I don’t have much to say. For completeness however, an update seems appropriate.

Leon was lovely. The cathedral in particular. It was my favourite of all the cathedrals and churches we have visited so far. Why? Because it is objectively (in my subjective opinion) beautiful. Its vaulted ceilings are epically tall, and the upper reaches glow with more than 1800 sq metres of stained glass. It spoke to my aesthetic.

It also gave me a crick in my neck, walking around for 45 minutes with head tilted unnaturally this way and that. This of course is precisely what the cathedral’s architects intended. Look up, to the beauty of God.

While we’re on the topic of cathedrals, the others we have visited since we started also seem worthy of a mention. I’m not sure it’s right and proper to compare cathedrals, but I think I’m about to.

Burgos’ was… OTT. So many chapels and naves and tombs and paintings including some pretty gruesome imagery (one of which I can’t get out of my head depicted a lady with her tongue cut out and her breast being cut off). There was however a cheeky little figure high in the rear who pops out on the hour with a hammer to ring a bell. Disney style. He also opens and shuts his mouth as he hits the bell earning him the nickname ‘the flycatcher’. It was unexpected to say the least, but to my mind earned credit for helping the place not take itself too seriously.

The Logroño cathedral; could you squeeze in any more gold gilding on top of the insanely intricate carving? Other than that, too dark for me.

Pamplona’s cathedral, I’m struggling to remember now because I was more into the cathedral for bull fighting (see post on Pamplona).

We missed the cathedral at Santa Domingo del la Calzada, which is a bit of a shame. It has live chickens! I kid you not. They are kept in a coup with a glass front above the archway of one of the doors. Apparently they are the direct descendants of two chickens whose life was unnaturally extended by a miracle performed by Saint Dominic. As the story goes…

‘…a young man and his family were traveling as pilgrims to Santiago. On the way, they stopped in Santo Domingo de la Calzada for the night, where he rejected the advances of the inn keeper’s daughter. Upset with the rejection, the young woman hid a silver cup in the pilgrim’s bag, who would be later accused of theft and condemned to death.

On their return from Santiago de Compostela, his parents went back to Santo Domingo de la Calzada to give the final farewell to their son and found him still alive, thanks to the intervention of Saint Dominic who knew of the young man’s innocence.

Surprised by such a miracle, the parents went to the authorities to let them know. The Corregidor (sheriff) of Santo Domingo being skeptical replied that their son would be as alive as the roasted cockerel and hen he was going to eat that very moment. As he pronounced these words, the cockerel and hen instantly got up on the plate, their white feathers grew back and they started to sing.’ (Camino Ways)

It’s a miracle celebrated to this day. The town has chicken paraphernalia everywhere, including one shop with a chicken sitting on top of an air fryer! Hilarious. It reminded Paul of the McDonalds situated on the lower floor of the museum of communism in Moscow. Also hilarious.

Unfortunately we had too many kilometres to hike that day so were unable to visit the descendants of the miraculous chickens. As I write, that now seems like something of an oversight.

We left Leon thinking the Meseta was behind us, to discover we had two more days before reaching its edge. I think maybe I finally understood the pilgrim mythology (refer to previous post). There really wasn’t much to do, or see and it wasn’t the most lovely stretch we have walked. If I were our son Oliver I’d rate it ‘meh’ out of ten. I took a nap on a train track, because I could.

A little further along we came to Hospital de Órbigo, famous for objectively (once again in my subjective opinion) the best bridge on the Camino. Two hundred metres of meandering medieval genius. Its imperfect lines made it just perfect.

They hold a jousting tournament here every year in honour of the knight Don Suero. As we understand the tale:

‘In the fifteenth century, the knight Don Suero fell in love with Lady Leonor, who unfortunately did not return his affections. Don Suero, who should have gone on to become the patron saint of emo, displayed his heartbreak by fasting and donning an iron collar every Thursday to show himself a “prisoner of love.” [That “every Thursday” part gets me every time.]

But a weekly collar wasn’t enough to get over the lady’s rejection, so in 1434 Don Suero also announced that he would joust any knight brave enough to fight him on the long bridge of Hospital del Órbigo. When he won 300 lances, he said, he would remove the collar and be free of his affliction. This became known as the tournament of the Honorable Passage.

Oh, but Don Suero didn’t really intend to fight all 300 jousts himself. Because there are bros in every century, he managed to convince nine of his closest friends to fight in his place sometimes — probably on Thursdays, when he was hampered by the collar’ (Camino times two).

In Astorga we discovered a palace designed by Gaudi. Apparently it was home for the local Bishop which didn’t quite accord with my understanding of a life of piety. The palace was right next door to the Astorga cathedral, upon which I am unable to report regarding its interior. Our legs were too tired from walking 32 kilometres that day (at the start of a European heatwave) to justify the 8 euros required to get inside.

It had a nice gift shop though and in Emma’s reading of our Camino guide book we learnt that the outside of this cathedral is an unfortunate mixture of Romanesque, Baroque and Gothic styles. It really doesn’t know what it’s trying to be… architecturally. Which is unforunate given it sits next door to Gaudi’s masterpiece.

Onward we went. The plains dissapppeared in equal proportion to the reappearance of hills. The tired, often crumbling little towns of the Meseta tuned into charming stone villages in the foothills of the Camino’s highest point at Cruz de Ferro. The village of Rabanal del Camino was particularly lovely, having made a resurgence ever since the Benedictine monks set up shop here in the 1980s to support the passing parade of pilgrims. We attended their evening prayer in a charming if rustic old church. The monks sung their praise in Latin. It was a unique experience.

We spent that night in a 76 bed albergue (38 in our room) which forced me to rethink my kind disposition towards the peregrino commmunity. OMG, this is a dorm and people are trying to sleep. If you want to discuss the tradie who didn’t show up to fix your garden wall (three times apparently) by phone, on speaker, THEN PLEASE FEEL FREE TO USE THE COMMUNAL COURTYARD OUTSIDE!

Of course I could have fixed this problem for myself simply by inserting my very effective Loops earplugs, except that I had bumped them off my top bunk while trying to simultaneously deal with my reading glasses, eye mask, phone, watch and multiple charging cords. The small container holding my ear plugs hit the floor, crashed open and sent them flying across the darkened dorm. No amount of scrabbling around on the floor to the glow of the red lamp on my head torch would reveal their location.

Frustrated and struggling to maintain my commitment to equanimity, I lay in bed and tried to ignore the solution to the missing tradie coming from five bunks over. An evening of unfiltered snoring ensued. Not to mention the howls of objection from a chorus of peregrinos at 5.00 am the next morning when another thoughtful individual decided they needed to turn on the fluorescent lights FOR THE WHOLE DORM so they could continue their packing!

That morning was also Sunday. Bad news on the Camino. We delayed our walk hoping for breakfast. No tortilla de patats on a Sunday though. We had a croissant. Chased down by a chocolate croissant. Fortunately (for me) there was coffee.

The next day was the high point of the Camino. Geographically. We walked slowly but steadily, up and up to Cruz de Ferro, an iconic site for pilgrims, with a 7 metre high mound of stones built up by the offerings of each passing pilgrim. At its centre, an oak pole is topped by an iron cross. In leaving a stone, you metaphorically leave behind whatever baggage you feel you have been carrying as you go through life. I decided this was a good place to forgive the noisy peregrinos from the night before.

Down the other side we went with the villages becoming evermore charming along the way. Until today, where we are resting once again, in Ponferrada. Which has another castle. Paul and I reenacted Monty Python scenes because we could and because it made us laugh.

Right now I am feeling inspired by the lyrics of Simon and Garfunkel’s 59th Street Bridge.

‘I got no deeds to do, no promises to keep, I’m dappled and drowsy and ready for sleep, Life I love you. Always Groovy’.

And that’s it. You’re up to date!

Time for Cats of the Camino!

And a couple more photos for the record…