Lorraine Williamson
High above the cliffs of Mesa de Roldán, where the desert of Almería melts into the Mediterranean, a light once cut through the dark — and for more than three decades, it was guided by one man. Mario Sanz, now 65, spent 33 years as the guardian of this beam, the last of its kind in the province.
As he closes the lighthouse door for the final time, silence falls — the kind known only to those who have lived by the rhythm of wind and tide.
From Madrid nights to maritime solitude
Long before he became Almería’s last lighthouse keeper, Sanz was part of Madrid’s bustling nightlife. In the 1980s, he and his partner, Amalia López, ran Autógrafo, a vibrant bar in Vallecas filled with artists, musicians, and dreamers. Life was good, but Amalia longed for the coast. Then, one day, Sanz spotted an advert in El País — a call for candidates to train as lighthouse keepers. “I told her, I’m going to apply,” he remembered.
He passed the exams, left the city lights behind, and in 1992 took up his post at Mesa de Roldán, overlooking the stark volcanic landscape of Cabo de Gata — a region immortalised by Juan Goytisolo’s The Country of Níjar.
The dimming of a proud tradition
When Sanz began, lighthouse keeping was already a vanishing profession. Across Spain, the once-essential role of fareros — keepers of the light — was being phased out as technology advanced. By the 1990s, the Spanish government had transferred control of lighthouses to regional port authorities, replacing human vigilance with automation.
Spain has around 190 operational lighthouses scattered across its 8,000 kilometres of coastline, each built to warn mariners of danger and mark safe passage. Once manned outposts of endurance and solitude, most now function remotely — silent towers flashing automatically into the night. Only a handful still have keepers on site, their role more symbolic than practical.
“When I arrived, I realised I had come to a place that was already disappearing,” Sanz said. Yet he stayed — maintaining not only Mesa de Roldán but also the lighthouses of La Polacra, Garrucha, and the lonely outpost of Alborán. “That’s a harsh place,” he recalled. “No water, no shade, no food. Everything has to be brought in.”
Beyond the romantic myth
The world loves the image of a solitary figure tending a lamp against the storm. Sanz smiled at the myth. His was a life of beauty and hardship — the endless climb of stairs, the sting of salt air, the hum of machinery. At first, few people came. A dirt track was the only road. But as years passed, the place became a magnet for visitors and film crews.
In 2015, HBO transformed Mesa de Roldán into a set for Game of Thrones, filming a scene with Daenerys Targaryen and her dragon. “From total silence to 350 people and caravans — it was like the Tour of Spain arriving at our doorstep,” Sanz laughed. Another time, a coachload of UFO hunters appeared, convinced the light was a signal from elsewhere.
Watching the coast change
From his post high above the sea, Sanz saw the coastline evolve — and not always for the better. He witnessed the rise of the controversial El Algarrobico hotel, a concrete giant built illegally within a protected area. It became a national symbol of the tension between tourism and conservation. “That beach was once wild,” he said quietly. “Now, even the horizon has changed.”
The keeper of the light
The lighthouse itself dates back to 1863, standing 210 metres above the sea on an ancient coral reef. Its Fresnel lens emits four flashes every twenty seconds, visible up to forty kilometres away. For Sanz, it was more than a job — it was a calling. He painted, cleaned, polished, and repaired, battling lightning and salt storms that rattled the bones. “When the thunder hits, you feel it through your body,” he said. “But out there, someone sees your light and knows where home is.”
A living museum of memory
Beside the tower, Sanz created a small museum filled with relics — maps, lamps, photos, logbooks, and maritime artefacts he gathered over decades. What began as a personal passion became an archive of Spain’s lighthouse heritage. He hopes it will remain open to the public, even after his departure. “The lighthouse must go on living,” he said. “Even without its keeper.”
A legacy written in light
Now living in Carboneras, overlooking the same sea he once watched over, Sanz reflects on a life spent between solitude and the horizon. “I’m not going back to Madrid,” he says. “I’ve seen enough light.”
His departure marks more than the end of a career — it closes a chapter in Spain’s maritime history. The age of lighthouse keepers is nearly gone, but their legacy endures in every flash of light that still guides sailors home.
As dusk falls over Cabo de Gata, the beam of Mesa de Roldán continues to sweep across the sea — a final tribute to the man who became its soul.
Source: El País