Fall, 2017
We arrived at Fuenterroble de Salvatierra with its famous albergue which was started by Don Blas Rodriguez who did much of the work reviving the camino in this region. The main albergue building is stuffed with books, memorabilia, pieces of art, tack for the horse carts stored in an adjoining shed, and just stuff. Assorted ramshackle out-buildings are full of lumber and pieces of metal, large and small -- an array of tools (carpenter, metal working, and gardening -- both hand and power) and what seems to be plain junk, untouched for years. Other sheds have 20 horse carts, highly painted and decorated, used in parades. It's an interesting place.
We got into town too late for lunch and too early for dinner, but we did find baguette sandwiches in a local bar (Asador El Pesebra) and they were wonderful. Mine was bacon-like pork plus a bunch of other stuff, and dw's was queso and pimento and a bunch of other stuff. They both were really good.
The small town was quiet but we wandered around doing our usual afternoon paseo. The church was supposed to be nice, but it was closed. Next to the church was a layered replica of a section of a Roman road showing how the roads were made. That was interesting. There were some horses grazing in a field. That wasn't interesting. We wandered back to the albergue and had some quiet time in our room. Then dinner with grapes for desert. The grapes had seeds too small to spit out, so if we happened to poop along the trail we would be like Johnny Appleseed with grapes instead of apples.
On the way to Morille I asked dw if she wanted to stop for a rest in a shady spot. (it was getting hot)
She said: "I'm hot and tired, but I'm good for awhile and there's nothing ahead. --- That's a metaphor for life and the best we can hope for."
A bit later I said: "There's a car coming. --- There're two cars coming."
dw: "There're three more coming."
"I think the second one that just passed was a hearse."
"Probably a peregrino trying to cross the Meseta."
Before Morille we crossed the high point of the VDLP -- Pico de la Duena -- the highest point between Sevilla and Astorga. To mark the spot there's an iron cross atop a tall pole, where, since Celtic and Roman times, pilgrims have left a stone to ensure a safe passage across the mountains and to give thanks for a safe passage. The pole is behind a fence so the best you can do is throw a rock at the cross. We did, and we had a safe passage so it worked, but the rock throwing seemed irreverent.
We spent the night in Morille, a bedroom community for Salamanca. Like most bedroom communities there was nothing in town. One bar and that was it. Surprisingly there were several pieces of public art -- we thought some were very good. In the church yard was a modern Adoration of the Christ Child which we both liked, but it was crapped up with an unneeded explanatory sign stuck on the Christ Child. Sort of like nailing an explanation in the middle of Nude Descending a Staircase.
On the way to Salamanca we stopped at Miranda de Azan looking for some coffee. After a bit we found an open bar. As we left the bartender came out, stopped us, and told us how to find a shortcut that saved us one or two kilometers. We managed to understand and follow his directions. This wasn't an unusual event. Throughout the walk we consistently found people were generous with their time in interacting with pilgrims -- even with peregrinos like us who barely spoke their language.
The top of the last hill before Salamanca has a fine view of the city and a plaque explaining the Battle of Salamanca (part of the 1812 Peninsula War) where Wellington crushed the French forces. Both the English and the French were prancing around in Spain as a result of Napoleon's Grand Plan which actually didn't work out very well -- for Napoleon and for Spain (Both the French and the English cheerfully shot up Spain and everyone in it)
Leading into Salamanca, a Roman bridge crosses the Rio Tormes, and on the town end, a large stone bear with all his corners worn off stands on a pedestal.
DJA: "Oh, that bear statue is the symbol of Salamanca. It pre-dates the Romans."
dw: "So, who made it?"
DJA: "I dunno. The Celts or somebody -- whoever the Romans stomped on."
dw: "So losers made it."
DJA: " Yeah. And that's probably why it looks so vague."
We took a day off and toured the city: the Library (the sea shell building -- Casa de las Conchas), The Cathedral, the Art Nouveau/Art Deco Museum: It has a nice collection of styles, figurines, dolls, etc. although it is thin in drawing and painting. The collection is large, but so-so we thought. The building is stunning -- It has a large Tiffany style leaded glass central dome, and a monster 150' x 20' window -- also leaded glass -- forming one wall. It is amazing. We saw the small modern art museum, and the museum at the University. (University: 1218) It's a beautiful city.
We visited the Convento De San Esteban with it's 100 foot high retablo. A museum room with assorted paintings, carvings, relics, monstrances and so on, and one highly unusual piece: a 2' tall statue of Archangel Michael literally stomping the crap out of the devil -- photos not allowed. Any description is inadequate.
As usual we did our paseo, ending near the University at a sidewalk table with a beer and a snack. We had taken our first sips and were enjoying the warm evening when we heard some chanting/yelling and then a group (20+) of University men marched by. Daubed with paint -- face, hair, and clothes -- all in a line. The one in front held his crotch, and each one following had his hand between the legs and holding the crotch of the guy ahead. Sort of like a conga line, except instead of hands on waist, it was hands on dick. The point was unclear. Over the next twenty minutes four additional groups marched by, smeared with paint and chanting. It seemed to be a final exam march. All but the first group were mixed sex and each painted group was followed by a group chanting but unpainted. In all there were a couple of hundred marchers. Earlier we watched a group of medical students -- in costume but mostly unpainted -- marching and celebrating the end of the term. A wonderful, interesting, and beautiful city to take a rest day.
The largest domestic pig on record, "Big Bill", weighed 2,552 lbs. (1,158 kilos) If he was a truffle pig, I bet he ate every truffle he found. "Some Pig!" -- "Humble" https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cZLT9KTWugw
___________________________
Puttock: Any of several birds of prey.
Futtock: Curved timbers forming the lower part of a ships frame.
Buttock: The fleshy, lower part of a person's torso. AKA -- your ass.
English can be odd, but how did this happen?
___________________________
Frankenstein entered a body building competition, but found he had seriously misunderstood the objective.
________
The word "nun" is just an "n" doing a forward roll.
________
What do you call a bear with no ears? --- A "B"
And so it goes.
We arrived at Fuenterroble de Salvatierra with its famous albergue which was started by Don Blas Rodriguez who did much of the work reviving the camino in this region. The main albergue building is stuffed with books, memorabilia, pieces of art, tack for the horse carts stored in an adjoining shed, and just stuff. Assorted ramshackle out-buildings are full of lumber and pieces of metal, large and small -- an array of tools (carpenter, metal working, and gardening -- both hand and power) and what seems to be plain junk, untouched for years. Other sheds have 20 horse carts, highly painted and decorated, used in parades. It's an interesting place.
We got into town too late for lunch and too early for dinner, but we did find baguette sandwiches in a local bar (Asador El Pesebra) and they were wonderful. Mine was bacon-like pork plus a bunch of other stuff, and dw's was queso and pimento and a bunch of other stuff. They both were really good.
The small town was quiet but we wandered around doing our usual afternoon paseo. The church was supposed to be nice, but it was closed. Next to the church was a layered replica of a section of a Roman road showing how the roads were made. That was interesting. There were some horses grazing in a field. That wasn't interesting. We wandered back to the albergue and had some quiet time in our room. Then dinner with grapes for desert. The grapes had seeds too small to spit out, so if we happened to poop along the trail we would be like Johnny Appleseed with grapes instead of apples.
On the way to Morille I asked dw if she wanted to stop for a rest in a shady spot. (it was getting hot)
She said: "I'm hot and tired, but I'm good for awhile and there's nothing ahead. --- That's a metaphor for life and the best we can hope for."
A bit later I said: "There's a car coming. --- There're two cars coming."
dw: "There're three more coming."
 |
| Pico de la Duna cross |
"Probably a peregrino trying to cross the Meseta."
Before Morille we crossed the high point of the VDLP -- Pico de la Duena -- the highest point between Sevilla and Astorga. To mark the spot there's an iron cross atop a tall pole, where, since Celtic and Roman times, pilgrims have left a stone to ensure a safe passage across the mountains and to give thanks for a safe passage. The pole is behind a fence so the best you can do is throw a rock at the cross. We did, and we had a safe passage so it worked, but the rock throwing seemed irreverent.
 |
Morille -- A librarian. Marion?
|
On the way to Salamanca we stopped at Miranda de Azan looking for some coffee. After a bit we found an open bar. As we left the bartender came out, stopped us, and told us how to find a shortcut that saved us one or two kilometers. We managed to understand and follow his directions. This wasn't an unusual event. Throughout the walk we consistently found people were generous with their time in interacting with pilgrims -- even with peregrinos like us who barely spoke their language.
Leading into Salamanca, a Roman bridge crosses the Rio Tormes, and on the town end, a large stone bear with all his corners worn off stands on a pedestal.
 |
| The Vague Bear |
dw: "So, who made it?"
DJA: "I dunno. The Celts or somebody -- whoever the Romans stomped on."
dw: "So losers made it."
DJA: " Yeah. And that's probably why it looks so vague."
 |
| Art Nouveau/Deco Museum |
 |
Plateresque -- Called for it's resemblance to
worked silver.
|
We visited the Convento De San Esteban with it's 100 foot high retablo. A museum room with assorted paintings, carvings, relics, monstrances and so on, and one highly unusual piece: a 2' tall statue of Archangel Michael literally stomping the crap out of the devil -- photos not allowed. Any description is inadequate.
 |
| ? |
 |
| They'll probably wear scrubs when doctoring. |
 |
Plaza Mayor, Salamance -- temporary exhibit
______________________________________
|
___________________________
Puttock: Any of several birds of prey.
Futtock: Curved timbers forming the lower part of a ships frame.
Buttock: The fleshy, lower part of a person's torso. AKA -- your ass.
English can be odd, but how did this happen?
___________________________
Frankenstein entered a body building competition, but found he had seriously misunderstood the objective.
________
The word "nun" is just an "n" doing a forward roll.
________
What do you call a bear with no ears? --- A "B"
And so it goes.
