Our first day in Spain, we took a (very early!) trip to Santiago de Compostela:
As my Canadian cruise ship mates would say, "Pretty cool, eh?"
As I said, the trip was very early.
This guy snored most of the hour-long ride. You know what happens when you snore on a tour bus? Other people take photos of you. And they mock you along with the teenage girls sitting in the next seats.
So yes, the cathedral in Santiago de Compostela is lovely. There is historical significance of course but I wasn't paying attention. I was too busy walking around shrieking at every turn's new surprising views.
Inside the church there were a few people trying to pray, while hordes of tourists ran amok clicking their cameras. I didn't get many interior shots, I thought it was rude. I could not, however, resist pulling out my camera for this:
Against the side wall were six of these armoire-type boxes—the shutters would pop open intermittenly, and sitting inside was a priest! They looked like carnival games, like you could put in a coin and they'd tell you your fortune. The best part, however, is that their real purpose wasn't far off: you could kneel down and confess your sins for a couple of minutes. It's a little confessionette, or in Spain a confessionita.* For a sinner on the go, it's very convenient, just get down and beg forgiveness and you're off to the gift shop before your group notices you're missing.
This person above, btw, is T.L., who said he asked the priest to pray for his girlfriend Danielita. That was nice.
(* This is not a real word. I made it up.)
Insider bloggers note: when we exited the church, we walked down a little alley past some shops, and this clothing store was on the corner. I wondered if my friend Blackbird in Tuvalu knew there was a store dedicated just to her, ironically filled with clothes she might actually wear (top rack, not the slouchy pullovers on the bottom rack).
Back to the tour. Lunch in Santiago was slices of beef pies, their version of empanadas, delish, and almond tortes, also delish. They take pride in their cheese:
The cheese is molded to reflect the shape of a woman's breast. Because that's where milk comes from. Duh.
Speaking of body parts: at the train station in the port city of La Coruna, this statue greets you at the front door:
Seriously, the least flattering statue I have ever seen. And it's right out there in the public square, next to the taxi stand. Who is he? What do we know about this man? (1) He's from Spain; (2) he's not Jewish, judging by a close-up view of the photo. Beyond that, I have no idea who he is. Nor do I understand why he needed to be naked at the train station for all to enjoy forever. But apparently he's a part of La Coruna history, so there he is.