Olite

We liked wandering around Burgos. We had mixed feelings about the cathedral as it's quite an architectural jumble and lacks the sharp clarity and form of places like Notre Dame. We did get into part if it as there was a service in the evening. The mass was in a side Chapel the size of a large church with a soaring gold altar piece. Over the years I have come to appreciate the intricate, cool  abstract geometry of islamic architecture and the tons of gold in so many Catholic churches seem somewhat gaudy and out of place.

Our GPS guided us faultlessly out of Burgos and onto our next destination. The beauty of Spain is that you never quite know when you will turn a corner and find a beautiful 12 th century castle just standing there. We passed a small village called Villafuerte and there it was an imposing castle towering over the surrounding countryside. We wandered around it in the Spring sunshine with bird song as the only sound around us.

As lunchtime approached we decided to make a small diversion to a town called Santo Dominga de la Calzada to have a break. Everyone we saw was wearing red neck  bandanas with the name of the town followed by the word Fiesta printed on them. This seemed a fun place. After our coffee we noticed lots of people walking towards the centre and decided to follow them.  We found ourselves suddenly in a riot of band music, hundreds of excited loud children and huge tall dancing puppets. The video gives you the general idea.

The town we are staying in, Olite, has a medieval centre and fairy tale castle at the end of the main square. The castle
dates to the 15th century and was the seat of the court of the kings of Navarre. We spent this morning visiting it.

This morning we awoke to the sound of motorcycles entering the square. I opened our window to see hundreds of cycles massing below us for a rally.  It was an extraordinary mixture of young biker couples and grizzly old men who looked like extras from a movie about drug gangs. The noise was deafening. Once they had all arrived they dismounted and mingled. Gill and I made made friends with a couple of bikers in the bar of our hotel and I established my credentials by showing them a pic of my old bike. I'm not sure they were that impressed but they nodded approvingly as if they were. When you drive a dirt black Harley with leather fringing on the handlebars and have a gang patch on your ancient leathers you probably feel sorry for some New Zealand wannabe showing you his crimson Honda tourer.

Our new friends made their excuses and left. The square roared to life again as the riders fired up their engines and a  marshall herded them out through a 16th century stone arch.
<span;>Suddenly all was quiet again as life resumed in the cafes and bars.

That's the beauty of travel. You never quite know when several hundred bikers will show up underneath your bedroom window.