Cathedral at night

for the first time on the Camino, the night we arrived in Santiago, we got to enjoy the twilight and experience Spain as it ought to be experienced — when everyone else is out and about.

for much of our time in Spain we, along with the other peregrinos, operated on a clock wholly our own — up before sunrise and on the road, lunch between 11 and 1 and dinner between 6 and 8, at the latest. most of the time this proved a non-issue; most of the places we traveled through operated on peregrino time as the main industry of many of the towns was serving peregrinos. in the big cities it wasn’t problematic, but it did mean we missed some of the more exciting things Spain had on offer. staying at an albergue the day after León, we met some Australians who’d gone out with friends while in the city and regaled us with stories of the music and food and nightlife they got to experience while there. we, on the other hand, were back in our hotel, enjoying a bottle of wine on the balcony, watching the Eurovison song contest until the satellite cable went out and we went to bed. before 9:00 p.m. I can’t imagine being out late on any night of the Camino, then getting up to walk the next day in any state of fatigue beyond what we already put up with. in Santiago, we had lunch so “absurdly” early (around 1:30p.m., after the end of the Mass) that the restaurant wasn’t prepared to seat us right away. we had the dining room to ourselves for a short while, but a group of English-speaking tourists in town for shopping filled up a large table after a while.

after our celebratory lunch, we wandered around the Old Town — designated a UNESCO World Heritage site, the fifth of our trip. the town was destroyed in the 10th century and entirely rebuilt in Gothic, Baroque and Romanesque styles; the Cathedral anchors the old town and is one of the oldest sites in the city. that majestic Cathedral helped make Santiago the third most popular medieval pilgrimage site, after Rome and Jerusalem. the streets, not surprisingly, wind erratically and take you unexpected places. if you try and follow the may to get from one point to another, you will likely prove unsuccessful; once we got a sense for landmarks, though, it wasn’t too hard to get where we intended.

we headed back to the hotel after a good wander, nabbing snacks from a corner store just at the edge of Old Town, and spent the remainder of the afternoon and much of the evening relaxing, reading, and watching Euro 2012 matches. when we ventured forth again, twilight was settling, and I wanted to see what the Cathedral looked like in a different light.

under the balcony of the Pazo de Raxoi (Palacio de Rajo, the seat of Galician government) a string quintet (sextet? quartet?) was performing and had drawn a group. not as atmospheric as the gaita gallego as we entered the Praza de Obradoiro the first couple of times, but pleasant all the same. the building was commissioned by the archbishop of Santiago in 1766 as a seminary for confessors. it previously housed a prison and the western wall of the city and ownership of the proposed building was disputed by several parties, all of whom had an interest in the land and its future uses. the facade is graced by a depiction of the Battle of Clavijo, topped by a sculpture of Santiago Matamoros, and plays a pivotal role in the conclusion of  Sharpe’s Rifles.

in the middle of the plaza, serenaded by the strings, stood a group of cyclists having their triumphal photo taken. it’s staggering to think they’d just arrived in the city — it was after 10:00 p.m. — but they had all their gear on and had that elated, just-arrived air. quite a dramatic time to arrive, though on the whole I’m partial to an earlier arrival that allows more time to contemplate what you’ve just achieved and soak in the ambiance.

Triacastela

after the distinct character of O’Cebreiro, hiking for 28 days, and the increasing presence of new peregrinos, I found it increasingly difficult to appreciate the character and charm of the some of the places we stayed in Galicia. perhaps the damp weather exacerbated my sense of ambivalence, but the new faces and increased commercialization of the small towns, seeking desperately to meet some unasked need of the new peregrinos didn’t help.

we didn’t have lodging booked in Triacastela and stumbled upon an albergue near the start of town and off the main road. we snagged perhaps the last two bunks in the place, which was clean enough if charmless. the communal space was somewhat odd and didn’t allow for much lounging. we found a restaurant around the corner for our big daily meal and then took a look around the village. even if we’d found the last two beds in the village, I felt a little cheated; while our albergue was on the main highway through town, the heart of the village was the other road, the one we’d deviated from to find our lodging. it was filled with cafes and several different lodgings of varying quality and after having such luck finding quaint or character-filled lodgings without notice, it was a bit of a let-down. one of my books likened it to the contrast found in Puente la Reina (way back on day 4) where the Camino passed along both a major motorway lined with modern (drab) apartment buildings and through the medieval buildings at the center of town.

the three castles from which the village takes its name dated from the 10th century but none remain standing; according to my cultural history book, they were all likely destroyed by Norman raiders in the middle of the 10th century and nothing remains of them today. (could you blame locals for carrying off a heap of already-quarried stones for their own uses?) despite the lack of stately accommodation, the town drew numerous royals for visits over the centuries. in the 13th century, Alfonso IX of León took a liking to the town and visited frequently, even going so far as to appoint the local mayor; his son took a liking to the Galician language, Gallego, and had troubadours perform songs at court in Gallego. shortly thereafter (in 1248), Fernando III gathered town representatives in the village to raise funds for his campaign to reconquer Sevilla. in May 1554, Prince Felipe II (later King … of several countries with varying strength-of-claim) spent the night in Triacastela before continuing to England to marry his aunt, Mary, who also happened to be recently-crowned Queen of England.

Galicia

entering the last autonomous region of the Camino!

having never studied much Spanish history while at school (much less monarchical history), the intensity to which people associate with their ancestral kingdom surprised me. natives of Navarra descend from a very different narrative than natives from Castilla or natives of León or natives of Galicia. unlike the more central (and easily-conquerable) regions of Spain, Galicia has an independent streak not unlike that of Catalonia or the Basque country. (a fact mentioned in an article I read today in the Economist about the recent vote in Catalonia in support of independence from Spain.)

the area has been inhabited since the Copper Age by a culture characterized by a “surprising capacity for construction and architecture” and a cult of the dead. migration from the Castillian plain into Galicia during the Bronze age boosted mining interests and swelled the population. their successors, Gallaeci, were of Celtic extraction, lived in fortified villages, and form the basis for the region’s modern inhabitants. founded by the Suebic king Hermeric in 409 C.E., the kingdom of Galicia adopted Catholicism and minted its own currency as early as 449. in 585 the Visigoths annexed the kingdom and reigned (though didn’t much control) for just over a century before Galicia regained its liberty and amicably joined with the adjacent kingdoms for a period.

traditional Galician stew and hearty bread

though it became an independent kingdom briefly in the 10th century as a result of succession fights in Castilla, those same fights destabilized the region and Galicia subsequently fell under the control of a series of external monarchs. beginning in the 14th century, the distant kings began devolving more powers on local authorities (knights, counts bishops, etc.) and increasing after Galicians backed Joanna La Beltraneja in her successful bid against Isabela I of Castilla. towards the end of the 15th century, however, the language began a slow decline that led to the Séculos Escuros (Dark Centuries) when the written Galician language nearly disappeared. another fact some of you might find interesting — in the 1380s, John of Gaunt claimed the crown of Castilla on behalf of his wife, sailed to Spain to battle the French as part of the Hundred Years War, and dragged Galicia into his succession fight.

amazing dessert of local crumbly cheese
drenched in honey and the famous
Santiago almond tart

not surprisingly, Galicia found itself in the cross-hairs of various belligerent parties of the 19th century. the people allied themselves with the British in the Peninsular War and suffered consequences as a result when the French took control of the region for six months (you can “read more” about how they evicted the French from Santiago de Compostela in Bernard Cornwell’s Sharpe’s Rifles, which I was encouraged to read before setting out on the Camino.) the kingdom was dissolved permanently with the unification of Spain under one crown in 1833; a century later, in conjunction with the establishment of the Second Republic of Spain, Galicians voted in favor of a path to autonomy within a federalized Spanish state though the Spanish Civil war preempted implementation. because the initial military coup proved successful in Galicia, the region was spared the worst of the fighting that occurred during the war, though they certainly didn’t go unpunished or un-repressed. (fact I did not know: Franco was from Ferrol, northeast of Santiago but in the same province of A Coruña)

while Galicia has been profoundly affected by the economic and housing crises affecting the rest of Spain in the last decade, the region still retains its distinct, unique character. but more about that later.

the city of Burgos

no matter how long it takes to get into Burgos on foot, it is an significant city — both for its connection to El Cid (about which more later) and as the historical capital of Castilla.

earliest settlement of the area overlooking the confluence of Arlanzón River tributaries dates from the Romans. once they left the village plodded along without much excitement the small county of Castilla seceded from León following devastation by Moorish invaders in the early 10th century. thereafter, the heads of León, Aragón, and Navarra fought almost constantly to control the comparatively small buffer state — Burgos proving paramount of the territorial prizes. previous posts have discussed various wars of succession aiming at control over Castilla and/or León; suffice it to say that fortunes for Burgos and Castilla took a tumultuous course.

in addition to its pivotal location on the Camino at the Arlanzón River, trade routes from the Bay of Biscay also passed through here on their way south towards Madrid and Southern Spain. the merchant class that found themselves in Burgos grew into an impressive oligarchy that consolidated considerable political power in the 13th century, using their wealth to bolster the fortunes of various monarchs by providing mounted fighters. by the 14th century, it grew increasingly cosmopolitan, hosting merchants from as far away as London and Bruges. various neighborhoods claimed Castillian, Basque, Aragonese, Frankish, and Moorish inhabitants. the Jewish population, while thriving at one time, was decimated in anti-Semitic riots of the late 14th century. in modern times, Burgos endured battles during the Napoleonic Peninsular and later Carlist wars, as well as serving as the seat of Franco’s Nationalist government. the presence of Franco spurred economic growth of the 20th century as it established textile factories to replace those under Republican control in the east.

the city is known for it’s remarkably preserved old town, as well as the incredible cathedral at the center of it all. as some of you have seen, we snagged a room with a view of the cathedral for our lodging though, because of nice long soaks in the tub and a splendid nap, we didn’t make it out to investigate the cathedral prior to evening mass … which means we only got to enjoy the exterior. but more on that to come …

Castillo de Villamayor de Monjardin

Sierra Urbasa to the north of the Camino

the castle of San Esteban de Deyo watches over the town of Villamayor du Monjardin, which was likely established by Sancho el Fuerte at the end of the 12th century. the base of the castle is likely Roman, though it’s been reconstructed many times over the centuries — and was host to some kind of construction work when we saw it — and was one of the last strongholds of the Banu Qasi Muslims in the region, who were ultimately defeated in the 10th century. one version of events contends that Sancho Garces (of whom there was a statue near where we stopped for our mid-morning snack) captured the castle and town from the Moors in 914; another (a propaganda vehicle for French interests in Iberia, apparently) holds that Charlemagne defeated a Navarran prince who was holed up in the castle before going on to Najera to fight Ferragut.

the area was under Moorish control towards the end of the first millennium and there’s a fountain and/or cistern just outside the town to whom the Moors are said to have constructed. it’s been rebuilt and is rather picturesque, if not entirely enticing as a source to refill one’s water pack.

Fuente de Moros outside Villamayor

there are a surprising number of “Villamayors” in Spain (we stayed in another 20 days after this segment) and so, to mitigate the understandable confusion, in 1908 the Spanish government amended the names of all the Villamayors — often with the name of a nearby geographical feature, such as the hill upon which the castillo sits here.

interestingly, after a steady decline throughout the twentieth century, in the last thirty years the town’s population has grown. granted, that growth took it from 113 inhabitants in 1981 to 139 inhabitants in 2011.

Bodega Irache and the fuente de vino

we saw our fair share of bodegas (wineries) along the Camino — but only one had a fuente de vino for peregrinos. we left Estella relatively early and got to Irache at the thoroughly-inappropriate-to-drink-wine time of about 8:30 a.m. did that stop us? of course not. we were the first in a wave of peregrinos walking past it, the rest of whom seemed uncertain about whether it was ok (morally or sanitation-wise) to drink wine from a spigot coming out the side of a winery. we took the initiative and tested the non-waters and found the resulting liquid pretty good, especially considering the method in which it was dispensed.

the winery is located at the site of a former monastery that began serving peregrinos in the 10th century. the abbot when the first hospice was constructed, San Veremundo, worked with King Sancho Ramirez to build Irache into one of the richest and strongest abbeys in Navarra. he is also reputed to have donated the vineyards from which Bodegas Irache now harvests its grapes. while the strength of the city didn’t last (due to righting between religious factions), the town recovered enough by 1605 to warrant the relocation of the Benedictine monastery from Sahagun to Irache.

the university operated for two centuries, but closed in 1824; the monastery closed in the 1980s due to a lack of novitiates, a century after it received protection as a national monument. today it houses a museum. the winery opened several decades after the university closed and the fountain began dispensing wine in 1981, a century later, aimed primarily at peregrinos, one would imagine as it’s mere feet from the Camino. if you’re so inclined, you can watch the fuente de vino webcam and see how and whether the peregrinos stop for a sip before continuing along the way to Villamayor du Monjardin and Los Arcos.