Gobsmacked at Every Turn but Embracing the Chaos

I ordered a glass of the local vino, but the barman delivered a bottle. Was it that obvious I needed extra recombobulation when I arrived in Valdepeñas?

 
Those who say GPS and Google have taken the mystery out of travel have clearly never visited Jaén, Spain. It’s a modern city with an old-fashioned attitude about sharing information: “If you live here you don’t need to ask, and if you don’t live here, you really don’t need to know.”
 
Everything was shrouded in confusion. Take our lodgings, allegedly located at 23001 Bernabé Soriano Street near the cathedral. After a half hour’s laborious climb uphill from the train station, Rich and I arrived at Bernabé Soriano and saw the first street number was 2. Dear Lord, how many miles away was this place?

Bernabé Soriano is one of Jaén's liveliest streets, and quite a few of these neighbors pitched in to help us in our hour of need.

​What, me worry? In Spanish cities, every barrio is a village, so we asked the neighbors: the lady running the bakery, the guy at the health food store, the bouncer at an upscale bar, a dog walker named María Teresa, her friend, and her other friend Joaquin la Barba from the gastropub. Everyone tried to help, but we didn’t make real progress until Rich managed to get someone from booking.com on the phone. She found the correct, two-digit address, almost directly across the street from where we stood, and mentioned our landlady’s mother had been waiting out front for nearly two hours to let us in.
 
Throughout all the muddle, everyone — including the landlady’s mother — remained remarkably cheerful, helpful, and kind. I was beginning to warm to this town.
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The little blue arrow in the foreground is the only indication this is a one way street — another example of Jaén's discreet approach to sharing information.

I asked our new friends about city’s famous ancient relic, the (alleged) Veil of Veronica, supposedly displayed every Friday in the cathedral at the top of our street. Nobody could provide details, but I wasn’t concerned because of course I could always ask at the tourist office. Imagine my surprise when I went there the next morning only to find the street under construction and the tourist office closed for the duration.
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Rich stares aghast at the place where the tourist information office is supposed to be.

​“What is it with this town?” Rich said.
 
“Isn’t it great?” I replied. “Everyone’s always complaining that Europe has become hopelessly touristy and there are no more authentic places left. Look at this city. Have you seen a single tourist since we got here? Have you heard anyone speaking English? This is the Spain we knew decades ago. Doing things its own way, not making everything slick and easy for visitors.”
 
“No kidding,” he said. “If we manage to see Veronica’s Veil it’ll be a miracle.”
 
Even without Veronica’s Veil there was plenty to see and do in Jaén.
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​On Friday we arrived early at the cathedral and began asking where to find the nearby Church of the Sagrario in which the Veil apparently made its weekly appearance. We were misdirected to a chapel housing the crypt, the main cathedral entrance, and the former Convent of the Shoeless Carmelites with a famous 16th century statue of Jesus, but eventually we found the right spot. Doors wouldn’t open for another half hour, so we took a short walk.
 
And that’s when I stumbled upon the absolute last thing I expected: a tourist office. And it was open.
 
I went in, collected a map, and asked the woman at the desk about the city’s famous man-eating lizard. “Ah sí, el Legarto de Jaén.” She settled her hip more comfortable on the corner of the desk, leaning in. “This was long ago. There was a spring near the Church of the Magdalene; they said it lived there and came out to eat animals in the district. Some say humans, too.” She shrugged deprecatingly, and we both laughed. Yeah, that was pretty improbable. Not like the rest of the story.
 
“They offered prisoners their freedom if they could kill it. One man volunteered. He threw pieces of bread on the ground to lure the beast downhill to the Church of San Ildefonso, where he had placed a lamb filled with explosives. The lizard ate the lamb and boom! He burst apart.” Problem solved!

Today all that's left of the Legarto de Jaén is this fountain, where he lurks harmlessly, eyeing the townspeople.

 
​By now it was almost time for the Veil to appear, so we thanked her and hurried back to Sagrario church. Besides the sacristan, we were the only ones there. Then a woman came in and leaned over to ask me, “Are you here to make a confession?” As the veteran viewer of a thousand cop shows, I knew the only proper response was, “Not without my lawyer.” Instead I mentioned Veronica’s Veil and she nodded and sat down. Half a dozen more people trickled in.
 
Music began to play and a priest emerged, singing, holding aloft a dark image of a man’s face surrounded by gold and emeralds.  In a ceremony that was brief, lovely, and respectful, the priest placed the image on a table, prayed, and disappeared out a side door so we could all take photos without feeling sacrilegious.
 
Was it the real deal? Very doubtful indeed. For a start, the story is tradition, not gospel; it dates back only to medieval times, when religious relics were big business. A legend began to circulate about Veronica using her veil to wipe the blood and sweat from Jesus’ brow while he carried his cross; his face appeared on the cloth, which now had miraculous powers. Today, there are so many known copies of Veronica’s Veil that the Church has come up with a name for them: vernicles. This one most likely dates back to the 14th century, which was venerable enough for me.

​As much fun as all this was, yesterday Rich and I left Jaén for the wine-making city of Valdepeñas. We arrived at a charming, old-fashioned railway station that was completely closed up. A sign announced “Sale of tickets is temporarily suspended.” An online search revealed this was moot anyway, as all Monday’s trains to Madrid were fully booked.

Rich attempts to come to grips with a train station that won't sell him tickets.

​“This is nuts!” Rich exclaimed.
 
“My point exactly,” I said.
 
He sighed. “Guess we’ll be taking the bus.”
 
The saving grace of this town? Our apartment is directly above the colorful and convivial San Antonio restaurant, epicenter of everyone’s social life around here. Picture the bar scene in Star Wars mixed with My Big Fat Greek Wedding and you’ll have the general idea. We seemed to be the only non-Valdepeñans in the place. Off the tourist track? We can’t even see the beaten path from here. And did I mention this town is famous for its wine? I was diligent in my research.

I didn't photograph the crowd in the bar last night, but many of the same faces and families showed up for Sunday lunch at various cafés in front of the cathedral today.

To sum up, the Nutters Tour is off to a roaring start, and I am re-learning the most valuable road lesson of all: embrace the chaos. We have very little control over anything in life, and that goes double when we’re travelers, relying on the friendliness of strangers. “I accept chaos,” said Bob Dylan. “I’m not sure whether it accepts me.” So far, I feel the chaos is doing a great job of embracing me back.

For Rich, one of the highlights of Jaén was visiting the Museum of Popular Arts & Culture and leaping into one of the old washtubs, pretending to take a bath. Seconds later a guard thundered down the stairs and read him the riot act. Rich felt like a kid again. "Gosh, Mr. Wilson, I didn't mean nothing by it!"

​SO EXACTLY WHERE ARE WE?

THAT WAS FUN. WANT MORE?

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