It had rained quite a bit in the night, but I didn’t hear it. Though I was in a 12 bed dorm I slept well, and woke about 7.40.

I am a bit ambivalent about Spanish cuisine in general, perhaps first of all because I don’t really understand what people are eating, and why and when, and then secondly because it is so heavily bread and potato-based, and vegetables are in short supply. However, the bit I do understand and love is desayuno – breakfast. While there are a dizzying array of tostados, i.e. things in toasted bread, beautifully prepared, and looking as enticing as sweet cakes and pastries, the star of the show for me is the freshly-pressed orange juice. A glass of sunshine!

I walked down to the Old Town after breakfast, charming narrow streets and glasses in balconies. It was about 09:30 by now, and I hoped the cathedral would be open, but it wasn’t. In fact, it is a very peculiar building. It has a spire on the northwest corner and a west door with some leaf-carving (not a patch on Southwell, it must be said), with the scallop shells of Sant Iago to whom the cathedral is dedicated.

But walk around to the south side of the building, and there is a huge porch surrounding the more glamorous south door.

But that was it. There was nothing at all further east. No crossing, no further bays of the nave. Rather odd, and because it was shut no chance to try and make sense of it from the inside out.

I continued my wandering and came upon the Church of San Anton. At first it looked shut, but there was a way in when you hunted a bit. From the outside the church was a bit of a jumble, not least because there are bits of at least three churches on the one site. But inside it was a delight.

One or two people were turning up and doing things that suggested that Mass might be happening soon, so I stayed. The congregation was not huge, but the service was very well-led by an elderly priest, with a woman who acted as cantor, MC, and eucharistic minister.  There was a screen and projector, usually something I find distracting, but here it was used to put up the ordinary of the Mass in Spanish, and the words of the hymns and chants which were all in Basque. It helped me feel I could join in.

I noticed that at the masses in Spain I have attended they use the Apostles’ Creed, and not the Nicene, which I found rather surprising. The most striking thing, though, was how powerful the modern interpretation of the retable was.

I place of a big gaudy baroque stack of saints, the artist had taken a crucifix and two saints’statues from the eighteenth century, two wooden panels perhaps from the century before, and arranged them with new panels depicting the Annunciation, Baptism, Pentecost, Ascension, Assumption, Eucharist and Nativity. It was beautifully done, and moved me because it was a depiction of a faith ever old and ever new, getting a fresh though thoroughly Spanish interpretation.

I left feeling very uplifted by the whole thing and wandered some more until realised that I was feeling hungry. I immediately consulted my foodie guru, who told me without hesitation that I should go to Cafe Iruña. How right he was!

I went back to my hostel and had a good siesta. When I woke, I did an hour or so of crochet, listening to music. Sunday evenings can be tricky for finding places to eat, but I found an excellent tapas restaurant in the old town.

Today has been a lovely rest day, though this evening is wet and cool. A good way to say farewell to Spain for now. Tomorrow I travel to Bordeaux, before I get home on Tuesday.