SoloWalk2024

“Take the path,” the hospitalero had told me last night when I said I was going to Castrillo de los Polvazares today.

I started on it, but for starters the grass was wet. And more importantly, I remembered a story I forgot to write a few days ago. It went along the lines of:

Once upon a time there was a lady frogspotting when she noticed something dark slithering along a rock in the grass very very close to where she was standing and so she stopped looking for frogs. The black thing had a similar circumference to the lady’s little finger, although she did not put it close enough to check the accuracy of that statement. It was at least the length of a standard 30cm ruler – and that was only the bit she could see. The head end had already disappeared when she spotted it. And she did not go fossicking about in the grasses to find it.

That memory was enough to send her onto the road, where the only wildlife encountered was a big brown fluffy rabbit.

A popular tourist destination, especially famous for both its architecture and “cocido maragato”, a meal starting with six or seven meats, followed by chickpeas and cabbage, then soup and recommended to be topped off with custard, it was empty at 8am except for two girls who were going to the bus stop, a couple of people taking their dogs out for a walk and me.

Warning: photo overload (after six weeks of seeing so many rundown buildings it was lovely to see everything so well kept)

I considered waiting for the restaurants to open but six hours was a long time to wait for a rich meal that I think Rob will appreciate more than me! So I walked on in peace.

All thoughts of peace were banished when the path met up with the standard route. It was like a multi-carriage train with no end in sight. So Many People!

I let them stream on past me while I perched on a rock wall to capture the first view of Santa Catalina de Somoza

I stopped for breakfast at the place we stayed at last time for old time’s sake

There was a constant stream of bodies passing by – and sadly I overheard a lot of the entitled grumbling that I have seen reports of online.

“Why don’t they have something substantial for me to eat?” (If you spoke Spanish you would see you could order all sorts of things!) “This heat is ridiculous!” (Wait till it hits 28 degrees later today)

“The dormitory was too big last night” (so take a private room, problem solved)

Exasperation at the bartender getting the order wrong when a lady had been asked if she would like orange or lemon and she had replied “Yes” (in English).

But the grumblers were outnumbered by those happy to be here and wishing everyone a “buen camino”…and the Irish I walked with, who were keen to discuss rugby (and possibly disappointed to find one of the few kiwis who doesn’t follow the game!)

In just a short stretch today there were more entrepreneurs than I’ve seen the rest of the way.

I “employed” one of them, happy to pay for a special sello in my journal.

The queue for his services was quite long – I hope he was making a good living. He took a liking to my journal and added a little dangly angel that I hadn’t seen him put on any of the other credentials.

Soon I would hear someone who had just started telling her walking companion, “Well I’m sure we’re not required to walk the full two hundred kilometres”

Before I started feeling all judgey about her giving up before she’d hardly started, I reminded myself that her attitude was – in essence – no different to what I had penned home last night:
“I’m actually thinking if the glute doesn’t settle down or any other pains start, I might stop at Sarria and take a bus to Santiago to have a few days “off” before coming home! We’ll see.”

And then today felt like a holiday!

Turns out I love a hammock in the shade.

The tipi I am in tonight is also hosting two other kiwis – actually a Dutch couple, who emigrated to Christchurch decades ago and now live even farther south…and who, rather bizarrely, know one of my neighbours!

Dinner and singing…

The first time we were in Astorga we sat in the square for a couple of hours waiting for the Post Office to open so Grandpa could post ahead his pajamas and other bits and bobs that amounted to a couple of kilos, which is significant when you are carrying everything on your back.

Today I waited for mass in the cathedral at 10.

Then it was time to leave. It was very different leaving the first time. Back then everything was brand new to us – signs in Spanish, old streets, fancy lamps, stone buildings, yellow arrows painted on walls and on the street, then mojons and stony paths, mountains in the distance….

….until we got to the first little village, where the children filled their sun hats with water from the fountain in the middle of a rose garden and plonked them back on their heads. I didn’t do that today, although it was certainly hot enough to consider it. All of these firsts, and more, were captured on camera – I’m always amazed at how many photos Rob manages to snap.

Last time we kept walking to the next village. Today I stopped here. Two factors influenced my choice of accommodation. First, it was the cheapest option. Second, even though the other places had character-filled courtyards and looked much more homely, this one did not have bunks – it had beds! That made it a winner.

However, it turned out to not have a kitchen either, not even a sink or a microwave. So I had to get creative with the half-pizza that I had leftover from yesterday.

You may not have noticed the stone table in the garden, but I did and it was in full sun. While it was a far cry from our wood-fired pizza oven at home, the mercury was climbing up to the high twenties. Come to think of it, the supermarket pizza was a far cry from our home ones too. Anyway, I wondered if it would be hot enough for the cheese to melt. It took longer than the 30 seconds I’m accustomed to, but it did indeed and the base got decidedly warm, if not crispy. Success.

The tiles on the floor acted as a makeshift fridge to keep my salad cool until dinner time. Success.

After lunch I took a nap. Success.

Then sat in the stone bus stop (shade and a wooden seat) with my feet up, doing some cross stitch. Not quite the ambience of the renovated cottages in the village. But success.

And I walked only a little over 7km today. Roaring Success.

The first time we were in Astorga we sat in the square for a couple of hours waiting for the Post Office to open so Grandpa could send ahead his pajamas and other bits and bobs that amounted to a couple of kilos, which is significant when you are carrying everything on your back.

Today I waited for mass in the cathedral at 10.

Then it was time to leave. It was very different leaving the first time. Back then everything was brand new to us – signs in Spanish, old streets, fancy lamps, stone buildings, yellow arrows painted on walls and on the street, then mojons and stony paths, mountains in the distance (I’ve been walking towards those mountains for a week now, so there was no “oh look, mountains!”)…

….until we got to the first little village, where the children filled their sun hats with water from the fountain and plonked them back on their heads. I didn’t do that today, although it was certainly hot enough to consider it. All of these firsts, and more, were captured on camera – I’m always amazed at how many photos Rob manages to snap.

Last time we kept walking to the next village. Today I stopped here. Two factors influenced my choice of accommodation. First, it was the cheapest option. Second, even though the other places had character-filled courtyards and looked much more homely, this one did not have bunks – it had beds! That made it a winner.

However, it turned out to not have a kitchen either, not even a sink or a microwave. So I had to get creative with the half-pizza that I had leftover from yesterday.

You may not have noticed the stone table in the garden, but I did and it was in full sun. It was a far cry from our wood-fired pizza oven at home, but the mercury was climbing up to the high twenties and I wondered if it would be hot enough for the cheese to melt. It took longer than the 30 seconds I’m accustomed to (more than 30 minutes, actually) but it did indeed and the base got decidedly warm, even if not crispy. That supermarket pizza was a far cry from our home ones too, but I’ll call it A Success.

The tiles on the floor were cold enough to keep my salad semi chilled until dinner time. More success.

After lunch I took a nap. Success.

The two Italian gentlemen I’m sharing the room with also had a siesta and I was delighted to see them both roll onto their sides and stop snoring!!!

Then I sat in the stone bus stop (shade and a wooden seat) with my feet up, doing some cross stitch. Not quite the ambience of the renovated cottages. But success.

And I walked only a little over 7km today. Roaring Success.

The last “uncharted stretch” (by me) of the Camino Francés turned out to be fairly agricultural.

Every step of the way was painful today – I have not experienced a Camino like it, and if I should make it to Santiago on foot, it will feel the biggest achievement of all my caminos. It might be only half the distance of the longest one, I may not have frequently churned out more than thirty kilometres, but it has been hard and has required more of me both mentally and physically than the caminos that looked impressive as far as statistics go, but felt less demanding!

Out of the blue appeared something that looked like a rest stop – most welcome in the heat.

No one wanted to sit out in the sun….

…but relaxing in the shade was a different story.

There was such a spread of food and beverages – tea, coffee, water, oranges to juice, cheese, breads, biscuits, a variety of nuts in their shells, olives, watermelon, apples, pears, peaches, nectarines, bananas, cakes, crackers, chips… all for however much you might choose to donate.

And then there I was back at the spot where our very first Camino began twelve years ago. We didn’t know it at the time, but it would be our last “family holiday” with all the children before they started getting married. Looking back I can now see it marked the beginning of a difficult stretch for us as a family. I hope being back here closes that chapter for us.

I’m staying in the same hostel and sketched the statue where everyone lined up for our first Camino photo – it looks a bit lonely on its own.

I really should have stayed put for the afternoon, but special buildings called. My compromise with myself was to simply walk TO them and sit down outside to look – no extra wandering.

Astorga marks the end of the meseta and the beginning of the last stretch to Santiago.

This seems a good time for the promised GraphGuy update. When I saw an update in my email inbox I thought he’d just have added the latest data. But no! GraphGuy had the biggest dopamine hit recently (GraphGuy is also a GolfGuy and he hit a HOLE-IN-ONE, which made him SO excited he just had to make some new graphs. And supply explanatory analysis!) As always, Guy’s Important Words are in bold.

Quick update on two graphs prior to your official end to the Meseta…also to introduce a new line in Orange on the Rolling 7 Day Graphs. The new line is “Required Kms per day to meet to meet Goal”. The Goal being Santiago de Compostela on June 20th….2024.

As of Leon this new addition to the graphs shows required 11.2 kms per day or just over the original 10.9kms per day target. 

Let’s not tell GraphGuy that his calculations based on guidebook distances are Very Sensible, but much less than what I’m actually doing. My detours and climbing hills to visit castles and trips to the supermercado really muck up his statistics!

The main purpose was to show me I could do it, which was very kind of him. Tick.

And you know what? There’s another guy, also called Guy, with Camino affiliations. I’ve actually met this one – on the Via de la Plata and at home when he and his wife visited from their home in Australia. While GraphGuy was doing his thing, AustralianGuy was encouraging me too:

You’ll make it!  You’re that kind of person….Travel safe amiga, you WILL make it.

What a blessing to have such Great Guys in my life cheering me on!

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

Guess which way I went!

So nice to be able to see the destination and know it was only a couple more kilometres to go.

Complete with a reading room!!

I could stay here forever!

Someone with a red marker had a strong opinion about which of the two options was best to take today. The hospitalero where I stayed last night did too, and had tried to convince everyone to take the “not sh*t” route, which was a little longer, but not beside a main road with trucks hurtling past. It was a no-brainer decision.

I was trudging along, my Achilles grateful to be on a hard flat surface, but a three-day-old glute pain was calling out for attention, when I saw this sign…

…it made me realise I needed some distraction and so I decided to turn my attention to looking for interesting things.

Outside of the occasional wee hamlet, the landscape was largely confined to scrubby fields that reminded me of the Via de la Plata. It was nice to be walking alone again.

When the fields started getting a bit repetitive, I focussed my gaze in close…

I stopped for a while to watch this stork making the most of the farmer’s ploughing

Time for another diversion

I was very fortunate that two of the French ladies I did a little scribble for last night caught up and insisted on buying me a freshly squeezed orange juice to say thank you for my drawing!

After the break (with five French ladies jabbering away and me none the wiser), they took off and I took photos

It didn’t take long to catch them – I was on one of my rare speed spurts…but the main reason I took this photo was to capture the mountains in the distance…still with snow:

Then I was stopped in my tracks

By now the village was in our sights and it was simply a matter of keeping on going past all the fields

The albergue was right at the edge of town and looked a bit rundown…not helped by a silent smoking woman sitting by the front door. But as soon as I walked in, I was made part of the family. Speaking more Spanish this time has made such a difference. As I had arrived before noon, I had poked my nose in the door and asked Grandma what time they would be open – “We are already open. We are always open, come in, come in,” she had said and then proceeded to tell the rest of the family I could speak Spanish whilst confiding in me how hard she finds it when the Koreanos call, because they all sound like Ho or Kim or Lee to her and she doesn’t know who she is making reservations for. Not that the booking system was too complicated – names on the wall calendar that get crossed off when you arrive.

Being so early, I decided it was a good day to wash my “after walking” clothes – they dried in just a couple of hours, so then I could shower. A couple of apricots fancied up my three-day-old salad, and there was no shortage of brie on yesterday’s bread!

When I had zipped down to the village store, I had noticed a statue that asked to be drawn, so back I trotted

There was still room on the page so I did the church to my left…

…but getting a photo from there was impossible. Here’s a different angle

And another

And yet another

And a closeup of the storks

All that done, blog post almost written, and the two reservations I had made for later in the week changed (I am going to shorten one day so had to push the bookings out – more admin than it’s worth really – so much easier just to walk and hope for the best)
and it was still only afternoon. There was time to put my feet up, do some cross stitch, and dig into my ready-to-eat quinoa salad, which seemed a good idea when I bought it, but when I came to eat it, I found I was hankering after butter chicken. Thankfully it tasted great and I still had a hunk of Brie to finish off.

My plan was to wait for the 11am mass, but when the bells began ringing at 8:45, and then a procession appeared crossing the square and heading for the large doors that had been opened….

…I picked up my pack and tagged along behind. The advantage of attending masses that follow the same format is that you get to know what’s going on. Every service I go to, I am able to participate more.

It was nice to hear the organ being played too.

After mass, I expected we might be hurried back towards the door, but we were allowed to linger before the tourist hours started.

Today’s visit was all about the windows. If I come again, I’ll look at something else – there is no shortage of things to look at, but today my eyes couldn’t get enough of the stained glass.

And I kept thinking of the homeless man I had seen getting up from his sleeping-place in an outside nook of this phenomenal building earlier.

Because I had known I wanted to visit the cathedral, and had to wait for it to open (which, incidentally, was quite different to yesterday – for an hour there was hardly a soul in the square), I had found a place nearby to go for breakfast. It was an unassuming-looking place…

…but it filled over and over with locals coming to drink and eat or pick up takeaways in newspaper.

It might be that these are the cheapest churros in town (I don’t know for sure, but the ones in the fancy places certainly cost more)

Everyone else was eating theirs with coffee, but I asked for chocolate. It was made on the spot – fluffy milk with spoonfuls of chocolate powder mixed in until it almost couldn’t pour out of the jug. Silky smooth.

I was thinking about how I was going to savour that Deliciousness when I came to eat my supermarket salad and supermarket lasagne for lunch and leftover salad and brie for dinner later! A fresh loaf of bread from a bakery seemed a good idea, and this grabbed my attention too:

A soft-inside-with-crispy-outside doughnut filled with a perfect custard and liberally sprinkled with sugar. When you’re in a city, it’s worth making the most of these opportunities.

The walk out of León was not what one would call astounding or spectacular or magnificent or even pleasant. In fact, on a Sunday morning it is perhaps worse than usual. Broken bottles and plastic cups littered the streets, and it seemed like there had been an epidemic of drunkenness last night. Between the piles of vomit and puddles of urine, it really was unpleasant.

Of course, I don’t need to tell you this – I could just show you the nice pictures

But they were the exception.

There were lots of things I could have visited in León, but in the interests of keeping my walking distance as short as possible I headed directly to the albergue just out of town. What a lovely place to spend a quiet afternoon – spacious, light and warm, with stunning photographs lining the walls. Coffee provided at 3pm, coke and fizzy orange available in the fridge. Cotton sheets on the beds, hot showers and a kitchen to boot.

Just before I was about to go to the basilica for mass, a French couple, who had looked at my journal earlier, asked me to draw in their credentials. My lack of competence – in the sense that I do not manage to draw what I see in my head – and resulting lack of confidence made me hesitate, but their accents were irresistible and I was honoured to bless them (and two moreFrenchies who appeared with their credentials when word got out!!) with a quick scribble.

Needing to get away for mass removed the pressure to do more!

I went with a Polish guy (lecturer of Polish literature at the university so we had already had interesting conversation about education and politics). As soon as we entered, we suspected it was no normal mass. The basilica was full to overflowing – at least 500 people downstairs and another 200 or so upstairs. Standing room only. Turned out to be confirmation and it took much longer than last night’s vespers!

I love the cities, this one especially. But not everyone does. Last night lots of people were saying they were going to walk through as fast as they could today, and if they could take a bus from one side to the other, all the better.

I got my first glimpse of the cathedral pretty early – about 8:30, having already chewed through over 10km, as I was chatting with family, who were having a pizza party for the baby, who turned 18 last week. In that moment I’d have quite liked to be home.

But I’m here, marking another milestone. I have been thinking of this camino in terms of cathedrals – Pamplona, Burgos, León, Astorga, Santiago. Here I am at the middle one. This is where we intended to start our first camino, the one with all eight kids and Grandpa back in 2012. After a week seeing the sights in Paris we had taken an overnight bus from there to León, and when we got here we didn’t immediately see a yellow arrow as we had been promised and we couldn’t even see the cathedral towers, so we booked the next bus to Astorga, figuring it would be easier to start somewhere smaller. It was! Then when four children and I walked this way in 2014, we turned right at León to head up the San Salvador. The next time we were here we were repeating that same route. So León to Astorga is unfinished business. Astorga is not only a cathedral city, but also marks the end of the meseta, and so I’ll have a special post to celebrate that. GraphGuy has been busy at work behind the scenes for that – you’re in for another treat.

This wall ^^ looked a little empty this morning…in comparison to 2014:

Wandering around the city was lacking a little something too…companionship.

Before 1pm everything was quiet, but then it came alive.

Every alley and plaza packed with people playing and drinking and chatting and singing and smoking…

You’ll notice the sun has come out again. Up to 25 degrees today, and a positively balmy 8 first thing this morning. Looking promising:

7pm Vespers with the nuns from the convent. My week at the monastery back at the beginning served me well. This time we were invited to sit in the choir stalls.

Now that must take the prize for the most boring blogpost ever!! Can’t be creative every day, it seems.

PS the other day (23rd) I wrote that the long days had not been problematic. The very next day when I woke, the right Achilles was still sore. It remained so even after an hour of walking and just got worse as the day wore on. Still under 3/10, but I had become accustomed to not noticing it for most of the day. No improvement today. My curiosity aroused, I did a bit of number-crunching to see if that might explain something.
Last week, with the two rest days in Burgos and two travelling days I only walked 72km (considerably less than the previous week’s 108). A bit of a rest was probably in order, and what I forgot about was that if you stop for a week (or do less), you don’t just pick up where you left off – you use the latest number as your new starting point. So 10% on top of 72 brings me near enough to 80. Interestingly, on the 23rd I hit 83.2. It appears that was the sweet spot, and if nothing else, it is useful to understand that you really can rehab-by-numbers. By the time I have finished tomorrow (even though I will walk absolutely as little as possible whilst still making forwards progress), I will have added about another 35. I’m not expecting it to feel any better tomorrow!
So I’ve had a squizz at the upcoming week and have even booked a couple of places to make sure I can dial back to under 100km for the week. Then the hills appear and I will reduce the numbers even further. Increase incline, decrease distance.

“I have learnt I am a people pleaser. I walked with a lady for two weeks, because I couldn’t tell her I wanted to walk alone. But then I told her one day and since then I have had the opportunity to have so many more special little conversations.” – David sharing what he has learnt about himself as a mature man with adult children.
I told David about the lady who had said she would walk with me the next day a couple of weeks ago. I shared his reluctance to hurt…but the next morning I had left a note by her boots saying I had left early and would see her at the albergue. As I explained to David, my daughter´s voice was running through my head as I wrote: “you don’t have to give a reason – just say it.” He reckons our daughters are very similar. Lucky us.

“I have learnt other people’s good ideas don’t need to be mine.” – Jack

Jack had walked with a couple of young girls who are doing a digital and alcohol detox as they walk across the meseta. He thought that sounded pretty noble and vowed to join their project. The digital bit was easy enough, because he doesn’t use social media at all. The alcohol bit was easy enough until after he had walked more than 40km and the sun had come out. The beer he ordered that afternoon was the best he has ever tasted. As someone who drinks only occasionally, he decided he really did not need to “detox” – there was nothing toxic about his current practice. And now when he hears a good idea, he will evaluate it more carefully before mindlessly adopting it for himself.

“I learnt I brought too much stuff. And as I sorted through it to work out what to send home/to a friend/to Santiago – or to give away, I realised I carry too much stuff in my off-camino life too.”
Some people when they have said that have been referring to literal actual physical stuff – and some are planning on going home to simplify. Others were being metaphorical, and are already working on reducing the load they are carrying.

“I have found peace here. I am recognising what it is about my everyday life that robs me of this peace, and I am going to pursue peace at home too.” – Alan

“I am learning that the growth I have done in my own life cannot be expected of others. We are all different. I’m realising even my own older brother may not value the same things that I do.” – C (someone with a much less common name, who may not wish to be identified)

“I am learning not to be so influenced by the panic around me. I am not booking beds, but when everyone talks about the scarcity, I start getting nervous. But I don’t want to. I want to be relaxed and not worry. And I want to carry that back to my other life too. I don’t want to be scared by the bad things in this world, politics, epidemics, climate change.” – Rachel

Every camino I have been on has had these deeper-than-surface-level conversations (not actual quotes above, but as faithful a summary as I can remember). They are one of the joys.

And some more of today’s joys were the blue sky and sunshine, flowers and (small patches of) forest.

Not that it was all picturesque. The whole way was alongside a fairly busy road. I was grateful to have missed even more of that yesterday by taking the Roman Road.

As I had started out this morning I almost missed a great monument. In fact I had walked right past this sign, thinking they must be proud of their tomatoes round here…

….before I realised it had been yarn-bombed. Clearly that required a closer look…

…and a selfie

I don’t do selfies too often, but today was an exception:

I even asked someone to take a photo of me. And not just any photo. I climbed up on a marker…in memory of the four youngest kids, who did exactly that in the same spot ten years ago

* note from above….when I looked at this picture this afternoon it reminded me of a lady I walked with last week. She had used a company to organise her trip and had been lumped together with five other solo ladies to form a group (which she wanted no part of). The other ladies had all been issued with guidebooks and bag tags before they left home, but this lady had been overlooked. Despite the fact that the error had occurred without anyone in the company ever setting eyes on her, this lady was convinced that she was the suffering the results of a bias because (and I quote – it was memorable!) “I am not blonde and do not have legs up to my eyeballs”. This morning’s picture gave me those legs!

Finally, some images that caught my eye alongside the path…I was looking for beauty in a stretch known to be not that pleasant.

…and one village that invites you off the path by promising a plaza covered in yellow dots signifying the stars we are following to Santiago de Compostela (field of stars)…who could resist that?

Relaxing afternoon:

And an expressive hostess

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.