Day 21: León- Villar de Mazarife
Distance: 22.4 km
We woke up to breakfast pasta. We had been unable to consume all of the lasagna the night before, but we finished it off before we started walking. A day of hills and valleys but none too difficult. A bit misty at times. We took another alternate route. Elizabeth walked with a professional clown for a few km. No joke there. He was a grown man from NY who worked as a clown. I walked alone for much of the day.
The Camino takes, but gives a little back too.
Fresh off our magical night in León at a spotless apartment, we hit rock bottom in our next albergue. It was the kind of place people get murdered in, we were certain something dark and dastardly was afoot there. We were concerned.
We were having soup for dinner, courtesy of Rachele, and I was cutting up vegetables with Il Drago (he arrived after we did and was in another room). The Northern Sardinian Songstress was washing the dishes. It was the four of us in a very small kitchen working diligently to make a meal. We were all working quietly so I asked the Sardinian Songstress to sing the Mexican song she performed earlier in the week. She had a lovely voice and I preferred her singing to the mirepoix I was making for the soup.
It was a surreal experience for me. We felt like a poor family, all huddled together in a small, cold kitchen fixing dinner with what little we had. Yet there was still joy and happiness. She had her back to us as she washed dishes so her voice echoed off the walls. It was beautiful and one of the best moments of my Camino. I thanked her for singing. She thanked me for asking.
Day 22: Villar de Mazarife – Astorga
Distance: 32.2 km
Having survived the night, we were in for a long, wet day. The route was flat until the last km when it was stairs up to the city.
With it being Sunday, Elizabeth had been working hard to find a mass. After the Easter debacle, we realized how difficult it could still be. We found a city along the way that we could stop in for a noon mass. We would have to wait a while for it to start, but at least church would happen.
We parted ways with the Sardinians, and made our way to the church. Just before we got there though another church appeared on the street. We were not aware of this one, so we walked over to see if we could stop in. We looked for mass times but could find nothing. Then we heard singing. Perfect. Mass is happening right now, let’s head in and knock this out.
As I went to open the door, it opened before I could. And everyone started to flood out. Mass has ended. Go in peace.
Oh well, bummer, but the church we were supposed to attend was down the road a couple of hundred meters. We regrouped with the Sardinians and headed to the next church. Once we arrived at the second church we noticed a paper posted to the gate. The sheet read: Due to a funeral today, mass has been rescheduled.
So the mass that just ended was the mass that we were supposed to be in. If only we had shown up two hours early to the city instead of one hour early, we might have made it to mass.
Completely defeated, we moved on.
We arrived in Astorga later than we wanted, but that was an ongoing theme after day 10 or so. The city was adorable but everything was closed because it was Sunday. Stores, markets, everything but restaurants. The theory is cities do this on purpose to force people (pilgrims) to go out to eat and spend more in the city.
Elizabeth found a mass time, but it conflicted with our group dinner plans so I immediately became grumpy. The fates intervened though with the help of one of the hospitaleros. He told us there was a mass happening an hour earlier at a small chapel near the cathedral.
This was not any ordinary chapel though. It’s connected to the nunnery in town. Not just any nuns though. Cloistered nuns. The same type of nuns that made our cookies and are never allowed to leave the convent.
When we walked in the chapel, the nuns were blocked from the rest of the parishioners. The nuns enjoyed mass from behind a large grate, never too close to others. They lead mass with singing and anything else the priest doesn’t start.
Otherwise it was a regular mass in Spanish.
When we left, we were able to get a straight on view of the nuns. They sat in the back of the chapel in another room, hidden away behind the last pews. It was an amazing sight to consider some of the women had not been outside the walls for upwards of 40 years. After mass we headed to dinner.
Day 23: Astorga- Foncebadon
Distance: 27.9 km
We left behind the adorable town of Astorga and were set to stop in Rabinal at the end of our day. That’s what our book told us to do.
But is was a beautiful day with great weather and we decided to keep walking. Some days are like this, where you think you could walk 30-40 km. Some days you feel as if you only want to do 15 km.
Most of this was due to how well you slept the night before and how the weather was treating you. We didn’t encounter any physical issues with our legs or feet. Our backs were a little sore from the packs most days, but our walking bodies were in good shape.
It started to become more mental at this point. Wake up, start walking, keep walking, stop, eat, sleep, repeat. We were having to drag ourselves out of bed to get going.
When we arrived in Rabinal, we stopped on the outskirts of town. Candice had lost us somewhere along the Camino, so we were down to us and the Sardinians. Once we decided to head to Foncebadon, we began making our way through Rabinal.
You should stop in Rabinal. It’s only 5 km extra (all uphill) to Foncebadon, but Rabinal is an adorable town. As we left it, I knew we would regret not staying. I did not know how awful the night would be, but I knew it would be tough to top the beauty of Rabinal.
An hour later, we were in Foncebadon. It looked like a bomb had been dropped in the middle of “town”. Most of the buildings were crumbled stone houses from who knows how long ago. The buildings still standing looked like they could go at any minute. The city was on top of the hill and the wind continued to whip, which I guess could have led to the dilapidated houses.
There was no market in town, so we were bound to whatever the albergue we were staying in had to offer for dinner.
We stopped at a former church in town that had been converted into an albergue. It was a lovely building currently being overseen by a Californian volunteer. The albergue also provided a communal meal that is prepared by the pilgrims that are staying there that night. The place had only 24 beds, and we were too exhausted to look any further in the little town.
Big mistake.
We paid and entered the 20×20 room where all 24 of us would sleep.
Il Drago.
We should have left, but didn’t. We were grumpy now, with no space to navigate the room, no hot water for a shower, and Il Drago in our presence.
Dinner was cooked by an Italian, not our Italians, but some other guy. A professional chef from Rome. Whatever. He had tomato sauce, an onion, and some pasta noodles. Even Chef Boyardee would have a hard time making the meal magical. It ate. While everyone was being served, the chef managed to rag Il Drago for a good 3-5 minutes in front of everyone at the dinner table.
He would not stop insulting Il Drago about his snoring and how he ruins everyone’s night. Everyone enjoyed this bit except for Il Drago. I enjoyed it more because of that. And that was our downfall.
I headed to bed early, having caught a cold somewhere and feeling like death. Everyone slowly followed. I awoke at 2 AM to the sounds of Il Drago. Everyone was awake except for him. People were on their phones or kindle’s, reading and whatnot. Earplugs could not defeat this. After an hour of this, during which Elizabeth woke the beast with her flashlight and he spoke tersely to her for waking him up, I began cursing, grabbed by sleeping gear, and headed to the dining room.
It was a lovely room. No windows, long table for communal dinners, hard stone floor. Perfect place to sleep. So from 3 AM-7 AM, I rolled around on stone floor, muttering about how stupid I was/am.
Everyone awoke very unhappy. Except for Il Drago. He slept.
(Now you may still not believe how bad the snoring was, but the wine we drank with dinner that night was provided by a German who had paid to stay at the albergue and then changed his mind. Everyone assumes it was because he was smart enough to realize he wouldn’t get any sleep due to Il Drago. At least he left the wine.)
Day 24: Foncebadon – Ponferrada
Distance: 28.6 km
Sufficiently dissatisfied, we began the morning headed to the cross, Cruz de Ferro. One of the last high points on the Camino Frances, there stands a large pillar with a cross on top. Pilgrims leave things here. It is a place to remove a burden/s from your life. People bring pictures, money, etc. It is popular to bring a stone from your home with you to set at the foot of the cross. People carry the item with them all along on the Camino and here is the final resting place for it.
We didn’t bring anything, but based on my general attitude that morning, Elizabeth would have gladly left me there given the opportunity.
We continued on through drizzly weather to Molinaseca. Another adorable town the book told us to stay in, but we had decided to continued on to Ponferrado. We were getting slower in our pace, getting up later in the morning, and getting in later at night. We had to walk longer, otherwise we might not ever make it to Santiago.
When we stopped in Molinaseca for a much needed break, we were beat. No sleep, exhausted. Worried that Il Drago would show up again. We were not in good shape. Elizabeth and I were lying face down next to the river, hoping to get washed away.
And then a simple act of kindness shone down upon us. As we laid there Rachele got up and walked over to a restaurant. We didn’t know or care what she was doing. If she wanted to walk around more, be our guest. We were saving our steps for the Camino.
She returned with some cold beer. It might as well have been a gold bar. We could not have been happier. It was the perfect thing for us at the perfect time. We all perked up excited at the gift we had just been given. We started talking again, smiling again, having fun again. Thank God for bridge beers. They gave us the strength to continue on our way.
We made it to Ponferrado and headed out to the grocery store.
The Sardinians had been discussing making Carbonara for a week or two and that night we thought we would try. I was excited to watch Rachele in action again, while I would be responsible for prep work.
When we arrived at the grocery store though, I got a lesson in Italian recipes. Rachele informed me that there are two different “Carbonara” recipes. One’s that include onions, and one’s that do not. She said this is a big deal to Italians. Well, we like onions so I said let’s do it with onions. I don’t care about tradition, I care about taste. How wrong I was.
When we began cooking a while later, the Italian chef from Rome (who was staying in the same albergue as us) inquired as to what we were making. When Rachele said a Carbonara, the Italian gentleman informed Rachele that a traditional Carbonara does not have onion in it, and the restaurant in which he cooks serves traditional Carbonara and it would never have onion in it. This entire conversation was in Italian and we just stood by to watch the debate not understanding anything until we got the Cliff’s Notes version later.
Since our recipe contained onion, it was not a true Carbonara he said. She said ok. I was then able to use some of my Italian to comment on what a jackass the chef was and that we would make our Carbonara any damn way we pleased. If Rachele said she wanted onion in it, then onion it was. I mean it wasn’t like we were putting garlic in there too. We weren’t animals.
We thoroughly enjoyed our “Carbonara” and I enjoyed getting a lesson on the finer points of an Italian man arguing over inconsequential ingredients to a popular Italian dish.
cornetravel 
I’m so glad you were finally able to post on your blog again. I missed hearing about your adventures. Miss y’all bunches!
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