Emilio Gutiérrez Caba, actor

He has experienced post-war Spain, the grayness of the 1950s, the industrial development of the 1960s, the openness of the 1970s, and the arrival of democracy from the window of dusty trains and theatrical stages in almost all the provincial capitals. In a café near his home in Madrid, next to Parque de las Avenidas, where they call him "Don Emilio," the veteran actor reflects on these changes while entertainingly recounting images and anecdotes from his long and intense travels: "The first images I have of summer are the absolutely wild beaches of northern Spain when my parents were on tour."

Normally, we traveled by train. Very dirty trains, packed with people, that took many hours to reach their destination. But, on the bright side, the human material was fantastic. In the train compartment, one could share tortilla española and breaded steak with everyone.

The first trip I took to Soria by bus - on those buses that smelled of diesel, which was a terrible thing - was something tremendous. The road was full of curves, so I got nauseous, and half the company did too. Then, as we were nearing Soria, the bus's steering broke. I'm telling you about the late 1940s.

I was filming in Barcelona the television series La saga de los Rius (1976), and a series of personal coincidences led me to buy an apartment in Calella de Palafrugell. It's a beautiful place, and the view I have of the sea from my terrace is breathtaking.

I love rediscovering the places I visited as a child. Seeing how they've changed. Teruel is not the same city I knew, frozen with cold, in January 1950. The same could be said for Soria or Salamanca. The Salamanca of 1965, where we filmed Nine Letters to Berta, looks very different now. Soria is a wonderful place to live today, with several restaurants that serve excellent food.

The historical and cultural heritage of Spain is not well promoted, except for the Alhambra or the Prado Museum. For example, the National Library (Madrid) is a gem inside. I've entered with a researcher's card, and it's absolutely fascinating, a beautiful place to visit. We need to exploit these things, like the Swedes, Dutch, or Germans do. But here we still stick to the beach bar model, where we just put up an umbrella, not realizing that it has become obsolete.

Sigüenza is a magical city, and I've stayed several times in its castle-Parador. I know that whole area of Guadalajara very well: the castles of Jadraque, Atienza, or Hita, where I was named Archpriest of the Year in 2015. The Sierra de Ayllón was the natural crossing point between the two plateaus long before the Somosierra tunnel was built. I took advantage of the filming of the series I Don't Know How to Dance (1990), in which I starred with Emma Cohen, to explore those routes.

Before the crisis, we would travel a day in advance, so the next morning, if you didn't have a press conference, you could visit the city. Now we often travel on the same day. In Córdoba, after the night performance, we would tour the city and have an excellent stew at one in the morning in the old station. When I was filming another series in Granada, I spent my afternoons strolling through the Alhambra and didn't run into a soul.

There is a very interesting route of spas in Spain with beautiful buildings: Mondariz, Alhama de Aragón, Archena, or La Perla in San Sebastián. They are peaceful places, well-furnished, and not being massively exploited.

I must admit I'm quite good at it. I calculate how long I will be in places and only take what I need: two or three shirts, a couple of pants, some underwear, a toiletries bag, and a sweater if it's winter. It amazes me to see people with those enormous suitcases. I don't get it.

The one I did, alongside Julio Iglesias and Antonio Gamero, for the filming of I Forgot to Live. It was an unusual film, a co-production with Argentina, the United States, and Mexico, directed by Orlando Jiménez Leal, in which I played a photographer. We were in Miami, on Contadora Island (35 miles from Panama City), in Tikal (Guatemala), in New York, and in Paris. It was a luxurious shoot that allowed me to see beautiful places. Additionally, there was no script: we improvised and always repeated the same things. Relaxed, on the beaches of the Pacific Ocean, Julio Iglesias would tell us what Isabel Preysler meant to him. Orlando, the director, was always high and told us: "Take one of these vials; they make you laugh a lot."

The most beautiful city, in my opinion, is San Sebastián. I would love to have an apartment on Paseo de La Concha to open the window and see the entire bay, with the island of Santa Clara in front. That would be fantastic.

There are many: Rome, Berlin, Paris, or Prague. It's hard to choose just one.

Without a doubt, the beaches of the Colombian Pacific, where we filmed last year Palm Trees in the Snow. The sunsets in Puerto Solano are of stunning beauty. It's a wonderful biological reserve, with magnificent natural parks.

In the Altamira Caves, 1964. Now it's prohibited to enter, but back then we filmed inside for an entire day for an American television movie. It was something extraordinary. As a spectator, I remember visiting the Prado Museum alone one afternoon years later. Sitting in a room in front of The Executions and The Charge of the Mamelukes by Goya for ten or fifteen minutes... That is unimaginable today.

I have always advocated for trains as a means of transport, and I have many memories of the stations of Medina del Campo or Venta de Baños. There was a narrow-gauge train from León to Bilbao that passed through the Picos de Europa, and you had to get off so it could climb a hill. The conductor of those trains, with the beautiful English carriages, would go outside.