Sad news from Astorga last night. We were walking down the street and noticed that the sidewalk ahead of us was cordoned off by yellow police tape. There was a body on the sidewalk under a sheet and beside the body there was a backpack and a set of walking poles. I talked the one of the police officers and he explained that the guy under the sheet was an older perrigrino, that is pilgrim in Spanish, who had a heart attack and died. We went to dinner and walked by the same spot two hours later and the body was still laying on the sidewalk under the sheet. I asked the cop how long this poor dead perrigrino was going to have to lay there on the sidewalk. He just shrugged his shoulders and said that it is Sunday and a festival day so who knows when the coroner will come by to pick up the body. The Spanish are more than a little strange about some things. If you have a spare prayer please say one for this poor dead perrigrino. And don’t call a perrigrino a pelligrino. One is a pilgrim and one is a bottle of water. All this palaver in a foreign language can get mighty confusing.
I figured out what all the men and women were doing in the old time military uniforms. It is the Festival of Three Nations in Astorga. This festival commemorates a battle that happened a couple of hundred years ago when the English and Spanish armies got together and kicked the tar out of Napoleon Bonaparte and the Frenchies. This is a big festival in Astorga and people from England and France come to Astorga to help with the battlefield re-enactments. This is the bivouac for the English soldiers.
I told the English soldiers how poorly the French have been treating me. With my new haircut they assumed I was a retired Marine Drill Sargent. They invited me back for next year’s festival and told me that they would provide me with an old time English Army uniform and a sword, musket and a bayonet. And, they would give Old Sarge, that’s what they started calling me, Old Sarge, my own platoon and I could kick around the Frenchies during the re-enactments. So, I am all signed up to participate in next year’s “Let’s Beat up on the French” festival in Astorga. The Frenchies better start being nice to me or there will be hell to pay next year on the battlefield at Astorga.
After I finalized my plans for next year, I visited the Bishop’s Palace and the Astorga Cathedral. This is the Bishop’s Palace. It was designed by the world famous Spanish architect Gaudi so it is a big deal in Spain.
This is a shot of the chapel in the Bishop’s Palace. Gaudi had a style that incorporated a lot of Moorish elements. That works well in southern Spain, where the Moors were very influential, but doesn’t work as well in Northern Spain, where there is very little Moorish influence, except for Gaudi. But what does a retired Marine Drill Sargent like me know about architecture?
I took an hour long tour of the Museum and Cathedral. This is a shot of the main altarpiece in the Cathedral.
Photos of the altarpiece in the side chapel dedicated to St. Joseph.
Notice the kid with the big grin on his face who is holding St. Joseph’s hand. None of us kids at St. Joseph’s grade school ever had a grin on our faces like that. If we ever smiled the nuns would call it a smirk and give us a good whacking to “wipe that smile right off your face.” And besides, it is almost impossible to hold anyone’s hand when you are using both your arms and hands to do the duck and cover.
Photos of the side altar dedicated to St. Michael.
We woke up at 7:00 AM in the alburgue this morning. It was a cold rainy morning and the staff knew that if they did not roust us out of our beds we would overstay the 8:00 AM deadline for vacating the premises. In order to make sure this did not happen they came into our rooms at 7:00 AM and flashed the lights on and off and screamed Buenos Dias, over and over and over again. Buenos Dias? Are you kidding? In Spanish this means Good Morning. There was nothing good about this morning. Last night I got no sleep because it was freezing cold and the alburgue didn’t have blankets. This morning it is 40 degrees and so cold you can see your breath outside and it is raining and you have the nerve to call that a Good Morning!
We all decided to have a service transport our backpacks to our next stop, Rabanal. Walking in the rain is hard. Walking in the rain and the cold with a twenty five pound backpack 🎒 will wear you down to a nubbin. This is the first day that I have walked without my backpack and I have mixed feelings about it. Without my backpack I feel like a turtle 🐢 without his shell. On the other hand, without a backpack I was able to walk 20 kilometers in the cold rain and arrive at the municipal alburgue in Rabanal in pretty good shape. Who knows? I may have them transport my backpack tomorrow.
As we were walking through Astorga you will never guess what we ran across. Yes! A whole truck full of jamons.
I tried to get the guy in the truck to pose for a picture. I suggested that he give one of the pig carcasses a hug and a kiss and let me snap a couple of pictures. He didn’t like this idea and told me to get my stupid perrigrino ass out of town.
This is a roadside cross on the outskirts of Astorga. We stopped here and said a prayer for Anna and the fallen perrigrino.
This is a church on the side of the Way that this little old lady keeps open so pilgrims have a place to say a prayer in the morning. We stopped and said a prayer for Anna.
These are some shots from the trail.
This is the famous Cowboy Bar on the Camino.🤠
This is Marco, from Italy, Giorgio, originally from Italy and now living in Canada, and Heather from Australia.
I took this picture of the inside of The Cowboy Bar, and that’s when the trouble began.
The owner screamed at me that no pictures were allowed. Well, I screamed back at him that I was a rootin tootin cowboy 🤠 from Colorado and that his rude behavior was a gross violation of the Cowboy Code Of Conduct. I threatened to horsewhip him if he didn’t straighten up and start acting like a cowboy. He immediately recognized that he had a real cowboy in his bar and apologized profusely. I had a shot and a beer with him and promised to send him a case of Coors and a bottle of Jack Daniels when I get back to Colorado. Before I left I had the whole bar sing “Home Home On The Range” and then I rode off into the sunset.
We stoped at this cafe on the outskirts of Rabanal for lunch.
We had the best lentil soup at this cafe. We went back into the kitchen and gave the cook a rousing Hip, Hip, Hooray. She invited us back at 7:00 PM for dinner. She promised that dinner would be bellisimo, which is Italian for delicious.
This is the alburgue bunk room. Notice the stove at the far end of the room.
This is my bunk bed, right next to the bathroom and right next to the door to the courtyard, and as far away from the cozy stove as I can possibly get. I picked out this bed. So now I get to smell the bathroom all night and I get a blast of cold air every time someone opens the door and I get no heat from the cozy stove. What was I thinking?
I am heading off to dinner. I hope everyone is having a good Monday.
Good evening from Rabanal, Spain.
AbeAndMarkontheCamino 