I felt most grateful to wake without any pain – not just the mouth pain, but the body aches were gone too. I lay in bed reading reviews of various eateries nearby and picked one out for lunch.
But first there were other things to attend to like replying to wellwishers’ messages and booking accommodation for Wednesday and contacting the insurance company and chatting with My Love
And let’s not forget taking a shower at 11am
One of the comments I had received was that if there were no photos, yesterday’s procedure had not happened. So on my way to lunch….after picking up a new charging cable….
…I dropped in to the clinic.
The worried look on the receptionist’s face led me to explain all was well before explaining my predicament. She laughed and took me to the operating room. A photo of the chair was not enough – she brought up my records on the computer “because you know you had a root canal”!!
But that was yesterday. Today I was ready to eat.
It was a nondescript little place that you might walk past without noticing, but I had discovered the chef was award-winning…
…for good reason
To be honest, had I known the the lasagna would be made with mushrooms in a gravy rather than a tomato-y mince sauce, I probably would have chosen the stuffed scallops or rye-stuffed tomatoes with garlic, but the four cheese sauce on top was exquisite. The second plate was phenomenal! The beef cheeks were so tender you only had to nudge them with your cutlery and they fell apart into the rich red wine sauce. I can take or leave most pieces of meat, but I will remember this dish forever! I asked the chef afterwards how he prepared the couscous; it was the most delicious I have ever tasted. The list of ingredients he reeled off would have been hard to remember even if he’d said them in English – all I can recall now are a variety of nuts, finely chopped onion and garlic, stock, beer, red peppers, a little tomato, salt, cumin, cinnamon, paprika, a variety of herbs like parsley and others I didn’t catch – apparently it’s all about making it taste good. A true chef!
And the restaurant was close to full by the time I started eating – always a good sign.
Two hours out – up and down one street – and I was done.
Back to my attic room…
…to rest a bit more….
I tried looking at Instagram, but quickly decided that was not so much relaxing as a waste of time – a bit of a laugh, but I’d rather be creating than consuming.
I tried tv and caught up with what’s going on in the world….
Fun Fact: clapping in Spanish sign language is the same as NZSL!
But that was more depressing than restful, so I turned the tv off and did what I probably should have done right at the beginning – some cross stitch in peaceful silence….
…and then found myself singing (until I heard someone arrive in the room next door)….and thinking about the experiences I’ve been having using these prayer beads
I had made them at home before I left, including making the cross out of twigs from one of our apple trees, but the cord broke after a few weeks and I had left the beads all lying in my bumbag. When I came across an ironmonger, I picked out a cross and asked if he would put a hole in it and he offered a leather thong as well, so I remade the loop. Just like I will always associate cow bells with the Via de la Plata or Pharrell Williams’ song “Happy” with our 2014 fundraising walk for charity:water, I will carry the memories of the many places I have fingered these beads on this solo Camino as I continue the practice of using them in my life back home.
the original string
All the sights of Burgos remain unseen, but I certainly had a most restful day.
Where it soon became apparent this is an agricultural community
Another older pilgrim turned up almost as early as me (three hours before the bus was due to arrive, but there was nowhere better to wait). Thankfully he was as interested in talking as I was (read: not at all), but after an hour he joined me in the sun which had broken over the wall and started asking questions. By the time an Italian pilgrim arrived, I knew quite a bit about this man (and he had told me a whole bunch that I had no idea about too…and some where I may have made up the story) Anyway, my attention was diverted to the Italian. Now bear in mind that apart from bellissimo and grazie, I speak no Italian. It is, however, very similar to Spanish, and context accounts for A LOT. He walked up and asked (in Italian) “Is this the bus stop for Burgos?”
The two of us, Mr 77-year-old-man-from-Madrid-with-blisters-on-his-toes-who-was-tired-and-going-home-even-though-he-hadn’t-got-to-Leon-which-would-have-finished-his-Camino-because-he-had-already-walked-Leon-to-Santiago-one-year-and Saint-Jean-to-Logroño-last-year-and-this-year-was-doing-Logroño-to-Leon, that guy and me, we both answered “Si” and when Mr Italian asked if the bus was coming at 10:30 we repeated ourselves. Given that Italian and Spanish are the same on this point, perhaps it was not surprising that he asked us if we were Italian. Mr Madrid was so tired he didn’t answer, so I explained our nationalities and that was that.
A guy from Hawaii who was in a real muddle about the fact that there was a family emergency at home and he needed to get back and didn’t know how he was going to do it turned up. Even though he had walked the perimeter of the Burgos airport a couple of days ago, his stress was so extreme that he had forgotten there was an airport there. By the time we finished chatting, he seemed considerably calmer and confident, with some ideas of options he could explore.
Mr Madrid was kindly looking out for me – he saved me a seat and checked that the bus driver hadn’t overcharged me!
Then we were off.
What a different perspective from up above the fields, and how different for distant objects to suddenly be beside you and then gone.
We wound through little villages, in one case the gap between buildings on each side only just wide enough for the bus to squeeze through. Nothing was familiar until we got to Tardajos where I had stopped on the first day out from Burgos. It was thrumming with pilgrims. The remainder of the way in to Burgos was largely where we had walked. As I retraced my steps in my mind I realised I will not hold the last week with fondness in my memory. My days may have been short, but they have been hard.
There were another two hours to kill on a bench outside my HOTEL – yes, I have booked a private room for two nights to hopefully help the recovery process.
And then…
I continued with what I had been doing at the bus stop. A number of people, stopped to talk. Two particularly stand out. One, an 84 year old lady who can’t see any more but used to love making things. The other a lady perhaps in her sixties, who was (unusually for a Spaniard) extremely softly spoken. She kept repeating “How beautiful, how exquisite, how precious, what hands”
Successfully checked in using the auto-check-in-machine, got myself settled, explored booking options for the next week to ensure I can keep to short days until I’m bouncing properly, and got this far in the blogpost, figuring I might not be quite so coherent later this evening!
Tooth update:
Procedure went well. Apparently it was “cleaning the nerve”. An hour of having a green silicone shield and metal forceps in my mouth and all sorts of pointy scrape-y things being put in and out. The only word I understood (apart from “open”) was “anaesthesia” and I was delighted every time the yellow syringe came near my mouth! Six X-rays later, they were happy and I was suddenly being told to take a swig of the disinfectant. They could have told me my tongue wasn’t working and it would go straight down my throat – my coughing was more dramatic than the procedure itself. Ok, that’s poetic license – in truth there was no fountain of who-knows-what coming from my mouth when I coughed as there had been earlier whenever she drilled!!
Glad it’s over. Kicking myself that I didn’t have my phone close enough to take some pics!!
I have a stash of yoghurt and rice pudding and cheese and oranges for tomorrow.
A rumble had just started emanating from a bunk on the other side of the room. It was still very very dark and I told myself I really should keep my earplugs accessible at night! The rumble increased, and seemed closer…and then in my nocturnal semi-stupor I realised it was my phone vibrating. I keep my valuables inside my sleeping bag liner overnight so by the time I had managed to extricate it from its secure hiding place, it had stopped. Unlike my heart, which was now racing, because I thought something bad must have happened for anyone to contact me in the middle of the night. It turned out I didn’t need to escape from the dormitory and find a spot down the big stone stairs to talk quietly without disturbing anyone. There was no emergency, but we messaged back and forth for a while. Son In Australia noticed I was online and tried to call. Declined that call quickly! A few other family members joined in, mostly suggesting I go to sleep.
Somewhat miraculously, once all the conversations were done, the snoring stopped and I got another couple of hours sleep before people started getting up.
Breakfast time was then enhanced with a video chat with lots of the kids and Rob. I’m missing them more than I had expected to.
When I wasn’t looking, someone put something heavy in my pack. I don’t know what it was, but it weighed a ton.
It was looking like it might be a bit of a Poppy Day.
And there would be more, but first the 14th century ruins of San Anton. I had been hoping to overnight here, but a couple of weeks ago it was closed because of danger.
Round the corner, Castrojeriz came into view in the distance, and slowly (due to that interminable weight in my bag) got closer and closer. The poppies along the edge of the path were the thickest I have ever seen them grow.
I walked straight through the village, one of Spain’s most beautiful villages, according to the sign at its entrance, fully intending to go back and have a look around later. But after checking in and showering I went straight to sleep. It’s a bit frustrating to be in a place I want to explore and have no energy, but that’s the way it is. Besides, I’ll be back here on Wednesday (hopefully) and might be feeling a bit better by then. There is a museum I really want to visit, but we’ll have to wait and see….
This week I was meant to be aiming for no more than 83km, but I’ve already done over 107, so I need to take care of the Achilles too (one is good and one is legitimately niggly).
After an afternoon of hearing the stories of people who are here – everything from new retirees to a homeless Swiss lady…to the raucous Italian guy from last night…to someone whose journey has included raising a son with autism…to a couple from Austria…to a Japanese Buddhist teacher…to the Brasilian lady, who has dreamed of walking for forty years….all that was left to do was cook the pasta I have been carrying for almost two weeks! With an Australian lady and a newly engaged Brasilian couple and an artist from Brazil, we pooled resources and made enough to feed some Koreans as well and still have leftovers.
Although the landscape barely changed, plenty was happening in the sky. These pictures are all before 10, and I imagine the celestial drama kept unfolding, because at 3pm I was jolted awake by a raucous thunderclap, which was quickly accompanied by the sound of raindrops drumming on the skylight and then dripping in beside my bunk.
Yes, I was asleep in the afternoon. My toothache is now entirely bearable, but my body was telling me I am still fighting infection. So I slept. I even considered not blogging, because my brain was under-functioning. As I had walked I had been thinking about what to write, but couldn’t complete a train of thought.
I’ll show you what I mean.
I really need to commend my kids for when we walked. I just assumed of course they would handwash their clothes at the end of the day and help with the cooking. Occasionally they asked to use a washing machine and I let them choose – spend the money on washing machine or ice creams. The ice creams always won. On this Camino I have met four children walking with parents. As I watched the father of an 18 year old pack his son’s bag in the morning, I realised maybe it was unusual that my kids had done a great job of caring for their gear from six years of age.
Brain jump:
As I watched a mother doing times tables with her child yesterday I thought my kids owe ME some thanks for NOT doing that to them!
Brain jump:
I know there’s a person behind me, and our shadows are so long at the moment I wonder if I’ll see the shadow before I hear the footsteps crunching on the stones.
Brain jump:
As I climbed the hill today, I remembered last time being surprised that we were still climbing – it was meant to be flat after Burgos! And I remembered my surprise when we crested the hill – in my part of the world, when you get to the top of a hill, you then start going down the other side. Here at the top was a wide wide wide expanse of flat fields as far as the eye could see. How could there be such a massive space at the top of a hill?!
Brain jump:
I didn’t write last night about the priest sprinkling us with water after the pilgrim blessing. And what was it about anyway? Must Google that when I have wifi.
Brain jump:
I really need to keep drinking. Let’s see if you are flexible enough to get the bottle out of your pack’s side pocket without taking it off. Well done, you!
Brain jump:
If the person behind me catches up and wants to talk, which strategy will I use to make sure they overtake me? Stop to re-tie my shoe lace? Stop to take photos? Stop to draw? Any of those would work with an urging not to wait for me! Of course, my eldest daughter would be saying, “Just tell them you want to walk alone. And you don’t even need to give a reason.”!!
Brain jump:
Why don’t you put your bottle in your bumbag instead of carrying it? This might be a better solution than continuing with the hydration tube that is broken and keeps popping off. At least you got a refund for it! But I’d really prefer to have a working one!
Brain jump:
We are obviously going round a slight bend because my shadow is moving from beside me, spread across the wheat and onto the path in front of me.
Brain jump:
I could just post one picture of the big flat and invite people to read the post on their phone so that they can turn through 360 degrees and that’s what I’m seeing.
Brain jump:
Those windmills that were ahead of me two hours ago are now beside me.
Brain jump:
Youngest son observed one long day on the Via de la Plata, “Mum, I know when you are tired.”
“You do? What gives it away?”
“You stop using your poles properly and just drag them along the ground.”
He was right, and it kept happening today, despite this stretch (and yesterday’s, both of which we did on one day in 2014) being described as “the easiest day yet” back then.
And then ever so abruptly you get to the edge of the big wide flat, and there’s Hontanas.
(Actually, if I’m to be entirely accurate, in the middle of the big wide flat, there was another down-and-up too, but I’m being selective and not taking you on every step)
I plonked myself down in front of the Albergue to wait three hours until opening time. I had no energy to even walk the dozen paces to the church – I had just walked to the end of the village to get a chocolate pastry like we had enjoyed last time, but the bakery was gone. Grandpa was messaging from home and suggested I get my journal out and do a sketch, so I took his advice and then dragged a sad lunch out of my pack – very crunchy three day old bread! Thankfully I still had some butter, but now that it is warming up I won’t be replacing it when it’s gone. There was still some delicious blueberry jam that I had decanted out of its heavy glass jar and into the plastic garlic mayonnaise container when the mayo was finished. Scrounging round in my food bag, I also found a hunk of dry cheese, so I sliced that up too.
As I was typing this up I overheard a woman about my age talking to her boyfriend. I decided this has been such a piecemeal account, that the conversation would fit right in.
“Oh my feet are so sore. It doesn’t matter how far you walk, twenty or thirty kilometres, the last four kill your feet. But my main problem is I’ve run out of fags. Can’t get any til tomorrow after 10km. Gonna have to manage aren’t I, Luv? We’re going to a pilgrim mass at 6. Nah, the two girls I’m walking with aren’t Christian, but one just lost her mum and wants to go and light a candle, so I said I’ll go. That’ll be interesting, hope I don’t burst into flames when I walk in the door. Yeah I’m really missing you and just want to be home. Every part of you hurts and then you have to get up and do it again tomorrow. I’m never doing this again. I’m telling you now. Never. It was 27 yesterday, try walking in that! Oh, can you pop out and take some photos of the Northern Lights for me? It’s meant to be even better tonight than last night. I’m so gutted I’m here and not in London. We never see them there. What do you mean you’re sat on the sofa with a beer?”
(Full disclosure: what is written here is accurate, but there are a few sentences missing, because I couldn’t keep up! There wasn’t a lot of responding on boyfriend’s end)
Then there was a fireworks conversation….for context, over twenty people had come in asking for a bed, and even more had asked for dinner just in the last hour or so before dinner would be served, and in spite of the COMPLETO sign being up.
Then an Italian man and French woman arrived, DEMANDING a bed because they had walked over 40km from Burgos and they should be able to stop at a municipal hostel because they are for everyone and he has 50% disability and a heart condition and will die if he sleeps outside. The woman burst into tears when they were told there are no beds, and the man started shouting loudly. He then switched to halting English that confirmed I had understood him well. He had Spanish at his command too, but would not listen to the hospitalero, who was trying to cook the communal dinner while explaining he had no beds. The Italian kept arguing his case for fifteen minutes, and then got on the phone to the police. I couldn’t help thinking if he knew he was so fragile he might have stopped in one of the previous villages instead of making his problem the fault of the hospitalero.
The church bells started chiming so I went off to mass – highlight was a flute being played beautifully. (Brain jump: this church is actively trying to share the Good News of Jesus with pilgrims – they offer free foot massages, pilgrim prayers, a danced blessing which was actually very moving, and they keep the church open so it can be used – plus it has contemporary artwork as well as the ancient artifacts and they have a comfy reading book with Bibles in at least a dozen languages) When I returned for the communal dinner, the commotion that had ensued was the hot topic. It was unclear what had eventuated. Indeed the police had come, the guy had kept ranting, and somehow he was still here and the hospitalera was kindly feeding him. She’s an angel.
Did I take a private room? Why, no! Just the municipal albergue, with half a dozen other women. I had spent the evening chatting with the lovely Dutch hospitaleros and when I headed for bed they told me there was a two bunk room next to the dorm and I could switch if I wanted so I can sleep longer in the morning – four of the six were planning on leaving at 5:30 and when the hospitaleros had asked when I would get up I had said Íd been as late as possible as I wanted ton take their advice and buy a loaf of bread from the panadería, which didnt open until 8:30. Besides, a slightly longer sleep with my toothache seemed a good idea. When I walked into the dorm and someone was snoring I needed no convincing to swap!! And what a good sleep it was. No snoring, not stuffy, because I left the window open, and no one moving on the same bunk.
The relaxed start translated to having a relaxed breakfast with the hosts – everyone else had left before 7. The hospitalero had made coffee for the two Canadians, and so I drank a cup. First one in over thirty years! It actually tasted OK. I might be growing up. The conversation was just as stimulating as last night – I could have talked with them all day, but they had work to do and so I headed for the famous bread
I was challenging myself not to worry about accommodation, so I stopped to watch the storks again.
And take pictures
The hospitaleros recommended I stop at the little chapel at the end of the next village for a special experience, even though it wouldn’t open until 10 and so I settled down to draw the church tower at the beginning of the village to fill in time…and tried not to think too much about all the hordes of people walking past and possibly taking the last bed!! For the first time it was nice and warm in the morning.
A large group of Italianos had filled the entrance to the chapel when I arrived, all chattering excitedly as they seem wont to do, and getting their credentials stamped. I sat down and the piped music wafted over their exuberance. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness I noticed beautiful paintings on the walls. It felt good to be free to take my time.
The teeny tiny nun, who had lived in the Congo for over thirty years, chatted with every single person who entered the chapel and then prayed a different blessing over each one. She was in no hurry, even when there were twenty Italianos to get through.
I took the unhurried attitude out of the chapel and took plenty of photos of beautiful artwork on buildings
And then it was HOT…actually only 22 degrees as I was walking (although it would get up to 26 by the evening), but that is much hotter than the single digits I have become accustomed to.
At the top of the gentle climb, you get one of those iconic camino moments
….there….where you are walking stretching out ahead of you
I have to admit that once I made it into the village I didnt stop for photos, but just headed straight to the albergue. Again, there was a bed for me, although later it would fill up.
I lunched with a young German girl and an ever-so-slightly-older American gal, and we had one of those immediately deeply connecting conversations full of understanding. There were tears at the table as we shared vulnerably about our own experiences with anorexia. Sitting in that kitchen was just as sacred a moment-in-time as in the chapel.
Actually I have tended not to mention this part of our family´s journey most of the time, but on the two occasions it has felt right to bring it up, I have found I was speaking to either a fellow mother-of-a-sufferer or someone who had experienced it herself.
I took a quick walk up the main (and almost only) street, before settling down to journal, blog and update my writing project with some new developments.
Watched a guy painting
Discovering the church open and mass about to start in twenty minutes, I nipped next door to grab a jacket (it was FREEZING in there!) and enjoyed another church visit. How amazing it was. The priest led us so well to participate, despite there being no Spanish speakers. He also had all the different language groups read a pilgrims’ blessing, and then had each language group sing a song in their tongue. When he got to me as the sole English speaker I signalled NO, but he asked for Amazing Grace. It was actually Amazing to sing in a church with beautiful acoustics!
I was surprised to find an almost-identical Santiago statue to the one I sketched in Navarrete – I’m guessing there must be a mold somewhere.
When you wake up to this, you decide to wait in bed a wee bit longer. Well, I did! When I eventually made a move, I asked the owner of the feet if he’d had a good night, meaning did he find the food he’d gone out looking for in the evening.
“No, I was awake almost all the night thinking about what you said yesterday.”
Huh? He was behind me in the checkin queue and complained that a sign said you could leave (ie. had to leave) between 6:30 and 8. He wanted a more leisurely start to his day. All I had said was, “That’s funny, others were complaining that they couldn’t leave before 6:30. Maybe you’re in the wrong place. Would you consider a private room?” Obviously he didn’t, because there he was on the bunk above me. And all night he’d been thinking how much he is not enjoying the Camino, he finds it so boring and was thinking maybe he really was in the wrong place. Not just wrong albergue, but maybe the Camino wasn’t for him. I asked a bunch of questions, hopefully to help him identify what was most important for him, gave him some information that was useful and left him to make up his mind. On my way out the door, he was putting his boots on and I handed him a chocolate bar which made him a smile. A Korean man had given it to me yesterday as a thank you for lending him my spork! Share the love.
Before I could leave Burgos there were two jobs I needed to do – I thought I’d be on my way quickly.
Haha silly me.
Number one was get some cash. En route to the nearest ATM, I heard my name called out. There was Paula sitting at the very restaurant where Rob and the children and I had had our last meal before Rob headed back to Madrid on the bus and the rest of us walked westwards, racing to see who would reach their destination first. The children had taken it in turn to sob their way through the meal much to the consternation of the chef. This time there was happiness as Paula suggested I drop my pack while I ran the errand. She was in no hurry.
This didn’t look too promising, but there was an ATM….however it wanted to charge me 7 euros to withdraw my money. So I plugged in the BBVA bank to Organic Maps and discovered it was only 300m away. I was sure Paula wouldn’t mind…she had a full plate of food to demolish. BBVA wanted to charge me 7 euros as well and so it was time to Google “fees free bank in Spain”. Unicaja. Ah, that’s right, I remember now. Back to Organic Maps and to my delight there was one just another 200m away. Only there wasn’t. I walked round and round the block I was directed to, and asked a couple of people, but they both said it was gone. Now I was getting a bit concerned about making Paula wait, but was happy to find there was meant to be another one back towards her restaurant. Yippee. Yes, there it was with someone using the ATM. I stashed my money and card away and started racing back. But I got stopped in my tracks. When we were here ten years ago we happened upon a delicious patisserie and bought big cream-filled pastries. I had hoped to do the same again this time, but had not been up to looking for anything. However, when it was right here in front of me with the very pastries sitting in the window, I had to go in and buy two. One for Paula to say sorry! And I really would have to say sorry because the lady serving me really took her time wrapping up my package and tying it with string.
Paula was impressed! By the time I got back, she had a French lady sitting with her and someone called Anastasia who I had never met appeared and so we decided the pastries would feed four nicely. The other ladies wanted a photo and after a botched selfie attempt we asked a man at the next table to take a pic. He turned out to be French and not only took photos, but also told us all about the name of the pastry that was actually French. Somehow Anastasia had disappeared so we gave French Photographer one of the pieces – he promptly cut it in half and shared it with the Korean man at his table. Appreciative noises abounded as they declared how good it was.
The photographer
Anastasia reappeared and so we chopped the halves again and took our own turn at oohing and aahing and licking our fingers. There were still two pieces left and so I offered them to a guy sitting on his own behind us. He turned out to be a kiwi from Christchurch who had just spent an hour on the phone sorting out a frustrating drama at home. It was nice to see him smile too – and he shared the last bit with a friend who materialised out of nowhere! His photo is included (as always, with his permission) so he can feel famous…he has been reading the blog!!!
So much fun and laughter.
As I got up to leave, I became aware the bells in the cathedral were ringing, not happily chiming as they usually do, but just two single somber tones being struck five seconds apart, over and over. As I neared the top of the stairs that skirt along the side of the cathedral I looked back. A crowd, including a group of young school children, was gathering by the enormous doors that were being opened by a priest in a purple gown. Four nuns were standing at the foot of the stairs, holding a tiny coffin. The bells kept chiming. The square went eerily quiet as people noticed and stopped their conversations. The bells kept chiming. For half an hour. Then it was time for the nuns to climb the steps and meet with the half dozen purple-robed officials. Everyone crossed themselves and organ music poured out of the chapel as the procession entered.
I walked on, feeling simultaneously grateful and somber.
Job number two was to buy some salami for dinner and as I entered a supermarket I kept thinking about the family and friends in the chapel while the rest of us continued with life.
Three other pilgrims were just ahead of me, but I caught them up as they kept “having boy looks”, struggling to find the arrows. They were walking slightly faster, but kept stopping until I caught up and pointed out an arrow.
The Swedish guy slowed to walk with me. These are special Camino moments. This is his seventh Camino, but he didn’t expect to be walking again. Four and a half months ago he was rushed to hospital in an ambulance, completely paralysed. He was told he would not recover. He prayed, really prayed to Jesus as he lay there motionless and here he is walking again with Jesus. I asked if he had prayed to Jesus before…yes, in 2018 he had walked his first Camino as an atheist (as he had been brought up) and “really not good person”. When he got to Santiago he knelt down in the cathedral and “physically felt the awesome presence of God”. It was so mighty, it totally transformed his life. He went back to his old mates to tell them of Jesus and how they needed to stop hurting people and all but one of them turned their backs on him. To lose his friends was a huge sacrifice, but one that he still believes was totally worthwhile.
As we were walking we met half a dozen pilgrims coming towards us. When yet another older couple approached, we stopped them. The first step in conversations like this is usually to determine which language to use. This time it was to be German, so I asked what had happened and then translated for Mr Sweden. They had spent last night at Tardajos, but could not find ANY accommodation in any of the next dozen villages, neither for tonight nor tomorrow. So they were returning to Burgos.
This didn’t concern Mr Sweden too much as he is carrying a tent, but I had to give myself a wee talking-to about not worrying or trying to find solutions before I knew if there was a problem.
A Dutch lady caught me up and we compared stories…both of us walking without reservations, refusing to be affected by the panic that is overtaking many. In fact, the lady said for the last few days she has purposely been going in to places late in the day to see if there are beds free and she has found something in every place she has stopped. It is possible that people think there is nothing when they can’t get a reservation, but there are municipal and parroquial Albergues that can’t be booked in advance, and apart from my one COMPLETO experience back in Los Arcos when I arrived late, they have so far been available. But it can be a challenge not to get caught up in the bed shortage panic.
When we got to Tardajos, there was just one backpack waiting outside the albergue. No need to have worried!
While we waited for 2pm opening time I chatted with a Canadian Mom and her 16 year old daughter, who are struggling, but no wonder given they have done days of over 35km and one over 50. This lady turned out to be a Cardiology Cardiovascular Electrophysiology and Cardiac Device Rhythm Technologist. Quite the mouthful. But good timing for me. Last night a lady had urged me to get treatment for my tooth because “better to have it treated than have the infection get into your blood and have a heart attack”!!! When I probed deeper, she turned out to be an artist rather than a medic so I dismissed her well-meaning advice. But with a cardiac specialist sitting right next to me, I thought I’d get a professional opinion. Turns out the artist was not quite right, but wasn’t far wrong. The infection CAN get into your blood and can then attack your heart and you die. Brilliant! I’ll be going back to Burgos on Monday for treatment. Let’s get rid of that bacteria as fast as we can. As the Cardiology Cardiovascular Electrophysiology and Cardiac Device Rhythm Technologist said, “Why would you wait to see if it’s going to get worse?”
But this afternoon I got to watch the storks flying back and forth, feeding their young. Little beaks poked up out of some nests, and slightly older birds took teetering steps around the tower. Amazing how something so gangly can soar majestically.
SoloWalk2024 