In search of the great, wide and wild nature
There is one treasure that is in short supply in Europe in my opinion: the great natural spaces. I am talking about the expanses of tens, if not hundreds of kilometers made up of the greatness of skies, d cliffs, waterfalls, deserts, forests. I am not talking about a "big nature," we have plenty of that, from the pinnacles of the Alps, to the waterfalls of central Italy, to the cliffs of France, Britain and Ireland, to the Scandinavian fjords. No, I'm talking about a "nature that is big, expansive and wild," and in which the lungs can expand into an almost endless breath. My beloved Alps are huge, standing by their walls blocking even the raging winds, but they are almost domesticated. It is frustrating to the eye to search for a patch where no trace of man's civilization, past or present, can be seen. Often when walking, I force myself to stop my eyes well before the horizon, in the trees a hundred, two hundred yards away, lest I run into some man's handiwork and obstruct my mind running on wild paths. Translated with DeepL.com (free version)
In Spain I experienced this feeling, albeit in a distilled form. Not so much because of the wilderness extent, but because of the appeal of the sheer red walls of the Cañon Rojo near Teruel: that of an untamable, constantly collapsing, changing, inherently wild nature.
Teruel is an ancient city, a UNESCO heritage site, isolated and in the midst of barren mountains. Towering over her are beautiful, wonderfully ornate towers high above the course of the Turia River, which continued from here carving through the mountains to the Mediterranean Sea and present-day Valencia.
Just outside Teruel stands the Cañon Rojo, a natural wonder that I felt passes stealthily in the eyes of many. I have been there three times, on holidays, without practically finding a soul. Before I tell you more about it, here are some photos.
I guess I am not the only one to whom it evoked the great landscapes of the North American frontier, now imprinted in the mind by movies and especially, for me, by Tex Willer. The resemblance is striking, and I admit my eyes almost got wet with happiness when I saw those walls, hills, and crevices.
I have never been to Arizona, or Colorado. Maybe one day I will go there. Riding in the wake of emotion, I was overjoyed to be able to take my father here, who has never even seen Arizona or Colorado, but who has read loads of Tex Willer albums.
However, although these are large, almost huge spaces, they are a "big nature," not a "big, wide, wild nature." From the top of the cañon one could see Teruel, and if not the city streets and rural buildings. The eye was lost on a very long, very wide sky crushed against the elevated tableau of Spain, but here and there pylons sprouted, and colorful ladybugs sped over the snakes of asphalt.
Years ago I read a book that was perhaps too long and perhaps redundant (I admit I did not finish it) but with very interesting ideas, "The Invention of Wilderness. History of an Idea from the 18th Century to the Present" by Franco Brevini. The thesis revolved around the very invention of the concept of wilderness, and to the fascination this idea had in Europe. In short, the Europeans of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries fully realized that the nature that I call "great, extensive, and wild" was almost gone. That other places were the places to frequent it. The wilderness had turned from an obstacle into a fascination precisely because of its rarity. It is for us Europeans, and for a citizen in general, I think it is still possible to ride the same feeling born centuries ago, that of a compressed, sparsely extended natural landscape well below its potential. Rare.
In Cañon Rojo I saw two sunny skies and a stormy one harbinger of fear, because you would never want to be in the badlands during a downpour. I closed my eyes for moments and with my thoughts extended that place for miles and miles, and removed all domestication. It was easy, because if nothing else there, nature was great, and it was already helping me a little.
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