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Navarrete → Santo Domingo de la Calzada 35.1 km (21.8 mi) |
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¡Que día larga, todos!
Sometimes, even when you scrap your original plans, there can be setbacks! Well, they may not be setbacks in the strictest sense of the word, but they do fly right out of the blue to bop you on the nose and fly away once again! You remember last night, I said my destination today would be Cirueña? Well, sometimes the Camino has another destination picked out for you, whether you want it or not!
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When I headed out of the albergue this morning, the moon was just settling into the red haze of the morning. There is a split in the Camino shortly after Navarette, and a lot of people choose to take a detour to Ventosa. When I heard there was nothing to see there other than toast and coffee, I decided to remove those extra 4K from my day and continue straight to Nájera. I sure was worried that I would go the wrong way, though. I kept checking every little road and lane for arrows leading off in obscure directions. It wasn’t until I got to the sign pointing to Ventosa that I realized I would be just fine.
This luck, however, didn’t last very long. Having passed through vineyard after vineyard… after vineyard, the arrows started to curve. I couldn’t tell if the arrow was supposed to curve straight ahead or down the trail immediately to the right! Both showed equal wear, and both led to towns! I started down the right one, but right turned out to be wrong! I didn’t see any other arrows!
I don’t like to turn back, but sometimes, it’s necessary. Each kilometer in the wrong direction doubles once you turn back, and when you’re covering a big distance in a day, you just don’t want a whole lot of extra distance on your feet, believe me! So, I returned to the fork and looked down the other way. Sure enough, I spotted a flecha amarilla on a telephone pole! When stuck in a flat land, it helps to look for tall things!
Speaking of which, while trying to find my way, I’d walked right past the hill that hosted a legendary duel between our pal, Roldán, and a Syrian giant named Ferragut! Somewhere between the battle in Villamayor de Monjardin and his death in Roncesvalles, Roldán decided to go on a pilgrimage to Santiago. When he arrived at the castle of Nájera, Ferragut challenged him to a duel that lasted two days and nights! At the dawn of the third day, Ferragut fell on top of Roldán, who stabbed him in the bellybutton! Ferragut’s followers hustled out of Nájera!
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Unlike Ferragut, I was hustling into Nájera, now accompanied by Juan, the Mac and Cheese mendicant! As we entered the town, he told me that, in the summer, the sidewalks here are packed full of peregrinos! I tried to imagine it, and I was suddenly glad to be here at this time of year! He led me off the Camino, down various side streets to the albergue, where he planned to stop for the day. I thought that was perfectly fine for him, but now I was lost in Nájera! This just wasn’t turning out to be my day! Fortunately, Nájera isn’t a huge town, and it wasn’t too difficult to find the monastery of Santa María la Real!
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Santa María used to be one of two important Cluniac centers in Spain (“Cluniac” refers to Benedictine monks from the abbey of Cluny), and was most notable as the stopping point where a fellow named Peter the Venerable brought four scholars together to translate the Qur’ān into Latin! Who knew that scholars in a country trying to oust Islam would actually take an interest in learning about it? Way to go, Pete! Viva academia!
It seems Santa María was also a stopping point for Jean and Andrew, and we all set off together, applauded by the clacking of stork beaks, echoing down from the cliff over the town. Actually, white storks are really common in this part of Spain, and pretty much all over Europe! They can be found as far north as Denmark and St. Petersburg, and they normally go as far south as Algeria or Morocco, though some have been found way down in the Cape of Good Hope! And I thought the flight from Miami to Madrid was long!
The three of us walked the 5.5K to Azofra, where Jean and I stopped for lunch while Andrew kept his momentum going. It was hot and bright in the plaza, and a little kid was furiously driving his toy tractor all around us. I guess he’d found his calling, because there were far more tractors than cars in this town!
The next 9K to Cirueña took us through wetlands, past burnt ditches, and across some beautiful farm land. Shortly before going the wrong way at a poorly marked fork, Jean told me about a nonprofit group that takes drug and alcohol addicts aboard a sailing ship, where they have to work as deckhands, forcing them to focus on something other than their addiction in order to survive! Jean wondered if the same thing could happen on the Camino. Every day requires focus and sacrifice in order to get from Point A to Point B. Who knows? Since we started, I haven’t thought once about my addiction to jelly beans! Oh.
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I didn’t think to take a picture in Cirueña. Walking and talking with Jean was great, but the hard dirt was rough on my feet and my left hip was hurting. I wanted an albergue break! Of course, not only were all the albergues closed, but the town was post-apocalyptic! Surrounding the vacant golf course stood dozens of huge, identical, bunker-style apartment/condos with the iron curtains drawn over the windows. There was no one on the street, no one in the municipal swimming pool, no sign of life except for the “Se Alquila” (“For Rent”) signs flapping in the breeze! And this was the new part of town! The old part was corroded! The remains of ancient buildings mixed with more modern, but almost as dilapidated, residences. At any minute, I expected a horde of zombies to drag their feet toward us so they could slurp our brains like horchata!
Andrew was waiting for us at the town’s water fountain, thinking the same thing. We took a break, braced ourselves, and pressed on the next 6K to Santo Domingo de la Calzada. All things considered, it really wasn’t a bad stretch, and by the time the city came into view, all three of us said “Already?” Santo Domingo, like many cities, starts with an industrial area then draws the peregrino into the charming Old Town, where the Confraternity of Santo Domingo has provided free lodging for peregrinos since 1109 AD. Consequently, the albergue, with beds in the cedar-scented attic, is really comfortable!
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Santo Domingo was a local hermit, made so because the Benedictine order repeatedly refused to accept him into their ranks. He devoted his life to aiding peregrinos in their journey, building a bridge over the Rio Ebro, setting up a hospital and church for the physical and spiritual needs of peregrinos, and installing a paved causeway (calzada) as an alternative to the existing rough, Roman roads!
Santo Domingo’s most famous act, however, happened after his death at the ripe old age of 90. He turned dinner into a miracle! See, a young, German Pilger was on his way to Santiago with his parents when a local innkeeper’s daughter took a liking to him. He wasn’t interested, so she, doing what she felt was healthy and reasonable, framed him for theft and had him sentenced to death! As his parents grieved, they heard their son’s voice, telling them Santo Domingo had saved his life, but since there was nothing else they could do, they bid farewell to their son and continued to Santiago. On the way back, however, they found their son’s body still hanging in a gibbet as a warning to would-be criminals, but he was still alive! When they asked the magistrate, who was having chicken for dinner, to take their son down from the gibbet, the magistrate told them their son was about as alive as his supper. At that moment, the hen and the rooster jumped off his plate and started singing! Thus, to this day, a white hen and white rooster are kept in the cathedral, er co-cathedral, as a reminder!
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It was in this Chicken Cathedral that I attended my first Camino Mass with Jean (Andrew had checked into a hotel and out of the world for a bit). I figured, since the Camino started as a religious route, I may as well get a taste for the religious side. I would describe Mass in the Chicken Cathedral as KFC style: get in, eat your bread, and go in peace! It took twenty minutes! I didn’t think a Mass could be done in under an hour! Maybe it was because it was so cold in the cathedral, but in any case, the chickens in their cage clucked at me, “Amateur.”
So, I did not feel spiritually elevated by this Mass. Maybe that will change down the road, especially if someone plays the organ! For now, though, the rest of me is ready to hit the hay, or at least the lovely, plaid bedspread! Maybe by tomorrow morning, I’ll be able to dance just like the roasted chickens!
Buen Camino!
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Total Distance Walked: 216.1 km (128.0 mi) |
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