Santuario de Loyola

Dome of the Church
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Our first stop of the day is Loyola (or Loiola). We draw up outside a fantastic building, the Santuario de Loyola. It’s dedicated to St Ignatius the father of the Jesuit order. It was built between the 17^th and 18^th centuries directly adjacent to his family home.

Inside the church is beautiful, with a spectacular dome. We are met by an elderly man who plays us a tape recording in English, that gives us a little history about the building. He also helps us out by turning the lights on so we can see the dome in all its glory. It certainly helps me to get a good photo of it. I’d spent a lot of time getting my camera set up dead centre on a tripod, so that I could use a longer exposure. Still I think it came out quite well. All my fiddling attracts one of my fellow travellers. She hasn’t made the transition to digital yet, so I try to explain how it works. I certainly wouldn’t want to be without it now!

I’m fairly sure pinching fruit from it may result in someone ending up on the wrong end of a thunderbolt.

Luis acting as tour guide
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After visiting the church, we head for the tower house next door, where Ignatius was born in 1491. It’s unlike any house I’ve every seen as it’s heavily fortified with two foot thick walls surrounding the base. Inside is beautiful but very simple. There are dark heavy beams and unplastered narrow brick walls. Whilst most of the fabric is plain, the multi-coloured leaded windows are really eye-catching.

As we walk around the building our Tour Director, Luis, plays us snippets from an audio guide, on a particularly ancient tape recorder. We are all having a good laugh at his expense and he looks suitably embarrassed by the whole thing. What really sets me off is the musical introduction to each part. It reminds me of the theme tune to a children’s television programme - “Bagpus”.

Inside the tower house
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Back outside we go for a wander down to a little café we had seen earlier. We were hoping to find some chuoros (a kind of doughnut) and hot chocolate, but to our horror they don’t open until the afternoon. Instead we find a tiny Tourist Information Centre, well actually more like a hut. The girl inside just looks grateful to have someone to talk to and gives us plenty of leaflets to take away with us.

Back at the coach I find some member of our party scrumping apples from a nearby orchard. When Susan starts eyeing them up, I point out that the garden belongs to the monks who run the church. I’m fairly sure pinching fruit from it may result in someone ending up on the wrong end of a thunderbolt. However it doesn’t stop one of the Aussie’s. Peter immediately points out that he is now officially a “pomme bastard”!