A haunted Knights Templar site?
By Hilary Carter
I am often asked how I found the convent and I always give the same reply: I
didn't find the convent, the convent found me.
I went house hunting in southern Spain in the spring of 2004. I chose the
area around Almeria because the property prices were relatively low and my
budget was limited. I was clear about what I was looking for. I am a
teacher of taiyoga and I wanted to run taiyoga retreats. Taiyoga is a
powerful mind/body/spirit system that combines the postures of yoga with the
movements of tai chi. I needed a place with at least five bedrooms and
either a large space for teaching yoga or the potential to create such a
space.
Unlike most retreat centres, I wanted a place that was not isolated. My
retreats were aimed at first timers, those who had never been on a retreat
before, so I wanted the participants to be within reach of a bar or a
supermarket. With a budget of £100,000 most people would think I was
searching for the impossible, but my research on the Internet before I set
off to Spain suggested that properties of that size in my price range were
available. Not only that, but I could see that the highest mountains in
Spain, the Sierra Nevada mountains, were in this area. High altitude is a
definite plus for teaching taiyoga meditation.
Flying into Almeria airport was not a pretty sight. This area is the
greenhouse of Europe and as such, thousands of acres of the land are swathed
in plastic. What I thought was the sea was in fact a sea of plastic. I had
booked into a hotel in Roquetas de Mar, a rapidly expanding modern resort on
the coast about half an hour�hour's drive from the airport. Here I found a
German estate agent called Karin who dealt with properties up in the
mountains. She gave me details of a huge old house in a town called Ugijar
(pronounced oo hee har) which is in the province of Granada, just over the
border of Almeria. This massive place was on the market for 90,000 euros,
about �63,000. She drove me up into the mountains in her powerful Mercedes,
rising above the plastic greenhouses to the foothills of the Sierra Nevada
mountains known as the Alpujarras, a journey of about 45 minutes.
Ugijar lies in a high valley at an altitude of 625 metres. Getting out of
the car, I was immediately struck by the quality of the air - it had the
same fine quality of the air of a Swiss ski resort. I immediately loved the
town, from the high stone walls of an ancient hermitage greeting us at the
entrance of the town to the 16th century church near the exit. There was a
holy well, another hermitage and a catholic convent and a monastery.
Numerous fountains of cool pure drinking water provide welcome free
refreshment 24 hours a day. One of the fountains has six outlets of water
and is believed to date back to 1785. The main street is lined with mature
trees providing necessary shade from the strong sun. The town is half an
hour from the Mediterranean and half an hour from the high mountains of the
Sierra Nevada mountains. This means you can swim in the Mediterranean sea
and ski in the mountains on the same day.
The house I am interested in overlooks a circular fountain. The property is
Moorish in origin and probably dates back to the 16th century. Three
stories high, perfectly square and with an inner courtyard and a huge roof
terrace it would be perfect for my needs. The trouble is that the man with
the key has not turned up. Karin is extremely sorry but there is nothing
she can do. I will have to come back another day if I want to see inside.
As my flight to England is already booked for the next day, I have no choice
but to fly home.
One month later I return. This time I arrange to meet Karin at the house.
She turns up without the key. At the last minute she has been told that the
house is not for sale after all. There is a family quarrel. The house
belongs to four siblings who inherited it from their parents and not all of
them want to sell the family home. Apparently this is quite a common
scenario. I have come all this way to see inside the house and we cannot
get in. Karin is extremely apologetic. "I know you love this town. There is
another place coming up for sale. I am meeting the owner today and if you
like you can come and see it, though I have no idea what or exactly where it
is."
We do not have to wait long. A man appears with a huge metal key and takes
us around the corner. He stops outside an unassuming looking building with
"el convento antiguo" inscribed above the door. An old convent! He puts
the key into the ancient studded door and turns it. At that very moment
peals of bells ring out, a serenade that can be heard for miles. It turns
out that once a day at exactly midday, the church bells play this tune. I
cannot help but be struck by the synchronicity of the moment.
We enter this wreck of a building. It is in a terrible state. I take one
look and think no thank you. It has obviously been empty for years and
would be a huge project to undertake. We walk through the entrance hall
towards the inner courtyard. There is sudden flutter of wings as we disturb
the peace of nesting birds. I notice the skeleton of a dead cat on the
grass and all manner of insect life crawling on the floor. There is an
oppressive feel to the place and I get the distinct feeling that I am being
watched. Karin is more adventurous than I, following the Spanish man
through to the rear rooms. She calls me to come and look. But I don't go,
nor do I go upstairs for the stairs look unsafe and the floors are not
level. I just want to get out of the place. I feel a distinct unease.
I flew back to England feeling somewhat dejected. As a single mother
without family support it is not easy for me to take time off to house hunt
in Spain. I do not know when I will next be able to search for a retreat
centre. I might have to wait another year before I can go searching again.
With the realisation of a long delay, I start having second thoughts about
the convent. Maybe I should not have been so hasty in rejecting it. It was
huge and it was formerly a place of retreat. Maybe it was a possibility
after all? I pick up my pen and start to draw a floor plan of what I could
actually remember about the layout. As soon as I start drawing I hear
church bells ringing. There must be a wedding at my local church in
Bournemouth where I live. Just at the moment I noted that the bells were
ringing, my phone rings. It is the estate agent in Bournemouth ringing to
tell me that after many weeks of waiting, I have had an offer on my flat.
The money from the sale of the flat is to finance the property in Spain.
Not only that but the sum I have been offered is the exact amount that they
want for the convent. This is disconcerting stuff. In fact it is so
strange that I feel compelled to e-mail Karin and ask for more details about
the convent. Her reply comes through the next day at exactly 11 minutes
past 11 in the morning. I notice the time on her e-mail because I have just
read a book called 11 11. I'm getting a bit worried regarding my sanity.
But in a moment of madness, I yield to these coincidences and put in an
offer in euros. My offer is not accepted but a new price in pesetas is
suggested. When the price is converted back into euros it is 111100 euros.
When I move out to Ugijar early in October, I am immediately approached by
an elderly Spaniard called Raphael. Word had obviously got round town that
I was the new owner of the convent. He tells me in English (it is very rare
to find an English speaker in this area!) that he had been born in the
convent and his family had a book detailing the history of the place. He
tells me that it is much older than it says in the town museum and before it
was a convent, it was a Franciscan friary, and before that it was home to
the Knights Templar. I was thrilled to hear this for I had just read "The Da
Vinci Code" and had visited many Knights Templar sites in England.
The convent is in three parts. The first part, formerly a church, is now a
museum, the second part is a private house and my part is the third part. I
am told it is my part, the oldest part, that was home to the Knights
Templars. An English history teacher living in the area disputes this fact
and insists that the Knights Templars would not have been living in a
Moorish area (this area was inhabited by Muslims for hundreds of years). I
am confused. Raphael is an intelligent and educated man whose sister is a
historian. I hardly think he is going to get his facts wrong. I do not
have to wait long to find the information I need. Earlier this year, I find
myself sitting next to an English man on the flight from London Stansted to
Almeria. I discover that his family are descended from the Knights Templar
and his surname, Holt, is a Templar name. His obsession is with the history
of the Templars! He tells me that the original Knights Templar were money
lenders and traders and protected pilgrims along pilgimage routes. They
traded with the Arabs so they could well have been living there, especially
as Ugijar has Roman foundations and lies on an ancient trading route.
I wish I could say that this story has a happy ending but there is no ending
in sight. Renovations started last year but it seems that once work
started, something was unleashed. My first builder disappeared off the face
of the earth. Rumour has it that he ended up in jail. I waited nine months
for another builder to become available. He had a terrible accident just
before he was about to start work and is now permanently paralysed. My
neighbour was plagued by strange happenings - furniture being moved and
doors and windows being opened. She heard monks chanting in the cellar
below. Her dog would cower in the corner of her kitchen and hated being
left alone in her home. She is now selling up and moving out. Several
people have seen the ghost of a little girl inside the convent. I have been
told by a psychic that there is also a deceased nun in residence. She was
killed along with seven other females, including a child of seven, at the
end of the sixteenth century. This would indeed tie in with the historical
fact that hundreds of Christians were killed in the Moorish rebellion of
1568. There is another strange fact - the floor plans of my deeds do not
match the actual layout of the convent - a corridor about 3metres by 1metre
is completely missing. I have thought about knocking through the wall at
the place where this corridor should be, but do I really want to know what
is hidden there? I think I will let the convent keep its secrets.
Page updated April 8, 2006
