Of beds and pillow

I was, of course, aware of how important my bed and pillow are to me. Or so I thought. I am not complaining, much, the beds have been mostly good, though slightly narrower than our home queen. They are of course all of a different consistency and not quite shaped to my needs. The pillows are also OK...but......on a double bed, they are a single long pillow. That means I can't tuck the corner in just so, to get the perfect angle, coz there is no corner in the direction I normally fall asleep, it is a continuation onto Marjan's pillow.

This is really important when I turn the Polo around and realize two things; firstly I have not had jamon or chorizo in two days; and secondly I have to drive the car down the equivalent of 12 stories along narrow, cobbled streets. Marjan has come to similar realizations as she is, in deference to Spanish Catholicism, worrying at imaginary rosary beads and muttering the words God and Jesus a lot. This is where a perfect night sleep is essential. So yes beds and pillows are very important.

I suddenly realize that the next town will invariably have a bar with a hanging jamon with one of those upside down umbrella things catching the fat and my arteries settle down into hardened contentment and we head down, foot on brake all the way until we finally get to the hairpin bend that marks the towns exit onto the 'main' road. Existential angst over. Normal, gut wrenching fear at driving on the wrong side of the road next to a cliff takes over.

We tried to make for Pesquadera de el Ebro. Apparently it has a magnificent views of  the Ebro Cañón. We found the town, another one lane town. We found the Ebro, a one lane bridge over it. We did not find the lookout. Still the drive had been awesome. 

We then got up into the high plains. It looked cold and even the deer we spotted seemed to be shivering. We spotted some odd stone pillars by the road, two to three metres high and about a metre round. We figured they must have been snow markers. There were windmills everywhere, serious wind energy up here. Also fields of dried sun flowers with blackened heads drying in the dry, high air. It must have been a feast of yellow in summer.

We wound our way down to lower ground and past Burgos, past the town called Mercerreyes which interestingly had hobbit style housing. This is El Cid country. He was one of the early folk driving the moors out of this part of the country. We stopped at the thriving metropolis of Covarrubias. Apparently this has been a town since about 640. It was founded by the Visigoth king Chindasvinto. It is in a way the birthplace of Castilla as the first two counts of Castilla were made here and are buried in the church around 950.  Lovely place that looks a bit tudorsih because the architectural style of Castilla is similar to the Tudor style. Beams and stone  and mud brick.

A nice pit stop and then we drove on to Santo Domingo de Silos. The major reason for coming here was the Gregorian chants. The town is a giant at 294 inhabitants. The monks here have been singing regularly since they established the place in the seventh century. The Gregorian bit is new, they only switched to that in the 11th century, before that they sang in Mozarabic. We checked out their 1:45 service, it IS a religious service. I think Marjan was underwhelmed. It was not a loud , Dutch male choir sound. I found it quite spiritual. No, really, I know it is difficult to believe, but under this cured meat eating exterior is a tiny core that can appreciate beauty, maybe, just maybe, even has a soul. I found the soft, rhythmic almost gentle chanting very uplifting. So much so that I managed to forgive Marjan when she laughed at me about the way I looked on the borrowed bike, with the seat collaped to its lowest point, as we rode back to the monastery we were staying at just out of town.

Had a nice chap manning the bar at the convent. (It is Spain, therefore the last phrase makes sense). El Cid drove the moors out, now they have Arabs working the tourist places. Apparently things are really tough. He tells me that with unemployment and cost of living the way it is going, he and his family are thinking of moving elsewhere. This is a story I have now heard more than once. Made us glad to think we still felt there was a future for our kids in our country.

We went back to the abbey after a nap, well Marjan napped, I blogged, and took the tour, the only way of seeing it. We were shown around by a knowledgable and amusing monk. Marjan got a bit of the Spanish. It was fascinating. I was quite taken by the ceiling art work, the vast majority of which is not religious but rather just plain medieval morality tales. A couple of those tales are decidedly anti-cleric. 

By the time we got out it was darkening, but we went up the hill for a look.

It was also starting to rain, and I suspect the temperature was approaching zero. Marjan's four layers of clothes, which included thermals, were not keeping her warm, and even I had donned a windcheater over the t-shirt and was wondering if I might regret not bringing a coat. So we decide to forgo the vespers service and head back to our nice warm, converted convent and plan our second three course meal of the day. 

Burgos, we are in the Burgos region, is renowned for its morcilla. So cured meat is back on the menu!

See you in Segovia. I could not be in this part of the world and pass up the Roman aqueduct and the Alcazar.........I won't mention the cochinillo if you don't.