28 May to Villares de Órbigo

Some days are broken into distinct stages. Today….

Stage one: the frogs

Each side of the road was lined with irrigation ditches…

…and a constant chorus of croaks and chatters and squeaks, which sounded like someone walking in wet jandals created the soundtrack for the first couple of hours.

But whenever you got close and tried to see them, all would go quiet and there might be a few splashes as the shy creatures disappeared into the water.

By stealthily stepping closer, I managed to trick a few, but it took quite some time. I have a new appreciation for National Geographic photographers!

Stage two: the tractors

The soundtrack changed to tractors for a while

Stage three: the pollen

Only yesterday I was saying to someone that although the pollen is much more prolific in Spain it does not affect me in the same way as in New Zealand. Until today!! Suddenly I was sneezing and itchy and my eyes were streaming. At times the pollen was like a snow storm, except some of the “flakes” were as big as tennis balls.

I thought that ^^ was a lot, but there was more – much more – to come.

Stage four:the medieval bridge

A couple of days ago Grandpa informed me the next point of interest would be a medieval bridge. It has a very interesting history, but I’ll just leave you with pictures.

I asked the guy on the ground if there was going to be a fiesta. Can you imagine what made me think that? Turns out I’m a few days early – come Friday, Saturday, Sunday there will be a medieval fair with horses and jousting and music. Even now you can imagine what it must have been like when the jousting tournaments took place here.

Stage five: meeting “A”

As I sat here ^^ eating my cheese on bread, I heard, “Hola, Rachelle”. It was A, one of the French tribe from the past few days, the only one walking on her own. Spanish is our only common language so we bumble along with that (she’s pretty good actually and provides me with the correct version of words I try making up!!) She had asked to sit at the table with me this morning as I had breakfast and had said the other French ladies had told her to look at my credential. When she saw the pages in the monastery she told me she had been in a monastery for two years and still wanted to be. I thought about that as I walked today and so when she called out to me, I knew I was going to tell her I had been thinking about her (which surprised her and made her feel special)…and because I don’t have the language skills to soften the question, I simply asked: why are you not in a monastery if you want to be?

“That is a very grand…” she said, and we both said “question” at the same time. She explained she has not told anyone on the Camino, but she could tell me because I am from New Zealand! She wants to be a nun, but the sisters at the monastery where she served did not believe she was suitable for that vocation. Tears rolled down her freckled cheeks. I don’t know if you’re meant to hug nuns or not, but I stood up and she accepted my embrace. She sobbed and sobbed and did not let go. Everyone has their story. I told her I would pray for her. She asked if I was a Christian. Yes, not Catholic, but Christian. She sat down beside me and we continued to chat. I was walking farther than her today, but we are going to meet tomorrow for dinner at the same Albergue.

Stage six: the last stretch to the albergue