The Way of St. James, #62

I am back on the Camino again, this time hoping to make the final stretch, all the way to Santiago.

I flew yesterday from Basel to Barcelona and on from Barcelona to Santander, staying there overnight. This morning saw me take the train from Santander to Barreda. That is where I finished last year. The train runs on a local network, that still has the clickety-clack rhythm of trains of my youth, and all the shake, rattle and roll you could wish for. The Spanish railway system has a flexible approach to timetables, with the station boards showing the regular schedule, but the trains operating to a Saturday plan. Nevertheless, I got to Barreda and started walking.

From Barreda, the route follows the main road out of town to the west, but soon takes to a minor road, leaving the traffic behind. I followed this through a mixture of cornfields and pasture, and it was not long before I reached Camplengo. It was not much further to Santillana del Mar. The name comes from Saint Julian (Illana in Spanish) and his remains are reputed to be stored in the church of the Benedictine monastery in the town. I visited the monastery. While photography is permitted in the monastery cloisters, it is not allowed in the church itself, so my photos are limited.

The town was busy today, and I could only wonder where all the people came from. Are they all devotees of Saint Julian, or had something special brought them out for the weekend? Unfortunately, my inability to communicate in Spanish prevented me from enquiring. I went on. The route rises and falls a few times before coming to Orena, and I stopped there for lunch. Once refreshed, I went on. A little outside the village is the Ermita de San Pedro. I would have liked to go in, but it was locked. Once again, the locking of churches along the route is something of a disappointment.

The village of Caborredondo had nothing to offer, so I kept going. In the hamlet of San Martin, the church was open, I think the caretaker was just about to close it up, but she allowed me in. It is in the colonial baroque style, exceedingly grand for a small village. I guess that so many churches are closed simply because the excessive decoration of centuries past is hard to maintain, and some of it in the church of San Martin seems ready to fall apart. But there are signs that some of it is looked after. There were flowers on the altar, albeit past their best, And the altar of the virgin with child is well maintained. But the air of almost forgotten past glory hangs around such places.