Burgos

I have learned to love jet lag – that sort-of-out-of-body, not-quite-in-tune cadence of mental fog and the bliss of being a stranger in a lovely place.

My journey to Burgos was relatively easy.  The little nagging fear of lost luggage was put to rest when my bag appeared on the carousel moments after I arrived at baggage claim. A taxi to the bus and a taxi to the hotel, a meal and a nap and a stroll through town near the cathedral on a sunny afternoon – all good.

After my nap I went back to the cathedral for evening mass.  The lilt of Spanish Hail Mary from the priest, and the responsive mumbles from the congregation were delightfully hypnotic.  Taking the communion wafer, I said a prayer of gratitude for strength for the journey. 

After mass, I quietly strolled around the cathedral, looking carefully at the small chapels and the stained glass illumined in the evening light. As I prepared to leave, all of a sudden I was being yelled at – it seems the cathedral was now closed, and had the caretaker not seen me, I would have spent the night locked inside. 

With an ancient key chain (right out of the middle ages, I swear!) he unlocked two large locks on the inside of the door and shooed me out.  With my hiney puckered up, and profuse apologies, I exited into the evening light with the sound of Spanish scolding as he slammed the door behind me.