Over the course of the weeks that we walked the Camino in 2013 I kept notes which I “wrote” one finger stroke at a time on my tiny iPod-touch. Some notes were lengthy essays, some just short memos, and others merely providing links to photographs taken that day. I shared these missives with friends and relatives by email and on Facebook. Fortunately, I archived these notes. They have proven to be a trove of long forgotten information, valuable in the creation of these detailed posts. What follows below and in the next post are two of these essays. They are presented verbatim in order to provide further insight into my thoughts and our experiences.
“What is a Camino.” Written May 13, 2013 at Vega de Calcarce, Spain.
We have encountered some “interesting” notions of what constitutes a Camino, both from people on and off “The Way”. Officially, to earn a Compostela in Santiago, one must have walked or ridden by horseback the last 100km (60 miles) or bicycled the last 200km as a continuous journey. Those are the “rules”, plain and simple.
Nevertheless, we have encountered some “unofficial” takes on what constitutes a Camino. There was a young lady who zipped past me, hellbent on covering over 800km to Santiago in 20 days. In her mind there were grades of Pilgrims and Caminos, based upon speed. She even had a book, “Hiking the Camino in 20 Days”, and she was aiming to be among the fastest.
There was a couple that we encountered who had determined that “Real Pilgrims” carried their packs each and every step of The Way. (Note: There are services that transport your pack from place to place for from 5 to 7 euros a day). Their definition changed when one of them found it physically necessary to use the service.
Another pilgrim declared the journey must be 800km, and “unbroken”, even though it is common for Pilgrims to complete a Camino in increments over a series of years. That Peregrino also changed his view of a Camino when injury forced a hiatus.
Finally, there are those who decry the use of any alternative transportation in the course of the journey. I wondered if this disqualifies the use of elevators.
For most who are on the Camino, or who have completed a Camino, the understanding is that each Peregrino’s Camino is their own. Those who spend time and energy evaluating the journeys of other Pilgrims, miss the opportunity to appreciate their own journey.
The “original Peregrino” was St. James the Apostle, for whom Santiago is named, and in whose footsteps we follow. He traveled The Way to spread The Word. Is it possible that he spent an extra day here and there to deliver his message? Or that he accepted the occasional offer of a ride in an oxcart from a kind farmer or merchant?
We have had the good fortune to become friends with a fellow Pilgrim who is so comfortable with her Camino that it means more to her to enjoy the gifts of friendship along The Way than to focus upon reaching Santiago de Compostela and “earning a piece of paper”. Those are her words.
In life, as on the Camino, wouldn’t it be a blessing if each person focused on achieving their own best Journey, rather than policing and critiquing the Journeys of others?
Peace Everyone. Have Fun, Do Good, and Be Safe! And of course, Buen Camino! Pete
I have heard it said that there are no atheists in foxholes. Perhaps it is the same for one who sees that the horizon of life is limited by the approaching shores of mortality. My thoughts here expressed are not intended to change anyone’s mind about their own theology, or lack of theology. Indeed, it is precisely my intention not to convert anyone to any system of beliefs, but rather to encourage a pause for mindful contemplation of the beliefs already held. I have found that I better know my own mind when I listen to the thoughts of others. An obvious example of this is the visceral revulsion that I feel when I hear certain doctrines of coercive conversion that are preached in some quarters by those who claim to exclusively know the mind of God. As an example, “god” as expressed by the Westboro Baptist Church of Topeka, Kansas, is a bigot. It is not difficult for me to understand my own mind when I listen to that “theology of hatred”.
A closer question arises when the thoughts of others are not a clear affront to my own. When the beliefs of others provide me with a moment to pause and consider my own beliefs it is a gift, an “ah ha” moment. Perhaps there is a small shift in my world view, or maybe I grow more comfortable in my beliefs, having had an opportunity to mindfully inventory them.
I was raised Catholic, however from the earliest days of my Catholic grade school education I found it difficult to understand how certain doctrines could be those created by a loving God. I accept that Catholicism is a man-created structure that seeks to understand God. It is a “language” that may assist in communicating our efforts to know God. However, as a child I could not understand how God would punish whole segments of humanity with damnation for not being Christian when the opportunities for being Christian did not universally exist. I wondered if God really was offended when I accidentally ate a “Chicken in a Biskit” cracker one Friday afternoon during Lent. What really did happen to all of those folks who had been hanging out in the waiting room called “Limbo” when it ceased to be in the lexicon of Catholicism. I choose Catholicism for my examples because it may be less offensive to others if I question the tenets of my own faith tradition.
Dogma is not a trivial thing. There was a time in the history of the Catholic Church that the failure to follow the dictates of dogma might have earned a person a turn on the rack, or worse. The same can be said for many religions. The same can even be said today for such transgressions as the drawing of a cartoon caricature of a long dead Arab man.
Sacramental Confession is an offering of the Catholic Church. My Lebanese grandmother went to confession weekly as many Catholics of her time did and some still do. I often wondered what that wonderful lady could have done each week that compelled her to stuff her prodigious frame into a tiny closet-like space and then struggle to bend her arthritic knees to begin her act of contrition. In Catholic grade school we had weekly confession. Once when I told my teacher that I didn’t have anything to confess, she reminded me that over the past week I had probably fought with my brother and disobeyed my parents. For many years of my childhood, fighting with my brother and disobeying my parents became standard sins of choice to “confess”, whether warranted or not.
I stopped the practice of Confession when I reached high school. However, there were two occasions that I chose to return to the confessional. They were both memorable and stand as an affirmation that there really is a voice of God. It is just up to me to listen.
In 1972 I travelled overseas for the summer as a part of a group of 22 students studying ancient history. I visited St. Peter’s Basilica in Rome and concluded that as a Catholic to not go to Confession and receive Communion there would be like going to Hawaii and not visiting the beach. The confessional booths each indicated the languages spoken by the priest within, primary language was in bold letters and any secondary languages were declared in smaller case. I found a priest who spoke English, but only as a language secondary to his native German. He sounded very old and I feared that I may have made a mistake, but I continued with the prescribed litany. When I came to the point of saying that it had been years since my last confession he stopped me and addressed me in a thickly accented conversational tone. He asked me why I chose to go to confession. We spoke for nearly an hour through the wood and cloth screen that separated us. I remained kneeling on the hard wooden kneeler throughout, but without discomfort. The distillation of his message to me was that he believed that I was a good person, a person of conscience. He said that I should be more guided by what I honestly believed in my heart to be right, and less by Church “rules”. I emerged from the booth with a “penance” to always do my best and listen to my conscience. I opened the door of the confessional to a line of little old ladies. Their expressions of near horror hinted at their belief that I must be some kind of an ax murderer, having been in the confessional booth for so long.
***The second occasion occurred in 2013 while Christine and I were walking the Camino de Santiago across Spain. We had arrived in Rabanal, which is the site of a German Benedictine Monastery. The monks presented an evening service for the Peregrinos (Pilgrims) in a cave-like chapel that was over 700 years old. The chants and prayers offered by candlelight were moving. At the conclusion, one of the four monks addressed the assembly of perhaps 25 pilgrims and indicated that one monk would remain should anyone wish to visit. Christine and I exited the church but not before I turned and saw the monk seated on an ancient wooden bench in prayerful repose. It was apparent that he would be alone in his contemplations.
Christine knows me well, so when I hesitated in the courtyard outside of the church she said to me, “You want to go back, don’t you.” It was more a statement than a question. I returned to the church and entered the dark and now silent interior. As I approached the monk he made no acknowledgement of my presence other than to slightly move his hand and indicate that I should sit at his side. I became uncomfortable with the silence and returning to the roots of my childhood I began, “Bless me Father…”. He again made a gesture that halted my words. There was the slightest hint of a smile and then this aged monk, a German monk, asked me what I did in life. I replied that I was an attorney and that I mediated divorces, seeking to assist people with resolution of the questions that they faced concerning their relationship, property, and the care of their children. He sat silent for a time and then slowly nodded, looked deeply into my eyes and said, “That is very important work… very difficult work.” He then asked me why I had started with words of confession. I felt the presence of that other old German priest from 41 years earlier. It was as if that priest, certainly long dead, had returned from the grave to ask how I was doing with the penance that he had issued to me.
We spoke for another 30 minutes during which time the monk encouraged me to listen to my heart and to be thus guided. He urged that “rules and rituals” of religion are secondary to following an honest conscience. At our parting he asked if I wished absolution which is the customary conclusion of Confession. I accepted but knew that with absolution there is typically a penance. He placed his hands upon my head and said that for my penance I must conduct myself in life as if God is always at my side, watching… that I must treat each pilgrim that I encounter on the Camino as if they were Christ in disguise.
I believe that miracles exist now and always have, it is just that our capacity to see them has dimmed. Is it a mere coincidence that on the two occasions that I returned to a faith practice from my childhood I received the same message, the same affirmation, and the same “penance” from priests from the same country? Calling this a coincidence would not change the reality of what occurred. It would however be closing my ears to the voice of the Spirit.
As rich in meaning to me as these two events were, it does not escape my notice that these men did not focus upon the rules and rituals that some might cling to as the path to God. I believe that when we place the rules above the search for a relationship with the Creator that we create a “god” in our image and likeness. We were imbued by creation with free will and a questing spirit. If that is the gift from our Creator then religion runs contrary to that gift when people seek to coercively convert others to their particular definition of “god”. The voice of the Creator as heard upon the wind by the First People is the same voice that was heard by Moses in a burning bush, and by those who gathered in an upper room breaking bread and drinking wine on a Passover night two thousand years ago. It is the voice of Christ, the Buddha, Vishnu, Mohamad, the words of Mormon, but only when the words advance the search for our humanity and are not misapplied for the subjugation of others. The challenge is to be mindfully aware of the difference between what we do in pursuit of a relationship with the Creator and what we do in the pursuit of mere earthborn advantage.
One of my grandchildren once asked me if magic is real. I replied that “magic” is whatever we know to be real but do not understand. I gave examples of magnetism and gravity as things that are real but not really understood. The quest for that knowledge continues and someday may be grasped in a way that renders them no longer “magical”.
If I change the focus of my grandchild’s question from magic to Spiritual and answer the question for myself, then Spirituality is what I know from experience yet do not understand. The quest continues because faith is a journey, not a destination.
Peace Everyone. Pete Schloss
PS. As I noted in the previous post, “It is often said that the Camino presents itself to the Pilgrim as three distinct experiences: first as a physical challenge, next as an emotional encounter, and finally as a spiritual awakening.” My Camino had become Spiritual.
Our hopes were high that with our departure from Astorga we were also leaving behind the drama of the past two days.
The steel gray sky released a near constant drizzle that kept the puddles filled and shoes laminated with mud. At times the humidity was such that if felt like the mist formed under rather than over our rain gear.
In spite of these morning conditions the fact that we shared the path with like-minded souls made for a spirit of camaraderie more than equal to the elements.
Rabanal was 22km ahead, but more importantly we were now only 264km and 13 days from Santiago. Whether measured in days or in miles we were approximately two-thirds of the way to our final destination. This was not the home stretch, but I could sense its presence over the horizon.
It is often said that the Camino presents itself to the Pilgrim as three distinct experiences: first as a physical challenge, next as an emotional encounter, and finally as a spiritual awakening. It occurred to me that ours was thus far a textbook example of those words transformed into reality. I understood and expected the physical aspects that we had experienced. My still evolving focus upon self, others within the orbit of my life, and most of all my relationship with Christine was unanticipated and emotional. Spirituality? Speaking for myself, this was still more bucket list than pilgrimage. I was not looking for a spiritual experience.
The path that day avoided main roads and was almost exclusively a meandering walk through open countryside.
We would pass through 4 small villages before reaching Rabanal: Murias, Castrillo de Los Polvazares, Santa Catalina de Somoza, and El Ganso. The largest of these “Maragato” villages is home to fewer than 300, and most were suffering the ravages of time.
La Maragateria is a small and ancient historical region, with a distinct ethnic and cultural community, the Maragatos. Homes and buildings are of stone construction. Efforts to preserve the unique traditions seem linked to the failing efforts at preservation of the equally unique structures.
In the tiny and crumbling village of El Ganso stands the almost absurd “Cowboy Bar”.
We were greeted at the door by Ramiro, its owner and ”bartender”. It seemed that his total command of English was loudly calling out the words, “Whiskey! Whiskey! Whiskey!”, as if it was our responsibility to order up a shot or two.
However, when Christine replied, “Si!”, his smile and zeal slumped, and he politely shook his head, “no”. There were strong libations behind the bar, but perhaps it was too early, or possibly he did not wish to become the temptation that derailed her Camino that day. In any case we ordered non-alcoholic drinks which he cheerfully served, I took pictures, and we enjoyed the unique experience of “The Cowboy Bar”.
Spirits lifted, but not by alcohol, we continued our pleasant and picturesque hike through the countryside, arriving in Rabanal shortly after 2 p.m..
The tiny village (pop. 50) offered a surprising variety of lodging options capable of tripling the hamlet’s population. Among the alternatives were a 34 bed municipal albergue, a Hosteria, a small upscale hotel, two private albergues, and for up to 10 pilgrims willing to spend at least 2 nights, the Monastery of San Salvador del Monte Irago offered beds in its retreat house. We registered at the popular 76 bed Albergue Nuestra Senora del Pilar.
To say that this was a unique experience would be an understatement. First the good: The albergue offered a pleasant courtyard, bar, and restaurant. The staff was friendly, attentive, and the price was right.
The not-so-great parts centered upon the bedroom accommodations and lavatory facilities. 76 beds were tightly situated into two large dormitory rooms. The unisex bathroom contained only 2 water closets, 2 showers, and 2 sinks.
Except along the walls where single two-high bunks were reserved for unaccompanied females, 4 bunks were secured together in tandem, two up and two down. There was little room to stow our wet clothing and gear.
We had grown accustomed to sacrificed privacy, but Nuestra Senora del Pilar rose (descended?) to a new level. The feet in the toilet or shower stall adjoining the one you used could be male or female. The two sinks were so close to each other that bumping elbows while brushing ones teeth was almost unavoidable. Lines of Peregrinos “in need” formed before each toilet, shower, and sink. In the beds next to ours a young couple hung up their sheets so that we could not see the passion that we could not avoid hearing. In total the stay was an “interesting” experience that still brings a smile when recounted.
At the center of the town is the 12th Century Iglesia de Santa Maria.
This tiny church, cave like in its interior, was open for pilgrims to attend. 7 p.m. Vespers and 9:30 p.m. night prayers presented by the Benedictine Monks of the adjacent Monastery of San Salvador del Monte Irago.
Four of these monks, each originating from Germany, offered prayer in Gregorian Chant at Vespers. This moving ceremony was attended by us and perhaps 25 other pilgrims who filled the chapel to near its capacity. At the conclusion of Vespers one of the monks addressed the gathering saying that a monk would remain to speak with any Peregrino who wished to visit.
Christine and I exited the church to dusk falling on the small outdoor courtyard. It troubled me that no pilgrim had remained to accept the offer of the solitary monk who remained within. I hesitated. Christine turned to me, “You want to go back, don’t you?” After a pause I replied that it saddened me that no one had stayed to accept the monk’s offer. Christine encouraged me to return to the church. She promised to wait for me outside.
I entered the chapel’s dark and now silent interior. Barely visible in the flickering light of the votive candles was a bent and aging figure seated in one of the six ancient choir seats aligned along one wall. As I approached he made no acknowledgement of my presence other than to slightly move his hand, indicating that I should sit at his side…
To be continued. Peace Everyone and Buen Camino. Pete
May 5-6, 2013. Sahagun, Calzadilla de los Hermanillos, and Leon.
“Saint” (noun), A very virtuous, kind, or patient person…”
The Camino teems with pilgrims who by the above non-ecclesiastical definition are “saints”. As I came to better know one such Peregrino, his claim to “sainthood” was exceptional. I am confident that Dr. Bernard De Geeter would deny this mantle of “sainthood”. That would be just another proof of his entitlement to the accolade.
I was formally introduced to Bernard by Maggie on May 2nd in Carrion de los Condes. I recall first seeing him on April 25th in Belorado where he joined a group of us at a café. He appears that day within these posts as a “face on the Camino”.
Dr. Bernard De Geeter
Bernard was amiable, well dressed for a Peregrino, and appeared more fit than the average man approaching 70 years of age. He was quiet, but not unsocial or withdrawn. I really took notice of him when in the course of being introduced I learned that his Camino had begun on February 13, 2013, in snow covered Strasbourg, France, over 2,300km from Santiago. At the time we met he had already walked nearly 3 months and covered 1,900km. In my mind this did not qualify him for “sainthood”, but it was a pretty good start.
On the evening of May 4th Christine and I decided that the following morning she would leave by bus and skip ahead to Leon. I would resume walking solo, overnighting in Calzadilla de los Hermanillos on the 5th, then catch up to her in Leon on the 6th.
Setting off at dawn it was my good fortune to run into Bernard about 1km out of Sahagun at the Puente Canto bridge. Sunrise provided excellent lighting for pictures. The bridge crossed the River Cea and was originally constructed by the Romans. It was given to later restorations in the 11th and 16th Centuries.
Shortly after meeting we encountered our mutual friend, Maggie. The three of us seemed to hold to similar paces, so we walked in loose company on to our next destination.
Our goal for the day was the tiny village of Calzadilla de los Hermanillos, (pop. 140) 14km distant.
No doubt we would have walked further except that the next village with any accommodations was another 25km beyond Calzadilla. Over the course of the next two days we would be walking one of the most open and rural regions of Spain’s Meseta.
Bernard and I got along well. He spoke English fluently and shared my willingness to exchange our “stories”. He explained that he was a pediatric cardiac surgeon. Digging deeper with my questions (and later with Google) I learned that he was internationally known for his pioneering work in the field that included the development of surgical procedures for children still in the womb. Another point in favor of “sainthood”.
As pilgrims do, we shared our reasons for walking the Camino. I was still “seeking adventure and adding to my bucket list”. I became embarrassed as Bernard revealed the following:
Bernard and a team of physicians spent 3-4 months each year traveling to various third world countries, volunteering their skills and providing free medical care to the poor in those nations. In Bernard’s case he had conducted thousands of lifesaving operations on children. (Yep, sainthood.)
What came next stunned me. Bernard explained that he walked the Camino seeking the intercession of St. James, for relief from an emotional burden that he carried. Over the years thousands of poverty stricken parents walked hundreds of kilometers with their children seeking Bernard’s aid. Among them were those to whom he had to say, “I am sorry, but your child’s condition is beyond my ability to help.” With those parents he shares tears.
Then there were the other parents whose children he could help. “Peter, I feel so helpless that what I do for them does not change the poverty, hunger, and danger that they return to. I remember the faces of every mother, father, and child, those I cannot help and those that I can, but helpless to change the life that they are returning to.”
The pain in Bernard’s voice was palpable and drew from me both silence and tears. Above us were wisps of clouds that seemed to take the form of angels. I found that I walked with one.
We arrived in Calzadilla de los Hermanillos shortly after noon.
The town provided two options for the night, a humble 16 bed municipal Albergue, and a delightful private one, the 20 bed Via Trajana where private rooms were available.
Bernard and I elected to share one that featured twin beds and a private bath.
Via Trajana was also known for its intimate dining and excellent wine cellar. We joined other Peregrinos, taking advantage of both food and drink that evening.
After dinner I took the opportunity to wander a bit and gather my thoughts.
Natalie, a pilgrim from France, made use of some extra butter left over from dinner to dress and waterproof the leather of her boots.
May 6th.
Up early the next morning, the near endless horizon drew me outside to witness the break of dawn.
On this day we would walk the finest section of extant Roman road in Spain of which our prior night’s accommodation was its namesake, the Via Trajana. The pristine condition of the 2,000 year old road speaks well of Roman engineering prowess.
It was once a main east-west corridor of commerce linking the gold fields of Gallaecia in the west, east through Astorga and eventually on to Rome. It was also a favored military artery for Caesar Augustus and in later centuries for the warring Moors and Christians, Charlemagne included.
In spite of its historical connection to centuries of commerce and violence the Via Trajana only presented us with peace and relaxing solitude.
I parted ways with Bernard as we neared the town of Mansilla de las Mulas where he intended to spend the night. On the other hand, I sought the bus depot in a different part of town where I could catch one of the frequent departures for an 18km ride into Leon’s city center. Christine had already been there since May 5th, staying in a hotel near the Cathedral and waiting my arrival. I would miss Bernard, but I would be joining my wife and missing a 4 hour slog through the industry and suburbs of Leon. Bernard and I continued to exchange emails over the remainder of the Camino. He even sharing a photo of the May 22nd reunion with his wife Catherine in Santiago and Catherine meeting Maggie.
My detour took me to the village of Reliegos (pop. 200) and through a neighborhood of curious “Hobbit Houses” which were built into the hillside. While some of these may have served as homes, most were “Bodegas”, where wine was stored at near constant temperature, protected from the scorching heat and sun of the Meseta.
As I neared Mansilla I saw in the distance a large pilgrim with a distinctive walk. I immediately knew it to be Henk. Rushing to catch up to him I saw that he had stopped to talk on his cell phone. This was not unusual for Henk as he maintained very close contact with his wife Alice back in the Netherlands. It was curious to me that the Germans, Gaby and Christine, were nowhere to be seen. The three of them usually traveled together.
Just before I reached him he clicked his phone shut and turned to face me. “Peeeter!” he exclaimed with his north European accent. “Henk, you saw me… where are Gaby and Christine?” “But of course I saw you. They are ahead waiting for us in the garden at the Albergue. I have just asked them to order our beers.”
A few minutes later Henk and I arrived at the Albergue, the ladies and two cold beers were waiting for us. Once more I enjoyed the company of, and a beer with, these dear Camino friends.
I didn’t know it at the moment, but this was to be the last time that I would see Henk in person. We remain in touch to this day. I am reminded that on the Camino “Buen Camino” is exchanged not only as a greeting, but also as an acknowledgement at parting that both the journey ahead and the future are unknown.
Peace Everyone. Pete
PS. During the 8 years that I attended Catholic grade school I was taught that there were only two ways of attaining Church recognized sainthood, being a martyr for the Faith, and being a Confessor (promoter) for the Faith, also called a “Soldier of Christ”.
As we walked across Spain I was occasionally reminded of the horrors of the Spanish Inquisition, the persecution of Jews, and the burning of alleged witches, all victims of religious persecutions at the hands of the Church.
It has been estimated that during its 350 year history (1478-1834), the Inquisition alone accounted for over 150,000 prosecuted and 5,000 executed.
In my adult years I am left to wonder whether those martyred “by the Faith” should not also have been declared saints.
Sahagun, Spain is not known as a destination city by those of us from North America. With a population of 170,000 it is large enough to be considered a tourist destination. Weighing in its favor: It was once the seat of religious and civil power in the region. It has a place in history dating to before the time of Charlemagne, and it has long been an important waypoint for pilgrims on the Camino. At one time Sahagun bristled with pilgrim hospitals, churches, and monasteries that might have been a draw for tourism, but not today. One reason for its shortage of ancient monumental structures is the lack of quarriable stone in the region. Large buildings were therefore constructed of brick and mortar in a style known as “Mudejar” that does not stand up to time as well as granite or limestone.
Nevertheless, we found May 4th in Sahagun to be charming. Pleasant weather, lovely company, and a relaxed pace made for a memorable honeymoon like day “off the Camino”.
Or were we really “off the Camino”? The Camino is a pilgrimage which may be defined as an intentional journey to a destination. Both a journey and a destination that are focused upon something or someone important to the pilgrim. It can be religious, or it can be a journey of self-discovery. Why then not a journey that explores the most important of interpersonal relationships, that of spouses. On the Camino it is the physical, emotional, and spiritual journey that matters more than the destination. Destination, although literally “the goal”, is merely the means to attain the enlightenment that is the fundamental purpose of pilgrimage.
Some “hard core” Peregrinos may take exception to my views, but many of those same pilgrims are more focused upon things pedestrian, such as shoes, packs, sleeping bags, and bed bugs than upon introspection and self-discovery. It is like two parishioners who leave a church service, one contemplating the message of the minister’s sermon and the other fixated upon the minister’s failure to adequately shine his shoes and straighten his collar.
From the beginning of our Camino I found myself looking at my wife with fresh eyes and a deeper appreciation for my good fortune in marriage. May 4th was a day that we focused upon each other while sharing the backdrop of what the city of Sahagun had to offer.
We again visited the Arco San Benito on our way to to the 12th Century Iglesia San Lorenzo and the Plaza Mayor where vendors were selling their wares.
At the Plaza we encountered a Camino friend, Paul Sommers from Australia, another “face on the Camino”.
Across the central city to the south and high upon a prominence we visited the Monasterio de la Peregrina. This 13th Century Franciscan Convent has served as a monastery, church, pilgrim hospital, and is now restored as a museum.
It provided interesting telephoto views across town to the Cantabrian mountains in the north.
It also featured an open crypt with mummified remains and a couple of skulls. These were found during the restoration embedded in a wall near the main altar. It is believed that these remains date to the 15th Century.
An unexpected highlight for us was an overview of the principal sites of Sahagun, done in miniature. A man whose identity was unknown to us dedicated a piece of his life to the creation of these incredibly detailed models. These places were each constructed as they would have appeared at their zenith. I took the interior images through the doors and windows of the miniatures.
Of course there was a “Roman bridge” to wander by, after all we were in Spain.
On the way back to our hotel we again passed through the Plaza Mayor. This time instead of vendors we encountered a group of folks dressed in their national costume finery. Those who gathered celebrated a pair of newlyweds and the first steps of their love and life together.
Ours was not the only “Honeymoon in Sahagun” celebrated that day.
