By iftttauthorways4eu
on Wed Nov 04 2026
Cueva de los Murciélagos near Albuñol in Granada, southern Spain, contained an exceptional collection of objects made from plant fibres. Mining activity in the nineteenth century exposed burials and artefacts, including baskets, cords, mats, wooden tools and sandals. Organic material normally decays, so prehistoric archaeology is dominated by stone, pottery and bone. The cave’s dry conditions preserved the technologies that people wove, tied, carried and wore.
Modern scientific study has shown that the assemblage spans different periods. Some baskets are associated with Mesolithic hunter-gatherers and are roughly 9,500 years old, making them among the earliest directly dated basketry in southern Europe. The sandals belong to later Neolithic farming communities and are about 6,200 years old. Viral captions often call them 7,000 years old or date them to 5200–4800 BCE; improved radiocarbon work supports a somewhat younger age for the analysed footwear.
That correction does not make the objects less important. Plant-based technology was fundamental to daily life but is rarely preserved. A stone blade may survive while its handle, sheath, bag and cord disappear. Cueva de los Murciélagos reverses that imbalance. It shows that prehistoric technical skill included selecting fibres, processing plants and constructing flexible objects suited to particular tasks.
The sandals were made from esparto, a tough Mediterranean grass that can be dried, twisted, braided and bundled. Craftspeople built soles from fibre bundles and braided elements, then added systems to secure the footwear around the toes, instep or heel. The surviving examples are not identical. Differences in construction suggest that makers adapted techniques rather than following one rigid template.
Making useful footwear from grass requires more than plaiting something foot-shaped. The sole must resist abrasion while remaining flexible enough for walking. Bindings need to hold the foot without cutting painfully into skin. The maker has to control fibre thickness, tension and direction so that the structure does not unravel under repeated load. Wear on some pieces indicates use, not merely manufacture as symbolic burial goods.
Esparto grows in the region and has remained important for ropes, baskets, mats and later forms of footwear. That long history should not be mistaken for a claim that one unchanged sandal design survived continuously for six millennia. Techniques evolve, uses change and modern espadrilles include different materials. The connection is more interesting when stated carefully: Mediterranean communities repeatedly discovered that local grass could become durable engineered fibre.
The cave’s discovery history is not a tidy modern excavation. Miners searching for lead ore encountered human remains and objects in the 1850s and 1860s. Some materials were removed, dispersed, damaged or reportedly burned. Archaeologist Manuel de Góngora documented and collected surviving pieces, but the precise relationship between every object and burial was not recorded to current standards.
That loss of context limits what researchers can claim. They cannot reconstruct the cave’s use from perfect layers and coordinates. Instead, they combine surviving museum objects, historical accounts, material analysis and radiocarbon dating. Direct dating is especially valuable because earlier interpretations sometimes grouped artefacts together simply because they came from the same cave. The new results show occupation and deposition across a long period.
The research also illustrates why museum collections deserve re-examination. Objects recovered more than a century ago can answer new questions when techniques improve. Researchers can identify plant species, study manufacturing traces and date tiny samples more precisely than earlier generations could. The sandals were never scientifically silent; scholars gradually learned how to ask them more exact questions.
Radiocarbon dating measures the decay of carbon-14 absorbed while a plant was alive. Laboratories date a small sample and then calibrate the result against records that account for changes in atmospheric carbon through time. Researchers must also consider contamination and whether the dated material is genuinely part of the object. In this project, direct dates from selected fibres helped separate older Mesolithic basketry from younger Neolithic sandals instead of assigning one age to everything found in the cave.
Material analysis adds a different layer. Microscopy can reveal how fibres were split, twisted and worn. Botanical identification links the artefact to plants available in the surrounding landscape. Reconstructing the sequence—from harvesting esparto to preparing, braiding and assembling it—turns a museum object into evidence of labour. Each stage required time and judgement that a finished sandal hides.
The association with burials adds another question: were the sandals ordinary possessions, special grave goods or both? Some show signs consistent with wear, suggesting that at least certain pieces had lives before deposition. Their placement with human remains may have carried social or symbolic meaning that is no longer recoverable. Researchers can describe construction and dates more confidently than belief. Keeping those levels of certainty separate prevents a rare object from becoming a screen for modern fantasies about prehistoric ritual.
Footwear rarely receives the grandeur attached to weapons or monuments, but it records direct contact between body and landscape. Sandals reduce abrasion and heat from the ground while allowing ventilation. Their makers had to understand local plants, seasonal harvesting and the amount of work required to prepare fibre. Their users selected an object that balanced protection, repairability and available material.
The sandals also challenge the vague image of prehistoric people living with only crude necessities. Basketry and footwear require planning and learned motor skills. Techniques must be taught, practised and remembered. A well-made sandal represents knowledge distributed through a community: where to find useful grass, how to process it and how to judge whether the finished object will survive a journey.
Their small scale is precisely what makes them valuable. Monumental sites tell us what communities could organize for exceptional projects; footwear records repeated choices at ground level. A sandal carries evidence of body size, gait, repair and contact with terrain. It brings archaeology closer to the person who tied it on than a broad label such as “Neolithic farmer” ever can.
Calling them “the oldest shoes in Europe” needs qualification because archaeological superlatives depend on definitions and new discoveries. They are currently described by researchers as the oldest directly dated footwear in Europe, while older fibre sandals are known elsewhere, including North America. Their real value does not depend on winning a global age contest. They make an absent part of Neolithic life visible. Six thousand years later, the weave still preserves the pressure of human hands solving an ordinary problem with extraordinary durability.
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