"The Valley of Falling"

I renamed the Valley of the Fallen the “Valley of Falling” immediately when I exited the tour bus to meet a starchy sheet of mountain snow with my butt. The Valley of the Fallen in El Escorial holds the world’s largest free-standing Christian cross. It is erected into the mountains and stands above a colossal Catholic church that houses the tomb of Francisco Franco. As I have not yet been to Rome, this church mesmerized me as most massive religious place I have been inside. I was a raindrop inside its ocean like vastness. To imagine its size, consider that when it was originally constructed, following the Spanish Civil War, the Pope insisted Franco downsize his cathedral because its immensity threatened the Vatican’s position as supreme Catholic authority. Both the cross and cathedral are products of republican labor after their defeat in the Spanish Civil War. Backbreaking construction was ordered by Franco and led to innumerable republican deaths; their graves now scatter the mountainous shrine commemorating Franco.

The intermingling of Franco’s corpse and those republican prisoners, who died under his iron fist, alone, makes the Valley of the Fallen in El Escorial a controversial place. Yet, it is more fascinating to note that those who were not tourists like me, taking posed pictures and being shhhhed by security, were Nationalists (historically defined as Francoists). WOw! Rebels still exist? They are not barbarian murderers now exiled in far away land? This is the first of many realizations that have widened my eyes and expanded my mind like elastic.

In my literature course abroad I’ve studied the Spanish Civil War extensively. The Bad Guys (Francoists) beat the Good Guys (republicans) and horrifically, Spain was overrun by Franco and fascism. This was my understanding before my visit to El Escorial. There I shared an aisle with Spaniards whose weekly routine it is to worship the Lord, and probably pay respect to Franco, in the Valley of the Fallen. It was first hard to understand why Spaniards would kneel beside Francisco Franco, the man who tore apart their nation less than a century ago. Then, I was introduced to a new perspective. “Under Franco Alcala was cleaner, it was safer for women and everyone was respectful; they cared about God.” From the many sweet Spaniards who frequented Franco’s cathedral and my friend, whose host mother raved about the city during Franco’s regime, I am able to recognize what was awful for some Spaniards gave peace to others. Thus, I am in no position to deem all Francoists bad nor their opposition totally good. It is like every mother has said; two wrongs do not make a right.

This visit, followed by a guided tour through King Phillip II’s summer palace, also located in San Lorenzo de El Escorial, is the first of many trips I will take to explore the culture and history of Spain. They differ from the tropical beaches and dazzling discotechas I will later frequent because they serve as a historical hiatuses from the beloved humdrum of life as a college student, schoolwork, sleep, party etc. To explore the cathedrals, palaces and tombs of the men and women who’ve both built a nation then bombed it down frees me from the bubble that so many college students have grown comfortable inside. I want to soak in Spain like a sponge so I am drenched and fulfilled and no bubble can find the friction to entrap me.