The Big Walk

Festival of Flowers - Day 24

CHAPTER 2 - FIESTA! 

The fiesta was really started. It kept up day and night for seven days. The dancing kept up, the drinking kept up, the noise went on. The things that happened could only have happened during a fiesta. Everything became quite unreal finally and it seemed as though nothing could have any consequences.

Ernest Hemingway, The Sun Also Rises

With so little to do hereabouts and only short walks possible in the heat, we’ve decided we’ll walk for the mornings only and have no rest days until we’ve reached the next city of Burgos. Twelve miles to go today, a featureless straight-line march that’s thankfully over by ten o’clock. We have to hang around outside the Monastery of San Zoilo waiting for it to open its doors. This is no longer a living monastery but we visit it to see the sixteenth century Plateresque cloister. Its vaulted ceiling has intricately carved keystones at the apex of each section of vault, depicting saints, kings and prophets. These huge stones seem to almost hang down from the roof and it seems amazing that the whole structure doesn’t come crashing down from the weight.

In the foyer, postcards of the town of Carrion catch our eye, showing the fiesta of Corpus Christi, when the streets are laid with a carpet of flowers. It looks beautiful, and we walk up the hill discussing when we think Corpus Christi is, neither of us having any idea; is it something to do with Easter? No – we turn a corner onto the main street to find we’ve walked into the postcard – by an incredible stroke of luck, the festival is today. The beautiful designs and patterns cover a whole half mile of the main street in cut flowers and grasses, and hundreds of pedestrians are packed onto the tiny pavement alongside to see them. It’s a real battle to get through to the hostel with our huge bulging rucksacks jostling through the crowd.

Within the hostel a long-haired mystical guy is holding forth about his seven years of wondering the world and experiencing of spiritual visions but it seems to be part of a chat-up routine to attract female pilgrims, or am I being unduly cynical? We make our excuses and head back out. We’re just in time to see the flowers properly before a procession with a marching band sets off from the church and proceeds all along the road scattering everything to the winds. The tiny children at the back of the group are having a ball, with girls in white dresses and boys in suits and bow ties kicking the flowers around. This soon gives me a terrible bout of hayfever. Down by the wooded riverside hordes of families are sunbathing and swimming. Our tense, cramped muscles need no further invitation and we dive into the cooling currents. It’s turned into the perfect day, a total contrast to yesterday’s boredom and oppression.