The Silwer Route, Spain. Part 1: Burgos -Salamanca

(Rol af vir Afrikaans en foto’s)

On a freezing morning we picked up the Silver Route of Spain just outside Burgos. The Via de la Plata. Along with all the pilgrims of the Camino de Compostells. We had already seen hordes of them on the squares and in the streets of the old city the evening before. Staff in hand. Backback with shell. And a determined and sometimes tortured expression.

The Silver Route is an ancient route which links Spain’s north with the south. It already existed as a route in the Bronze period (3000BC), but it was the Romans who conquered Spain in 218BC who paved the Via de la Plata with stone. We decided to follow the route from Burgos in sections on this trip.

Burgos is the birthplace of my teenage hero, El Cid – an important place to begin this journey. I revisited my youth as we rode across the cold plains of Basque and Castilla y León. Walking to the bioscope on Saturday afternoons. The excitement. The eleven cents in your pocket for a ticket and another 5 cents for sweets. The tearing of the ticket at the velvet curtain door and you finding your favourite seat in the dark. And then El Cid, which I saw twice, with Charlton Heston and the lovely Sophia Loren. Some of the scenes still burned as clearly into my memory after 50 years. Especially the last battle with El Cid on his white horse and the long white cloak. And the Moors who didn’t realise that he was already dead. I wept every time. I traced the trailer on Youtube, and would you believe it, I even remember the shock and amazement on the faces of the Moors. And the beauty of Sophia Loren in her black garb. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BE7QDaBoo_4

We walked a lot in Burgos, also because we stayed right in the middle of the city. Especially in the old section with its mighty gate; the plane trees grafted into one another like young couples in love growing into each other; the majestic cathedral overshadowing everything. We ate our bread and cheese below the walls of the old fortress guarding over the city. That evening we walked through the old section of the city again with hundreds of people out and about, in spite of the cold. Climbed the steps to look over the church square which had acquired a grainy atmosphere in the dark. It remained rainy and cold.

We overslept on the last morning in Burgos, but departed around the planned time, in light rain, and felt slightly guilty when we saw the pilgrims tackling the road with backpacks and rain capes. Some walked without any protection in the cold and rain. Here and there one of them walked with a plastic bag of food in one hand. Is the suffering also part of a spiritual journey?

The weather worsened, the villages were sad and looked as if they had been built of mud. We turned off at every one to ride to the square or the church. Few people to be seen. Sometimes the only movement was the storks settling down in their nests on the church towers. Quite a number of them. We tried to work out the Spanish on information boards and felt a little hard done by because we understood so little.

The plains were green. The roads quiet. It started to rain. The cold became more intense. I capitulated and fitted the handlebar gloves to Silver. Gloves were no longer sufficient against the cold. At a stop we pulled on more clothes. Ate some bread and cheese and watched the walking pilgrims on the endless road across the green plains. Wondered what went on in the minds of each of them, and if they were so immersed in their spiritual journey that they didn’t notice the sadness of the scene.

In one of the towns we sought the heat of the pub just to be able to wrap our cold hands around hot coffee cups. We were intrigued by the 13 old men sitting there with their coffee and newspapers. No women. It was like a time warp. Pure 70’s décor. Light wood. Plastic. Framed chocolate box scenes of nature. Lampshades from a different era. And lots of bottles of alcoholic drinks on the shelves. One old man stood in front of a gambling machine and played his hand for the day.

Around four o’clock we navigated into León with ease. Many deviations in the rain and the GPS had to keep a cool head. Somewhere we ended up on a toll road for a short while and almost blew the day’s budget! A financial setback.

We were still on the lookout for a neumaticos to replace Silver’s new front tyre which had developed a bump on the side and caused the scooter to wobble now and then. But, it was a useless search. Gesticulations didn’t help in Burgos. You had to speak the language.

We realised that our “good” rainproof clothes weren’t that rainproof any more, and went in search of a large shopping centre with an Intersport which has helped us out of many tight spots. We found what we were looking for. Good rain capes at an astronomical price. Another financial setback…

Our accommodation, a large flat for ourselves, was near the old city and we tackled the couple of kilometres on foot, with the new raingear under our arms. There wasn’t much to be seen which we hadn’t already seen. Many bachelor’s and bride-to-be (sorry, refuse to call them bachelorettes – we’re not American) party groups are seen over weekends. Groups of jolly young people in all sorts of silly outfits or wigs, moving from bar to bar.

And the next moment a thunder and lightning storm broke which echoed against the stone walls and towers. Heaven’s dam walls broke. We walked back, ankle deep in water, and laughed. I let the water just wash over my face and thought of the drought back home. It was a feeling of excess, of satisfaction, of joy… In the process I put my prescription dark glasses in the top pocket of the new rain cape. Little did I know that it wasn’t a pocket, but a ventilation flap. Early the next morning, with the realisation, I trotted the few kilometres back to the city along the river promenade, just in case. But there was so much debris of broken leaves and branches, and it was an impossible task. Another even bigger financial setback…

The route to Salamanca improved my mood. The sun peeped out. It was a beautiful fresh spring morning of around 11C. I rode with my visor open so that my face felt the cold. I could breathe and feel it.

And then came the poppies. Red as far as the eye could see – a red sea. On the edges there were other flowers. The red along with purple, white, yellow.

After lunch in a bar we became sleepy. I could see Anuta’s riding was unsteady and we pulled off just outside Toro, next to the Duero River. Right there, in a wheat field, we fell asleep immediately. So safe. So peaceful.

The countryside remained flat and by then we had had days of just wheat fields. Later that afternoon, I will always remember it, I was overcome by the vastness of the sky. It felt as if I had moved to a metaphysical plane. As if I was elevated and everything about me just became greater and more expansive. The clouds were a silvery white. The wheat greener than green. And a perfect heaven felt closer and closer. My wish was that this would not come to an end.

That was when I began to wonder. What if Blue were transported into the heavens like a chariot of fire, with me at the helm. And I returned to earth now and then to appear to others. Would the people who saw me, be declared saints?

What can one say about Salamanca? The little city which is considered one of the most beautiful. With one of the oldest universities in the world. Which was built entirely of honey-coloured. iron-rich Villamayor stone. Which boasts elements of gothic, medieval and Roman architecture. We just couldn’t get enough of it and walked up and down its streets, and back and forth until I developed a blood blister on my heel. There are so many surprising elements around every corner and my camera worked overtime.

Three things will remain with me. Lately I have been experiencing many things as synchronicity. Where the confluence of circumstances isn’t coincidence, but has been determined for me since before time. We walked down a narrow street and I got the wonderful smell of leather. I walked into the little shop and there was an old man working on shoes. Like a real medieval shoemaker. Barely 30m further the metal ring joining my heel strap to the sandal broke. Back to the medieval shoemaker… I shook his hand, because I was so emotional.

We saw posters for an exhibition, el cielo de Salamanca, and wanted to see it. On our wanderings we came across a black opening in a wall and entered. It was breathtaking! There, in the darkness, all the star signs had been painted onto a cupola. Ancient. There were all the signs of the zodiac; saggitarius, virgo, scorpio, ram, … all of them. Always. Because they have always been there. It almost felt like entering a sacred place. We just didn’t understand the long, fat snake…

We decided not to carry our capes with my for the last afternoon’s visit to the old city, because the sun shone so brightly. Well, the mother of all thunderstorms broke out suddenly. The sky turned almost black-blue. Lightning flashed and thunder cracked and we ran to shelter under a gazebo on the cathedral square where a cluster of students were also sheltering. We heard the thunder reverberate against towers and walls, the cracks, the rumbles. All echoing. And then began one of the worst storms that we have every experienced. The cobbled streets became streams, rivers. And then the cathedral gargoyles began spurting water like sluices being opened. The cathedral transcended to hundreds of waterfalls… We stood there, agape, and experienced the miracle. Stood there for probably an hour. Wet up to our knees.

Afterwards, the closer we got to where we had parked Silver, we realised that there was something seriously wrong. Cars stood askew in the water. The streets were dammed up. The city’s traffic backed up. And Silver? We peeped around a corner, expecting the worst. But, there she stood, high and dry on a pavement.

Silwerroete Deel 1: Burgos tot Salamanca

Ons tel die Silwerroete van Spanje op ’n yskoue oggend net buite Burgos op. Die Via de la Plata. Saam met al die stappers van die Camino de Compostella. Ons het hulle die vorige aand al in hordes op die pleine en strate van die ou stad gesien. Stok in die hand. Rugsak met skulp. En ‘n vasberade en soms gepynigde trek op die gesig.

Die Silwerroete is ‘n antieke roete wat Spanje se noorde met die suide verbind. Dit was alreeds in die Bronstydperk (3000BC) ‘n roete, maar dit was die Romeine wat Spanje in 218BC ingeval het wat die Via de la Plata met klip gebou het. Ons het besluit om vir hierdie reis die roete vanaf Burgos in dele te volg.

Burgos is die geboorteplek van my tienerheld El Cid, en ook daarom ‘n belangrike plek vir my om hierdie reis te begin. My jeug word herbesoek terwyl ons so oor die koue vlaktes van die Baske en Castilla y León ry. Die Saterdagmiddae se bioskoop toe stap. Die opwinding. Die 11 sente in jou sak vir ‘n kaartjie en nog so 5 sent vir lekkergoed koop. Die skeur van die kaartjie by die fluweel gordyndeur en jy wat jou plek in die donker vind na jou gunsteling sitplek. En dan El Cid, wat ek twee keer gaan kyk met Charlton Heston en die mooie Sophia Loren. Van die tonele is na 50 jaar nog net so helder in my ingebrand. Veral die laaste veldslag met El Cid op sy wit perd en die lang wit mantel. En die More wat nie wis dat hy alreeds dood is nie. Ek het elke keer so gehuil. Ek spoor toe hierdie nuwe lokprent op Youtube op, en wraggies ek onthou selfs die skok en verbystering op die gesigte van die More. En die skoonheid van Sophia Loren in haar swart gewaad. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BE7QDaBoo_4

Ons stap baie in Burgos, ook omdat ons reg in die middel van die stad tuisgaan. Veral in die ou gedeelte met die magtige poort; die plataanlanings wat in mekaar geënt word lyk soos jong verliefde paartjies wat inmekaar groei; die magtige katedraal wat oor alles troon. Ons gaan eet ons kaas en brood bo by die ou kasteel wat oor almal waak. Daardie aand gaan stap ons weer in die ou gedeelte van die stad met honderde mense wat kuier, ten spyte van die koue. Klim die trappe op om oor die kerkplein te kyk wat in die donker ‘n grinterige atmosfeer kry. Dit bly maar reënerig en koud.

Ons verslaap die laaste oggend in Burgos, maar vertrek om en by ons beplande tyd, in ligte reën, en voel effens skuldig as ons sien hoe die pelgrims met rugsakke en reënklere die tog aanpak. Sommiges loop net so sonder beskutting in die koue en reën. Hier en daar ene met ‘n plasstieksak met kos in die hand. Is die foltering ook deel van ‘n geestelike reis?

Die weer versleg, die dorpies is mistroostig en lyk asof hulle van modder gebou is. Ons draai telkens in om tot op die plein of die kerk te ry. Min mense in sig. Die enigste bewegig soms is die ooievaars wat nes skop op die kerktorings. Nogal baie van hulle. Ons probeer die Spaans op historiese borde te ontsyfer en voel bietjie ingeloop dat ons so min verstaan.

Die vlaktes is groen. Die paaie stil. Dit begin reën. Die koue word intenser. Ek kapituleer en sit die nuwe motorfiets son en weer-handskerms aan Silwer. Die handskoene help nie meer vir die koue nie. By ‘n staning trek ons nog dikker aan. Eet ‘n broodjie en kaas, en kyk vir die stappende pelgrims op die eindelose pad oor die groen vlaktes. Wonder wat in elkeen se gedagtes aangaan, en of hulle só verdiep is in hulle geestelike reis dat hulle nie die mistroostigheid raaksien nie.

By een van die dorpies soek ons die hitte van die kroeg op om net om ons koue hand om die warm koppie te sit. Ons verkyk ons aan die 13 oompies wat daar sit met hulle koffie en koerante. Geen vroue. Dit is asof jy in ‘n tydborrel sit. Pure 70’s dekor. Ligte hout. Plastiek. Geraamde tjoklitboks natuurtonele. Lampskerms uit ‘n ander era. En baie drank op die rakke. Een omie staan by ‘n dobbelmasjien en speel sy spel vir die dag.

Ons navigeer teen vieruur heel maklik León binne. Baie verleggings in die reën en die onopgedateerde GPS moet net kophou, en o, ons het iewers vir ‘n rukkie verkeerdelik op ‘n tolpad beland en byna ‘n dag se begroting geblaas! ‘n Finansiële terugslag.

Ons is steeds op die uitkyk vir ‘n neumaticos om Silwer se nuwe voorband te vervang, wat ‘n blaas aan die kant ontwikkel het en nou en dan die rukkings kry. Maar dis ‘n hopelose soektog. Beduie help nie in Burgos nie. Jy moet die taal kan praat.

Ons besef dat ons goeie waterdigte klere nie meer so waterdig is nie, en gaan soek in ‘n groot inkopsentrum na ‘n Intersport wat ons al uit vele verknorsigs gehelp het. Ons kry wat ons soek. Goeie waterdigte reënjasse teen ‘n astronomiese bedrag. Nog ‘n finansiële terugslag…

Ons blyplek, ‘n groot apartement net vir onsself, is naby die oustad en ons durf die paar kilometer te voet aan, met die nuwe reënjasse onder ons arms. Daar is nie veel te sien wat ons nog nie gesien het nie. Wel interessant is die baie groepe ram- en hennepartytjies. Groepe vrolike jongmense in allerhande lawwe klere of pruike wat van kroeg tot kroeg beweeg.

Maar die volgende oomblik breek ‘n bliksem- en donderstorm los wat teen die klipmure en torings eggo. Die hemel se damwalle breek. Ons loop enkeldiep in water terug en lag. Ek laat die water so oor my gesig spoel en dink aan die droogtes tuis. Dit is ‘n gevoel van oordadigheid, van genoegdoening, van vreugde… In die proses sit ek my voorskrifdonkerbril in die nuwe reënjas se bosak. Min wetende dat dit nie ‘n bosak is nie, maar ‘n ventilasie gat. Vroeg die volgende oggend, met die ontdekking, draf ek die paar kilometer terug stad toe met die rivierpadjie, net ingeval. Maar daar is so baie debris van gebreekte blare en takkies, en dit is ‘n onmoontlike taak. Nog ‘n groter finansiële terugslag…

Die roete na Salamanca beur my gemoed op. Die son steek kop uit. Dit is ‘n lieflike vars lenteoggend van so 11C. Ek ry met my skerm oop sodat die koue my in die gesig vang. Ek dit kan asemhaal en voel.

Toe kom die klaprose. Rooi so ver as wat die oog kan sien – ‘n rooi see. Tussenin is ander blomme. Die rooi, met pers, wit, geel.

Na middagete in ‘n kroeg raak ons vaak. Ek sien hoe Anuta begin slinger en ons trek af by net buite Toro, langs die Duerorivier. Net daar in ‘n koringland raak ons dadelik aan die slaap. So veilig. So tevrede.

Die aarde bly plat en dit is nou al dae lank net koringlande. Later die middag, dit sal ek vir altyd onthou, word ek oorweldig deur die wydheid van die uitspansel. Dit voel asof ek op ‘n metafisiese vlak beweeg. Asof ek opstyg en alles om my word net groter en wyer. Die wolke witsilwer. Die koring groener as groen. En ‘n volmaakte hemel voel nader en nader. En my wens is dat hierdie reis nie mag ophou nie.

Dis toe dat ek beginne wonder. Se nou net hierdie verruking neem Blou soos ‘n vuurwa die hemele in, met my aan die stuur. En ek so nou en dan afkom aarde toe vir ‘n verskyning. Sal die mense wat my sien as heiliges verklaar word?

Wat sal ‘n mens van Salamanca sê? Die klein stadjie wat as een van die mooistes beskou word. Met een van die oudste universiteite ter wêreld. Wat met ‘n gloeiende heuningkleurige klip van die omgewing gebou is. Wat elemente van gotiese, middeleeuse en Romeinse argitektuur het. Ons kry nie genoeg nie en stap die strate op en af en heen en weer totdat ek later ‘n blaas op my een hak het. Daar is soveel verrassende elemente om elke hoek en draai en my kamera werk oortyd.

Drie dinge sal my bybly. Die laaste tyd beleef ek baie dinge as sinkronisiteit. Waar die sameloop van omstandighede nie toevallig is nie, maar van oertyd al so vir my bepaal is. Ons stap in ‘n nou straatjie af, en ek kry die heerlike reuk van leer. Ek stap die winkeltjie binne en daar is ‘n omie besig met skoene. Soos ‘n regte middeleeuse skoenmaker. Skaar 30m verder breek my sandaal se hakband se ystergespe. Terug na die middeleeuse oompie… Ek het sy hand geskud, want ek was só aangedaan.

Ons sien daar is ‘n uitstalling, El cielo de Salamanca, en wil dit graag sien. In ‘n muur is ‘n swart ingang en ons stap in. Binne slaan ons asems weg. Daar, in die pikdonkerte, is die diereriem teen ‘n koepel geskilder. Oeroud. Daar is die sterretekens. Die boogskutter, die maagd, die skerpioen, ram, … almal. Nog altyd. Want was mos so van die begin af. Dit voel asof dit ‘n heiligheid is wat betreë word. Ons verstaan net nie die dik slang nie…

Ons besluit die laaste middag om nie ons reënjasse saam te neem vir ons laaste besoek aan die oustad nie, want die son skyn so vrolik. Wel, die moeder van alle donderstorms breek skielik uit. Die lug word byna pikswartblou. Dit blits en rammel en ons hardloop tot onder ‘n gazebo langs die katerdraal waar ‘n klompie studente ook skuil. Die gazebo is van deurskynende plastiek. Alles word ‘n towerwêreld. Ons hoor die blitse wat teen die torings en mure vasslaan, die knalle, die rammelings. Alles wat eggo. En toe begin een van die ergste reënbuie uitsak wat ons nog beleef het. Die geplaveide paaie word strome, riviere. En toe begin die katedraal se gargoyles water spuit soos sluise wat oopgemaak is. Die katedraal transendeer tot honderde watervalle… Ons staan oopmond en beleef die wonderwerk. Seker vir ‘n uur daar gestaan. Nat tot teen die knieë.

Net, hoe nader ons aan die geparkeerde Silwer kom, besef ons daar is groot fout. motors staan skeef in die water. Die strate het opgedam. Die stad se verkeer het opgehoop. En Silwer? Ons loer om ‘n hoek en verwag die ergste. Maar daar staan hy, hoog en droog op ‘n sypaadjie.

On a cold and wet day: warming up of hands, with the traditional tortillas de patata.

On one stretch these pillars stood 100m apart.

Water, drinking water for pilgrems and horses at Castil de Lenzes

Crossing a stream…

…successfully

We choose to do the back roads. Sometimes we are lucky when the dirt roads are smooth.

Burgos

The plane tree avenue. They grow into each other like married couples.

The impressive entrance gate to Burgos

The Burgos cathedral… something went wrong with my camera setting. It is a much richer colour. Sorry!

A little better…

At night… eerie.

Not unusual to see a castle like this along the way. This one is now a hotel.

When Silver and Blue see a bridge or a mountain…

…they must cross it.

Plane trees, even in small villages

Leaving a panateria with a smile.

A simple lunch like pilgrims. In cold and rain.

Some of the hundreds of pilgrims on their way to Santiago de Compostella.

My hair will NOT get wet.

León

Around every corner their were bachelor’s and bride-to-be parties.

A pilgrim with style

The day of the poppies

The first of the cork trees – an oak (quercus) species

And one small, colourless village after another

A dovecote

The beginning of hundreds and hundreds of stork nests on church and bell towers. Communities support stork nesting by supplying metal baskets atop towers.

Separate entrances for boys and girls in this school building.

Sleeping in the wheat…

… with Toro in the background

Salamanca

Clearly not my photo. But I couldn’t get a beautiful image myself. This is the view we had every time we entered the city.

The cathedral doesn’t fit into photos. You just stand there en look and look and try to get the full picture.

The centre of the old city was disrupted by a huge film crew.

The Casa de Conchas, decorated with hundreds of shells. Today it houses the huge public library.

The courtyard

One of the buildings belonging to the fourth oldest university in the world.

One of the must see things in Salamanca

Read the story of my broken shoe.

The huge plaza

We visited the huge cathedral. Photos can’t capture the scale.

The chapel where the cross of El Cid is kept.

This cross went ahead in El Cid’s military actions.

We have seen this before. Can’t remember where. But to display this in a place of worship?

The city celebrates and honours its poets.

Anuta resting again one of the city poets.

Beautiful detail on the monument for poets

The Roman bridge

A last visit to the old city. We couldn’t get enough of it.

Gates to the Lis museum

There was one disapointment, the Casa Lis museum was closed. A museum dedicated to Art Noveau and La Belle Epoque.

The cathedral again…

…and again.

The ever present crowds

And out of the blue, the huge thunder storm

Gallons and gallons from the gargoyles! The cathedral looked like a cascading waterfall.

And after an hour, sunshine again.

Clearly not my photo. But I couldn’t get a beautiful image myself.