!Qué verde era mi valle!


Parafraseando al enorme John Ford… qué verde es mi valle .

Me tendréis que permitir este pequeño homenaje al lugar donde nací, donde está este corazón loco, donde siempre encuentro la paz aunque el mundo se vuelva loco a mi alrededor.

El Valle del Gévalo, en los montes de Toledo, es un lugar casi desconocido y que guarda enormes tesoros naturales.


Furrowed by the river Gévalo, it is a valley that occupies a great backbone within the region of La Jara in the westernmost end of the Montes de Toledo.

From Los Navalmorales, where the “civilization” ends, we begin to delve into the mountain.

From here, it’s all magic.

What will you find there?

Unspoiled nature, crystalline waters, a green valley populated with Oaks, Holm oaks, Gall, Cork oaks, arbutus, heather, birch, chestnut, Jara and ancient yew… Of those who have been the guardians of the valley for 2,000 years.

And if you are lucky, you will be able to cross with a stag, a deer, a boar, a badger, some otter, eagles, owls, frogs, some Roadrunner Fox and a myriad of birds.

What to see?

Everything, but there are two places of exceptional beauty.

The Microreserve of the biosphere La Garganta de las Lanchas, where you can see three waterfalls of spectacular beauty, and enjoy the Parrot (Prunus lusitanica), related to Prunos, rosebushes and similar species. This species has an age of more than 50 million years, in particular of a time when the climate was much warmer and moister than the present. When the weather was changing getting colder and drier, all the species were disappearing except the most resistant, they managed to survive in specific areas with favorable characteristics, so precisely for that reason they are very scarce.

And the hermitage of Piedraescrita, a hermitage of the 12th century, nestled in the rock, with a gabled roof that pours over the Tajo and Guadiana basins. Its main feature is a valuable tilework Talavera from the 16TH and 17TH century with scenes from the New Testament that cover its walls.



Here you have a video flying over the Garganta de las Lanchas … beautiful, right?

Ida Vitale

Who better than the winner of the Cervantes Prize 2018 to accompany you for this beautiful tour?

Uruguayan poet and critic born in Montevideo in 1924.
He studied humanities in his country, teaching literature until 1973 when the dictatorship forced her into exile.
He lived in Mexico from 1974 to 1984, settling definitively in Austin, Texas, since 1989.





Do they get hurt and melt?
They just ceased to be the rain.
Sleepers in recess,
kittens of a transparent kingdom,
they run free by glass and railings,
thresholds of his limbo,
are followed, pursued,
maybe they go, from solitude to weddings,
To melt and love each other.
they dream of another death.

Of “Infinity Reduction” 2002


… after both here and there coming and going.
Francisco de Aldana

They are here and there: by the way,
every horizon: where an ember attracts.
They could go to any fissure.
No compass, no voices.

They cross deserts that the bravo Sun
or that the frost burn
and infinite fields without the limit
that makes them real,
that would make them solid and grassy.

The look lies like a dog,
without even the resource of moving a tail.
The gaze lies down or regresses,
is pulverized by air
If no one returns it.
Does not return to the blood or reach
to whom I should.

It dissolves, so alone.

Of “De procura lo imposible” 1998


Month of May

I write, write, write
And I don’t drive to anything, to anyone.
The words are frightening me
like doves, deafly crackling,
they root in their dark lump,
are prevailed with fine scruple
of the undeniable scandal:
over the vague written shadow
I care more about loving you.

From “Oidor Andante” 1972



horse and knight are already two animals

One plus one, we say. And we thought:
an apple plus an apple,
a glass and a glass,
always the same things.

What change when
one plus one be a puritan
more a gamelan
a jasmine plus an arab,
a nun and a cliff,
a song and a mask,
again a garrison and a maid,
someone hope
plus the dream of another.

Of “Infinity Reduction” 2002

! The journey has begun!

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The Valle Del Jerte in bloom is one of the most beautiful landscapes to discover when the spring begins to awaken.

Two million cherry blossoms of immaculate white, planted on terraces in this narrow valley, give you a deep, scented silence of flowers.

Lying under this canopy of white against the blue infinity you feel that you are part of this planet.

It Is one of those places that you will take a swelling heart of white and a quiet happiness, where you leave only your smile and the footprint of your feet.



The Spanish Sakura

Cherry blossoms, Sakura桜 in Japanese, have an important meaning. This is related to part of the samurai code in Japan. What’s more, the emblem of the Samurai warriors was the cherry blossom. The aspiration of a samurai was to die in his moment of maximum splendor, in battle, and not to age and “wilt”, nor wilt the cherry blossom, which falls from the tree pushed by the wind.

The Importance of Sakura dates back centuries, when the flowering of these trees marked the beginning of spring and, therefore, warned of the ideal time to plant rice, crucial food for the first inhabitants of This country.

During This period, the cherry trees were seen as sacred beings and it was believed that the souls of the mountain gods nested within them.

For this reason, the farmers worshipped these trees and believed that, when the Sakura ‘s Flowers were at its peak, it was when the gods descended to the villages and became rice paddies to help the rice production.

As good lovers of beauty, we celebrate our particular Hanami花見, which literally translates to “looking at flowers.”

Do you know where to enjoy this blossom in Japan? Look here

And If you are not in Japan, or you are far away, here you have the best places in the world to see the cherry blossoms, surely some of you are close.

Our hanami: Mixed

Under The flower canopy of the cherry trees, sitting with friends to have a wine, a little cheese and some olives, has been our wonderful Hanami this year.

And at nightfall, on the edge of the river Jerte, while the cherry blossoms were contemplating us from the other side of the river, our Hanami 花見has continued with a paella over fire next to the transparent and magical waters of this river.


Until you master good video tools, here I leave a very “homemade” Jerte Valley in bloom.

View of the valley through the white of the flowers, isn’t it to fall in love?

Extremadura is the birthplace of Inma Chacón

This Valley is the best place to read his poems to those who love that wonder of cherry blossoms, as she writes:

“… A ritual that begins tenaciously every March. “


If we should look mirrors
where quenching thirst and drought

what would the water be like?

And the value,
If the shield reflex was enough
to overcome fear?

What would be the crying
If we could bleed
In the veins of the others.

And dreams
If we were not
The ones that close our the eyelids.

What would be the skinless hug
And the rain without splashes.
Brightness without crystal
of transparency, without the other side.

What would Sisyphus without stone behind his back?

From the black, from the shadow.
of truth,
of the day,
of the silk rubbing.

What would the myth
without us?

If you want to know more about her here you have her personal page

Some poems by Inma Chacón


(Nine of Cups)

Not even the smell of your clothes

has managed to stay

In the closet.

Anything about you

they already preserve these walls

where you hung my pictures,

this vacuum

that will order other hands

at his leisure.

Neither you nor I

We belong already

to this place

that looked so ours.

Nightmares and dreams

they left the house

with us.

Only the garden

vaguely remembers

what we were,

Our garden

and its perennial trees.



… A ritual that begins tenaciously every March



El Valle de la Barranca is one of those narrow mountain valleys, with its jumping creek, its wild pines that perfume the air and a couple of reservoirs so that the beauty of La Bola del Mundo and la Maliciosa is reflected in its serene waters.

just an hour from Madrid, this enchanting valley offers you a beautiful and easy path with a beautiful route of about 11 kilometres along the slopes of the valley. If you want a route already champions, get in La Maliciosa


In the silence of the forest you will find birds singing at the beginning of the spring, playful squirrels, crows, griffon vultures, wild boars, foxes, shod eagles that spend their summers here and, if you are lucky, you can marvel at the flight of the Royal Eagle.

after skirting the two reservoirs, revel in the elegance of the ducks drawing perfect uves in the water, scare some frog with our footsteps and breathe deep, my Little squire Blue and I began to climb through the pines. A curious squirrel watched us from the branches, Blue ran under the tree as saying “come down and play for a while”, but she continued to jump ignoring us.

The road is slowly rising leaving the river Samburiel down. An hour later, when the song of the river barely reached the pines, I decided to go down to his side for a steep slope and loose soil full of dry pine leaves that I thought was going to give me the coup of the century. Fortunately we got to the river without incident.

I Am passionate about the water streams, the perfect crystal of their pools, the crazy eddies that hold the branches that have dragged the winter, the foam path of their little jumps…


Walking along the edge of the river, with the fluffy ground and the sound of the water is a wonderful experience of peace and communion with nature.

A couple of kilometres above I wanted to cross it to see a giant: a huge, impressive pine that extends its roots as arms of Hercules on the hillside that goes down to the river and its glass stands out against the sky as the elder brother of a family INM Ensa.

I looked for a step on the stones of the river, something simple and without too much risk, I go alone where there is no mobile coverage, and after many calculations I found a place to cross. Blue, who may be more aware than me, was spinning around and around like checking every stone, evaluating the possibilities. I prepared myself to make a good jump to a big stone in the middle of the stream, from there to the other side of the river there were another couple of jumps, but much easier.

I jumped, not without a bit of leg tremor, and I stood there waiting for the Blue jump. The dog jumped but slipped, fell into the water in the middle of a current so intense that it took river down almost a meter. He managed to swim to the shore and there, drenched and tembandoed with cold, he began to bark at me.

arm-wrestling, I jumped back to the shore where I had left off.

From afar I sent my hug to the old pine on the other side of the river, and walked back while Blue ran cheerful and wet.

Back next to the reservoir we sat in the sun, eating the sandwich and watching the clouds move over a transparent blue sky.

And then, all of a sudden, we were able to enjoy the magic of the Eagle’s flight over the valley. ! We are fortunate!


The afternoon passed between the singing of the birds and the poems of

Wislawa Szymborska

The sensibility of this Polish poet, Nobel Prize in literature, disarms you.

If you want to read his poems, here

Some Poems:

The silence of plants

A one-sided relationship is developing quite well
between you and me.

I know what a leaf, petal, kernel, cone, and stem are,
and I know what happens to you in April and December.

Though my curiosity is unrequited,
I gladly stoop for some of you,
and for others I crane my neck.

I have names for you:
maple, burdock, liverwort,
eather, juniper, mistletoe, and forget-me-not;
but you have none for me.

After all, we share a common journey.
When traveling together, it’s normal to talk,
exchanging remarks, say, about the weather,
or about the stations flashing past.

We wouldn’t run out of topics, for so much connects us.
The same star keeps us in reach.
We cast shadows according to the same laws
Both of us at least try to know something, each in our own way,
and even in what we don’t know there lies a resemblance.

Just ask and I will explain as best I can:
what it is to see through my eyes,
Why my heart beats
and how come my body is unrooted.

But how to answer questions never made,
and when, on top of that the one who would answer
is such an utter nobody to you?

Undergrowth, shrubbery, meadows, and rushes…
everything I say to you is a monologue,
and it is not you who’s listening.

A conversation with you is necessary and impossible,
urgent in a hurried life
And it’s postponed forever

It’s all in season. I feel made,
I know woman and nail to the ground
Deep root, and I tend in flight
The branch, certain in you, of its harvest.

How the branch grows and what right!
Everything is today in my trunk a single yearning
To live and live: To tend to heaven,
Upright, like the arrow

That is thrown into the cloud. So upright
That your voice has learned the skill
of opening it smiling and flourishing.

I’m shaking your voice. For her I feel
That the warped branch straightens out
And the fruit of my voice grows in the wind.

End and beginning

After each War

Someone has to clean up.

Things won’t straighten themselves up, after all.

I say.


Someone has to get mired

in scum and ashes,

So that they can pass

The wagons full of corpses.


Somebody’s got to get

Between the mud, the ashes,

The docks of the sofas,

The glass splinters

and bloody rags.


Someone has to drag a beam

To prop up a wall,

Someone put a glass in the window

And the door on its hinges.


Photogenic it’s not,

And it takes years.

All the cameras are gone already

To another war.


We’ll need the bridges back,

and new railway stations.

Sleeves will go ragged

from rolling them up.


Someone, broom in hand,

still recalls the way it was.

Someone else listens

and nods with unsevered head.

But already there are those nearby

There will begin to be some

To those who are bored.


There will still be those who sometimes

find among bushes

Arguments bitten by rust,

And take them to the garbage heap.


Those who knew

Of what was going here the thing

They will have to leave their place

Those who know little.

And less than little.

And even practically nothing.


On the grass that covers

Causes and consequences

Surely there will be someone lying down,

With a spike between the teeth,

Looking at the clouds.

Of “End and Beginning” 1993



Happy Love

Happy Love. Is It normal,
Is it serious, is it positive?
What does the world serve two beings
Who don’t see the world?

Lifted up each other without deserving it,
Two any in one million, more convinced
What would happen to them. A reward for what? You are welcome.
The light falls from nowhere.
Why do you give in them and not in others?
Does it offend justice? Yes.
Does it violate established rules with care,
and cast the moral from the peak? Yes on both accounts.

Look at the happy ones:
If at least it hide a little bit,
fake a little depression for their friends’ sake?
Listen to them laughing – it’s an insult.
The language they use – deceptively clear.
And their little celebrations, rituals,
Those elaborate and mutual attentions,
it’s obviously a plot behind the human race’s back!

What would happen
If their example were to be imitated?
What religion and poetry would appeal to,
What would be remembered and what was forgotten,
Who would choose to remain locked in the circle.

Happy Love. Is It necessary?
Tact and judgment force silence
As if it were a scandal of the high spheres of life.

Perfectly good children are born without its help.
It couldn’t populate the planet in a million years,
it comes along so rarely.

Let the people who never find true love
keep saying that there’s no such thing.

Their faith will make it easier for them to live and die.


Who stole my coat? by BLUE

Who stole my coat? by BLUE

Who stole my coat?


Yesterday I was so happy and warm with my beautiful and long hair “look at my brunette what kills hair” and today made a miserable without a coat and with no dignity at all.


! I feel naked!

I don’t mind knots in my hair.

I ‘m not bothered by the seeds that are hooked to my hair.

I don’t mind not being perfectly combed like those cheesy city grandmother dogs.

I don’t mind taking eons to dry.



Who stole my coat?


I’m not worth excuses


Who stole my coat?






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EL CAMINITO DEL REY (Málaga) and María Victoria Atencia

EL CAMINITO DEL REY (Málaga) and María Victoria Atencia

El Caminito del Rey is one of those magical places that Andalucia offers. A place where you feel bird and rock, flight and abyss, stone and water.

In the heart of the Sierra Malagueña, the River Guadalhorce dug the gorge of the Gaitanes, which was used to build a reservoir inaugurated by King Alfonso XIII in 1921. A hydroelectric station was built taking advantage of the inclination of the terrain but to move around the area they had to build a footbridges directly located in the wall of the rock.

In 2014, after years of abandonment and deterioration, the Junta de Andalucía has rebuilt these three kilometres of footbridge over the steep abyss of the gorge.

A place where you feel like a bird or a rock.

Suitable for those who do not have vertigo, or dominate…



The way

Since access to visitors is restricted, tickets must be purchased as soon as possible. And get ready to invest about 5 or 6 hours in the eight kilometers of the tour.

The road goes in one direction, so there are two areas to leave the car. You always walk from the North Access (gorge of the Gaitanejo) and you exit to the South access. There are almost-free buses to access the parking lot where you left your car.

A beautiful forest welcomes you in the almost three kilometres of travel before reaching the entrance to the gorge. A path curdled with small blue lagoons, the river running calmly, a transparent air and the thousands of birds that now in February begin to prepare the nests.

Already at the entrance door begins the most beautiful part of the road and also the least solitary. The tour is accompanied by a guide of the path that explains all the details of the route. His information is interesting, but if you read the guide, you document on how it was built, the reasons for the path, the milestones and peculiarities, you can enjoy a little more solitude.

The groups with their guides leave every 20 minutes from the access door. They are groups of 20 people, driving along a narrow and winding road. Something crowded the walkers.

I decided to slow down a bit about the group (despite the insistence of the guide to stay together) to enjoy in solitude the captivating and unique landscape.

To be able to observe the lizards walking the rocks, the ants passing the scarce spaces of earth and grass, the flight of the birds crossing tirelessly the abyss that opens to your feet and the wind whistling between the walls of rock.

In some sections the catwalk hanging over the abyss produces vertigo, despite being tremendously safe, well anchored to the rocks and with steel wires bordering the abyss. In the silence of the path you imagine the men who built the original footbridges and feel admiration for them.

The river a bird’s eye view

All the way, hanging over the abyss, you can see the river, a radiant blue, down, very low.

In some sections, as you can see in this picture, both paths, the old and the new, run parallel to the rock wall.


Here’s a map of the Caminito.

Do you want a bird’s eye view of the King’s path?

watch this video shot with drone by Lev Vakulin

Happy to have overcome the vertigo on the way.

You want some advice?

You are next to a beautiful city built on a hill: Alora

Spend a couple of hours walking the streets, you won’t be disappointed.

In my rearview mirror, the Church of Our Lady of the Incarnation.

Malaga is the cradle of a great poet: María Victoria Atencia.

If you want to read his poems, here

Some poems by María Victoria Atencia


It’s all in season. I feel made,
I know woman and nail to the ground
Deep root, and I tend in flight
The branch, certain in you, of its harvest.

How the branch grows and what right!
Everything is today in my trunk a single yearning
To live and live: To tend to heaven,
Upright, like the arrow

That is thrown into the cloud. So upright
That your voice has learned the skill
of opening it smiling and flourishing.

I’m shaking your voice. For her I feel
That the warped branch straightens out
And the fruit of my voice grows in the wind.


Under my bed are shells, algae, sands:
start your cold where my sheets end.
Would graze a seine with unhooking arms
and his network would tend to the mast-top
of this floating bed between coffin and Tina.
When I close my eyes, they cover me with scales.

When I close my eyes, the wind of the Strait
It puts Guinea smell on wet clothes,
put salt in a basket of flowers and bunches
of green and black grapes on top of my pillow,
it puts swelling insomnia, and in a stringer then
I feel with my dream to see the water pass by.


Epitaph for a Girl

Because you were denied the time of bliss
your heart rests so oblivious to the roses.
Your blood and flesh were your richest dress
and the earth did not know the firmness of your passage.

Here begins your sowing and ends together
-such is buried with a vanquished at the end of the bout-,
where the water in November is your tenderness
and the bark of a dog has a voice of omen.

Still your life all to the touch of death,
that the seeds can and curtails the buds,
you stayed in unopened cocoon, and you never
You’ll know the spring floral burst.


!Si, quiero la Guía!

Responsable Marisol Torres.

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Responsable Marisol Torres.

Aquí nuestra Política de Privacidad.