San Sebastian to Salamanca
Trip Start
Mar 03, 2005
1
4
10
Trip End
Apr 16, 2005
San Sebastian,
Spain
Thursday, March 16, 2006
We drove on through Bayonne, narrowly missing Biarritz, and found ourselves suddenly in Spain. There were no border posts or even "You are now entering Spain" signs and only the abrupt appearance of shop signs in Spanish alerted us to the fact that we had left France. The countryside after Bordeaux had been bland and uninspiring and was replaced altogether by endless suburbia once we crossed the invisible border.
San Sebastian was fairly large but Margaret navigated the busy streets with her customary confidence while we searched for an underground parking station. I was rather tense as we now had to find accommodation. The tourist office tried to be helpful but could make no recommendation and we decided to look for Pension La Perla, an establishment mentioned in Lonely Planet. Much to our surprise we found it almost straight away and, even more unexpectedly, we also found a free parking spot only a block away.
Sunday afternoon in Spain in the rain. It was dismal. We walked all over the city looking for a supermarket (mainly so that I could obtain beer) and while doing so inadvertently saw all three of San Sebastian's major attractions (all churches and all closed). Over a five-hour period we stopped at bars for tapas twice. Tapas are snacks comprising small dishes of olives, potato salad, cheese, potato omelette, etc. on small pieces of bread, which cost about one and a half euros each. We ate five of them between us.
We were just about to give up our search for alcohol when we stumbled upon Mercado de la Bretga, a supermarket which was supposed to be open until 9pm but which proved to be closed. Margaret jokingly suggested that I walk round the corner on the off chance that I might find a CD shop. We hadn't found any stores open that Sunday afternoon but when I turned the corner there, like a vision of Heaven, was an enormous CD shop. Not only was it there, it was open! Margaret explored a shop nearby and was moved by the music playing therein. She bought the CD, assuming that it was Spanish music and only discovered that it was Greek when we got back to the hotel.
All three churches were not only closed but barred. When I looked out our window at 5.30pm I noticed that the gates of the cathedral were open and people were milling about. Margaret jumped at the opportunity to go to Mass and left me behind to write my diary.
Whilst the grim wet streets had been all but deserted during the afternoon, by evening the rain had ceased and the streets were crowded with Spaniards performing their Sunday promenade. Whilst strolling around the block in an unsuccessful search for a tabac I discovered that the street parallel to ours would take us to the N1, all directions. This proved to be very useful intelligence for the next day's drive. Getting out of a city and finding the road to your next destination can be even more difficult than finding your way into the city.
DAY 16 MON Our landlady had told us that parking was free on Sundays but not so during the rest of the week. I woke extra early and put money in a nearby parking meter so that we wouldn't incur a fine. Thanks to my previous day's reconnaissance we were able to drive out of San Sebastian without getting lost. I should also give due recognition to the superior signage we found throughout France and Spain which saved us from spending hours trying to find our way into and out of cities.
My Michelin Route Planner directions were supposed to take us all the way to Covarrubias without ever travelling on a tollway. Unfortunately Michelin's instructions were a little confusing and we found ourselves on the tollway anyway. No problem! We paid the 650 toll and determined not to get caught again. Somewhere out in the countryside we encountered signs directing us to Peage Burgos or Ordina Burgos. I took that to mean that we had the choice of taking the tollway (peage) towards Burgos or the ordinary (Ordina) road. What it really meant was that we could take the tollway or reach Burgos by travelling first to the town of Ordina. I was anxious to avoid the peage and took the other way. It proved to be a long, slow route and while we might have saved lots of money, it turned out to be a very circuitous way of reaching Covarrubias. At least we avoided becoming ensnared in the busy streets of Burgos.
After driving for a long way along a peaceful country road we came upon a small village which I took to be Covarrubias. I enquired at the local bar as to the location of the inn recommended by Lonely Planet and quickly gathered that this was not the first time that the barman had had to admit that his was not the village famed throughout Spain but just another dusty hamlet. Our destination, he informed us, was seven kilometres down the road. I was so moved by his crestfallen expression that I almost decided to forget Covarrubias and stay in Anonimo.
I didn't, and instead we took a room at Casa Galin for the bargain basement price of thirty euros. Covarrubias might have been a tourist attraction, but it was also a one-horse town. Our pension was also a bar and restaurant and at the time we arrived was in the process of being overwhelmed by two coach loads of Spanish tourist ladies. We had to wait for a break between courses before our landlord could spare us the time to show us our room.
It didn't take all that long to explore Covarrubias. We sauntered down to the Torreon de Dona, a 10th century tower beside the remnants of the ancient walls that overlook the Rio Arlanza. We retraced our steps back through the village square and up the hill then along a dirt track which took us past several reeking goat pens and a couple of mangy puppies playing happily, if lethargically, between the ruts. We were killing time while waiting for the church to open at 4pm. La Colegiala de San Cosme y Damian was a fourteenth century church with a very ornate golden altar. As we were leaving a couple of tourists pointed out a man who would take us on a tour of the cloisters and museum. Well worth a visit, they assured us.
We paid the old gent four euros and wandered around the cloisters, the aged verger shadowing us as if he had been warned to expect an antipodean graffiti artist and his nubile wife. When we had completed our cloister tour he approached us and rattled off a long string of Spanish gibberish which we realised was an invitation to visit the museum. We accepted eagerly, anxious to extract the maximum value from our entry fee. It was a wise decision and we were most impressed. The church museum was a depository for many documents and seals, mostly from the fourteenth century, as well as numerous beautifully preserved paintings. One cabinet appeared to be devoted to sacred relics; toenails, teeth and the like while others contained intricate religious items of great vintage.
Our guide knew full well that we spoke no Spanish but persisted in explaining each exhibit in great and incomprehensible detail. Margaret constantly exclaimed "beautiful" and identified the characters in the paintings, which only encouraged him. He urged us along by pushing Margaret's bottom in the required direction. I guess that was one of the perks of the job. The museum was made up of a series of rooms, each more exotic than its predecessor. Our guide would throw open the door with a great and dramatic flourish and bask in our gasps of wonderment. The final room contained a huge wardrobe-like piece of furniture which, with a final and well-practiced burst of showmanship, the verger opened to reveal a brightly coloured three-dimensional carving of some saints.
Back in our room I poured beer into a plastic cup. The cup was badly cracked and the precious nectar flowed straight onto the floor. I was devastated! I only had two cans and each one had cost me sixty cents.
As I write: It is 8pm. We are going to eat a proper dinner tonight, probably at Casa Galin's own restaurant. The trouble is that Spanish restaurants don't start serving until 9pm, which means we have to hang around in our room for another hour. We have a packet of cashews left but this isn't good enough for Margaret.
Late though it was, dinner proved to be quite an experience. Margaret had a couple of glasses of the regional wine rioja (pronounced roh-ha) and I had a beer. Our soup was a sort of broth containing goat's eyes and vermicelli which we followed with a double-barreled main course consisting of beans and various meats. We were stuffed.
DAY 17 TUE Covarrubias was dead quiet as we prepared ourselves for our 8am departure. My insomnia had not been helped by the fact that the bells of the nearby church tolled twice at midnight. Two lots of twelve bongs. We were sorry to leave the quaint little town but we would have been hard put to find a justification for staying any longer.
Margaret drove like Stirling Moss down the motorway and we reached Salamanca in no time. There was a bit of stress involved in driving through what turned out to be a fairly large city, but we found a parking station not far from the main square (Plaza Mayor). The Plaza Mayor was huge and we walked all around it in search of the tourist office, which turned out to be hidden behind scaffolding. The TIO girl assured us that all three star hotels in Salamanca provided parking for their guests so we selected a hotel close to the square. The Rua was luxurious compared to any of our previous hotels, boasting a large dining area and an enormous bathroom finished entirely in marble and containing two sinks and even a bidet. Margaret insisted that the marble was fake but I'm sure Spanish pride wouldn't countenance such deception. Contrary to what we had been told, the Rua did not provide parking and we were forced to leave our car in the parking station. At least it was only a block away.
We walked through the great square and out the other side, carrying with us our dirty laundry. Almost everything was closed, including the 24-hour laundromat. By the time we had eaten some less than delicious tapas the shopkeepers had risen from their siestas and we were able to leave our dirty clothes at the laundromat. The central post office had also opened and we took ticket number 403 so that we could buy stamps. We will never again complain about the service at Eastwood Post Office! After half an hour the four people with lower numbers than ours had been served and we bought our stamps. Poor post office service must be a European disease, for we had the same experience in Avignon (q.v.). We bought our supplies at the Champion supermarket; mainly beer and wine plus a packet of chips. I was interested in buying milk so that I could have a bedtime drink but it seemed that Spaniards didn't drink the stuff. Various staff directed me to various floors but I eventually gave up in disgust.
At 6.30pm I left Margaret in our room and returned to the laundromat to collect our laundry. Despite the assurances of Juan the attendant our clothes weren't ready so I spent half an hour sending e-mails on one of the shop's bank of computers. The clothes were still not ready and I whiled away another hour exploring the nearby streets.
We will always remember our first day in Salamanca as it was the day Cardinal Ratzinger became Pope . I expected that by the time we returned to Sydney the Inquisition would have been re-introduced. I thought at the time that it might be wise to get out of Catholic Spain and into pagan France with alacrity.
DAY 18 WED After a continental breakfast in the hotel we set off on a self-guided walking tour of the city. The Church of St Martin was closed. What a surprise! Churches in Spain seem to be open for only a few hours a day and you have to be lucky to arrive at the right time. The House of Shells didn't impress us, mainly because we looked at the side whose wall was comparatively shell-less. If we had walked around the corner we would have seen what made the house famous. Much more to our taste was the Catedral Nueva (new cathedral). As the name implies, the new cathedral wasn't all that old, having been built as recently as 1513. I was quite moved by a glass case containing the remnants of someone's feet (presumably a person of great holiness or else an ordinary parishioner famous for the size of his feet). The extremely high ceilings were beautifully frescoed though they don't rate a mention in Lonely Planet, which suggests that they aren't particularly notable.
The Catedral Vieja (old cathedral) was begun in 1120 and is right next to its newer sibling. We would have liked to have looked through it but were loath to pay the entry fee. Instead we made our way to the Universidad Civil to marvel at its intricately carved entrance façade. Every tourist who visits Salamanca is obliged to spend some time trying to spot the frog concealed somewhere in the façade. According to legend, failure to identify the frog will result in twelve months of bad luck. We failed miserably and have been paying the price ever since.
The House of Lis was a disappointment. We never even discovered who or what Lis was. Eventually we reached the river and the Roman bridge. It was in good condition though we were horrified to observe that one of the spans was disfigured by graffiti. Not on our itinerary was the Museum of Art Deco. An hour in this fascinating museum was not enough. One level contained hundreds of vases in the art deco style while another housed just as many nineteenth century dolls. I wanted to return the next day to see it all again but unfortunately we were scheduled to leave for Segovia. No, you don't detect an element of sarcasm in the last few sentences.
We must have walked twenty kilometres in search of convents, churches, notable houses, etc, as recommended in our city guide. They were all closed. I'm told that Spain is very Catholic, though most people don't go to church. No wonder, they're always closed!
The one bookshop we found had a tiny selection of books in English. The single music shop (just around the corner from our hotel) was a great disappointment. There are scores of clothes and shoe shops and hundreds of bars in the city, which suggests to me that Salamancans are well-dressed well-fed illiterates with no appreciation of music.
Our hotel TV gets CNN but not BBC World, which is not good as CNN broadcasts nothing but news about the new Pope. Very, very boring.
