14th century – erica goes traveling

Petřín Hill

after exploring the rest of the Czech Republic by various modes of public transportation, I returned to Prauge eager to visit sites I hadn’t had time to visit at the outset of my trip. high on the list, right the abandoned castle fort of Vyšehrad down the river, was Petřín hill. the hill stand some 327 meters above sea level, climbs 130 meters from the bank of the Vltava River and is covered almost entirely by parks and recreational trails.

the day I visited (in the middle of a week at the beginning of October) was cool and dreary and the park proved mostly quiet. rather than climb up, I opted for the three-stop funicular that runs between the neighborhood of Malá Strana beside the river and the top of the hill.

the funicular began operation in 1891 using water balance propulsion, but closed at the outset of the First World War. it did not resume operation until 1932, when all the equipment was overhauled or replaced. it ran for about thirty years before shifting earth once again forced the closure of the line. twenty years later operation resumed with new cars and following track reconstruction. it runs every ten minutes from March to November.

a lookout tower stands near the upper station of the funicular and offers views over the city from two observation decks. it was built the same year as the funicular after a group visited the Paris World Expo of 1889 and was inspired by the Eiffel Tower. it took four months to complete and advocates are quick to point out that, while inspired by the Parisian example, it differs significantly in design, with an octagonal base and support structure.

Petřín hill has featured in numerous pieces of Czech literature, including a short story by Franz Kafka (“Description of a Struggle”) and in Milan Kundera’s The Unbearable Lightness of Being. my interest in the hill, however, stemmed from a novel proposed for use in the Muir Writing Program — Mark Slouka’s The Visible World. it is one of the best and most melancholy books I’ve ever read — certainly the best book I read in the year preceding my trip to the Czech Republic. the heart of Visible World revolves around the wartime experiences of the narrator’s mother, whom he has deduced had a great love who died during the Second World War. there’s an intense scene set atop the hill involving gestapo and a firing squad.

despite the verdant, serene recreational area Petřín is now, it has a dark past, whether the executions depicted in Slouka’s novel occurred or not. in the middle of the 14th century, Charles IV ordered the construction of a defensive wall along the top of the hill to protect the Castle from attacks from the west or south. employing locals in construction, the hladová zeď (or hunger wall), helped people fend off the effects of a famine that descended upon the city in 1361. while it helped many, it was a time of acute hardship among the greater populace. today about 1,200 meters remain of the original structure, which stands some 6 meters high and 2 meters wide. while Charles IV later cultivated a reputation for doing good for the poor, the construction of the wall was probably more strategic rather than a public works project. today the phrase hladová zeď is meant to refer to what is considered a useless public works project.

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.

Avebury

pedestrian path along the henge

both my trips to Glastonbury included visit to Avebury, a neolithic henge formed of three concentric circles that enclose a village that dates from the early medieval period. the stone circle, constructed around 2600 BCE, is the largest stone circle in Europe and was part of a human-constructed prehistoric landscape that included other monuments such as the West Kennet Long Barrow (a neolithic barrow situated on on a chalk ridge) and Silbury Hill (a 40m high, human-made chalk hill) less than two miles from Avebury. as with the more famous neighbor Stonehenge, the purpose of the Avebury ring is unknown though largely speculated to be used for ceremonies or rituals with a religious basis; evidence suggests the site was in use for over a millennium.

there’s some evidence to suggest periodic habitation at the site by Mesolithic hunter-gatherer people, who may have even constructed their own ceremonial structure, predating the stones that stand today (Mesolithic = the Age which preceded the Neolithic). anthropological studies have found significant activity from the Neolithic period; the introduction of domesticated plants and animals allowed hunter-gatherers to settle down for farming and, by extension, engage in the construction of massive sacred sites, like those around Avebury, that stemmed in part from a shift in religious beliefs.

the stability of agrarian culture allowed for ongoing projects and Avebury was built in stages. the henge — a large circular bank with internal ditch — is 420 meters across and would have required a remarkable commitment of time and labor; other henges most comparable in size are only a quarter of the size of the one at Avebury. the outer stone circle, originally consisting of 98 sarcen standing stones weighing up to 40 tons and standing over 4 meters, was likely built concurrent to the henge (or within a couple hundred years). within the outer stone circle (diameter of about 331 meters) are two additional, separate stone circles (diameters of 98 and 108 meters). an avenue of parallel stones run from one entrance of the henge and evidence exists of another avenue emanating from another entrance.

two of the standing stones

by the Iron Age, earlier users or inhabitants of the area abandoned the site and it remained largely abandoned. there’s some evidence that people visited or used the site during the period of Roman rule and later native Briton warriors may have fortified the site to use for defensive purposes. there was intermittent habitation thereafter throughout the medieval period, with farmers constructing huts outside the stone circle and, in the 10th century, a church to serve the newly-converted Christians.

the coming of Christianity didn’t bode well for the perceived-pagan roots of the Avebury stone circle; during the 14th century villagers began pulling down the stones and burying them in prepared pits, believing the Devil had erected them for evil purposes. one of the stones, weighing some 13 tons, fell on a man during the toppling process, fracturing his pelvis and breaking his neck; he remained buried in the specially-dug hole under the stone until archaeologists excavated the hole in 1938. he had coins dating from 1320-35 in a leather pouch at his waist. the death of this man prompted the villagers to cease their toppling project, perhaps fearful that a vengeful spirit or the Devil sought revenge for destroying the site. shortly thereafter, the Black Plague struck and decimated the town’s population, further preventing any further destruction (desecration?).

the first modern mention of Avebury came from Henry VIII’s chaplain in 1451 but it wasn’t until a man called John Aubrey took interest and described it to the king that investigation took off. although Charles II told Aubrey to dig under the stones in search of burial sites, Aubrey focused his attentions on a systematic study of the site, producing a diagram that proved invaluable when villagers, heedless of the lessons of their 14th century forebears and whipped into a puritanical frenzy, smashed up many of the remaining stones for use in building materials. in the middle of the 19th century, in an effort to stem the destruction of Avebury and prevent the erection of more houses within the henge, Sir John Lubbock (later known as Lord Avebury) purchased much of the available land and encouraged others to build outside the henge.

sheep grazing within the henge

throughout the 20th century, efforts were made to excavate, preserve, and restore the site with some previously-buried stones unearthed and re-erected. archaeologist Alexander Keiller proved instrumental in preserving artifacts, establishing a museum at the site in the 1930s, and bringing attention to the site. hundreds of thousands of people visit the site today, which is now under the stewardship of the National Trust, including contemporary pagan groups. the site is so popular for rituals among pagan groups, in fact, that they’ve had to establish a system to share access.
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and I didn’t know any of that either of the times I visited. I had a vague notion of the scope of history and similarities to Stonehenge, but none of the specifics. I didn’t even have a very good grasp on the more impressive spiritual associations — just knew that I was impressed and it was worth the trip. we cracked jokes about the black sheep following others around, made up stories about animal-like shapes in the standing stones (one of them was a bear … the other, maybe a ram?). but reading up on it and learning about all the twists the last 4000 years have brought the site makes me even more excited to visit it again sometime in the future, perhaps as part of a tour of all the sites now under the heading of “Stonehenge, Avebury, and Associated Sites.”

San Anton outside Castrojeriz

just before arriving in Castrojeriz are ruins of an old monastery and hospital de peregrinos — San Antón de Castrojeriz. Alfonso VII helped underwrite the original hospital and church in 1146, though the remaining buildings date primarily from the 14th and 15th centuries. hospices run by the Order of San Antón (Saint Anthony), sprung up all over Europe — first in France and later in Spain, Italy, and elsewhere — were known for their success in alleviating or curing various ailments, though ergot poisoning was chief among them. (ergot poisoning stemmed from eating fungus-infected barley bread and improved by a change in diet — i.e. no more barley bread and an increase in wine consumption — and physical activity — i.e. Camino.)

although the building is mostly ruins, it does still function as an albergue during milder months when Camino traffic is heavier. the most impressive remnant of the original monastery is the archway spanning the Camino. peregrinos arriving too late to gain access to the hospital shelter under the archway for the night and monks would leave food in the niches that line the walls. while residents no longer leave vittles in the alcoves, peregrinos often leave notes to one another, held down by stones or other weights. we saw notes left for people in quite a few places, but nowhere as many little scraps of paper as here.

my books reference the remarkable artistry of the carvings lining the opposite side of the archway — in archivolts (curved ornamental moldings along the underside of the arch), which must have been truly spectacularconsidering how impressive they remain in spite of centuries of deterioration. at the west end of the ruins plaques featuring the insignia of the Order of San Antón remain, near what remains of the rose window and coats of arms from French and German families.

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 …

Nájera

a day of welcome overcast skies brought us to Nájera, a town astride the rio Najerilla at the base of some remarkable cliffs. again — Roman origins, Moorish control for a while (the name of the town actually has Arabic origins), but a history of more diplomatic rather than military transitions of power. by virtue of its location, Nájera controlled both the east-west traffic on the Camino, but also the transport of goods downriver from the fertile plains nearby.

Nájera was a multicultural city from early on and part of the first translation of the Qur’an into a European language may have originated here. much of Spanish law derives from the charter granted the town by Sancho Garces III, who also minted the first Christian coinage in Spain following the expulsion of the Moors. as with many other towns along the Camino, Nájera hosted a sizable Jewish population but unlike persecution endured elsewhere, the 11th-century charter equalized penalty for killing a noble, a cleric, or a Jew at 250 sueldos.

there was a spot of bother with the Monasterio de Santa Maria stemming from the Castillian capture of Rioja in 1076. a Castillian king donated the monastery to the Benedictines of Cluny in 1079, which enraged the bishop of the monastery, who physically relocated the bishopric to Calahorra, downriver. when later appealed to for intervention, the Pope declined and the new bishop took matters into his own hands, raiding the monastery, assaulting monks, and stealing valuables from the altars and library. the Pope did not take to kindly to this, excommunicating the bishop, who was also barred from entering Navarra by its king. shortly thereafter Castilla and Navarra went to war over Rioja and the new prior of the monastery managed to enrich it by playing both sides.

interesting fact for Anglophiles: Edward the Black Prince led troops at the Battle of Nájera in 1367, supporting Pedro (the Cruel) against his brother Enrique II in the Castillian Civil War (also part of the Hundred Years War). the English-backed Pedro completely routed the French-backed Enrique — the English were attacking dismounted French troops and were using longbows for the first time in the Iberian Peninsula. despite Pedro’s victory here, however, he didn’t hold onto power for very long; he and Edward fell out over money and he couldn’t sustain his throne without the benefit of foreign support.

Zubiri

the journey from Roncesvalles to Zubiri was our first lesson in the short-comings of our guide book. while it recommends continuing on to Larrasoaña — a further 5 or so km — with the afterthought addendum “if you’re feeling muy fuerte” we were more than ready to stop in Zubiri for the night. it was the first of many experiences in one of the numerous small villages that make up the majority of the stops along the Camino, as well as another albergue experience that quickly amounted to a strong preference for private rooms with fewer snorers and private showers wherever they might be found.

Zubiri is named for the bridge that connects the Camino to the town, crossing over the rio Arga. the name comes from Basque and roughly translates to “town of the bridge.” originally constructed in 1097, the current bridge dates from the 14th century. it’s known as the Puente de la Rabia because of a tradition (or legend) that held that walking around the central pillar three times would cure a domesticated animal (e.g. sheep, horses, cows) of rabies. until the 20th century farmers would bring their animals to receive help from the 5th century virgin-martyr Saint Quiteria, whose remains might have been found or ended up here.

the second day was challenging in a whole new set of ways. it still hadn’t really set in that we were in this for the long haul, though I worked assiduously on not thinking about how many days of walking we had left. even though on some level I knew we couldn’t possibly be facing 33 more days as arduous as the ascent over the mountains into Roncesvalles, I didn’t have any evidence yet to prove otherwise. swollen feet were my worst enemy the duration of the Camino and they showed up with a vengeance on this day; my body wasn’t prepared for the reality of walking for hours every day, for days on end.

physical pain aside, the countryside had a lot to offer, all of which differed from what we saw the on the preceding day. apart from a few days in the middle as we crossed the plains of Castilla y Leon, the terrain differed every day — offered new and incredible vistas and presented unique challenges. on this day, for example, we saw our first group of domesticated animals moving as a herd. after a brief rest and not-yet-underwhelming bocadillo in Espinal, the main road through town was briefly swarmed by sheep moving out to pasture. the shepherd and his dogs kept everyone in line, plodding along determinedly, the old sheep straggling along at the rear with periodic canine astonishment to stay with the group.

in all honesty, I am surprised we didn’t see more herds of farm animals moving through towns. we saw plenty of animals out in fields, sure, but only two or three in being shepherded to a new destination. suppose the farmers were up before even the peregrinos seeing to their animals and getting them out for a nice long, sunny meal in the pasture.

Roncesvalles

the village of Roncesvalles has served pilgrims coming over the pass since the 9th century and in the late 12th century, Sancho VII El Fuerte ordered the construction of a church, done in the Gothic style. his remains and that of his wife now lie in the crypt of the church. in 1400, fire destroyed the original church building, though other structures survived, including the chapel of Sacti Spiritus, which stands over a crypt where Roland is reputed to have stabbed himself after the defeat in the Pass and served as a burial place for peregrinos that perished on the Camino. a bishop from Pamplona bolstered Sancho VII’s decision by creating a co-fraternity to administer to peregrinos at Roncesvalles. in the 13th century, Navarre underwent a period of prosperity which served to enhance the power of this co-fraternity even more; by the end of the 14th century their strength was such that the Navarrese Crown borrowed money from the collegiate at Roncesvalles. reforms over the 16th and 17th centuries enhanced their position, which were threatened by the French Revolution and instability that followed in the late 18th and early 19th centuries.

as a first experience with albergues (aulberge in French), the one in Roncesvalles was about what I anticipated from one of the most popular points of origination for the Camino. the space we stayed in was recently renovated and modernized to match the rapidly increasing demand for beds and amenities. previously, up to 120 people bunked in the same large room in the collegiate facility on the main road next to the river. the new building (seen above) was converted from an old youth hostel (I believe) and has something like 300 beds on three floors, which are broken up into little bunk alcoves of four beds with a locker for each bed and had a reasonable three-showers-per-gender-per-floor ratio. the Russian guys sharing our alcove snored like the dickens but weren’t the worst we endured by a long shot (our roommates the next night in Zubiri was muuuuuuuch worse).

Roncesvalles from Col de Lepoeder – today’s peak

St. John of Nepomuk

statue on the Charles Bridge

John of Nepomuk is the national saint of the Czech Republic. he lived during the 14th century and was reputedly the confessor of the wife of King Wenceslas IV. he studied at Charles University in Prague (which was established around the time that he was born) and later at the University of Padua. he became the vicar-general to the Archbishop of Prague, who had a contentious relationship with the king.

according to legend, John of Nepomuk served as confessor to the queen in and, when he refused to betray that relationship to the King, who suspected his wife of infidelity, the King had John of Nepomuk tortured. when the latter died under torture, the perpetrators panicked and threw the body into the Vltava River. the body surfaced several days later and upon examining the body, legend holds, it was discovered that John of Nepomuk’s tongue had curled up, which the Catholic Church took as sign of a miracle and John’s commitment to the sacrament of confession.

the real story of John of Nepomuk and his death/execution/martyrdom proves significantly more convoluted and hazy. who would imagine that over seven hundred years a story would get re-told and re-imagined to suit shifting political and religious goals?

location from which he was thrown into the Vltava

one historically viable account holds that John of Nepomuk was trapped by the political machinations of Wenceslas (who was King of the Romans and King of Bohemia) and the Archbishop of Prague and, in siding with the latter, earned the King’s wrath. the political issue that sparked this contention was the appointment of a new abbot to a powerful abbey, one who would prove a vital ally for the King against regional nobles. additionally, while the King backed the Avignon papacy during this period, the Archbishop backed the pope in Rome. John of Nepomuk confirmed the Archbishop’s choice for abbot and, as soon the King concocted a viable explanation, the King had him killed and thrown in the Vltava on March 20, 1393.

statue on the Vltava in Krumlov

consensus agrees that John of Nepomuk did live during the 14th century and served as vicar-general to the Archbishop. details grow murkier from there as, over the centuries, Catholics, Protestants, Jesuits, and others argued over the precise role that the man played in the administration of Wenceslas IV. one account even held there were two Johns of Nepomuk. as Wikipedia explains it, “John of Nepomuk is seen by Catholics as a martyr to the cause of defending the Seal of the Confessional, by romantic nationalists as a Czech martyr to imperial interference, and by most historians as a victim of a late version of the inveterate investiture controversy between secular rulers and the Catholic hierarchy.”

whatever the real story, the man is clearly venerated by the people of the Czech Republic and there are statues all over the country in spite of the communist regimes best efforts to stamp out religion. Benedict XIII canonized him in 1729 and centuries spent weaving the story into national identity and folk heritage cannot be unraveled by a couple of decades of repression, no matter how oppressive.

a little pension luxury

after spending a week sleeping on planes and in hostels, I relished the idea of spending a night in a town too small to have something so large as a multi-bed hostel. after staying an extra night in Český Krumlov I had one free night before my reservation in Olomouc. because Czech Republic is relatively small (by U.S. standards, at least — it’s about the same area as Ireland) the drive from the former to the latter is only about four hours, though something closer to six by bus via a slightly more complicated route.

consequently, I had a rather extensive list of places I could explore for twelve hours as resting place on my way to Olomouc via Brno. on the recommendation of a fellow traveler I’d met at the Krumlov House (whose opinion validated those of both my guidebooks), I settled on Telč, a town of about 5,800 people on the road to Třebíč and Brno. established in the 14th century as a water fort, the town is now best known for its impeccably-preserved and colossal main square. after the death of Moravian governor Lord Zachariáš in 1589, construction around the square ceased and it has remained largely unchanged since then. (the square is named after him: náměstí Zachariáše z Hradce.)

View Larger Map

apart from the square and the castle (which closed about an hour after I arrived in town), Telč didn’t offer much in the way of sights to occupy me. after dinner of Kozel and an extremely odd pizza with Czech-ketchup sauce (apparently quite popular but so, so, so odd) overlooking the square, followed by a walk around town that took all of 15 minutes, I retired to my private (en suite!) room at a pension on the square. sticking my head out through the skylight of my room, I could see one of the two artificial defensive ponds that enclose the center of town. rooms at the back of the pension had an exceptional view of both the back garden and pond beyond, while the owner’s apartments at the front overlooked the town square. imagine living behind a six century old facade, running a business that overlooks a pond built to defend a 16th century castle? (if you ever find yourself in Telč, check out the Pension Steidler — nice people, great location, and the most extensive breakfast I had my entire trip.)