Magic & mythology
The Baztan Valley in Spain is rich in both ancient history and traditional folktales
THE road to hell is lined with ferns, thimbles, nettles and blackberries. A cuckoo calls. A murmur swells, and then water cascades in the middle of the forest.
Hell’s Mill is fed by the wild creek. The long-abandoned mill – called Infernuko Errota in Basque, and Molino del Infierno in Spanish – has a storied history.
During the Spanish Civil War (1936-1939), this mill ensured the survival of many families. Only the people from the area knew of its existence, and they could secretly grind corn without the compulsory state taxes.
“My great-grandmother Eusebi often came here, always at night, with a donkey and an oil lamp,” Isabel Gallego Jaunsaras says. The road through the mountains was long, a good 20 kilometres from the village of Gartzain. There was always the danger of being discovered by military police, or robbed by bandits.
Decades later, the greatgranddaughter works in a restored mill in the village of Amaiur. There, on weekends, she serves guests cornmeal cakes filled with cheese and pork sausage with paprika.
The Baztan Valley on the edge of the Pyrenees has 15 villages and 8,000 inhabitants. It’s located in the northern part of the autonomous Spanish region of Navarre, in the historic settlement area of the Basques.
The valley is named after the little river of Baztan, which thunders through the largest town, Elizondo. The climate is heavily influenced by the Atlantic Ocean; clouds and rain often obscure the panorama.
Tourists in the Baztan Valley are welcomed by rustic country houses, the casas Rurales. If there were a competition for the most beautiful village view, Ziga would win. Under the tower of the Renaissance church of San Lorenzo, its houses are decorated with coats of arms and flowerpots.
Yellow arrows painted on walls and pavements show the way for pilgrims in Ziga, Irurita and Berroeta. A variation of the Camino de Santiago – the Way of St. James from Bayonne in France to Pamplona, the capital of Navarre – leads through the Baztan Valley.
Regardless of the pilgrimage path, faith is firmly anchored in Arizkun. Abbess Nieves is one of 14 sisters in the community of the Poor Clares in the middle of the village. Every morning at half past eight, the nuns celebrate Mass in the convent church with a golden baroque altar.
But there is also room for superstition in the villages of the Baztan Valley. Here, many dried silver thistles hang on doors – a defence against witches.
In Xareta, a valley just to the north, on the border with France, the witches museum in Zugarramurdi offers some critical background. Witch madness was rampant at the start of the 17th century, fuelled by the
Inquisition. Innocent women were accused of being in league with the devil and burned at the stake simply for having knowledge of medicine or botany.
Lamias, mermaid-like mythical creatures, are said to have dwelled in a bewitching cave in nearby Urdazubi-Urdax. “Lamias had the bodies of women and duck feet. They often sat on riverbanks and ran golden combs through their hair,” nature guide Arkaitz Muratori explains on the way from the village of Erratzu to the Xorroxin waterfall.
The green hiking trail runs through a dense forest of chestnut, oak and beech trees.
According to legend, the
Basajaun, a massive, hairy lord of the forest, reigns here.
Interweaving mythology and mystery helped the Basque writer Dolores Redondo to make the Baztan Valley famous. Her Baztan trilogy, about a police inspector who solves murders and fights the ghosts of her past, has been published in 42 countries.
When she came to Elizondo to look for locations for her novel, she was hooked.
“That’s it, every street told me a story,” she says.