisked away like Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz. She asks if we want a postre. Pepe looks at me and coaxes, “puede que quepa uno, no?” We decide on the cheesecake, hands down the best I’d ever had: savory, spongey, dense and light at the same time, testament to an unshakeable family recipe.
Bellies bursting at the seams, we embark on a walk across the town, its cozy streets inviting us to fall into a carefree pace. There are stunning churches on every corner, many so tall that your head cranes to see the top of it. After knocking on many ancient locked doors, we decide the siesta is a true institution here and continue onwards. Pepe declares, “I swear if we find a warm church, I will believe in God.” We find the square of Santa Teresa and to our surprise, the church doors aren’t locked. We enter and find St. Teresa’s humble shrine in the back left corner of the church, complete with a replica of her bedroom as a little girl. We sit down together on the back pew and watch as other tourists enter and marvel at the adornments of her shrine - heavy gold plastered on all four walls from the bottom to the top, complete with a beautiful porcelain sculpture of her. Once our respects were paid, we headed out to find our next destination: the cathedral. The town is so charmingly small no maps were needed - we were able to find our way following our noses.
If you visit Ávila, a must-do is the Catedral de Ávila. Although it possesses just an ounce of the fame Notre Dame does, I found it just as prodigious, or even more so. As its construction started in 1095 and finished in 1475, it is gothic in every sense of the word: cold and cavernous stone walls, grandiose wheel chandeliers, harboring illuminating candles, a dome ceiling that is worth craning your neck to admire. There is also a museum included in your entry ticket that exhibits garments, old scripture, and other timeworn religious relics.
After our cathedral visit, we idled out to find solace in a warm cafe, affronted yet again by the apathetic and forlorn youth serving us. This young man was again charged with palpable ganas to leave this small town, not a single smile or eye contact delivered, filling me with a sense of melancholy. We ordered café con leche and ate an orange donut as well as Yemas de Santa Teresa before taking a bus back to the hotel. If you ever visit Ávila, it’s crucial to try these yemas, traditional saccharine pastries made from only egg yolk, water, sugar, and lemon. The story goes that these pastries became popular during Saint Teresa’s life, when nuns would prepare them in their convents. Winemakers in this time period used egg yolks in the purification process of wine production, and would give the leftover egg yolks to nuns as it was tradition for them to prepare sweets to sell.
