SOCCER NIGHT IN SANTILLANA

I wasn't prepared for Santillana del Mar. Yes, I knew it was a tourist spot; yes, I knew it was a well-preserved medieval village; but I didn't realize how transported one would be into the past.It was quite obvious that we were in the 21st century: holidaymakers, with designer handbags and sunglasses thronged the streets, every now and then you had to squeeze up against the sturdy stone in an alley to let a little car go by,the shop fronts were cluttered with tat made in China, but somehow you still felt as if it might be 1511, rather than 2011. I was particularly impressed with the lavadero, the communal laundry set into the middle of one of the main streets. I could imagine that the women might return first thing in the morning to get started on the day's chores.



Everything was stone. Streets merged almost seamlessly into the stone walls of the houses. About six hundred years of building were in evidence from the Romanesque up to the seventeenth century. And it wasn't just the facades. Where doors were open, you could see stone floors, blackened stairways and doors.



Because it was fairly late in the day, I worried that there might not be room for me in the albergue. I could never afforded any of the posh hotels; especially in Easter Week. But I was in luck. The albergue was a bit Tardis-like. Very small and compact on the outside, but jammed full of bunks. The crowd was younger than usual, with quite a few cyclists. I recognized almost no-one. Eventually, I came across Silke in a sidreria, where she seemed quite surprised to see me. I wondered if I came off weak so that she might imagine that I was always thinking of quitting? For my part, I wondered how she had got so far ahead of me.



Eventually, I saw Ramiro as well. What I didn't see was the amazing church at the end of the village, and I don't know why. I was more interested in the culture of food than culture in general that day. Restaurants were as expensive as hotels, so it was a bread and cheese and pastry night I also didn't see the Altamira caves, only 2km away, but I wasn't really interested either, since you can't look at the originals, only exact reproductions. I've never really understood the allure of reproductions of anything, except as an example of human virtuosity. When I look at anything from the past, what I want is to be in touch with history, to reach across time and take the hand of its maker, or user; to affirm our commonality. That's why Santillana del Mar was so special. To be sure, some of the buildings had been restored, and some of them looked so good, I wasn't quite sure that they weren't building new ones in the old style. (and there would be nothing wrong with that, as long as they weren't passing them off as the real thing!)

I felt quite alone. The other peregrinos were all in groups and not very outward looking. Ramiro was intent on finding a chair in a bar with a television. Barcelona and Real Madrid were facing off in the semi-final of the Champions League, and that is cause for major excitement in Spain EVERY TIME it happens. There's even a name for it: El Clásico.

It was incredible. I could hear the crowds in all the bars in Santillana break into a roar every time one team or another did anything at all. For some reason I also have an impression of fireworks, but that my have been my mind transposing all that emotion into something else as I drifted into sleep.