Burgos is all sumptuous cathedral soaring into the frosty stratosphere...
Catedral de Burgos glories in the Assumption of the Virgin Mary with the full gothic grandeur of her french precursors... the openwork tracery of her stone spires, stained-glass windows and the lacy star vault are pierced with pure heavenly light...
El Cid rests with his wife Dona Jimena beneath a simple marble tombstone within the cathedral...
I floated alone through cavernous chapels adorned with ostentatious ornamentation of such unearthly splendour, in the golden haze of lit candles, flames flickering to the breath of mellifluous angels...
the square outside was deserted save for a lone pilgrim who trudged slowly past us, his long journey etched onto his grimy face...
the streets were mostly empty and a cold wind swirled through the meticulously groomed topiary shrubs...
Catedral de Burgos glories in the Assumption of the Virgin Mary with the full gothic grandeur of her french precursors... the openwork tracery of her stone spires, stained-glass windows and the lacy star vault are pierced with pure heavenly light...
El Cid rests with his wife Dona Jimena beneath a simple marble tombstone within the cathedral...
I floated alone through cavernous chapels adorned with ostentatious ornamentation of such unearthly splendour, in the golden haze of lit candles, flames flickering to the breath of mellifluous angels...
statues of kings and saints are rigidified apparitions rising above a silent city dusted by a fine efflorescence of snow...
and we leave a most frigid spanish bourg where the few people we met were most gracious, the architecture and public spaces all immaculately maintained, and the feast that warmed us up again in a restaurant bursting with so much lively energy and hearty diners that it more than made up for the spectral chilliness outside in the wintry mists...
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