Goodbye La Rioja
My visit to Rioja country was pretty short-lived. I have arrived in Castille and Leon and judging by the 12 foot high notice board, the local authorities were keen to know you had crossed a border.
Bit of a day for borders. The cross above marks the spot where the border between the towns of Santa Domingo and Granon was eventually fixed and the cross was erected to symbolise the lasting peace between them. According to the notice below the cross, the old enmities have been put aside and the two towns now live in peace. Good to know as I walked along with a Canadian mother and a Finnish intensive care nurse that we were unlikely to be hit by gunfire.
The highlight of the day was however the Holy Chickens of Santa Domingo. The story is so. A couple and their son were walking the Camino and stayed a night at an inn in Santa Domingo. The innkeeper’s daughter took a shine to the young son and made an indecent proposal. Being a devout pilgrim he declined – whereupon, hell hath no fury etc and she fitted him up by sticking a goblet into his baggage and claiming that he stole it.The parents, for some unexplained reason seem to have been oblivious to their son’s fate and continued to Santiago, leaving their son to be hanged by the local justiciar. On their return from Santiago, the parents came across their lad on the gallows but he is still alive and explains that Santo Domingo (a real character born in 1019) had saved him, holding him up. The parents, again for unexplained reasons, run to the justice and say that their son is still alive. The justice is about to sit down to his dinner and doesn’t like the interruption, waving them away by saying, if that lad is alive so is this roast chicken on my plate. At which point the roast chicken stood up and crowed.
Obviously this is a great story. To keep it fresh, a couple of hens and a cock are kept in a hen-house next to the tomb of Santo Domingo, inside the cathedral. They are changed frequently and the local priest is often seen at the back of the local KFC.
Holy Chickens
With the exception of a great beer in the market square at Granon, today was a bit of a slog. I walked 27.5 miles and, apart from a brief soaking, there was precious little excitement. Martin Randall, purveyors of up-market tours to the gentry, offer a Camino highlights tour, 12 days for £3320. It is fair to say that the highlights would not have included today; 10 miles trudging alongside the busy N120 road; a group of dull villages before my final destination of Belorado; and a completely pointless 3 mile detour to walk through one of those really huge and sad housing developments where the only animation is the “se vende” signs flapping In the wind and less than 1 in 50 properties is occupied. There was one cool looking church but it was locked.
I’m not sure how far to go tomorrow. Burgos, at 30 miles is a bit of a stretch after today. The Camino will decide – or rather my feet will. Feet are getting to be the main subject of conversation with my fellow pilgrims. I had lunch in Santo Domingo with a fellow pilgrim; two other pilgrims who knew her joined us and then a chap who knew me sat down too. Soon it was a fairly lively and fun grouping at our tables in the sun. A smart woman in her forties then asks whether she can sit next to me. I assume she is Spanish. The conversation is very animated and I turn to her and jokingly say, you too are now a pilgrim, meaning she was in our group at the table. She then surprises us all by saying that she is in fact Austrian and a pilgrim. We must all look shocked and disbelieving – she looks far too glamorous to be a pilgrim. So to prove her credentials she lifts one of her feet up – bandaged, swollen and blood coming though the dressing.
Yep, she was a pilgrim.
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