Tag: church

Killelton oratory

as with anyplace whose history and tradition of building erection stretches beyond two centuries, the Dingle peninsula has plenty of abandoned, tumbled-down, excavated, and over-grown structures. one of the first excavated and preserved buildings we encountered was the Killelton oratory near Camp. the first written mention of it dates from the mid-19th century and excavations and fortifications were made in the 1890s — shoring up a wall that had collapsed due to subsidence caused by a drain in the floor.

complete excavations and renovation work took place in the late 1980s, beating back the vines overtaking the site. today, the walls of the oratory stand between 5 and 6 feet high, with space evident for both an eastern window and the western-facing door. I don’t know quite how it works, but evidence also exists for a hinged door. it dates from the 10th or 11th century, but evidence from the more recent excavation indicates habitation on the site prior to the construction of this oratory, and remaining foundations adjacent to the structure suggest more modern occupation. the sign indicated a grassy patch had been used for adult burials into the 19th century, while evidence suggested that infants had been buried inside the church “in recent times.” no items of particular archaeological significance were unearthed in the excavation, simply some quern fragments, hammer stones and polygonal black glass beads.

the oratory is on the old Dingle road from Tralee, which is to say it’s now mostly a grassy, shaded track filled with biting flies and livestock leavings. we also saw several abandoned and tumble-down buildings along the same route, none of which were spruced up or maintained as the oratory.

Rabanal and the casa rural

of all the types of potential accommodation available along the Camino, it took us 24 days to stay in a casa rural — basically a B&B — but it was worth the wait. the place I’d tried to book (fancier and farther up the hill) didn’t have a record of my request (which didn’t come as a surprise) so we headed back down the hill ad tried the first non-albergue we could find. the room they offered us overlooked the main road (along which the Camino began its final ascent towards our next set of mountains) and a ruined building with mountains in the distance. a wonderfully peaceful place to rest with spectacular view.

after our standard shower-nap program, our location dictated that either of our food options required a steep climb back up the hill; our fatigued feet opted for the easy way to start (downhill) and delaying the greater exertion for later. immediately next to our casa rural stood a tiny church whose door stood open to entice peregrinos to enter. inside, beyond an alcove with a history of the church written on panels, and through metal bars designed to keep unsavory characters away, stood a remarkably impressive, gilded altar. dazzling in the sunlight that filtered through the open door — in a tiny church in a tiny town way off the beaten path in remote León. in a church that wasn’t even the village’s primary church! the wide-ranging influence of the Catholic church, sneaking up on you in the most unusual places.

the village dates from the period of Roman mining of precious metals in the nearby hills though its location on the Camino — approximately one day’s walk from the popular starting point of Astorga — enhanced its viability. ** an aside: in order to receive the Compostela in Santiago, one needn’t complete the entire Camino Frances (departing from St. Jean-Pied-de-Port or Roncesvalles). you technically only need to walk the last 100 kilometers (from approximately Sarria), about which more later, though many people complete it in stages. most commonly, people complete it over three years and walk St. Jean to Burgos one year, Burgos to Astorga another, and then Astorga to Santiago. ** in the 12th century, the Knights Templar maintained a garrison in Rabanal tasked with protecting peregrinos heading over the mountain towards Ponferrada, a Templar stronghold. while Rabanal catered strongly to peregrinos, it was merely one of several small villages along the Camino up the mountain to do so, and some itineraries had people continuing on to the nearly-deserted town of Foncebadon instead. after walking through as part of a steady stream of peregrinos, I can’t quite imagine spending the night in such a ghostly shell of a town-that-once-was.

Castillo de Castrojeriz

the hill overlooking Castrojeriz has been fortified since Celtiberiena times (the final centuries BCE) — the location on a steep-sided mesa in the midst of the Meseta Alta is remarkably defensible. Romans defended roads to Galician gold mines while later its location near the frontier of Muslim-held territory meant it endured frequent recaptures by Muslims and Christians. it fell permanently under Christian (Castillian) control due to the efforts of Nuno Nunuez in about 912 and received its first charter in 974, which sought to repopulate the area with Christians through a Second Grade of Knighthood that granted any soldier who owned a horse (of noble birth or not) a knighthood. this proved successful and the town grew and thrived as a fortified way station and commercial center that attracted many foreign merchants, as well as peregrinos.
archaeological excavations indicate pre-Roman habitation atop the meseta where the castle ruins now stand. the Visigoths likely built a fortified settlement which was overtaken and destroyed during one of many Moorish attacks. once Nuno Nunez secured the town under Christian control, the castle was reconstructed during the Middle Ages by the powerful Condes de Castro. their luck didn’t last long, however, as siding with the losing side in the Guerra de los Comunidades against Carles V in 1521 boded ill for the town, which slid into decline.
Santa Maria del Manzano
the old town, which runs about mid-way down the hill, is one of the longest existing urban medieval routes that the Camino follows. we stayed in a splendid hotel along that road, just a few steps from a church that had, among other adornments, a skull and crossbones carved into the wall. unlike some of the small towns we walked through, most of the houses along that main street were renovated or at least had been kept up. 
there are a total of four churches in Castrojeriz: Santa María del Manzano de Castrojeriz (begun in 1214); Santo Domingo (now a museum); Santiago de los Caballeros (now in ruins, but with the carved skulls on the walls to “warn passers-by to heed the inevitability of death”); San Juan de los Caballeros (13th century and probably the most ornate and elaborate). Leonor de Castilla y de Portugal, wife of Alfonso IV of Aragon, was buried in the Iglesia de Santa Maria after her assassination — on her nephew’s orders — in the castle in 1359.

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.

Glastonbury Tor

in addition to London Olympics-induced nostalgia, I just started a Bernard Cornwall book about the Arthurian legend, The Winter King, which immediately took me back to visiting Glastonbury and the tor, as well as all of southwest England. the tor was even featured in the Opening Ceremony, as the 204 participating nations placed their flags on the side of a miniature tor. coupled with the Olympics highlighting all sorts of places in England, like the Newcastle United stadium hosting the USA v. NZL women’s soccer match, makes me very much want to re-visit England (*coughbeccacoughtaracough*).

I’ve been to Glastonbury Tor twice and, frankly, would go again if someone handed me a ticket to the UK. the first time I was sixteen and had just spent three weeks in France with some high school peers. whatever thoughts I have on the France experience (perhaps something on that one day; perhaps not), getting to see England and playing passenger to my mother as first-time-UK-driver were no inconsequential element of that trip. (“left!left!left!left!left!” “HEDGE!” and, really, do British hedgerows really need to be that close on all rural roadways? yeah, probably.) while I’m sure I have some images of Glastonbury Abbey somewhere (another future blog post?) I’ll focus on the tor here.

“Tor” is a local Celtic word signifying rock outcropping or hill, as exceptionally illustrated by the one in Glastonbury. archaeological excavations unearthed evidence of inhabitants dating from prehistory; there is evidence of a 5th century fort on the site and the current ruins of St Michael’s Church (the tower) date from the 13th century, which was restored in modern times. an earthquake felt as far away as London and Wales destroyed most of the church in 1275 and a replacement church (from the 1360s) survived until the Dissolution of the Monasteries (in 1539). the last abbot of the church (along with two of his monks) were hanged, drawn, and quartered on the Tor because he refused to swear allegiance to Henry VIII.

some speculate the Glastonbury Tor is part of a zodiac calendar with formations dug around ancient hedgerows and tracks (though much of the area proposed as said calendar was under water at the time of said calendar’s design). the tor straddles one of the most important ley lines in Britain, the St. Michael line that runs from St. Michael’s Mount in Cornwall up to Avebury; the St. Mary’s line also runs through the Tor, creating a “vortex of energy” where they cross. 

others believe it provides access to the Underworld or realm of the faeiries; some that represents the final location of the Holy Grail. allegedly, Joseph of Aramathia brought it here and buried it in a cave beneath the Tor, from which two springs formed (presumably including the Chalice Well that you can still visit at the foot of the Tor.) job done, he planted his staff and a thorn grew up (Bernard Cornwall took a rather speculative eye to this myth in Winter King). 

one of the more perplexing mysteries of the tor are it’s seven, roughly symmetrical, terraces. several theories seek to explain their utility — farming, grazing, defensive ramparts, or (my favorite) a labyrinth. labyrinths were around during the Neolithic period while the tor was occupied and one can transpose the design of one such labyrinth onto the remaining ramparts but, even if that theory proves true, it seems likely its been used in other ways (e.g. farming, cattle grazing, defense) in the intervening centuries.

as Bernard Cornwall’s story reinforced for me, Glastonbury is closely linked with the Arthurian legend. the Tor was alternately known as Ynys Wydryn (Isle of Glass because at the time the plain surrounding the tor flooded and made it an island) and also Ynys yr Afalon (Isle of Avalon). in 1184 a fire destroyed much of a nearby church and during the rebuilding of the church, a “double oak” coffin with an inscription identifying Arthur was found and preserved. under the supervision of Edward I the remains were re-interred and preserved (at least until the Dissolution of the Monasteries).

whatever it was in past, it remains a truly remarkable awe-inspiring site to rival Stonehenge — and without the restrictions on access you’ll find at the site 45 miles to the east. the views (on a clear day) from the top are incredible — if your eyes are particularly good, I think yo we didn’t go to the Abbey on my second visit, but if my next trip to England involves any sort of Arthurian myth-type exploring, I wager both the tor and the Abbey will go on the list.

San Juan de Ortega

as I referenced in my last post, Domingo de la Calzada had a disciple named San Juan de Ortega (known to us English speakers as John the Hermit). born near Burgos in the late 11th century, he helped construct bridges in Logroño, Santo Domingo and Nájera. when Domingo died, Juan went on pilgrimage to Jerusalem and nearly died in a shipwreck on his return. his prayers to San Nicolas to save him from death apparently answered, Juan devoted himself to improving the Camino between Villafranca Montes de Oca and Burgos.

Church in San Juan de Ortega

he erected a monastery about 50 kilometers west of the one Domingo established and attracted the patronage of Alfonso VII of Castilla. the King supported the monastery with tax money from around Villafranca and visited several times, going so far as to choose Juan as his personal confessor. following in that vein, Pope Innocent II offered his personal protection which proved useful for some 25 years before Juan’s death.

despite the royal patronage, the monastery and hospice struggled through the Middle Ages following Juan’s death. he’s buried in the church and serves as the patron saint of hospice-keepers, children and barren mothers (this line in my book made me wonder: are they already mothers who have become barren, or are they women who wish to be come pregnant and thus not yet technically mothers?).  among those who received his aid was Isabel (I) la Catolica, Castillian queen of the 15th century who conceived following two separate visits to the San Juan’s tomb. the church is built in such a way so that the rays of the setting sun on each equinox fall on the statue of the Virgin Mary, which some see as bolstering his fertility-aid claims. by 1756, some 114 miracles were granted according to monastery records. no mention of how many have been granted since then … 

Villafranca Montes de Oca

while our guidebook recommended we stop over in San Juan de Ortega, the reality of the situation (in which there are some 58 beds in the only albergue in town, all of which were taken by noon) prompted us to merely pause, refill our water and push on to Agés. we weren’t alone in stopping in at the only bar in town, though; in addition to many peregrinos there was a group of Spanish troops stopping for lunch. first and only people we saw in military uniform while in Spain which, it turned out, wasn’t terribly surprising as there’s a military training installation in the hills between Agés and Burgos.

the view from St. Moritz

as you, my readers, might know, I usually try to fill my posts with lots of historically-relevant information about my travels. this post will focus more on the pictures.

as I’ve mentioned, Olomouc is a fantastic town. there’s lots to see and do and has a refreshingly un-touristy feel to it. one of the first places recommended to me upon reaching my hostel was the tower of the St. Moritz Cathedral (seen here). from the top, there are spectacular views of the town and surrounding area. the church was built between 1412 and 1540, and the tower up which I climbed is a remnant of a 13th century structure. my first attempt to climb the tower was thwarted by the conclusion of a funeral, complete with tubas and other appropriately somber brass instruments. later (after climbing the tower), I stepped in to see what the church looked like; I don’t recall ever being in a church during post-funeral clean-up, and it was rather interesting. women were sweeping up petals from the flower arrangements, picking up items left behind by mourners; one of the women stopped to answer her cell phone while cleaning. it was also interesting to see a thoroughly work-a-day church that’s somewhat down-at-the-heels and in need of repairs. there was even a sign out in front tracking donations to repair the roof. apparently the annual International Organ Festival is only enough to keep the organ in good repair … (the festival occurs in September every year; the Cathedral’s organ is “Moravia’s mightiest”, though I missed it by some weeks.)

the climb up the tower, while worth it, was the most terrifying climb I’ve ever made. the first portion sticks to the stone steps of the original tower, but the second part gives over to open-grate metal stairs that, while sturdy, rendered my knees quite weak. I’ve never had a particular problem with heights, but something about those stairs that nearly prevented me from mounting them. it’s rather hard to describe — something about being able to see how far it was to the level below, clinging to the exterior wall with a growing certainty that those stairs won’t hold your weight …but eventually I emerged through the flap door onto the roof. and the panoramic views were worth it.

Dolni namesti from St. Moritz,
City Hall on the left, Plague column on the right

Sedlec Ossuary


hands down, the Sedlec Ossuary qualifies as the oddest sight of my trip. during the 13th century, an abbot from the oldest Cistercian monastery in Bohemia (in Sedlec) returned from Jerusalem with a pocketful of dirt, which he sprinkled in the monastery’s burial ground. because of this new religious consecration, the cemetery became a highly desirable location for burial among people throughout Central Europe. already packed with tens of thousands of bodies because of its association with Golgotha, the devastation wrought by the Plague during the 14th century overwhelmed the cemetery and bodies were simply piled up. in the space of only a few years, some 30,000 people died and sought burial at the Sedlec monastery.
around the turn of the 15th century, a chapel was constructed in the midst of the burial grounds and bodies displaced during excavation were placed in the ossuary beneath the chapel. for several centuries, the surplus bodies simply remained beneath the chapel, but when the Schwarzenberg family purchased the monastery in 1870, they enlisted a local woodcarver (František Rint) to use the bones to a more creative effect. 
the result of his efforts draws thousands upon thousands of people out to Sedlec every year. in addition to four pyramids of bones standing in each corner of the underground vault, Rint produced an altar, monstrances, and the Schwarzenberg coat of arms all with bones. the most remarkable piece of the collection, however, is the bone chandelier that hangs in the middle of the ceiling and contains at least one of every bone in the human body. when confronted with such magnitude of human mortality, it became somewhat hard to understand the implications of what my eyes wanted to tell me. it felt a very medieval way to confront death — inevitable, coming much sooner than one would like, a wherein the physical body loses importance because the spiritual essence has moved on to the afterlife. why place importance on the physical when such remembrances might carry profound suffering? of course, it could also be evidence of elite callousness, using the earthly remains of the anonymous masses that filled the vault of the new family chapel to create something unique and buzz-worthy.
whatever the rationale or motivation behind the project, the result remains truly remarkable, if profoundly, profoundly macabre and unsettling.

St. Barbara Church

the most stunning landmark in Kutná Hora is the Cathedral of St. Barbara, begun in the late 14th century thanks to patronage from local miners and intended to rival St. Vitus in Prague for size and grandeur. in fact, the first architectural contractor was the son of the master-builder of St. Vitus. some believe that the father (who designed St. Vitus) had a hand in drawing the plans for St. Barbara as well.

reticulated vaulting, work of Matyáš Rejsek

progress on St. Barbara, however, depended heavily on the prosperity of the mines and, to that end, construction on the church halted and resumed periodically. various designers left their marks on the cathedral as original plans were updated or amended. the vaulting changed markedly as construction progressed (as seen in the two photos to the left; the one on the top was the earlier work, the one on the bottom, the later). the dependence on the mines and miners shows in the designs throughout the Cathedral. various crests on the roof represent different miner organizations, and St. Barbara is the patroness of miners.

helical valuting, work of Benedict Ried

as mentioned previously, money from the mines eventually dried up and the cathedral sat unfinished for more than three hundred years. rather than leave the impressive if incomplete structure open to the elements (and, obviously, unusable), a wall was thrown up in 1588 to close of what had been completed. finally, in the late 19th century the local archeological society persuaded the city to take an interest in the completion of the cathedral and construction was resumed. it took another thirty years before the plans the project completed but in 1905 the building that found its way onto the UNESCO World Heritage list was finished.

Christ Church Greyfriar’s Cemetery

when I started looking for more information on this photo (which I’d labeled Greyfriar’s Cemetery), all I came up with were sites on Greyfriars Bobby in Edinburgh — decidedly not the information for which I was searching. enter Google Maps … it’s amazing how much detail the site has developed over the last couple of years. search for St. Paul’s in London and ta-da! only a few hundred yards away stand the remains of Christ Church Greyfriars (also known as Christ Church Newgate, as it stands on the Newgate road).

the original, Gothic church was part of a Franciscan monastery and was built between 1307 and 1327. the monks of the monastery wore grey habits and became known as “greyfriars” for their appearance. this church contained remains from Marguerite of France (second wife to Edward I), Isabella (widow of Edward II), and the heart of Eleanor of Provence (wife of Henry III). after the Dissolution of Monasteries by Henry VIII, the church was granted to the City and suffered extensive damage, vandalism, and theft of objects. surrounding buildings, which previously belonged the monastery, were later used by students of the nearby Christ’s Hospital, and eventually the church returned to its original uses. it was the second largest church in medieval London but the structure was destroyed, along with much of the area, by the Great Fire of 1666.

the second church was designed by Sir Christopher Wren (who designed a total of 51 churches after the Great Fire, including St. Paul’s across Newgate St from this church) and completed in 1687 (though it took another 30-odd years before a steeple was placed atop the church tower). for many years, the church served as an important center for society and music in London, but the size of the parish declined significantly around the turn of the twentieth century, as the area gave way to more and more businesses and the employees of the businesses moved farther out to suburbs and the Home Counties. by 1937, there were only 77 parishioners and, following a post-war reorganization of the Church of England, the parish was merged with another.

while the parish staggered on until 1954, Wren’s church suffered devastating damage during the Blitz. on December 29, 1940, one of the worst bombing raids during the war, the Christ Church Greyfriar’s was hit, along with much of the surrounding neighborhoods. a total of 8 of Wren’s churches were damaged or destroyed that same night. the church spire, however, did emerge relatively unscathed and was disassembled in 1960 and reconstructed using modern reinforcement techniques. the spire now houses residences on  twelve levels, and the grounds that were once the nave are now a public garden and memorial.

more info here: http://christchurchtower.com/ and at wikipedia