Returning once again to Aragon, and more specifically to that place of charm, mystery, and heritage—both historical, artistic, and, above all, cultural—that is the Five Villages, travelers are delighted to admire the beauty of another of those venerable towns, which, without a doubt, is recommended to be visited at least once in their lifetime: El Frago.
Located about twenty kilometers beyond Luna, a town where the hubbub of the pilgrims contrasts with the silence of the pilgrims who search for transcendental clues in its two spectacular Romanesque churches: that of Santiago, in whose crypt a beautiful image of the Virgin of the Dawn watches over the centuries, and the more distant one, that of San Gil, which some sources attribute to those brotherhoods who guarded the pilgrimage routes, the Knights Templar. El Frago presents itself as a stellar soliloquy perched on the top of a mountain accessed by a country road famous for its sharp curves.
Possibly, the greatest charm of this picturesque Aragonese village lies, in the opinion of this traveler, in two fundamental details that immediately capture the imagination: the mystical circumlocutions between the lights and shadows of its well-preserved Jewish quarter and the presence, as could not be otherwise, of that mysterious medieval Master Mason, whose stubborn anonymity is supplemented by the nickname of Master of Agüero and whose mark can be found again in the main church, Romanesque, of course, and from a century as interesting as, of course, the 12th.
Perhaps less respected by the lowland wind, which creeps like an eternal mocker through the narrow streets surrounding it, the Church of Saint Nicholas of Bari once again reveals to us, in its details—apart from an agricultural calendar that would probably serve as a model for other churches, located, however, in Castilian territory—the usual archetypes of this singular Master, where, as could not be otherwise, the immortalized figures of the musician and the dancer stand out.
These figures, represented in an eternal dance, whose rhythm seems to contain all the mysteries of time, invite the traveler to reflect, transforming their journey through the mysterious medieval streets into a monumental stage, where light and shadow, as predicted at the beginning, also dance their own particular waltz, to the sound of triumphs and failures.
And in the Jewish quarter of El Frago, the old mansions, still converted into providential inns, but teetering at the mercy of their Gothic framework, invite speculation, the release of endorphins of emotion, imagining those unknowable medieval ghettos, inhabited by people strained by politics and religion.
Even so, the excited traveler reflects, in those same windows, on those silent thresholds where in ancient times the Jew bowed before Hanukkah, the Muslim knelt facing Mecca, and the Christian crossed himself before the cross, observing a hidden but curious art seems like a breath of fresh air that renews hope in sustainable creativity, where stone, after all, our eternal refuge since the dawn of time, once again takes on a delicate role.
Because, comparatively speaking, those pebbles that the pilgrim deposits at key points along his journey become, here, in the whispering alleys of the Jewish quarter of El Frago, a contemplative wonder, whose seduction lies in making the magic of beauty emerge vividly, even in the metaphorical skin of the most inanimate materials.
In short: a walk through El Frago, besides being a leap into the unfathomable mysteries of history, also means a particular adventure into those inner worlds, where beauty opens the way to perform the miracle of reuniting us with the magic of our first glance.
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