Finally Meeting Blanca

Leonore's actual pellote

Las Huelgas courtyard

We said goodbye to Ben and drove off to Burgos, the birthplace of Blanche (whom I will call Blanca while in Spain). Our first stop was the Monasterio de Santa Maria Real de las Huelgas, a convent founded by Blanca's parents Alfonso VIII and Leonore. I stood in the courtyard -- where Blanca had stood! I saw Alfonso's and Leonore's tombs. I saw the actual pellotes (a kind of overdress) that Blanca's mother had worn. I admired the stonework done by the Almohad (Muslim) artisans during the few years when the Muslims, Jews, and Christians were at peace in Castile. 

Apparently I twitched and squealed in an embarrassing way, and pointed out to the guide that Blanca had been left off the family tree posted in the convent. She had never HEARD of Blanca. I had to explain where she fell in the family order and what she did and what happened to her.  Neither of us could figure out why she wasn't on the graphic. The whole thing was really very exciting for me. I get to be a specialist only...well, never.

Tombs of Alfonso and Leonore

We wandered the streets of the Old Town as I tried to imagine Blanca and her friend Suna running through them on their way to Suna's aunties' house. Old as the Old Town is, I think Burgos in the year 1200 was probably very different. Back then, it was divided into Christian, Muslim, and Jewish quarters, which I think it is no longer.

We ate at a tapas place but had to order from the regular menu, because...it was Sunday? I'm not sure. But it was delicious. We also noticed the mark of the Camino de Santiago on the street; the Way of St. James, on which Phil and Ben walked 130 miles, runs through the city (and appears in The Queen's Granddaughter).

Our apartment was directly behind the glorious high gothic cathedral, built after Blanca's birth but still worth a visit. We spent an hour there in the morning. Sadly, we couldn't see the castle of Burgos; it was closed for renovations. The castle that exists there now isn't the one Blanca was born in anyway. It became a prison later on, then a gunpowder factory; parts of it burned, part was blown up by Napoleon. Then it fell into ruins. But at some future time, they say it will be restored to its medieval glory, and I'll come back to see it.

We had an appointment for wine tasting in Rioja, the area where Spain's best wines are made. The bodega was a very small one and slightly odd -- it produces only a few thousand bottles a year, none of which make it to the US except those ordered by people who've visited and love their wines. The owner is a very eccentric guy. He insists on using oversized casks because he doesn't like the taste of oak, and because of this he can't get the special government label of approval. He has aged wine at the bottom of the Mediterranean Sea. He ages some wines in giant clay amphoras. We tasted three, and they were fabulous. Of course we bought a bottle.

As we neared Bilbao, I tried again to imagine Blanca -- and her 77-year-old grandmother Eleanor of Aquitaine -- as she traveled with an enormous entourage over the foothills toward the higher mountains of the Pyrenees. It's mind-boggling to consider what traveling must have been like in the thirteenth century. On horseback, to 

start with -- cars are uncomfortable enough! On dirt lanes. No comfy beds at the end of the day. No baths. No tapas (or pinxtos, as the Basques call them). I would probably have stayed home more.

Our GPS stroked out -- a combination of high mountains and the Basque language, maybe? All those X's were too challenging for her to pronounce. After considerable angst and a small amount of profanity, we finally found our hotel. Then we headed out to see the Bilbao cathedral, a small gothic gem, again built after Blanca's time. And shortly we're off for oysters and roasted meats, which Blanca herself might have eaten back in 1200. But probably not while traveling.