We were sad to say goodbye to Leon today. I think I may have to go back at some point and spend a week, just to see how I like it longer term. The train took us not so rapidly to the city of Ponferrada. Ponferrada was an Iron Age settlement that became a Roman outpost in the first century. The name comes the Latin "Pons Ferrada", which is Latin for Iron Bridge - the iron reinforced bridge that spans the river. This should not be confused with "Poms Ferrada" which is a Latin slang term used to describe men with a lot of...guts. Or I could be lying.
Ponferrada has one of the coolest castles I've ever seen, excepting the one that I will someday own, of course, and in the Middle Ages this castle was rather important to the Knights Templar. You can guess where I'm going with this and that I spent some time checking history again today. Here's the story: there was this King of France (see, it's ALWAYS the French that are up to no good) named Phillipe who had borrowed a lot of money from Templars to finance his war with England, and he really didn't want to pay up, so he convinced the Pope at the time, Clement (a rather ironic name for this particular Pope, I might add), that the Templars were sodomites, satanists, heretics, and had generally poor fashion sense. We are talking about a French king, after all. So Clement agreed to do some investigating, based on some inside information from a few ex-Templars who didn't make it as unfashionable knights. 72 Knights were tortured until they confessed to all the crimes. Clement burned all the Templars he could find at the stake, Phillipe didn't have to pay back the debt, and the general level of haute couture in Europe increased significantly. It also made for one big empty castle in Ponferrada.
A curious side note is that the Grand High Poobah Templar, as he burned in front of Notre Dame, declared that both Clement and the snappily-dressed Phillipe would meet him again soon in Heaven. Sure enough, Clement fell ill and died within a month. Phillipe was killed before the end of the year when his ascot got caught in a grist mill. Actually, it was a hunting accident, nonetheless the Templar's prediction came true.
Ponferrada is a nice little town, with a strangely Alpine feel to the buildings and architecture. Today it's probably a lot quieter than when there were thousands of Templar nights hiding from the Pope, but it seems like a neat place, if not the easiest to get to.
Dad has been trying to stay off his feet, rather unsuccessfully. We spent almost two hours poking around the castle, by which time his left leg had swollen up bigger than Kanye West's ego. We returned to the hotel at which point Mom informed us the we had disturbed her siesta...which it turns out she had started only ten minutes before we returned. I'm not sure that actually counts as "disturbing", Mom.
The mothership and I will head out early. We have a longer day - 15 miles tomorrow. At the end is a Parador, and hopefully, my gimpy father, who will cover in 30 minutes via bus what will take us ambulatory pilgrims six hours or better to walk.
I've included some pictures of Ponferrada and it's excellent castle for you to enjoy. And don't forget: "Who cares, we're in Spain!"
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