The First One

You've no doubt heard of doing an ABC tour of Europe, you know, Another Bloody Church or Another Bloody Castle.  Well, when you go on a long walk billed as a pilgrimage, you have to expect to encounter a church or two. Personally, I'd rather go on the castle tour.  Castles I can go into.  After all, they're just houses, right?  Okay, really really really big fancy houses, but houses nonetheless.  But churches?  I feel awkward going into churches. Feel like I shouldn't be there.  Like I don't belong.  Like I shouldn't be gawking and snapping pics.

So it wasn't until Day 9 of my trek that I finally went into my first church.  I'd spent a long day walking 32 km mostly alone.  I just couldn't bring myself to stop in some of the forlorn little towns I'd wandered through but for some reason when I walked into Redecilla del Camino (Pop. 150) it felt right.  I got my bed in the albergue then headed straight to the bar for a beer followed by a tour of the town.

This is looking one way up main street...

...and this is looking back the other way.

And that was pretty much it.  So it was either back to the bar or...

My first church.  It wasn't all looming and grand and intimidating.  And, miracle of miracles, the door was actually open.

What could be more inviting?
A simple wooden door...

...plank flooring and basic wooden pews.

And then this...

...and this...

...and this...

...and this...

I can count on one hand the churches I went into after Redecilla and still have a couple of fingers left over.  It certainly ruined me for anything that would come after.  In a place this small (did I mention the town has a population of 150?)...the gold, the opulence...it was all too much.

Definitely time to head back to familiar territory...

Book Reviews:  Can't really say I liked or disliked The Weight of Blood by Laura McHugh.  It was certainly highly readable but as mysteries go it lacked a lot of suspense.  And I'm almost embarrassed to admit this, but a mere two weeks after finishing, I can't really remember a lot about it.  That in itself does not bode well.

I don't like to read award winning books, they are usually too "literary" for my tastes.  So I kind of see what all the kerfuffle was about when the Pulitzer went to Donna Tartt's The Goldfinch.  The literary world slammed it for not being literary enough.  I can see that.  But OMG...after slogging through its 771 pages I can definitely pronounce it too literary for my tastes.  Yes, there was a story line.  But the endless pages of description -- at times doled out in small random disjointed bites, at times taking half a page in one long run on sentence -- spoiled just about any enjoyment I would have found in the reading.  Top that off with characters I didn't really care about.  Okay, Boris...I liked Boris.  But hey, at least I finished it.