The shepherd didn’t have to worry about me getting too close, because his dogs did a Very Good Job. I had just come down off the bridge over the train tracks….
…when off in the distance I detected something moving.
It took getting a bit closer before I realised it was probably a flock of sheep, and I wondered if our paths would cross. I saw the shepherd in his lime green jacket step out of the field and onto the road, and he was followed by one, and then, three and then the whole flock of sheep. Into the next meadow they went.
My sheep hear My voice, and I know them, and they follow Me. John 10:27
Suddenly a Very Large Dog…and I am not exaggerating – he stood as high as my ribs – came lumbering towards me. He looked happy enough, but I was a bit concerned by his size and talked gently to him as I stopped to show him I meant no harm to his charges. His smaller colleague, however, was not to be so easily dissuaded. He approached with ferocity, and a growl that meant business. There was nothing gentle about him. I didn’t feel so confident about his intentions and figured he might be about to make an object lesson of me to the yapping little bundle of bounce that was accompanying the two veterans. “Hola perro, you’re a nice big doggie, aren’t you?” was not going to cut it. I raised my sticks and my voice simultaneously, hopefully enough to convince the dog he didn’t want to eat me, but not so much as to annoy the dogs’ owner. Across the meadow came a shout and both dogs backed off. I inched forward, keeping a watchful eye on the canines, who no longer objected to me getting up close and personal with the sheep. Imagine bells ringing and a chorus of satisfied baas as you look at this picture.
The morning had not started quite so dramatically. The monastery maintains silence until 7am, and does not require you to leave until 8:30 (half an hour later than most places), so my room mate and I (yes, just two of us in a room with our own bathroom) had decided to sleep in. That translated to staying in bed until 6am for me! I crept out as quietly as I could and finished off my journaling from yesterday and nibbled on the Best Breakfast Yet.
When breakfast is provided it is usually some cupcakes and biscuits or bread with coffee – but today there were lots of leftovers from last night’s shared dinner.
I needed to wait for the supermarket to open at 9, and sat in the foyer with a young guy I had met a couple of days ago having another one of those Gift Conversations. We didn’t get kicked out into the cold – hospitality trumped the rules and we were both grateful.
Before setting off I wanted a quick sketch of the arch beside the monastery.
Quick it was not. Not by the time a German couple had stopped to tell me I must have more time than other people because they had seen me painting yesterday morning and now here I was drawing today! I believe we walked the same distance and had the same number of hours to do it in!
Then an old Spanish lady came by to tell me that the Camino was behind me and I need to go that way. People are so helpful like that – yesterday when I had taken two steps off the path towards the Famous-American-in-Moratinos’ place, a lady jumped out of her house on the corner of the plaza to tell me I was going the wrong way. When I told her I was going to visit [insert lady’s name – but I didn’t get permission to share it so I’m not], she told me to walk to the last house and turn right.
But back to today. Having set me on the right path, this old lady proceeded to tell me that the king and his FOUR wives were in the church I was looking at. Did I understand that? Four!! A young guy came by and asked to take my photo – he was delighted that a pilgrim was drawing his town, and he too wanted me to know that the king’s tomb was just across the road. He was most pleased to hear I had seen it last night at mass. Then an old man stopped for a chat. Eventually I got moving.
I had a sense of anticipation. Today I was planning on taking the alternative route along a Roman road – a different route to where we walked last time. I have realised I really do prefer novelty to repeating the same routes so I was eager. I was also immensely grateful to be walking. When I walked from Madrid in 2018, I had wanted to walk from Sahagun to Leon, where Rob and the youngest three kids were going to meet me. But the unseasonably high temperatures had forced me to shorten my walking days and I ended up taking longer than I had planned to get to Sahagún, and had to take the train to León. As I say, I was glad to be walking.
For the first section I pretty much had my head down. I don’t usually walk this way, but today I was busy thinking about the coffee and sharing time last night.
It occurred to me that the stories shared last night were representative of conversations I’ve had a number of times with different people – and if I were to reproduce them here, there would be a number of people, who would say “someone said that to me too”. These thoughts are common on the camino.
One guy, when stating how he had come to be on the camino simply said, “I heard it heals”. When we got to discussing the symbol cards we had chosen, his words of explanation were brief. “Broken marriage.” The symbol, a broken heart. Imagine the life you have created for most of your existence crumbling apart. It would be hard.
One of the ladies had chosen a drop of water, and after the thunder storms that have been happening every afternoon, it seemed she might say something about them. But no, she saw a teardrop, not a raindrop. “I have cried. So much. I have never cried like this in my whole life. Usually I don’t cry. But here I cry when I am happy. I cry when I am amazed. I cry when I am hurting. It feels like I am always crying.”
A man from Australia stated he was on his twentieth camino, because he has found a sense of peace and comfort here. It does that for some people.
His wife was here on her first. She thought it was time she joined him, but it was harder than he had ever made out.
Another lady picked up that train of thought. She had thought of the camino romantically. Not lovey-dovey, but with rose-tinted glasses. You would walk in beautiful scenery until you’d had enough and you would find somewhere to sleep and someone would serve you a lovely pilgrim meal and you’d do it again tomorrow and your joy would grow in leaps and bounds every day. But she was not joyful. She was watching the little Korean girls bouncing along full of fun and laughter and joy, but she had not found it for herself. It was hard. Her toes hurt, her feet hurt, her knees hurt, her hips hurt, her back ached, her shoulders ached, and when she stopped to think about it, it made her head hurt too. And when she’d had enough each day there was never a village in sight, let alone a bed. She had to keep walking and then when she was absolutely exhausted she had to start searching for somewhere to sleep. And as for the meals, she was never around at the time they were being served. It was all just so hard.
Then my room mate spoke. We continued the conversation this morning before leaving. It went something like this: I am at a stage of life where I am wondering ‘what next?’ Is this all there is to it? What is my purpose? What legacy am I going to leave? If I died tomorrow would they even miss me? How am I going to spend the rest of my life?
There was a young guy who had lost his job. So a month later he was in Spain walking. His learning had been profound and life-changing.
There was a recently retired lady too (lots of recent retirees here). Her pastor had told her she should go on a pilgrimage as part of her sabbatical year. She was here, because she loves God and believes He loves her too and she was going to experience that in a new way.
There were people who had read books or seen The Way, people who had never heard of the camino until someone told them, others who had wanted to do it for forty years.
These were the things I pondered up to the turnoff for the alternative route.
I had to ignore the pedestrian crossing and head over this main road overbridge.
A car driver wound his window down to wish me a Buen Camino!It’s a greeting that never gets old.
Straight over the bridge was the first village, Calzada del Coto…
…with its bar for a toilet stop
At the edge of the village were some of the nice old signs I like
And there I was heading towards an old Roman road in big wide open spaces, about to encounter the sheepdogs.
After the sheep, it was just more walking….
And just when my feet were telling me they had gone far enough…
…the village appeared
I knew I would not be returning to look at the ermita later so snapped a couple of pictures
Before I could wonder where the albergue was, it was right there! A recently renovated school (because sadly there are no children left in the village)….
…with a welcome second to none
The problem with such a homely setting was it prevented me from going out to explore the village, but one grumpy Achilles probably appreciated that anyway! Perhaps tomorrow will be the day I present my rationale for Doing Long Distances That Were Not Planned. I was actually going to do it today, and even started writing the blogpost when I was up early this morning, but clearly other things got in my mind. And I’m guessing you don’t have time to read any more than this.
So I’ll just go and sit in the red leather armchair by the fire now.
SoloWalk2024 