One Year Ago: Into the Gale
(from my journal)
Nájera
09 April
We left Ventosa at 7:30, despite our best efforts to be out by 7. Nevertheless, here we are drinking café con leche, 10km on, at 9:30 in the morning.
Santo Domingo de la Calzada
6PM
In Nájera, we visited the Monasterio de Santa María la Real, where some of the Kings of Navarre are entombed. It was a beautiful, grand building despite a rather ignoble period of its history after the Spanish state dissolved the monasteries. It served as a barracks, a prison, even a bull ring, before it was declared a cultural monument and given over to some Franciscans about 150 years ago.
We discovered that our photo was indeed in the local paper, so everybody bought a copy (well, Eamon, Patrick, Petra, Viola, and I did).
We spent rather too much time in Nájera, but the walk through the vineyards to Azofra was pleasant enough.
We had lunch there, and revivified we continued on into the most absurd headwind ever. They were listed at 30 – 40 kph, but Patrick compared them to the sorts of winds you get in a full-on tropical storm. We fought these winds for 15km, which seemed like 30.
We passed through the surreal and apocalyptic town of Cirueña, full of new, modern housing developments, all empty. So eerie. And then back to the wind!
Laaaaa Rioja! Where the wind comes sweeping off the plains!
While Eamon and Petra surged ahead, Patrick, Viola, and I struggled forward against the wind, exhorting and encouraging each other, shouting and swearing at the wind. When we finally crested the (almost) last hill and saw Santo Domingo in the valley below us, we shouted and wept for joy.
It was, we decided, the most beautiful city ever built by human hands. The streets were paved with chorizo and jamón, the fountains flowed with vino tinto, and and river was surely cerveza! Angels sang of its wonders. If we could have danced, we surely would have.
We staggered into the city, through an industrial wasteland and falling down buildings. Far in the distance, we heard a rooster, and it spurred us on. When we finally got to the albergue, we were blithering.
31km today.
The albergue is operated by a 900 year old confraternity, founded by Santo Domingo himself.
In the evening, another party with the by now usual singing and toasts, as we said goodbye to several folks leaving us, or the Camino. Carlos gave a moving tribute to Joe, a 76-year old Irishman, who anchored him, as well as a considerable Irish contingent. Joe’s heading home to Ireland.
We were quite sad to be losing Patrick, who is heading back to Miami, and Petra, who is under a time crunch and will take the bus to Burgos.
Photos! All of them! Day 8.