Museo del Ejército
At the time of writing parts of the building were closed for major renovation work, and while that continues entry to the museum is free.
Toledo’s Alcázar, or fortress, dominates the city’s famous skyline.It has been destroyed and rebuilt many times throughout its history, most recently at the beginning of the Spanish Civil War when a 3-month siege all but flattened it. Initially General Franco planned to leave the ruins as is, as a paean to Nationalist suffering, but he later changed his mind and had it rebuilt.
Given the building’s symbolism, it took deft political maneuvering from subsequent governments to reopen the Alcázar in 2010 as Spain’s army museum. It is a curious place. There’s a large military history collection, including what is claimed to be the sword of El Cid (1043–99), endless suits of armor, and Spanish army uniforms from many eras.
But the elephant in the room is the extraordinary story of what happened in this building in 1936. Only one small exhibit deals with the siege, when the ineffectual Colonel José Moscardó somehow held out against Republican bombardment for 70 days before being relieved by Franco’s troops. It’s understandable, given the ongoing sensitivities, but for a chilling sense of what the siege was like, seek out the unadvertised—and completely unrestored—office where Moscardó is said to have sacrificed his kidnapped son in a phone call with his captors. The phone still sits on a table beneath a portrait of the colonel and the shell-shattered ceiling.
The Alcázar also houses the municipal library, and if you take the lift to the top floor there’s a little café with the best free views across Toledo and the surrounding plain.
At the time of writing parts of the building were closed for major renovation work, and while that continues entry to the museum is free.
Toledo’s Alcázar, or fortress, dominates the city’s famous skyline.It has been destroyed and rebuilt many times throughout its history, most recently at the beginning of the Spanish Civil War when a 3-month siege all but flattened it. Initially General Franco planned to leave the ruins as is, as a paean to Nationalist suffering, but he later changed his mind and had it rebuilt.
Given the building’s symbolism, it took deft political maneuvering from subsequent governments to reopen the Alcázar in 2010 as Spain’s army museum. It is a curious place. There’s a large military history collection, including what is claimed to be the sword of El Cid (1043–99), endless suits of armor, and Spanish army uniforms from many eras.
But the elephant in the room is the extraordinary story of what happened in this building in 1936. Only one small exhibit deals with the siege, when the ineffectual Colonel José Moscardó somehow held out against Republican bombardment for 70 days before being relieved by Franco’s troops. It’s understandable, given the ongoing sensitivities, but for a chilling sense of what the siege was like, seek out the unadvertised—and completely unrestored—office where Moscardó is said to have sacrificed his kidnapped son in a phone call with his captors. The phone still sits on a table beneath a portrait of the colonel and the shell-shattered ceiling.
The Alcázar also houses the municipal library, and if you take the lift to the top floor there’s a little café with the best free views across Toledo and the surrounding plain.
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