A Day off the Camino Exploring Salamanca

 “Breathe, wonder and wander.”

Rest day on the Via de la Plata

Exhausted, feeling unwell, and with Sean sporting a swollen face and a black eye, we finally admitted that it was time to take a day off from the Via de la Plata. Of course, as any long-distance walker or pilgrim knows, there’s really no such thing as a true “day off” on the trail - these rest days are quickly filled with laundry, resupplying, and sorting out logistics, with only a hint of actual rest involved. Especially in a city as rich and beautiful as Salamanca, where our so-called pause would mean a full day of exploring its streets and history. 

We began gently, with a leisurely breakfast at a small bakery café, savouring café con leche and chocolate croissants while paging through information about Salamanca and sketching out the stages that still lay ahead of us.

Facade and Art on Salamanca Cathedral 

Walking through Salamanca, it is impossible not to be drawn toward Salamanca’s Cathedral, or the Catedral Nueva de la Asuncion de la Virgen, which dominates the skyline.  From a distance, their towers rise above the city, while up close, the sheer scale and intricacy of their facades left us pausing in awe.

We have found that exploring the exterior of any church can be an amazing experience.  This was certainly the case in Salamanca, where the elaborate stonework and artistic carvings that adorn the cathedral’s doorways and towers were amazing to see.

Carvings on the church facade included sculptural details that range from biblical scenes, images of saints, depictions of angels, and later additions such as the famous astronaut carved during 20th-century restorations. 

For our part, we spent almost an hour looking for the carving of the frog and in the process found rabbits, birds, bats, lizards, donkeys, and the modern image of the astronaut.

What makes Salamanca unique is that here the “Cathedral” is actually two buildings joined together: the Old Cathedral from the 12th–13th centuries, and the New Cathedral, begun in the 16th century and only completed in the 18th. The result is a remarkable layering of history, styles, and stories, all contained within a single sacred space.

Ecology of the Cathedral 

Beyond the decorative stonework and facade of the cathedral, we were increasingly struck by the ecosystem that is supported by this, and so many other ancient stone structures.  This was, of course, not the first place that we have seen nests on churches, bats flying around lights on buildings, or even found a cathedral that was viewed as an Important Bird Area.

Historic buildings often develop into miniature ecosystems of their own, shaped by time, weather, and the surrounding landscape. Cracks and nooks in the stones of cathedrals, forums, and amphitheatres catch soil and moisture, creating tiny niches where mosses, lichens, and even wildflowers can take root. Over centuries, these structures have become living surfaces, supporting not only plant life but also animals - swallows and swifts nest under eaves, pigeons and doves roost in towers, and bats shelter in dark crevices. 

While these organisms may gradually wear down fragile masonry, they also weave the building into the wider web of local ecology, offering resting places for migratory birds, pollen for insects, and even shade and moisture in urban settings. In this way, monuments of human history slowly transform into habitats, blurring the line between culture and nature, religion and science, and reminding us that even stone eventually becomes part of the living landscape...if we give it time. 

The Cathedral in Salamanca is no different.  It has multiple White Stork nests perched on its spires.  These huge stick nests are also home to Lesser Kestrels, who tuck their own nests into holes in the bottom of the Stork nests. 

We also spotted a pair of Peregine Falcons circling the Cathedral, feeding young located somewhere among its complex rooflines.  There, we also saw Black Redstarts foraging for insects around the base of the building, and we noticed flocks of Rock Doves napping on the ornate stone carvings that adorned the outside of the building!

Exploring the New Cathedral of Salamanca

The doors to the new cathedral opened at 10 AM, and soon after, we had our tickets in hand, excited to explore this architectural marvel.  The entrance and ticket would give us access to both cathedrals, though the first we would explore was the Catedral Nueva.

The Catedral Nueva de la Asunción de la Virgen in Salamanca, begun in 1513 and consecrated in 1733, rises in monumental contrast to the smaller Romanesque Old Cathedral beside it. Commissioned when Salamanca’s university and city were at the height of their influence, the new cathedral was intended to reflect both grandeur and faith, blending late Gothic architecture with emerging Renaissance and Baroque elements.

Stepping inside, it was the massive ceilings and vast space that struck us first.

Its vast scale is striking: towering ribbed vaults soar above the nave, while richly carved choir stalls, side chapels, and gilded altarpieces showcase the wealth and artistry of the period.

In particular, the play of light across the carved altars and chapels makes the vast space feel magnificent.  There was so much to see, it was only through walking around and allowing various details of the cathedral to slowly reveal themselves that we could take it in and truly appreciate them.

Exploring the Old Cathedral of Salamanca

Walking through a doorway in the corner of the new cathedral, we stepped into the Catedral Vieja, or the old Cathedral.   Here we were immediately struck by the contrast between the two.  To walk between them was to cross not only from one space into another, but from one era into another, as though the passage of time had been preserved in stone.

   

Moving into this Romanesque space, the air felt cooler, the light was dimmer and the scale suddenly smaller yet somehow also just as striking.  

The Old Cathedral of Salamanca is dedicated to Santa María de la Sede and was built between the 12th and 13th centuries in the Romanesque style of the period. 

Here, thick stone walls, rounded arches and medieval depictions of the bible defined the space.  

The Catedral Vieja had a deeper quiet and stillness within, and, for our part, we loved the simplicity and tradition of the space.   While the new cathedral was magnificent for all its ornamentation, this space seemed to be filled with a more timeless devotion rather than serving as a statement of human achievement. 

“God is in these stone churches, not in these gold and gilt cathedrals that are barred off to protect their wealth and treasures.”

Bell Tower Walk Salamanca Cathedral 

Stepping out of Salamanca Cathedral, we wound our way around to the base of the Torre del Gallo and re-entered through a side door. From here, narrow staircases carried us upward through a small museum that traced the cathedral’s long history. The quiet displays of stonework, architectural models, and sacred objects helped give shape to the centuries of effort that had gone into creating the vast building we had just walked through below.

Eventually, the staircases opened out onto an exterior balcony, where suddenly Salamanca stretched out beneath us. Rooftops and church towers filled the horizon, and the Tormes River shimmered faintly in the distance.

From there, the path narrowed into a rooftop walkway, bringing us close to the stained-glass windows of the New Cathedral. Birds clung to the stone edges as we walked past, as if they, too, were guardians of this lofty perch. Looking down at the streets below, we saw the city from a perspective normally hidden from daily life.

The route then curved back inside, taking us to the upper balconies of the nave. Here we looked down into the transept from above, our eyes level with the great stained-glass windows, their colours glowing in the afternoon sun. The view also revealed what one would never notice from the floor: a long crack running down the wall, a reminder of the weight this building has borne over centuries. 

From this height, the altar and choir appeared as though we were seeing them through the eyes of stonemasons or clerics who once moved through these hidden spaces. It felt like a privileged glimpse into both the grandeur and fragility of the cathedral.

From the interior balconies, the route carried us back outside once more, this time to the far side of the cathedral. Here we found ourselves walking on another balcony among the flying buttresses and elaborate stone carvings that normally soar high above unseen.

At last, the path narrowed into the final climb, a spiralling ascent into the Torre del Gallo. A set of traffic lights - yes, actual red and green lights - regulated when visitors could go up or down the staircase. It felt slightly absurd to be guided through this medieval tower by modern signals, but we were grateful for the system; without it, navigating those tight, twisting steps against oncoming visitors would have been daunting. Step by step, the stone staircase curved upwards, worn smooth by centuries of feet, carrying us into the heart of the tower itself.

The staircase eventually delivered us into the bell chamber itself, where the massive bronze bells hung just above our heads. Our timing could not have been worse (or perhaps more memorable) for the bells began to toll the hour the moment we arrived. The thunderous sound filled the enclosed stone room, vibrating through our chests and leaving our ears ringing. Between chimes, we admired the great wheels and gears that powered the bells, marvelling at how such weight and sound had been engineered centuries ago.

After lingering a while, we joined the small group of visitors waiting by the staircase for the signal to descend. When the light finally switched to green, we wound our way carefully back down the narrow stone steps, grateful once more for the odd but effective traffic-light system. 

The marked route eventually guided us back to where we had begun, emerging into the entrance hall. With a quick word of thanks to the women at the reception desk, we stepped outside once more into Salamanca’s sunlit streets.

Leaving the cathedral behind, we stepped into a local café, Santagloria Coffee & Bakery, for a couple of strong coffees and chocolate croissants – just as a pick-me-up enjoyed during a moment of relaxation. 

Casa de las Conchas

Our next stop in Salamanca was the Casa de las Conchas, or the House of Shells, which is without doubt one of the city’s most distinctive landmarks. Its Renaissance façade is studded with four hundred carved scallop shells, the symbol of St. James and the Camino de Santiago. Built between 1493 and 1517 for Rodrigo Maldonado de Talavera, a knight of the Order of Santiago, the house later underwent repairs in 1701.

Once a private palace, it now serves as a public library and was declared a national monument in 1929. The building’s exterior blends Gothic and Renaissance elements, but it is the shells themselves, marching in orderly rows across the stone, that make it unforgettable.

We weren’t able to go inside, and so, like the other tourists and university students, we settled onto the steps opposite, at the base of the Torres de la Clerecía, and simply admired the view. Sitting there, we found ourselves reflecting once again on the deep imprint the Camino has left on these regions for centuries. The shells on the façade were not just decoration but a reminder of a shared cultural memory of pilgrimage, faith, and endurance. And beyond the symbolism, there was also a simple joy in noticing how Spanish cities so often place beauty at the very heart of daily life - a quality that feels far less common back home in North America.

Scala Coeli, Torres de la Clerecia

Leaving the House of Shells, we stepped into the 17th-century church of La Clerecía, whose twin towers dominate the skyline. Our goal was to climb them, so we bought tickets for the Scala Coeli, literally the “Stairway to Heaven.” 

At the entrance, a security guard checked us in, and what might have been a routine exchange turned into a memorable encounter. He turned out to be a keen macro photographer, and he asked about our camera gear and lenses before offering suggestions on the best angles for photos in Salamanca. It was a small but warm reminder of how easily shared passions create connections, even in passing.

From there, the climb began. A long, creaking wooden staircase wound upwards, delivering us into the first tower. Waist-high railings were all that separated us from the dizzying drop, but the reward was immediate: sweeping views across the rooftops of Salamanca.

From this vantage point, the Plaza Mayor, the towers of the two cathedrals, and the jumble of tiled roofs spread out in every direction. A narrow walkway carried us behind the church’s ornate façade and into the opposite tower, where another surprise awaited.

Here, another spiral staircase led still higher. Sean, not a fan of heights, opted to pause, but I couldn’t resist continuing the final ascent. At the top, I found myself beside the massive bells, silent now but poised well above the city. 

The views were extraordinary. Lines of terracotta roofs radiated outward, dissolving into the rolling Castilian plains beyond the city’s edge. We lingered in the towers for more than an hour, reluctant to leave, watching the changing light play across stone and sky. It was one of those experiences that distilled everything we love about travel: history, perspective, beauty.  I would recommend it to anyone who has the opportunity. 

Convento de Las Duenas

Having descended once more to the streets of Salamanca, our next destination was the Convento de las Dueñas. Tucked away from the busier tourist circuit, it felt immediately quieter, a space apart from the city’s constant movement. Founded in the 15th century for Dominican nuns, the convent still retains a sense of retreat and seclusion. The entrance included a small pastry shop where purchases and proceeds support the convent. 

The peace of this space as a retreat was immediately evident as we entered the cloister and the central garden.

Around us, a two-story arcade, lined with slender columns and carved capitals, framed a stunning courtyard where silence seemed to linger in the air. 

Particularly striking was the Islamic arch and tiling standing at one end, which was wonderfully designed and displayed beautiful colours. 

Taking time to enjoy the quiet rhythm of the cloister, we spent half an hour sitting beneath the arches.  Around the us, the details revealed themselves slowly – beautiful craftsmanship, grotesque faces and fantastical creatures sculpted into stone, each one holding meaning.  

Upstairs, we walked along a balcony that offered another perspective across the garden.  The lighting was wonderful, and it was easy to forget that the bustle of Salamanca was only a few meters away.  The convent felt insulated, timeless, a place where one could simply linger in peace. For me, it was the kind of rare, contemplative space that I cherish most while travelling - the sort of place I could have stayed in forever.

Convento de San Estaban

Directly across the street from the Convento de las Dueñas stands the Convento de San Esteban, which became our next stop. Even from a distance, its façade is arresting.  It is an immense wall of intricately carved stone that seemed almost alive with detail. We lingered in the broad plaza out front, letting our eyes wander across the craftsmanship and pausing often to take it in. Founded by the Dominicans between 1524 and 1610, the convent is a monument to their influence and ambition in Salamanca.

    

Passing beneath the portico, we stepped into the vast church dedicated to the martyrdom of St. Stephen. The interior was nearly empty, and we once again felt fortunate to visit at a time when there were so few people inside.

Soaring vaults lifted the space heavenward, and the richly decorated altar glowed beneath them - a space at once imposing and serene.

From there, we wandered into the Cloister de los Reyes, a large, peaceful courtyard enclosed by massive arches that filled the cloister with light. The interplay of shadow and sun made it a space where time seemed to slow. 

Nearby, we discovered the convent’s famed Soto Staircase, a remarkable construction that spirals upward without visible support, a feat of both design and imagination. At the top, the wooden choir offered another surprise, its polished surfaces catching the light in warm reflections.

San Esteban felt like a place designed to inspire awe in both its scale and its details. From the grandeur of its façade to the quiet corners of its cloisters, it balanced spectacle with stillness.

Museo Art Nouveau y Art Deco / Art Deco Museum

Our final stop on our rest day exploration of Salamanca was the Museo Art Nouveau y Art Déco, housed in the striking Casa Lis. Its iron-and-glass façade, framed by a cascade of stained glass, immediately set it apart from the medieval and Renaissance architecture surrounding it. A skylight of colored glass crowned the building, promising a world within quite unlike anything else we had seen in the city.

Inside, we were quickly informed that photography was not allowed, but the images remain vivid in memory. The museum holds an eclectic collection of decorative arts from the late 19th and early 20th centuries.  Delicate porcelain dolls, shimmering glass vases, elegant bronzes, paintings, statues, and furniture that spoke of another era’s confidence and grace. 

Walking through the galleries felt like stepping into the optimism of the Belle Époque and Edwardian Eras, a sharp contrast to the medieval stone, Gothic spires, and Mudéjar details that defined Salamanca outside its doors. In some ways, the design and atmosphere even reminded us of the Cunard's Queen Mary 2, on which we often sail between North America and Europe, with its blend of style, light, and timeless elegance.

The museum itself felt like a jewel box, suffused with colour and light. The solarium windows at the back, in particular, created a space that seemed to glow with a dreamlike atmosphere. 

Casa Lis was beautiful from the street, wonderful inside, and, as we later saw, entirely stunning at night when illuminated like a lantern above the city. It was the perfect way to end our day of discovery in Salamanca, closing our walk through history with a burst of colour and imagination from a more modern age.

Plaza Mayor at Night

After such a full day, we set off back to the Plaza Mayor.  Here we caught up with other pilgrims we have come to know from the walk from Seville who we had dinner and a few drinks. 

Somewhat predictably, many kept asking about Sean’s face and black eye.  However, given the responses to our account yesterday, Sean had decided to tell people a different account.  As such, from this point onward, he simply told people that he had tripped while taking a picture and, as a result, had fallen on his camera, breaking an expensive lens.  It was a simple story, where the blame lay in a silly mistake on Sean's part.   It was absurd and obviously untrue, but it made people laugh and feel at peace with the nature of things.

Why the lie?  It was complicated, but the bottom line was that telling the truth felt like a huge risk and demanded an act of courage we simply didn't have the energy to deliver. Among pilgrims, there is a fragile sense that the Camino is a safe, sacred space where everyone is kind, considerate, and self-aware, and everything unfolds as it should.  We didn't want to be the ones to question that shared narrative by bringing doubt to a space that should be filled with optimism, simplicity, and connection.  

Sometimes, people need simple stories - not because they’re naïve, but because such tales give them comfort, order, and a sense of shared idealism in a world that often falls short.  

Logistical Realities 

As the sun began to set and the day came to an end, we returned to our room.  Here, from our balcony, we watched a large party in the Plaza Mayor.  The perspective overlooking the streets and the festivities gave us a greater appreciation for those families with balconies along the Semana Santa routes and parades that we had seen while trekking the Via Augusta. 

    

Tomorrow carries a degree of uncertainty. The guidebook shows no clear accommodation at either 16 km or 36 km, and there lingers the possibility that those we have been trying to stay ahead of - the albergue thief and the overly aggressive hippie - might appear again on the same stage. Our strategy now is simple: either let them move ahead and put distance between us, or push ourselves hard and get well beyond them.

By evening, a glimmer of reassurance arrived. The albergue in El Cubo del Vino, 36 km ahead, messaged back. The reply was an ambiguous "si". Perhaps we had two beds, or maybe a bunk reserved, or perhaps a private room?  It was unclear. On the Camino, even WhatsApp conversations can feel like riddles. Still, it was something to hold onto as we packed for the morning, uncertain of what awaited us but determined to keep moving forward.  Tomorrow is a new day on the Camino, and we intend to embrace it as such.

See you on the Way!