Before I say too much about today (and obviously it must have gone OK), I hope you saw I added the picture of the man with Jesus on his back (which doesn't sound right to me) and a couple of P.S. to yesterday's blog. I also thought I would write down some of the things that stuck out when I did my catch-up read through my cultural guide to the Camino yesterday. Here we go, in no particular order.
You might remember a picture of a fabulous silver cart in Burgos Cathedral. I didn’t know what it was for at the time. Apparently, it is used on the feast of Corpus Christi (when I was in Leon, in other words) to carry the consecrated host around the city after high mass, accompanied by famous giant puppets – as high as a two-storey house – and street dancing. The silver for the cart was brought back from America by Columbus. The puppets make a second appearance on the feast of St Peter and St Paul (June 29th) but the cart only gets one outing a year. Another little thing in Burgos – I think I added a witty caption to my picture of the statue of El Cid to the effect that he looked like he was flying. Apparently the statue is nicknamed ‘el murcielago’ – the bat – locally. Finally, I commented in my captions on a statue of a horseman high on the cathedral. It is, of course, King Alfonso XI – one of many features on the cathedral attempting to link royal power with divine power.
I had not thought before about the remarkable fact of buildings like the church in Fromista being made entirely of stone. There is a real shortage of building stone on the meseta, hence the adobe houses, and all the stone had to be imported from elsewhere, at great cost. Fromista’s name probably comes from the Latin frumentum, or cereals, because of the sort of crop that has always been grown locally, but at times the area has been prone to locusts, and people would go out at night to kill them with clubs when they came down to ground level because of the cold. I also commented in Fromista on a statue of San Telmo, a saint I thought I hadn’t heard of, but lo and behold it is actually the same saint as St Elmo, as in St Elmo’s fire – the electrical discharge from the top of a ship’s masts in a storm. Pedro Gonzalez Telmo, the saint, was born in Fromista in 1190.
Clearly there is much more I could have seen and enjoyed in Leon. I had not realised that it was a major Roman base, though I did see some Roman remains. The name Leon is probably actually a contraction of Legion, as the Roman Seventh Legion was based there for several hundred years from AD70. Leon had a significant Jewish population, and in the late 13th century, its most famous Jewish citizen, Moses ben Sem Tov wrote the Zohar, the main text of the Jewish mystic Kabbalah in Leon. Moving on to the cathedral, the present building is actually probably the fourth church on the site, though Leon was the seat of a bishop long before any of them – in fact, 200 years before Christianity became the state religion of the Roman empire.
The third, Romanesque, cathedral was begun in 1175, and was quite a showpiece in itself. The present, Gothic, cathedral was already being built by 1205 and was completed in record time – mostly within 100 years. It is consciously in the French style, and is basically a 2/3 sized copy of Rheims. Why so fast? Royal and papal involvement, and a lot of favours owed. Finally for Leon, I made a joke of the statue of San Isidoro, but I should have spent time in the basilica if I had some to spare. It is apparently magnificent, and although San Isidoro was unkown to me, he is very significant. He was Archbishop of Iberia for 36 years, was a key figure in the squashing of the Arian heresy, and wrote the world’s first encyclopaedia. That’s probably what the large scroll that looked like a stick of dynamite was in the statue.
Moving on, the town names have often been significant. Villafranca (as in Villafranca del Bierzo) means the town of foreigners. By the mid 12th century, half the inhabitants were foreigners: French, Italian, German, English, Catalan, Jewish, Portuguese, Flemish and even Scandinavian. However, the English have not always been very welcome there. In 1809, the English drove out the French, who had already ransacked the place, and some English troops then went on the rampage. General John Moore had to have the leaders of the spree shot, but not before they had wrecked the castle, robbed the churches and burned the archives. My funny Albergue Fenix in Villafranca is apparently very well known, and a landmark in itself. The head of the family who run it, Jesus Jato started it in the 1980s when it was a kind of plastic tent affair. It got the name Fenix (Phoenix) because it burned down twice before the present albergue was built in 1998. The family are totally committed to the mediaeval tradition of selfless hospitality to pilgrims.
OK, so let’s move on, but before covering today I should say a little bit more about yesterday. I did my blogging yesterday before even eating lunch, and lunch (at the albergue) was a linguistic adventure. The menu was in four languages, which helped, so ordering wasn’t a problem. However, the owner was doing the cooking (and a very good cook he was too), and loved to come out and talk with his customers in very Galician-tinged Spanish. That makes communication even harder. The other two people eating lunch were Spanish, so they were fine, but the owner kept including me in the conversation, and if I understood bits that just encouraged him.
I showed appreciation of the food, and when the time came where I stood up to pay, he motioned me to sit down and produced a tall, square, long-necked, and unlabelled bottle containing a thick liqeur of some sort. This was obviously a freebie for being a grateful customer. What was it, I asked? A very interesting explanation followed, which involved repeated references to ‘my cows’ (I never understood that bit), production of a bottle of clear liquid, and a glass with herbs standing in it. Apparently the clear liquid was the base, and the herbs (four herbs and some peppers) had been steeped in it to give the characteristic flavour. I am not using characteristic as a euphemism, by the way, because I liked it very much! The explanation he gave of which herbs were used was something along the lines of ‘they grow up a mountain’ (which will make Kate laugh, but the joke is too long to explain). A carafe of wine, and two glasses of that was enough to make me really quite sleepy, but I did manage to do my cultural background reading, as you have already seen.
Anyway, I had looked at the weather forecast and was more hopeful for today, but there was more blustery and foggy weather today, and it didn’t brighten up till lunchtime. There was low cloud all morning – but as I meant to comment yesterday when the visibility was at its worst, even then (and perhaps more then) you can hear all kinds of sounds – yesterday it was the almost constant sound of running water and of birdsong. It had never before occurred to me that birds sing in the fog. I always seem to be entombed in a car when it is foggy. You miss so much! Anyway, with fog again, there aren’t many pictures, but there are one or two interesting ones, and it was still a beautiful ride with interesting features (the picture at right is the first Galician-style family grain store I spotted).
The book warned that today’s ride was ‘probably the hardest of the whole pilgrimage and not to be taken lightly’. It didn’t really explain why properly, but 1144m of climbing, a lot of it in short nasty hills goes a long way to explaining why. The fact that today was the only day on which there have been 10-12% gradients of any length at all also helps clarify the matter. It is most confusing that the book will sometimes describe a hill as long and steep when it turns out to be only about 1km and moderate, and on the other hand fails to mention sizeable climbs (in length and gradient) or especially steep ones.
Just saying that the road ‘switchbacks over delightful countryside’ is no good as code for ‘there are many vicious little hills’. Nor is it any good to talk about ‘rolling countryside’ when you mean hills of 1-2 miles length and at 6-8% grade. That’s needs to be taken nearly as seriously as some of the major climbing on the ride, especially if you keep overtaking and then being overtaken by a smelly dustcart. Whinge over. It was a nice day really, and I still had time and energy to notice the quaint Galician place names, which felt like they had come from Homer Simpson’s Scrabble rack – names like Toxibo. Do you remember Homer trying to play Quijibo to use all seven letters?
My major stop en route was at Portomarin – at the bottom of a lovely long descent (the book was right about that) to the shores of a very long reservoir in a flooded valley. Portomarin was going to be destroyed by the flooding, so some of the historic buildings were moved, block by numbered block to a new site – on a steep hill, of course – next to the reservoir. The church is one of those buildings, and the numbers can still be seen on some of the stones (see photostream). It is an unusual church – a fortress-like box-shaped building. Portomarin was also a good place to have some breakfast (hot chocolate and croissant) since there hadn’t been any at the albergue in Sarria and I had burned quite a lot of energy by then. Happily, I found it in a cafe where three Dutchmen I had met with in Sarria were currently having a break. I was also able to lay in some provisions for supper, and perhaps tomorrow’s lunch.
I had already encountered two sets of roadworks with lights just before Portomarin, each literally about a mile long, so the cycle of the lights took ages. There were two more after Portomarin, both on long, steep hills. That meant enforced breaks, but also lost rhythm, and concern about the fact that as a bicycle there was no way of getting through in one cycle of the lights. However, there was so little traffic it barely mattered. Even so, I found myself wondering why they were resurfacing one of the silkiest smooth surfaces I have met since leaving Redmarshall. EU money?? A little further on I was on roads that ‘the book’ described as having wheel-killer potholes, but I didn’t see anything to be concerned about on that stretch, and that hadn’t been resurfaced.
About that time, I suddenly noticed a huge increase in the number of walking pilgrims, wandering all over the road in undisciplined groups, and I suddenly realised that I was under the magic 100km distance to Santiago. That’s the distance which must be walked (officially unaided) on foot in order to qualify for a Compostela – a certificate of completion. Lots of ‘tourist pilgrims’ do much of the tour by bus, then walk just the last 100km (and even then the bus carries their main bags). That was what I was now encountering. I confess I felt (still feel) somewhat irritated. They weren’t particularly old, or infirm, and they were wearing all the right gear and carrying very touristy sticks. Grr. As they increased in number even more after passing through Palas do Rei, I wondered whether there would be so many that I couldn’t find a place in the auberge, but then I realised they probably had pre-booked places in pensions or hotels, so I stopped worrying.
At some stage in the journey, and I am not sure when it was now I come to write about it, I was passed by three wonderful vintage (or are they called veteran?) cars with GB plates. Two I didn’t recognise, and the third was an MG. Unfortunately they went past too quickly to get out a camera, and any picture would only have been of their retreating back ends in any case. That was a little moment of excitement. However, even better, when I came into the outskirts of Palas do Rei, my original destination for the day, I spotted a garage, and lo and behold, there they were. I stopped for a chat with the owners and took some pictures. I’m afraid the MG wasn’t too interesting really by comparison – the other two were both made by
Alvis, so I took pictures for my father and others to enjoy! The owners were from Derbyshire (the maroon one) and Haynes in Bedfordshire (the blue one). Funnily enough, I passed through Haynes on this trip, between Bedford and Luton. They were delighted at my interest, and when they all passed me again about six miles on I got some very cheery and encouraging waves.
I described Palas do Rei as my original destination. I wasn’t at all impressed with it as a place to stop, and I still had lots of energy, so I carried on from there to Melide, which is much more interesting. This was a Roman crossroads town – of the Via Traiana and the Cantabrian road – and it has been a stopping point ever since. It is not especially distinguished, but it is a better place to stop, and the albergue is a curiosity. As Will, an English volunteer, said to me – summer is a funny time to close the permanent albergue and set up a temporary one, but that’s what they have done here. What they have failed to do is to change any of the signs, so it is incredibly hard to find. If the locals would just say to you ‘follow the signs to the place where you get your truck disinfected after carrying livestock’ that would help, but instead they try (and fail) to describe the building and its location.
In fact, the temporary albergue is the equivalent of a heap of very modern portakabins in the local Pazo de Congresos, or exhibition hall. In other words, something like a huge shed next to the cattle market. The men’s showers flood like a lake which makes getting dressed and undressed a bit interesting to say the least, but actually the comfort level is really good. The kitchen is the nicest equipped of any albergue I have stayed in, and the dormitory is even heated. It is the standard fare of bunks with disposable paper sheets, but I’m not complaining. It is clean, warm and friendly. Will was especially welcoming as he had barely seen any other English pilgrims in his time there and was dying to talk to one. His ambition is to do the pilgrimage in reverse by bicycle. I warned him that it would be hard work, but I have to remember he is 30 years younger than me, definitely much lighter, and probably much fitter!
So, an interesting day, which brings me to less than 60km from Santiago, or one Newcastle, translated using my system. That means a short hop tomorrow to Monte de Gozo, from which you can look down on Santiago de Compostela (an emotional moment for many pilgrims) and check into the holiday-camp-sized albergue (not an especially emotional moment). Then it is just a matter of waiting for the 11.15am plane on Friday, assuming no ash problems. Pray for Kate driving to Stansted for an 8.00am departure!
Sorry for such a long post - I suspect tomorrow's will be much, much shorter - lost in private thoughts - and Kate may not like me spending too much time blogging while she is here.
