10 Spanish Colours to Describe Autumn

Autumn awakens a poet in all of us. The days get shorter, the evenings cosier, and the leaves begin to change into a myriad of breathtaking shades. At times like these, rojo, azul, and amarillo are not enough to capture nature’s splendour. Here are some alternatives that will make you sound like Pablo Neruda, Antonio Machado, and Rafael Alberti all rolled into one.  

Bermellón is for the flaming leaves of autumn 

Known as ‘vermillion’ in English, this striking orange-red hue is unapologetically attention-grabbing. Before the invention of synthetic paints, this compound was the default red pigment for paintings, murals, and ceramics. For centuries, the Almadén mines in southern Spain were its principal source. Alas, it was not known at the time that bermellón, as an extract of the metal cinnabar, contained mercury and was therefore toxic to humans. Artists are so enthralled by its depth and brightness that some remain willing to take the risk, insisting it is far superior to the rojo de cadmio that replaced it as the safe modern alternative. How far would you be willing to go to find just the right shade? 

Carmín is for the striking red of leaves just before they fall 

As the weeks go on, the leaves darken and begin to take on a purplish hue. Carmín, or crimson, is a bright red shade with just a hint of purple. It has animal, not mineral, origins, being the juice of the parasitic insect cochineal. The Spanish conquistador Hernán Cortés brought cochineal from the Americas in the 16th century, and they were dried, ground, and boiled until the red pigment appeared. It is a strangely prosaic genesis for this dramatic shade, historically associated with blood, power, and status.

Burdeos is for the wine-red of late-autumn leaves

Wait a little longer, and the leaves will bid farewell to their trees and turn burdeos, the purple-red of the Bordeaux wines that give this colour its name. In fact, it is often referred to as wine-red, or color vino. A prototypical colour of autumn, it is a popular choice for the season’s clothing, matching beautifully with most other autumnal shades. One could be forgiven for confusing it with borgoña, or burgundy, which has more red and less purple, and comes from a different wine-producing region of France. After the spritzers and the rosés of summer, autumn calls for more full-bodied drinks, which go ever so nicely with a few slices of Manchego cheese and a bowl of aceitunas (olives). 

Granate is for leaves so dark, they are almost brown

Whether your country tends to collect and burn autumn leaves, or, like the UK, lets them be trampled by a thousand feet until they’re one with the pavement, leaves that have spent some time on the ground are likely to be granate in colour. Like naranja or rosa, it borrows its name directly from an object – in this case, the pomegranate, which means ‘seeded apple’ in Latin. This fruit originated in modern-day Iran and cultivated in Ancient Egypt and Mesopotamia, and the plenitude of its seeds made it a symbol of abundance, expressed as wealth or fertility – or, hopefully, both.

Caoba is for the reddish-brown lining a woodland path

What better way to spend a sunny Saturday in October than by taking a stroll through the autumn woodland? The magical autumnal landscape has inspired countless numbers of poets of all nations. While you walk and breathe in the crisp air, you may notice leaves lying in tranquil strips on either side of the country road. They will have turned caoba, or mahogany: more brown than red now, preparing to cede the last of their redness to the brownish grey of winter.

Malva is for the bluish pink of an afternoon sunset

When rain clouds are not obscuring the skies, we can be blessed with some spectacular autumn sunsets, which now come earlier and can be enjoyed on our way home from work or school. Look out for malva, the mauve bordering the bright yellows and oranges. It is a cold, bluish pastel between pink and lilac, and is named after the eponymous flower, called ‘mallow’ in English, whose leaves are used in northern Spain to relieve nettle stings. The mauve dyeing pigment, however, has no connection to the plant: it was accidentally extracted from coal tar in the 19th century and took the European fashion scene by storm, arriving in Spain as a textile for fashionable dresses. The village of Malva, in the region of Castilla y León, is currently home to around 100 people and is one of Spain’s ‘ghost towns’ – rural population points that are rapidly disappearing due to urbanisation and low fertility rates.

Añil is for the deep blue of an October evening sky.

The deep blue of añil evokes woollen jumpers, duffle coats, cups of steaming tea, and the dark that gathers outside your window as you come home in the evening. Due to its Arabic roots, the word is not easily recognisable as the equivalent of the English ‘indigo’, the hue halfway between blue and purple. While it was used as a dye since antiquity, Spanish colonisers discovered a species of the plant native to modern-day Guatemala, and cultivated it for export in great quantities all the way up to the late 19th century, when synthetic dyes took over the market. The aphorism Aunque todo sea añil, poco puede teñir (‘Even if it’s indigo, it’s no good for dyeing’) reflects the frustration we feel when external circumstances defeat us.

Lila is for the lilac of a late sunrise  

The soft, pastel purple you are liable to see in the restrained autumnal sunrise is lila, or lilac. It won’t surprise you to know that this gentle hue traditionally symbolised first love, though its Medieval Catholic association with penitence is at odds with the modern perception of colour. If you go to Spain in the autumn or winter, you will find that daylight ends later, and even in winter, you are spared some of the long, dark evenings responsible for seasonal depression. This is because Spanish time was aligned with Central European Time by its fascist dictator, Francisco Franco, in 1940. The reason? He wanted to be on the same time zone as Nazi Germany. The reason why Spain never went back to a time zone more in tune with its solar time is unclear, and some Spaniards argue that this unnatural state upsets their biological rhythm. It is true that the mornings are darker and the lila sunrises come later… Where do you stand on this debate?

Topo is for the beige-brown of a waxed mackintosh

Topo, the Spanish for mole, is that ineffable shade that is neither grey nor brown, but somewhere in between. It is the subdued, more discreet companion to the dramatic bermellón and granate. Some people find it drab; others say it reminds them of the 1970s in all the wrong ways – perhaps. It is still a classic base hue for an elegant autumn outfit. Eventually, the leaves that have been left to linger at the bottom of sidewalks will also turn topo – but by then, we will be focused on Navidad (Christmas) and on staying warm, so we will barely notice them.

Pardo is for the dull brown of soil retiring for the season

There are, in fact, many Pantone shades of pardo, such as pardo nuez (‘nut pardo’), pardo cobre (‘copper pardo’), and even pardo oliva. The colour has no direct English translation, though it is definitely a brown of some kind, so long as the kind is dull. It is a descriptor for the less poetic facets of autumn, such as the mud dragged into buildings on the soles of heavy boots, or the colour your garden goes where the flowers used to be. No matter! Soon, it will be spring again.

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