Strong at the Broken Places: Part 3. Viana to Logrono

The walk from Viana to Logrono the next day was only 10km and never really lost a somewhat suburban aspect as if signalling that my days of walking Spanish  country lanes , fields and forests and encountering small, higgledy higgledy  villages with white washed walls and  brightly coloured shuttered windows  were finally at an end. The Sligo native and I walked part of it together speaking in that desultory half asleep manner of early morning. Then I walked on ahead as he stopped to browse through some market stalls. I could see the footpath ahead entering the suburbs of Logrono. I stopped at the last field before entering manicured parkland that ran alongside the river Ebro and stood with my back to Logrono. I could see the hazy hills and countryside I had walked through. The field that I had stopped beside were filled with red poppies firing all around me in a blaze of colour.

Leaving the camino behind. Entering Logrono, capital of Rioja province my last stop

This was northern Spain – flamenco reds, sunflower yellow sun, dark greens of spirally cypresses in the distance, a child’s version of a drawing a bright blue sky – so different from the muted lilacs, greys and duck egg blues of the less flamboyant but nevertheless magical, mystical north west region of Ireland.

Then I turned my back on the camino for a while anyhow and started to walk into Logrono.  In Logrono I had quite a few tasks to carry out and I felt as if I was gradually being pulled back into my general daily life having stepped off that Wizard of Oz like way. I was planning to spend a day in Logrono and then head north on the bus to Bilbao, an industrial Basque city on the coast famous for the Guggenheim museum, a feat of modern art combined with architecture. I was to meet my sister there. So  my head was beginning to rattle with thoughts like scattered cats such as my accommodation after exiting the albergue, a post office to buy stamps, bus times and where to find the bus station to Bilbao, where to find an ATM etc.  I was hoping Logrono was going to be user friendly in that aspect and I was heartily relieved to find that was in fact the case. The wide and sweeping river Ebro runs through Logrono and there are many parkland spaces and paths along it. I took one of these along the river bank wending its way into what I hoped was the centre of Logrono. Soon I came to a sign that indicated a centre for information for pilgrims and a few minutes later I arrived at a majestic stone bridge which was a busy avenue for cars. This was the Puente de Piedra (Stone Bridge) which took the pilgrim’s route to Santiago de Compostela into the city. 

I had arrived to the city of Logrono. I took the stone steps up from the river path to the avenue and there it was – an information centre dedicated especially for pilgrims. Those scattered thoughts started to lay down and purr. I obtained all the information I needed and was able to also store my pack there. This was such a relief as it was still early and the albergue was not yet open. And I wanted to take a walk and start ticking off my list of tasks. 

Logrono is the capital of the Rioja region and is famous for its red wine and being on the pilgrim’s route to Santiago de Compostela. It is well off the tourist radar and feels like a traditional Spanish town with a modern twist.

As well as red wine Logrono is also famous for food, namely pinchos or pintxos in Basque , meaning one serving. Pinchos are Northern Spain’s version of tapas and are small portions of food served up skewered and often on a slice of bread. There are many taperias located within a four block area near the town centre of Logrono with some offering many varieties of pincho, while others are famous for just one such as seta (mushrooms) for example. 

A rather lugubrious looking pilgrim!

They are usually cheap and paired with a glass of 

red wine cost around €2 -3. So you can do a sort of a “food crawl” as opposed to a “pub crawl” visiting the different bars and having a glass of wine and a pincho, an evening past time much favoured by the locals.  Calle del Laurel, known as “the Path of the Elephants” and Calle San Juan are typical streets situated near the cathedral of Santa Maria la Redonda in the old Market Square that are lined with these restaurants and tapas bars that offer their own specialities.

Logrono is just the right size for walking everywhere in the city with narrow medieval streets but also green 

parkland and nature reserves down by the river.

Parks and nature reserves entwined in and surrounding Logrono

I was so happy to be spending a day or so here and immerse myself in Spain so to speak. 

When you do the camino, it puts you in a bit of a rarefied climate. It is very esoteric in that all the talk and way of life is that of walking, blisters, aches and pains, places to stay, cathedrals, pilgrims. The camino can be like the Vatican in certain aspects, a state within a state. In Logrono I disconnected with the camino, albeit reluctantly and immersed myself in Spain. 

I stayed for one last night in the municipal albergue. Immediately when you walked in there was a charming, enclosed paved garden with a tiny square pool in the centre. On my part it was still not quite hot enough to plunge my camino trodden feet into though others did not agree judging by the array of boots and sandals left haphazardly around.  I felt sad as I emerged the next morning to change to my other accommodation for staying one more day in Logrono before going to Bilbao. The albergue opened directly onto the cobbled street that is the camino passing through Logrono. I had slung my now obsolete boots over my shoulder and I yearned to follow the other pilgrims/walkers traipsing doggedly on up the narrow street, a watery sun trying to penetrate down between the tall buildings and warm the morning. 

Ending my camino for the present in Logrono

As usual in new places I was lured to the green spaces and strolled along the river side paths and parks that lined the river bank. I was enchanted with large storks that flew back and forth from an island further down theriver. They seemed to be using the city architecture as their crèche. Everywhere I looked I could see that storks had built large rickety looking nests atop of bridges, tall buildings and chimney stacks. It was almost like a miracle to see how they had integrated into the city landscape and made it their own. 

Around tea time I sat in a café near the Market Square in front of the cathedral watching people bustle in and out of Mass. I decided to try “chocolat con churros”. This is a quintessential hot chocolate Spanish treat and there is both eating and drinking in it! The chocolate is rich and pudding like but yet liquid enough to drink – heavenly, molten sweet lava into which I dipped the “churro” – light pastry type ridged biscuit fingers – crisp on the outside and tender on the inside. 

And then that evening, wandering around near the old Market Square through the narrow cobbled streets under the cathedral. Those streets where I could flit from bar to bar sampling a pincho with a glass of Rioja at each one. Milling and mixing in the jostling crowd enjoying the convivial atmosphere – groups of Spanish strolling around for the evening, So tasty - morsels of flaky fish grilled and succulent, shiny round scallops, foresty, buttery mushrooms and my last – an intriguing hot bread roll that seemed complete on the outside and then you break it open to find it filled with various savoury delicacies. They are known as pulgas which is also the Spanish word for flea!

Here in Logrono was indeed an apt place for the moment to hang up my boots and postpone my journey along the camino until another time. There was still another two thirds to do and I had the rest of my life to do it in. But although spring was flourishing mightily in northern Spain, for me it was a case of “….and now with treble soft a redbreast whistles from a garden croft and gathering swallows twitter in the skies”. Logrono held an air of autumnal finality for me with that slight sadness creeping in of an ending that one is not quite ready to turn into another beginning.