I learnt today that I have something in common with Alfonso de Borgia. He was elected pope, and thereafter became Callixtus III, on the very same day that I was born, except five-hundred years earlier in 1455.

Vicky, Siobhan and I went to see the Borgia family’s home today, a forty-minute coach ride from Denia in the city of Gandia. The coincidence of my birthday and Alfonso’s election is where the things we have in common end. He and his crew lived in the Ducal Palace of the Borgias of Gandia, pictured above, and he lead a very different life to mine.

The family, originally from Valencia, had a noble lineage, eventually throwing down roots in Italy where, in the 15th and 16th centuries, they held great sway in ecclesiastical and political affairs. They managed to produce two popes, countless political and church leaders, and many others of less stellar importance. But by the late 1500s their influence began to wane and, by the middle of the 18th century, it had disappeared altogether.

In the grand scheme of things, their story is a mere flash in the pan, but before their flame died the House of Borgia’s merciless pursuit of wealth and power made them one of history’s most infamous crime families. Along with the equally infamous Medicis, they were one of the most powerful in Renaissance Italy, their name becoming synonymous with treachery, hedonism, adultery, incest, theft and bribery.

It’s evident from this history that the Borgias weren’t shy retiring types. And although minimalism hadn’t been invented back then, neither were they inclined to understatement when it came to architecture and interior design. The Ducal Palace is full fat opulence on steroids. It’s a gilded, magpie shiny sensory overdose, for which I don’t really have the words.

So here are some pictures.

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…. and this is where I live.

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