Sacred And Profane

The next day I felt much, much better. In fact it turned into one of my best walking days. Strange, isn't it? 30 km just flew by. And the forecasted rain stayed away until the last 2 km before Monreal. But I'm getting ahead of myself...

Rested and in high spirits, I left Sangüesa at 9.30 am after a breakfast of bacon and egg (well, by this I mean bacon and egg Spanish-style). You can see that I was eating again - no doubt you realised that yesterday's lack of appetite wouldn't last for long! I climbed through almond trees up a short incline to the small village of Rocaforte, with its odd, dome-shaped hill...

This is a view of the attractive, newer part of the village...

And this is the view if you turned 180 degrees in the other direction..! At the time it seemed like one of Dante's visions of hell. But now, immunized by time and distance, and shielded from reality by the aesthetics of frame, lighting and composition, this papermaking factory seems alarmingly beautiful, in a postmodern kind of way...

Or perhaps not! Higher up in the old village perched the squat tower of the church of the Asunción...



... and this is the view from the church over the paper mill's evil-smelling water treatment tanks towards Sangüesa...

I was keen to move on - my feet were 'singing' (as the pilgrim expression goes) - so I descended the hill on the other side of Rocaforte...

... but not without looking back one last time at both ancient and modern...

With this image fresh in my mind, I was glad to reach the Fuente de San Francisco, Saint Francis's spring (the saint is supposed to have stopped here on his way to Santiago). Here the secular (it was now a picnic place and barbecue area) and the divine were married together in a more perfect harmony...

Rest Day In Sangüesa

I left the albergue in Sangüesa at 9 am on Monday 20 October. To be honest I hadn't had the most restful of nights. The Korean pilgrim had been no problem at all - she'd slept soundly all night without a murmur. However 2 Italians arrived late and, after some frenzied mobile phone calls, left in a taxi around midnight. One of them had been taken ill with food poisoning. I hoped I might then get a little sleep - but the church bells of Sangüesa tolled out every quarter, disturbing the slumber of even the weariest pilgrim. Then a Frenchman began a crescendo of snoring interspersed with an impressive, tonal display of flatulence as a kind of earthily musical counterpoint. And every so often a Belgian woke up screaming from bad dreams. By the morning I felt like I'd lived through a nightmare myself! So it was a tired and dejected Solitary Walker who left town that morning, heading for Monreal, almost 30 km away ...

I crossed the steel girder bridge over the river Aragón and had barely dragged myself more than a few 100 m when I realised I just couldn't walk any more that day. Anywhere. Or any distance. I felt exhausted. I was completely lacking in energy. Some muscles in my chest and shoulders were hurting like hell. Not to mention my feet. I retraced my steps and booked into the 1st hostal that I saw. And there I stayed all day - most of the time in bed, dozing and listlessly watching TV. I hardly ate as my appetite had all but vanished. But I did wander into town and force myself to take some photos ...

I found some grand houses, like the Vallesantoro mansion, with its impressive escutcheon over the doorway ...

... and some less grand houses ...

... and lots of convents and churches, such as the convent of San Francisco de Asis (reputedly founded by Saint Francis himself) ...

... and the church of Santa María de Real, with its superb, sculpted south portal ...



... and the church of Santiago ...



... with its Gothic sculpture of Saint James inside ...

... and polychrome sculpture of Saint James outside (note the scallop shells and the 2 flanking pilgrims) ...

Emboldened by my 1st roundabout photograph taken in Lescar, this small industrial-arty roundabout caught my eye ... though I don't think I'm quite yet sad, sorry, ready enough to join The Roundabout Appreciation Society ...

Undués De Lerda

From the campsite near Ruesta I pressed on uphill for several hours along zigzagging forestry tracks. Every now and then I caught a glimpse of the Embalse de Yesa, an artificial lake formed from the damming of the river Aragón ...

The afternoon had been a tiring one, but I finally sighted the village of Undués de Lerda ...



... which I reached down this amazingly well preserved stretch of Roman road ...

In Undués I stayed in the albergue - a very fine building next to the church of San Martín ...

Next day I followed a shallow, treeless, agricultural valley between low hills. The weather had turned overcast with a little rain. Red-winged grasshoppers jumped out of my path. Flocks of corn buntings made their rattling calls. After a few km I crossed from the region of Aragon into the region of Navarre ...

... and by lunchtime the Camino ...



... had brought me to the town of Sangüesa, where I spent the night ...