The Big Walk

The Maragateria - Day 16

We’re now in the Maragateria, a plateau named after its mysterious inhabitants, the Maragatos. It’s thought they are descendents of the Berbers, and they only married amongst themselves until recent times. We see few people around though - the landscape is rough grassland interspersed with bushes, something like the African savannah. Lower down, the farmland begins and we detour from the camino to visit Calzadilla de los Polzabaves, the finest surviving Maragato village. A maze of cobbled streets and limestone houses with pan tiled roofs, it’s wonderfully preserved with not a single modern building. Today, the BMWs, Jaguars and smart restaurants are signs that it has become a classy tourist village of second homes and weekend retreats for the wealthy.

A dog begins following us along the road as we head towards Astorga, sticking with us into the centre. We’ve no idea where it came from and can’t shake it off. Worse, it has no road sense and repeatedly walks out dangerously in front of cars. Our only escape is to check into a pension and rest, before heading back out to explore when the coast is clear. Astorga is a small city dating from Roman times, set on a hill above the plains and still almost entirely enclosed by its ancient walls. Its prime attraction is the former Bishop’s Palace, an early masterpiece by Antonio Gaudi, one of the first buildings on which he really let his imagination run riot. From the outside it looks like a crazy cross between a Transylvanian castle and a cathedral, combining sweeping curves and modern lines. The inside has a feeling of huge space, with four floors of high vaulted rooms, each floor built in a different style using different materials but all beautifully constructed. It was commissioned by a Catalan bishop but for years stood empty, a white elephant, until finding a new role as a museum of the Camino, though the collection of religious art can hardly match the architecture of the building itself.

In the afternoon heat we head to a small park just inside the walls, sitting under a giant tree and munching a huge bag of those cherries we saw growing in the Bierzo. A brief alarm interrupts our rest when we spot the stray dog that had followed us earlier, but it’s now sticking tightly to another couple of pilgrims. Eventually the heat becomes too much even to just lie here, so we head back to our room for a quick nap…
When we wake it’s nearly eleven o’clock. We rush out to find food but as it turns out there’s no hurry, the town is only just coming to life. For once, we’ve managed to eat at the same time as the locals. The pizza restaurant owner is a true extrovert, and chats to us throughout our meal. He drags me into the kitchen to wash the dishes in jest, before bringing out a couple of shots of a strange spirit. With much shaking of hands, he introduces us to his new wife, before giving us his business card. Entertainingly, the card still has the name of his previous wife on it, over which he has scribbled in biro.

Outside on the crowded plaza, we settle down for a couple of beers. There’s a lovely baroque style town hall, topped with an elaborate clock on which two mechanical Maragato figures spring into action to chime midnight. Seemingly the whole population of the city is out on the square, from young people chatting in huge groups to their grandparents, dressed up to the nines, sipping wine around huge tables. Back in our bed, we can still hear the Saturday revelries continuing through the night.