Saturday, June 10th, 2023
Just about 14 days ago, Deb and I started our hiking trek across north-eastern Spain, starting in Barcelona with about six days in the Los Monegros desert, before reaching Zaragoza, Spain.
Our entry to this fabulous, and largely not-world-reknown city, is by private car at a hefty fee from our last stop point. However, the scenery along the ride is magnificent. We leave behind desert and sandhills and shrub brush, and we are coming into a cosmopolitan, metropolitan, very urbane city. The differences between today and yesterday could not be starker.
Walking from the taxi drop-off to our apartment we pass the impressive Basilica de Nuestra Señora de Pilar.
Our very first impressions go immediately to how lively and energetic the streets of Zaragoza are. After days in villages of hundreds or towns of a few thousand people, the activity is energizing, frantically energizing, intoxicatingly energizing. I have two conflicting feelings. Because of the isolation of the desert, I want to walk everywhere and see and touch and smell and taste and hear it all. And because of the isolation of the desert, there is too much coming at my eyes and ears and nose, and things are too close to the touch.
The fashion sense of the Zaragozans is casually stylish. It’s not that they are dressed to the hilt, not dressed like high society, but their clothes look good on them. Sad to say, Deb and I in our baggy hiking pants and loose fitting shirts don't match up with the local fashion sense and style. But we have an excuse. Not like the American tourists whom we can pick out of the crowd without too much effort.
The urban contrasts are vivid, like black and white. But they are also subtle like blue sky and blue water. Deb and I step from obscure narrow European streets which are hemmed in by buildings with gateways and doors every tens of feet, onto wide pedestrian boulevards with open spaces and trees and sun and shops of all sorts. The buildings themselves are a mix of architecture: some buildings are relatively modern, mixed in are many which go back a few hundred years, and some are many hundreds of years old.
Despite or because of everything coming at us, I can see that we should have planned on spending three here, rather than two. But the schedule is the schedule.
It is Sunday 8:00 a.m. I’m in the queue at La Fama Cchurerría for breakfast. The line moves fast and the orders come quickly. Churros con chocolate and Cafe Con leche with sugar. In no sense of nutrition is that a healthy meal, but it tastes so good. I foresee a massive sugar crash ahead in about 3 hours.
Every major city has a spot where the free tours gather. I like these because the guides work for tips, and are motivated to show you stuff.
So here Deb and I stand, next to the monument to Caesar Augustus in the Plaza de Pilar. We spend the next two and one-half hours wandering all round the Roman part of the city.
We visit the Zaragoza Public Market and an 1800-year old Roman wall, built to defend against the Visigoths.
At St Elizabeth of Portugal Church we hear of the miracle by her that turned roses into bread for the poor.
We walk the streets of Zaragoza to the Igleisa of San Gil Abad where Franisco Goya, the famous 18th century painter, was baptized. We learn Goya was born in a nearby town, and had many connections to Zaragoza.
We end at the Basilica of Nuestra Senora de Pilar. It was built in the 1680’s. During the Spanish Civil War, three bombs were dropped on the cathedral. None exploded. Deb and I see the two bombs that remain on display in the cathedral.
After the tour, we get lunch which consists of mussels, croquettes and a local pastry called “Trenza de Virgen” or “Virgin’s Braids”. It is a fabulous concoction of almonds, nuts and sweetness.
It’s now Monday.
I get up while Deb sleeps in. It’s one more trip to the churraría for my sugar-packed breakfast. I get back and we pack bags. Deb and I walk for about 10 minutes down to where we meet the taxi.
At the train station we have a bite for breakfast, then clear the security checkpoint
In the line on the platform, the attendant says our tickets are for tomorrow!
I ask Deb, "What date is today?" She says the 11th and the attendant says the ticket is for the 12th. It doesn’t take long to figure out what happened.
European calendars begin the week on Monday. American calendars begin the week on Sunday. When I used the web-site generated select-the-date calendar and booked the tickets, the very first entry on the left side must have been a Monday, which I assumed was a Sunday, which threw the date that I was thinking of off by 1. I have run into this before, and even cautioned Deb once during this Camino, but clearly I got burned again.
Deb though saves the day. Looking the situation over, she does what she does best: She comes up with a plan. Knowing that the weather in Galicia tomorrow would be terrible, she suggests we stay in Zaragoza another day. That’s the plan.
On the positive side, we practiced everything from leaving our room to getting a taxi to standing in multiple lines at the train station to clearing security to making it to the train, just not on it..
After some quick phone calls to rearrange our lodging for the next three or four nights, things begin to look up. We lose one non-cancelable reservation, but everything else falls into line.
Our hostess at the apartment quickly agrees to allow us to stay one more night ... back to the apartment.
After a little bit of a chill out, we do a walking tour of the Francisco Goya museum for a quiet afternoon tour of paintings and then walk around town a little bit more.
With an incoming thunderstorm, it’s back to the apartment to chill out. Deb and I hunker down in the apartment. When we finally go out, it is still raining but not too hard.
We walk around without any real purpose and find a place for some tapas and pastries. For me, it was a nice evening walk.
It’s now day three in Zaragoza. Having had our unplanned practice run-through yesterday, we without problem make it to the taxi stand, the train station, through security and on to the platform where we board our train for Madrid … this time, successfully.
