April 29, 30, and May 1, 2013. Burgos to Hornillos del Camino, Castrojeriz, and Fromista.

It is commonly said that the Camino unfolds to the Peregrino in three ways; physically, emotionally, and spiritually. Our first steps toward Santiago were taken 16 days and nearly 300km ago. My ankle, blisters, and Christine’s illness stood as proof that we had experienced more than our fair share of “the physical”.

If there was a point that began my “emotional Camino” it was April 29^th when I left Christine behind in Burgos. There had previously been days that we did not walk together, but she was always there with me by the afternoon and through the night. We would share dinner and perhaps an evening prayer service. We were seen by others as a couple. We processed the day aloud to each other and built upon each other’s perceptions and experiences. There were the silent connections, a touch of the hand, an embrace, a kiss. On April 29^th I left all of that behind acceding to her choice, her decision.

My feet plied the path out of Burgos, but my thoughts and emotions remained firmly anchored at the hotel. I was leaving her only because of her insistence. Or was I?

Guilt and self-doubt haunted me. An emotional debate played out within me, a battle in which I could not prevail. This is what she wanted. But you didn’t have to give in to her. She will be fine, and rest is what she needs. It would have been better if you had stayed to be at her side. She doesn’t want “your Camino” to end because of her. “Your Camino doesn’t matter, she does. She wants you to continue. You are selfishly continuing because it is what you want! And so the emotional struggle played out through the day. I took fewer pictures, I spoke with fewer pilgrims, I walked alone.

I did not completely close myself to the experience. Shortly after leaving urban Burgos I saw a large building complex to my right across the river. Checking my Brierley guide I confirmed that it was a place where men live solitary lives, isolated from society. A monastery? No, a prison.

There was little between Burgos and Hornillos.

A few very small villages, a very small church, and the start of Spain’s grand northern Meseta (“plateau”).

Spain is the second most mountainous country in Europe. Much of what is not mountainous is a high plateau that extends through at least 5 of its autonomous regions. The Meseta ranges from 1,300 to 3,200 feet in elevation, much of it dedicated to farmland. It reminds one of central/western Kansas, especially in summer when the heat and sun are relentless and there is little shade to be found in the expanses of grassland. Many pilgrims disparage the Meseta, holding that it is a part of the Camino to be skipped, if possible.

Instead of summer heat the day was a damp bone chilling cold. Overcast skies did nothing to elevate my mood. The Camino unwound before me like a ribbon from a spool.

21km from Burgos I arrived at Hornillos del Camino, a village with fewer than 100 inhabitants. I checked in at the town’s only Albergue which featured accommodations for 32 in bunkbeds divided between two dormitory style rooms. One pilgrim who sported a Hitler-like mustache turned out to be a priest from Germany. He sought out keys to open the village church, 16th Century Iglesia San Roman, and invited us to join him for Mass which he celebrated in German.

The inside of the church was a veritable freezer, so much so that the priest said Mass with his baseball cap on.

All of us wore our coats, some their rain gear, and one woman came wrapped in a blanket that she borrowed from her bed at the Albergue. I was soon to learn that her life and ours would become interwoven for years to come.

After Mass the pilgrims, priest included, adjourned to a pleasant and thankfully warm restaurant/bar, Casa Manolo.

I had come to know virtually all of the pilgrims in the bar over the past weeks. When I walked in I was greeted like a hero returned from war. “Hey, It’s Pete!!” However, “Where’s Christine?” were words that followed and reignited my angst. My explanation of her absence brought a chorus of “Don’t worry, she will be fine!” and words of similar encouragement. Someone bought me a beer and good cheer followed.

A Case of Mistaken Identity.

At some point the woman who had been wrapped in a blanket in church sought me out and asked somewhat sarcastically, “Are you THE Pete?” “Well, I’m A Pete.” “Do you belong to THE Christine?” (long pause…) “Yes, I suppose. I am married to A Christine.” To which she responded, “Then you ARE THE Pete, and I have had to explain more times than I care to mention that I am NOT Christine, and NOT married to you!

I was dumbstruck. It turned out that this woman who I had never before met, Margaretha Finefrock, lived a few miles from us in Kansas City. She was also a mediator. We had scores friends and acquaintances in common. I was later to learn that at approximately the same time back at her hotel in Burgos, Christine was doing her best to convince a pilgrim that they had NOT met at the airport in Madrid. “I’m sorry, but I’ve never been to Madrid, I flew in at Barcelona.” Undaunted, the woman replied, but you are from Kansas City, aren’t you?” “Yes, but…” “Then you and I talked at the airport in Madrid!”

Christine and Maggie, as she prefers to be called, were women of the same approximate age, same approximate build, who both sported long silver-white hair. The three of us were victims of mistaken identity and a remarkable set of coincidences. Again, as a gentleman once told me in Puerto Rico, “Pete, in life there are no coincidences.”

Here is a picture taken a few days later after Christine and Maggie met. It is easy to see how someone who did not know them well might mistake one for the other.

The “coincidences” didn’t stop there. It turned out that Maggie occupied the bunk above me. She was also struggling with a very bad cough that kept her up most of the night. The next morning she repeatedly apologized to me and others in our room for fear that she had interfered with our sleep.

Maggie has a sense of humor as dry as the Meseta in summer. A couple of days later in Fromista she met Christine in person. As I was making introductions Maggie broke in with, “I slept with your husband at the Albergue in Hornillos!” I about swallowed my tongue. Women must have some sixth sense that allows then to victimize us poor men because they both began to loudly laugh at my discomfort. To this day Maggie and her husband Doug remain two of our dear friends in Kansas City.

April 30^th.

Cold, wet, muddy, and miserable. These words describe the 20km hike to Castrojeriz (pop. 1,000). Along the way I made the acquaintance of Jacobien Ubbink (carrying the red covered pack), a pilgrim from the Netherlands. Christine and I would be welcomed as guests into her home near Amsterdam in 2018 as we traveled the Continent that year. Her friendship was another “gift” from the Camino.

By the time that I arrived in Castrojeriz I was suffering coughing  spells. I was shivering, the kind of chill that hints more at a fever than at cold weather. My joints ached and a dull headache had firmly lodged behind my eyes. I was miserable.

The morning of May 1^st I started out on foot for Fromista. I did not get very far.

I had learned by email the prior evening that Christine had arrived in Fromista by bus and checked into a room at a local Casa Rural (small rural hotel). There were no photographs or Camino for me that day. That night I wrote the following reflection:

May 1^st. A Difficult Day. Castrojeriz to Fromista

I started out this morning for Fromista. The night had been pretty sleepless as coughing and chest congestion were getting the best of me. At the city limits, I came to the conclusion that continuing on 25km in the cold and fog just might be the dumbest thing that I had done in a while. I returned to the albergue and with the help of the manager called for a taxi. A cab ride, followed by a trip to the Urgent Care Clinic with Christine netted us 3 prescriptions each, and instructions to take 2-3 days off from the Camino. Who am I to argue with the Doc when I feel so crappy.

Peace Everyone, and Buen Camino. Pete

PS. I arrived mid-morning in Fromista. Christine was already there. She took one look at me and decided that I needed to see a doctor more than she did. We sought out the local clinic. The doctor was pleasant and spoke passable English. We described our symptoms, but when we mentioned chest pain he turned to his nurse and gave her instructions in Spanish. We were each in turn then attached by conductive leads to an EKG machine just to make sure one or both of us weren’t threatening a heart attack.

The doctor explained his diagnosis. I had severe bronchitis that could easily become pneumonia. He was certain that Christine’s condition was pneumonia. An x-ray could confirm it but there was no x-ray machine at his clinic. He urged us to take a few days rest from the Camino. If we did not improve we were to seek medical care in one of the larger cities that lay ahead. Whatever the source of our infections, it had struck many pilgrims, some harder than others. One Camino friend, Kalina from Germany, landed in the hospital for 4 days before she could continue.

The examinations, including the EKGs, and 6 prescriptions, which were filled at the town pharmacy (a steroid, antibiotic, and analgesic for each of us), cost us a total of 90€. Had we waited until the afternoon the examinations would have been free. The doctor and clinic provided care to the Peregrinos without charge between the hours of 1 and 4 p.m.. We knew that going in but chose not to wait to see the “Camino Angels” that staffed the clinic.

 

April 27-28, 2013. Burgos.

Burgos (pop. 170,000) is a destination city that is not well known to Americans. Perhaps it is eclipsed by Barcelona to the east, Madrid to the south, and of course Santiago for destination focused Peregrinos. The region boasts the earliest known settlements of hominids in Europe with humanoid remains having been found here that date to 900,000 years ago.

More recent historical artifacts indicate that villages were present on the hills overlooking Burgos over 4,000 years ago. This same location was held as a defensive position occupied by the Romans and later the Visigoths. The region was part of the Iberian Peninsula held by the Moors/Berbers until around the 9^th Century when Christian expansion made the area strategically important to both Moor and Christian forces.

In 884 Diago Rodriguez Porcelos, the Count of Castile, fortified a defensive position along the River Arlazon in his conflict with the Arabs. This grew into what we now know as Burgos.

For Christine and me Burgos was a place to spend time off of the Camino and embrace being tourists.

It also gave her an opportunity for much needed rest and to literally catch her breath. More on that later.

 We arrived in the city by bus and were grateful to have skipped a long hike through the sprawling industrial outskirts of the city. It was enough that we had seen it through the windows of the touring coach. We entered the central city by foot through the majestic city gates.

It was cool and the Plane Trees which had yet to leaf out looked like bald amputees as they extended in ranks down the inviting pedestrian ways.

We checked into the 2 star Hotel Norte y Londres. Situated mere feet from the route of the Camino, it was centrally located to the most important sites of the city. It was clean, elegant (to us), and provided an excellent continental breakfast. Best of all we could luxuriate in a real bathtub and all for less than 50€ per night.

Settled into our room we set out to “discover” the remarkable Burgos Cathedral.

Construction began on this monumental structure in 1221 and it was consecrated in 1260. Various expansions and embellishments continued for hundreds of years thereafter. The white exterior is a stunning example of  Gothic architecture. However, a trained eye will observe Renaissance and Baroque elements. The ornate twin spires were added in the 1400’s and though very similar to the great spires of the cathedral in Cologne, Germany, these predate Cologne’s by centuries.

Burgos Cathedral is a UNESCO World Heritage Site, so designated in 1984.

Books have been written about this living museum and so my images and narrative can only hint at the wonders the Cathedral contains:

The floorplan reveals a sprawling complex.

The ornate Door of the Sarmental is prominent on the south transept.

The exterior abounds with sculpture. Between the twin spires are statues of the first 8 kings of Castile.

The north transept presents the equally beautiful Door of the Apostles.

Additional exterior images:

The interior of the church is deserving of a full day. We obtained audio guides which provided detailed background information on scores of features.

Even the audio guide could not possibly cover all that we saw.

The choir was rich with hand carved wood.

Central to The Tomb of the Constables were the crypts of Fernandez de Velasco, and his wife Mencia de Mendoza with their lifelike effigies. Velasco was the 6^th Constable of Castile in 1493, a post with authority second only to the king.

Spain’s national hero, El Cid (“The Master”, 1043-1099), is Spain’s version of America’s George Washington. He and his wife are buried in Burgos Cathedral. His tomb is less notable than “El Cid’s Chest” which is mounted with far more fanfare high upon a wall of the Cathedral.  It is a stout treasure chest that he gave to bankers to hold as security for a large loan he obtained. Unbeknownst to the bankers, rather than holding treasure El Cid had filled the vault with sand.

Another interesting crypt is that of Bishop Alfonso de Cartagena (1384-1456), diplomat, philosopher, author, and polymath. He negotiated peace with Portugal, was emissary to the kings of Germany and Poland, founded schools and monasteries, and in his free time translated the works of Cicero, Senica, and Aristotle.

High above the Cathedral floor is a garish clock and mechanically animated “Jester” that chimes the hours. It is known as the Papamoscas.

Breathtaking were the Golden Stairs,

the details of the overhead arch work and ceiling vaults,

the treasury containing original historic artifacts and religious vessels.

and the art masterworks throughout.

The complex also includes a cloister that invites a stroll in contemplative silence.

The day concluded with a delightful meal of local fare, including Morcilla a form of blood sausage. Each region takes pride in their own version made from a mixture of congealed blood, bits of meat, a grain filler, and spices. My “anything goes” taste buds were fans of every variety that we encountered. Christine was a big “no”. It seemed that the further west that we traveled the less “congealed” the blood was. It was pretty solid in Burgos.

April 28^th:

Christine elected to spend most of the day at the hotel. She encouraged me to continue my exploration of the city.

I was intrigued to visit the Museum of Human Evolution which has the remains of human European ancestors dating back 750,000 – 800,000 years.

I had to choose between that museum and Burgos Castle which overlooks the city. The castle prevailed.

Located 250 feet in elevation above the city, much of the surface structure of this fortress has been lost to time.

However, remarkably intact is the engineering marvel of the castle’s well. It extends 200 feet down a 6 foot diameter shaft that is lined with hand cut precision stone blocks to the water table below.

In order for a medieval siege to have any chance for success against a substantial fortification it was necessary to deprive the defenders of food and water. The well was therefore critical to the lives of the defending army.

The well shaft had its own defensive measures in the form of a series of 6 spiral stairways and galleries, each about 35 feet in height, one above the other. These gave access to the well at each level for maintenance and defense. Each spiral shaft was slightly over 4 feet in diameter, and for reasons unknown to me alternated between clockwise and counterclockwise construction.

I participated in a tour of the underground works. Hardhats were required.

Below ground we walked a portion of the nearly 1,000 feet of tunnels built by attackers seeking to reach and disable the well, and also counter tunnels built by defenders to stave off the attackers. 

Our Difficult Conversation:

Late the afternoon of the 28^th Christine told me that she could not continue in the morning. Pale and clearly in some distress, she insisted that all that she needed was more rest to build her strength. I was concerned and suggested that we seek out a medical clinic. She rejected my suggestion and was especially adamant that I continue on without her.

Our preparations for the Camino had seemed comprehensive, yet discussion of “what if” never touched upon what now confronted us. Maybe it was because it was unthinkable, maybe our lofty thoughts of the adventure flew too high to see the most grounded of possibilities. In any case we had never asked the question, “What if one of us cannot continue?” I insisted that I would not leave her. The discussion became somewhat contentious. She asked me to relax and just listen. “This hotel is comfortable, well-staffed, and I will be able to communicate with you. There is medical care available if I need it. I will be fine and the public transportation available from here will enable me to get back to you quickly. Finally, walking the Camino was my idea and I can decide how and what I do. There is no reason right now for you not to continue.” It was all well-reasoned and logical, it felt like she had spent the day rehearsing her speech.

I was torn. Go on or not. We looked at the route ahead. From the perspective of one who was ill it looked pretty bleak for the next few days. The decision to walk the Camino had indeed been hers and I heard in her voice a plea that she continue to direct her pilgrimage so long as she was able. I also sensed that she wished to avoid the burden of guilt for derailing “my Camino.” Her logic prevailed over my emotions, but with the caveat that she promise to immediately seek help if she became any worse.

I alerted hotel management who were understanding and accommodating. Also, pilgrims on the Camino, especially the outgoing ones (we qualified), developed a certain celebrity of reputation among other Peregrinos for a radius of about 2-3 walking days in each direction. I intended to let Christine’s circumstances be known and invite other pilgrims to check on her welfare.

One pilgrim we had met early on, Brent Ledford, had come away from a planned delay with a relative in Pamplona. He was thus a day’s walk behind us. We exchanged emails and he promised to see Christine on his way through Burgos. The day of his arrival at the hotel he insisted on taking Chris to dinner. I was relieved to receive his email “report” that she was doing better and would soon be catching up to me. She remained in Burgos a total of 4 nights. By the end of 35 days on the Camino we would spend 11 nights apart.

We were learning the hard truth of the well-worn saying, “Everyone walks their own Camino.” In our case even when you walk with your spouse of 36 years.

Peace Everyone, and Buen Camino! Pete

 

April 26-27, 2013. Belorado to Villafranca and on to Burgos.

 We traded yesterday’s heat and sweat for a day of cooler rain threatening skies. I suspected that any pilgrims suffering from arthritis were reaching for pain relievers.

Our ponchos were made ready for deployment and gaiters were securely fastened to prevent any annoying trail mud from finding its way into our boots.

Villafranca Montes de Oca (pop. 200) was a mere 12km down the trail. However, there was reason for our abbreviated day. We had learned that the little community featured a private Albergue, San Anton Abad, that was meant to be experienced. More on that later.

We crossed the Tiron River via a footbridge that paralleled the Highway N-12 bridge that replaced the one built centuries ago by Santo Domingo.

The path was shared by creatures more adapted to the damp earth. In some cultures these giant mollusks would be welcome guests for dinner.

800 years ago in the tiny village of Tosantos (pop. 60) a woman known as La Ermita lived in a cave above the town. She spent her life ministering to passing Peregrinos. In her honor the town built a church into the cliff and still holds an annual procession in her honor to the cave.

Our way wandered through the pleasant square and fountain of even smaller Villambistia (pop. 45).

These micro villages as well as the yet smaller Espinosa del Camino (pop. 36) each featured small Albergues.

Shortly before reaching our destination for the day we passed the ruins of the 6^th-9^th Century Monastery of San Felix de Oca. Originally built on the site of a Roman Villa, it is believed that the founder of the City of Burgos, Count Diego Rodriguez Porcelos (died 885) was buried here. The archway and ruins though sparce, were a moving testament to the ancient history of the path that we walked.

Having strolled a leisurely pace we arrived at the Hotel*** San Anton Abad shortly after noon. While not quite up to the standards of a Parador (a series of nearly 100 ultra-luxurious hotels in Spain built in castles, palaces, and other historical structures), San Anton Abad represented high quality for its full pay guests. For we Peregrinos it was palatial.

 

The owner, once a pilgrim walking the Camino, generously dedicated a wing of the Hotel to the hosting of Peregrinos. For only 12 Euros we were furnished with single tier semi-private accommodations set out in two dormitory style rooms.

Pristine bath facilities provided us with unlimited hot showers, towels and linens furnished.

The real joy was that we were welcome to join the “full pay” guests in the bar and restaurant. We were served  with the same grace and aplomb and even acquired a bit of celebrity due to the nature of our journey.

There was an incident that darkened our stay. Christine and I slept in neighboring twin beds. Late into the night I was awakened by the yells of a woman. She stood over Christine, on the verge of reaching down to grab her. I leapt to my feet and thrust myself between her and my wife’s bed. She kept repeating in broken English, “She Snores!… and She Coughs!” In turn I began responding with competing volume, “LEAVE HER ALONE!!!” Eventually the woman, who appeared mentally unstable, relented and left to sleep in the adjoining dorm room. I was shaken. What chance would I have had in a foreign country to defend myself from a charge of assault had the confrontation become physical.

Christine does snore, but no more so than the average adult. She also coughed that night. But in that room there were a few world class snorers. Among them Christine was hardly a medal contender.

What a change 48 hours made! We had gone from the dusty heat of the 25^th to the cool threat of rain on the 26^th to snow and near freezing temperatures on the 27^th.

Burgos was nearly 40km distant, and Christine was not feeling well. She had never fully shaken the breathing issues and it seemed that her difficulties were flaring up in the form of a nagging cough. Whether it was the incident in the middle of the night or the lingering bronchitis, I felt it best that we make it to that large city rather than proceed by foot with an overnight in another small town. The snow and cold provided just enough justification that we proceeded with our packs to the nearby inter-village bus stop. We were not alone.

Instead of feeling a sense of failure at having to seek transportation the atmosphere among the waiting pilgrims became quite festive.

The bus ride itself was very pleasant and the more so as we were insulated from the frigid countryside by the bus’s huge windows. An outside temperature display in the cabin further reminded us of what we were avoiding.

The entire ride, including stops, took less than an hour. Humbling, considering that we would otherwise have been 2 days afoot.

Burgos (pop. 170,000) is a destination city that features one of the three great Cathedrals on the French Route of the Camino.

We had planned to spend two nights in the city which negated the use of an Albergue since they generally only permit single night stays. That and Christine’s health bid us to seek the services of a hotel. For the next two nights we once again gloriously assumed the roles of “Pampered Pilgrims”, this time at Burgos’ Hotel Norte Y Londres.

What I did not know was that dark and ominous clouds lay just over the horizon of our Camino.

Peace Everyone, and Buen Camino. Pete

  

  

 

April 23, 2013. Navarrete to Najera

Exiting Navarrete in the morning we approached and passed by the Municipal Cemetery.

As noted in a prior post, the ornate arched entry to the cemetery was appropriated from the 12^th Century ruins of the Monastery of San Juan de Acre.

Atop the arch and just beneath the crucifix is a carved depiction of the legendary battle between Charlemagne’s heroic knight Roldan and the Saracen giant, Farragut. The 10^th Century battle between the two warriors was reputed to have spanned nearly 4 days without rest. Finally, Roldan slew the giant with a powerful throw of a well-aimed rock. (Shades of the biblical story of David vs. Goliath)

The battle is commemorated along the Camino through statues, relief carvings, and inscriptions, most dating to around the 12^th Century. The killing of Farragut allegedly liberated the region from his tyranny and freed a host of Charlemagne’s imprisoned knights.

High on a hilltop we encountered a restored “beehive” watchtower. Legend says that this is the place where the epic battle occurred and is still known as Poyo de Roldan (Roldan’s Hill).

Passing by the tiny village of Ventosa (pop. 150) we encountered one of the countless images of Santiago (St. James). This one was noteworthy as being “cute”.

Most often Santiago is either represented as a wandering pilgrim dressed in medieval attire with his staff, water gourd, and scallop shell…

…or more ominously as the legendary “Matamoros” (Slayer of the Moors). In recent years these historic statues have generated much controversy for their anti-Muslim theme. (Shades of the current controversy over Confederate monuments in the United States)

At Najera (pop. 7,000) we reached our 16km day’s destination. Prominent in the town is the fortress-like church de Santa Maria la Real.

The impression is no accident. For over 300 years Najera was the bastion and capital of the ancient kingdom of Navarre. The church holds the earthly remains of kings and queens from the 10^th through 13^th Centuries.

Legend has it that in 1044 Don Garcia, son of King Sancho the Great, was hunting with his favorite falcon. The falcon flew into a cave but did not return. Garcia, entering the cave to retrieve his falcon, miraculously came upon a hidden statue of the Virgin Mary. Honoring the miracle of the “Virgen de la Cueva” (Virgin of the Cave) he and King Sancho initiated the construction of the church in 1052.

Najera provided me with my first samplings of two cephalopod delicacies that I would seek whenever possible: “Pulpo” (Octopus), and Squid prepared in its own ink.

Either of these set before me on the table were an incentive for Christine to move to another table. In the years that have followed I learned of the remarkable intelligence of octopi and their related species. They are one of the few life forms on our planet that display complex problem solving abilities, tool utilization, communication skills, learning by observation, and  are perhaps even self-aware. All of this is even more remarkable given that they have a lifespan of only 2 years. Dining on these invertebrate wonders now produces a feeling of guilt in me.

April 24^th was another spectacular day on the Camino.

Clear skies and a feeling of community with those who also walked.

Our spirits were elevated for the 21km ahead and further boosted by a waymark that “announced” Santiago de Compostella to be 582km ahead. We had completed 240km since leaving St. Jean Pied de Port in southern France.

I will display a few more pictures of the day at the end of this post but continuing the theme of “legends” takes me to the end of the day and the town of Santo Domingo de la Calzada (Saint Dominic of the Road). Saint Dominic was born Domingo Garcia in 1019. Legend says that his application to become a Benedictine cleric was twice rejected because he was illiterate. For a time he lived as a hermit in the nearby forests. A bishop from Rome learned of Dominic and became interested in his devout dedication to the Faith. He ordained Dominic to the priesthood in 1039 whereupon Dominic is credited with undertaking the construction of a significant pilgrim bridge, a hospital for Peregrinos, the Cathedral, and otherwise elevating the town from obscurity into a major waypoint on the Camino. He died in 1109 at the age of 90 and is buried in a beautiful vault within the Cathedral. He is deemed Spain’s patron saint of Civil Engineers.

Near the plaza of the Cathedral of Santo Domingo is the large Albergue, Casa del Santo, which contains 210 beds for those walking the Camino. It also features a large chicken coop where roosters and hens are kept and cared for. The reason for the coop and fowl:

Legend has it that in the 1300’s an 18 year old German Pilgrim and his parents walked the Camino. The Pilgrim, named Hugonell, rejected the sexual advances of a Spanish girl who was staying at the same inn as the young man. Jilted, the girl hid a silver cup among Hugonell’s personal effects and then alerted the local authorities that he was a thief. Hugonell was tried and sentenced to hang. After his execution his parents mourned his fate, the body still hanging from the gallows. Hugonell then spoke to them from the gallows and said that his life had been spared through the miraculous intervention of Saint Dominic. The parents rushed to seek aid from the local Magistrate to release their son. The Magistrate who was eating dinner laughed saying, “Your son is as alive as this rooster and chicken that I was feasting on before you interrupted me.” In that moment the two roasted birds jumped up from the plate and begin to happily sing and crow! Hugonell was immediately released from the gallows and pardoned.

For 700 years in tribute to the legend an ornate chicken coop is still kept at the rear of the Cathedral, occupied by a live chicken and rooster. The white plumed birds, which are furnished by the nearby Albergue, spend 30 days in the coop before being replaced by another pair.

I am left to wonder at the fate of the birds after their 30 days in the Cathedral’s pen. Perhaps they go from the “Friar’s Pen into the Frier”. (My bad! Just a pun that I couldn’t resist sharing.)

Peace Everyone, and Buen Camino. Pete

PS. More images from the day:

A virtually abandoned golf village of empty apartments. The golf course and condominiums having fallen victim to an economic downturn.

The spectacular Spring countryside…

…and apparently this has been a problem.