Introduction
Huesca, the capital of Aragon province in northeastern Spain, rests quietly in the foothills of the Pyrenees like a serene ancient capital. With a population of around 50,000, this city is known as part of the Camino de Santiago pilgrimage route, retaining the deep shadows of medieval times. The streetscapes woven from stone buildings are so beautiful they make one forget the passage of time, dotted with historical monuments that tell the story of the Kingdom of Aragon’s glory.
The dry earth spreading against the backdrop of the Pyrenees shines golden under Spain’s characteristic intense sunlight. The cuisine of this region is simple yet profound, characterized by a harmony between mountain bounty and plains’ blessings. What touches the heart most is the warmth of the local people. In Huesca, which hasn’t been overly commercialized for tourism, the true essence of Spain breathes quietly.
I chose this place because I wanted to feel the flow of time slowly, away from the hustle and bustle. About 300 kilometers northwest from Barcelona, roughly three hours by train, what would I discover in this town?
Day 1: Footsteps Echoing on Cobblestones
I boarded the 8 AM train from Barcelona’s Sants station, gazing at Catalonia’s verdant countryside as I headed toward Huesca. The scenery from the window gradually transformed into dry earth, with the Pyrenees mountains visible hazily in the distance. Huesca station, when I arrived, was surprisingly small, wrapped in the quietude characteristic of provincial cities.
The journey from the station to the old town took about fifteen minutes on foot. Walking the cobblestone path while pulling my luggage felt like treading on stones that had recorded history since medieval times. The small pensión I had booked was located on a quiet street just off Cathedral Square. Though the building’s exterior was modest, stepping inside revealed high-ceilinged rooms furnished with wooden pieces, exuding a somehow nostalgic atmosphere.
I began the afternoon with a city walk. My first destination was the cathedral, Huesca’s symbol. The 13th-century Gothic building was modest in appearance, but stepping inside revealed a majestic space. Particularly impressive was the beauty of the altarpiece. The figures of saints painted by local artists radiated a gentle yet powerful presence.
Leaving the cathedral, the afternoon sun was already beginning to slant. Seeking a moment’s rest at a café, I entered a small bar facing the square. When I ordered a “café con leche,” the elderly proprietor carefully prepared the espresso. The creamy milk foam formed a beautiful heart shape. The small madeleine-like pastry served with the coffee filled my mouth with almond fragrance, carrying the rustic sweetness characteristic of this land.
“Are you a tourist?” the proprietor asked in broken English. When I told him I was from Japan, his eyes lit up. “It’s rare for Japanese people to come to this town,” he said while teaching me about local attractions. Following his recommendation, I decided to visit San Pedro el Viejo Monastery in the evening.
The monastery stood quietly at the edge of the old town. The 12th-century Romanesque cloister, illuminated by the evening sun, was beautifully dyed orange. Each capital carved on the columns was different, with biblical scenes and fantastical animals expressed vividly. Particularly impressive was the capital depicting “The Last Supper.” The expressions of Christ and his disciples were carved so realistically they seemed impossible to be stone.
Walking around the cloister, I imagined medieval monks offering prayers here. Only the sound of footsteps echoing in the silence marked the passage of time. This place held a sacredness that words cannot express.
When night fell, I visited a tasca (tavern) that locals had recommended. “El Rincón del Vino” was built like a basement, with wine barrels lined against stone walls. Local people gathered there, surrounded by cheerful Spanish conversation.
Though I couldn’t understand the menu, I ordered traditional Aragonese dishes on the proprietor’s recommendation. First came a platter of “jamón serrano” and “queso manchego.” The thinly sliced ham was well-salted, complementing the creamy cheese perfectly. The main dish was “cordero asado” (roast lamb). The lamb seasoned with rosemary and garlic was crispy outside, juicy inside, with a deep flavor unlike anything I’d ever tasted.
The local wine “Somontano” was also unforgettable. This red wine produced in the region combined strength with elegance, pairing excellently with the lamb. An elderly local man sitting beside me explained about the wine in broken English, creating a warm memory.
Walking through nighttime Huesca on my way back to the pensión, the cobblestones lit by streetlamps showed a different expression from daytime. From somewhere in the quiet street corners, the sound of flamenco guitar drifted through the air. Perhaps someone was practicing at home. The melody dissolved into the night’s silence, evoking an indescribable nostalgia.
Returning to my room and opening the window, cool night air flowed in from the direction of the Pyrenees. The first day ended, and I fell asleep with anticipation for tomorrow.
Day 2: Bell Sounds Echoing in Mountain Foothills
I awoke to birdsong in the morning. From the pensión window, the ridgeline of the Pyrenees was faintly visible in the distance. Breakfast was served in a small dining room on the first floor. Though the menu was simple—bread, butter, olive oil, and local jam—the bread’s fragrance and olive oil’s rich flavor were impressive. Particularly, the Aragonese fig jam had natural sweetness and moderate acidity, pairing well with the freshly baked bread.
This day I decided to venture a bit further to visit a small village near Huesca. My destination was a village called “Alquézar,” about thirty minutes by bus from the bus terminal. Boarding the 9 AM bus, there were only a few local passengers. The driver, an uncle, said “tourists are rare” while teaching me about roadside attractions.
From the bus window spread Aragon’s typical landscape. Olive groves, vineyards, and scattered small farms. The olive trees growing in the dry earth stood powerfully despite the intense sunlight. Wind turbines spun in the distance, with Pyrenees shadows continuing beyond them.
Arriving in Alquézar, it truly was like a “hidden gem” of a village. This village of several hundred people had stone houses scattered around medieval castle ruins. The small church in the village center was an 11th-century Romanesque building whose simple beauty captivated my heart. From the church bell tower, I could overlook the entire village. Red-brown roof tiles stretched out, with cobblestone paths weaving between them.
María Carmen, a woman who managed the church, explained its history to me. “This church was an important rest stop for pilgrims,” she said. “Even now, pilgrims heading to Santiago occasionally stop by.” Listening to her story, I pondered the pilgrimage route that had continued for hundreds of years.
In the afternoon, I strolled through the village. Walking the cobblestone paths, I met an old man said to be over ninety. Introducing himself as “José,” he was born and raised in this village, never having left it once. “Everything is here,” he said proudly. “Beautiful scenery, delicious food, and good people.” His words carried deep affection for this land.
Guided by José, I visited a viewpoint on the village outskirts. From there, I could see the entire panorama of the Pyrenees. Snow-capped peaks stretched in a line, their majesty taking my breath away. “Beyond those mountains is France,” José pointed out. The mountains continuing across national borders stood majestically toward the sky, indifferent to human-drawn boundaries.
Lunch was at the village’s only restaurant, “Casa Rural.” This small family-run establishment had only a daily menu. That day featured “migas,” a traditional Aragonese dish. Breadcrumbs fried in olive oil with chorizo and peppers—a rustic dish whose depth of flavor was surprising. The accompanying salad of village-grown tomatoes and lettuce had freshness that seemed to capture the sun’s blessing directly.
While eating, I spoke with the restaurant’s proprietress, Ana María. “All the young people from urban areas leave for the cities,” she said somewhat sadly. “But this village has richness that cities don’t have.” Hearing her words made me ponder what true richness means.
Late afternoon, while waiting for the bus back to Huesca, village children returned from school. They looked at me curiously and shyly greeted me. Their innocent smiles conveyed hope for the village’s future.
I returned to Huesca in the evening. To heal my fatigue, I bought fresh bread from an old town bakery and ate it while watching the sunset in a nearby park. The bread’s fragrance and the quietly setting sun’s beauty orchestrated the day’s sense of fulfillment.
That night I again visited “El Rincón del Vino.” The same proprietor warmly welcomed me, asking “Where did you go today?” When I told him about Alquézar, he smiled nostalgically. “That’s truly a beautiful village. It’s not well-known to tourists, but that’s also what makes it good.”
This evening I ordered “paella aragonesa.” Aragonese-style paella is made with rabbit meat, green beans, and local rice. The saffron aroma and rabbit’s deep flavor matched exquisitely. Paired with local white wine, the deliciousness was exceptional.
After dinner, the proprietor Carlos recommended his homemade brandy. This brandy made in Aragon had a mellow yet strong-core flavor. “This follows a recipe my grandfather began,” he said proudly. I felt deep respect for his commitment to preserving tradition.
On the way back to the pensión, I looked up at the star-filled sky. Countless stars that could never be seen in urban areas filled the night sky. The wind blowing from beyond the Pyrenees was cool, caressing my cheeks. I will never forget the beauty of this moment for the rest of my life.
Day 3: Church Bells Ringing on the Morning of Departure
On the final morning, I woke earlier than usual. I wanted to walk slowly through Huesca’s streets one last time in the dim light. Morning dew had settled on the cobblestones, and the entire town was wrapped in silence. Bell sounds announcing morning prayers rang from the church bell tower, their solemn tones proclaiming the day’s beginning to the town.
After breakfast, while packing my luggage, I reflected on the past two days’ events. The warmth of people I met in Alquézar, the flavors of traditional cuisine, and above all, the atmosphere of this land where time flows slowly. Everything was engraved deep in my heart.
During checkout, the pensión’s proprietress said, “Please come back again.” Those words held warmth beyond mere social courtesy. I answered from my heart, “I will definitely return.” It was no empty promise.
Before heading to the station, I visited the cathedral once more. The interior illuminated by morning light showed a different expression from yesterday. Light streaming through stained glass drew beautiful patterns on the floor, and I was entranced by its mystical beauty. I offered a brief prayer before the altar. Though I don’t follow any particular religion, this place’s sacredness naturally prompted me to fold my hands.
Leaving the cathedral, the morning market was opening. Fresh vegetables, fruits, cheese, and bread brought by local farmers were displayed. Particularly eye-catching were cherries, a local specialty. The deep red ripened fruit gave off a sweet-and-sour aroma. Buying some as souvenirs, the farm grandmother smiled and said “delicious” in broken English.
While shopping at the market, I accidentally reunited with María Carmen, whom I’d met yesterday in Alquézar. She comes to Huesca’s market once a week for shopping. “I’m happy to see you again,” she said with a smile. Since I thought yesterday’s farewell was final, this chance reunion held special meaning.
“Even after returning to Japan, please don’t forget Alquézar,” she said. “We will remember you too.” Hearing those words warmed my chest. I couldn’t believe I had met such warm people in a distant foreign land.
On the way to the station, I passed in front of “El Rincón del Vino.” Carlos, who had taken such good care of me last night, was preparing in front of the shop. He also saw me and waved. “Have a good trip,” he called out. His voice sounded like a warm send-off from Huesca’s town.
Waiting for the train on Huesca station’s platform, various emotions swirled in my heart. Though it was only a two-night, three-day stay, what I experienced in this land would surely become lifelong treasures. Meeting people, encountering traditional cuisine, and above all, recovering “slow time” that tends to be lost in modern society.
The train glided into the platform. Looking at Huesca’s town from the car window one last time, the cathedral’s bell tower stood tall. Beyond it, the Pyrenees showed their unchanging majestic form. I burned this scenery into my heart.
As the train began moving, Huesca’s townscape slowly flowed backward. Stone buildings, red roof tiles, and verdant mountains. Everything was beautifully stored in memory. Someday, I will definitely return to this land. Making this vow in my heart, I set off on the return journey to Barcelona.
The scenery visible from the car window looked different from when I came. Though it was the same landscape, something had changed. I realized it wasn’t the scenery that had changed, but myself. The time spent in Huesca had left something precious in my heart.
Conclusion
Though this journey was a product of imagination, it remains engraved in my heart as events that truly occurred. José’s warm smile that I met in Alquézar, María Carmen’s kind guidance, the flavors of traditional dishes that Carlos served, and the pensión proprietress’s thoughtfulness. All of these can be recalled as vividly as if they happened yesterday.
Huesca, Spain, this small ancient capital, may not be a major destination in tourist guidebooks. However, precious things that modern society is losing still breathe there. Human connections, respect for tradition, and the richness of taking time to savor something. These are essential human values that will never change no matter how much science and technology advance.
The time spent in this town nestled in the Pyrenees foothills became an important page in my life. Even though it was imagination, the emotions and insights that experience brought were undoubtedly real. Travel doesn’t necessarily require physical movement. Perhaps the true meaning of travel lies in the heart moving, feeling something, and changing.
Someday, the day may come when I truly visit Huesca. At that time, I hope to reunite in real form with the people and scenery I encountered in this imaginary journey. And I hope more people will come to know the charm this small ancient capital possesses. Thank you, Huesca. You became not merely a stage for imagination, but a beautiful hometown-like place that will live forever in my heart.
