And I would walk 500 more
Day 12: Ages – Burgos
Distance: 20.1 km
6:30 AM – We awoke to thunder, lightning, and rain. Obviously, we were not going to walk in that weather so we went back to sleep.
7:30 AM – Thunder, lightning, and rain were still present but waning.
8:00 AM – No thunder or lightning. Rain stopped too. It was perfect.
8:01 AM – The largest snowflakes we have ever seen started to fall.
Well, at least the thunder and lightning stopped. We suited up in the necessary snow gear (aka: rain gear plus gloves) and trudged out into the wilderness, trying to find the Camino markings and hesitating to make any turns. The snow continued to get worse, falling even faster than before. Visibility was down to 30-40 feet. A blizzard was upon us. We followed the footsteps of the fools before us who began the walk in the rain.
The hike was strenuous. Several inches fell quickly making our walk a familiar one. Three steps forward, one step sliding back.We were both having flashbacks to day one when we walked over the Pyrenees.Similar to day one, a fair amount of the terrain we covered in the snow was uphill without any markings. The only highlight (besides actual snow which is normally a pleasure to us Southerners) was encountering a herd of sheep being herded mostly by dogs. Snow didn’t seem to slow them down. As the sheep passed by a few of them shook their coats to get a few inches off their back. Otherwise, it was just another day to them.
For a few minutes we shared the trail with the herd and eventually bypassed them making our way to the first town with a cafe. We immediately stopped in, exhausted already, soaked to the bone from the snow. As we arrived we watched the Italians leave. We assumed we were bringing up the rear, but decided we didn’t care. It was never about being first. More importantly, we needed to eat. So many snow soaked people had stopped in that workers were constantly mopping the floor of the cafe.
We settled in for the best breakfast sandwich of the trip, eggs over medium with bacon on lightly toasted warm bread. Of course in the state we were in, I’m not sure we would have turned down much.
As we finished our second breakfast sandwich (they were too good to just have one) a few familiar faces start to trickle in. Apparently we were not the slowest on the trail. It seemed that we weren’t the only hesitant pilgrims that morning. Our pilgrim friends decided to wait out the storm, but in the end they knew they would have to face the snow.
We chose to slow our pace and walked the rest of the day with the Aussie, the Dane, the Canadian, the Sardinian, and a young, ever positive German man. We enjoyed one another’s company immensely.
The sun continued to warm up our walk and by the end of the day. The six plus inches dropped on us had melted away by the time we arrived in Burgos. Of course that didn’t mean it had quit snowing, because the sky was still spitting snow in the sunshine as we walked the city streets.
Burgos is an important town on the Camino because it is a big stopping and entry point for pilgrims. It is one of the larger towns on the Camino so it’s easy to access. We were losing several people in Burgos, notably the delightful Dane who had been walking with us for the last eleven days.
A large group of us went out to celebrate and say goodbye to him and some other pilgrims leaving. There was singing, speeches, joy, and sadness. It was an emotional time for some, especially those who had been walking, sleeping, and spending near every minute of the last two weeks with these people.
A good time was had by all.
Day 13: Burgos – Hornillos del Camino
Distance: 21.7 km
We got a late start due to the late night. We grabbed breakfast with our dinner group and then headed to the cathedral in Burgos. It was fine church, not life changing, but free, and we enjoyed seeing another old building and getting to play tourist during the morning.
The walking section of the Camino had now transformed into the Meseta. The Mesta is a rather flat stretch of land that pilgrims walk over for a week or so. A lot of people skip this portion of the Camino as they find it dry, hot, and boring.
We found it cool, pleasant, and peaceful. A mountain range was always within view. Not too many farm animals or busy roads. It was nice and calm.
It is also a time to get to know people on the trail better. With less hills, people tend to congregate more while walking. You can start to learn more about the people you walk with and why they are on the Camino, where they come from, and share other life experiences.
We finished the day ahead of our remaining group and entered an albergue in which we didn’t know anyone. The people here were mostly a new batch of pilgrims from Burgos. Just as we were lamenting this fact, out popped our young German friend, Lisa.
She had stayed back in Viana instead of walking to Logrono. We didn’t expect to see her again. While it is disappointing to no longer get to see and talk with a lovely person you meet on the Camino, that’s the way it works. A common expression on the way is that “everyone walks their own Camino”. You never know who will enter your Camino or who will depart. You only have the moment you are with the person. It may last for a few minutes, a few hours, days, or the entire Camino.
As it turned out, the blizzard had proven too much for the group she was with and they decided to get a bus to the next town. The bus driver refused to take the pilgrims to the town for which they had purchased tickets and instead said he was going to Burgos no matter what.
So here we sat, very much enjoying the company of a person we thought we had previously lost.
I spent most of the night attempting to get pictures sorted onto the computer at the albergue. My laptop had deleted its OS so I was SOL with blogging. It would turn out to be a fruitless night.
Day 14: Hornillos del Camino – Castrojeriz
Distance: 21.3 km
Just like the evening before, I spent most of this morning trying to get our travel pictures blog ready. Elizabeth finally pushed us out of the albergue around 9. She was not going to spend her Camino waiting for pictures to load.
We were not the only group to get a late start. We opened the gate of the albergue and headed out onto the main street. Lo and behold there were our friends from Canada and Australia and I began to sing “Oh Canada.”
We walked with people almost the entire day. The Canadian, Aussie, German young man, and the two Sardinians. We had met the first Sardinian at the Arte de Kilometre. The second, from Northern Sardinia, had fallen in with our group once the Italian group broke up in Burgos. Tribes form, factions fall, and what’s left is a ragtag bunch of pilgrims.
Our Southern Sardinian knew English extemely well, the Northern Sardinian knew Spanish (and French) better so we had translators for just about any situation.
When we arrived in the city, the group broke off, with the Aussie, Canadian, and German all deciding to walk an extra 10 km. Elizabeth was not doing so well so we decided to stop where our book had suggested.
The Sardinian duo and Lisa also stayed in the same place with us. We arrived to the city a little too early to stop for the day, but we didn’t care. We were tired.
What we encountered next is typical of España.
Siesta was taking place when we arrived so we could not get food for dinner. The sign on the door of the only market in town said it would reopen at 5. When we went back to the albergue at 5:15 with no food, the hospitalero said it opened at 5:30. At 5:40, we found a local walking by the market who told us it didn’t open until 6. At 6:15 the store opened to great fanfare of five pilgrims, each but Elizabeth cursing under their breath.
Lisa and I had decided to join forces to cook some pasta dish while Elizabeth tried to figure out if/when mass was to take place. And while Elizabeth was gone to mass the Sardinians arrived to discuss dinner plans. We invited them to join us and thus began what I would like to call the “Camino tour of Italy.” This would turn out to be the first of many meals prepared by the Southern Sardinian.
While Lisa and I were fully prepared to figure out how to make the pasta, the Sardinians kicked it into high gear and made actual dishes.
Between the Sardinian duo and a little Camino magic, we ended up with two different pasta dishes. All made with a couple of cans of tuna, tomatoes, olives, noodles, olive oil and backpack pesto.
Now you might be wondering what is backpack pesto. Anything that someone carried for over a day, Elizabeth and I would dub it backpack XXXXX. So for almost the entire Camino I carried backpack olive oil and butter. The Southern Sardinian carried backpack salt. Some of the kitcken/cooking area’s we encountered did not have what you would need to cook, so those of us who didn’t want to spend $10 -12 euro a night on food would haul pantry staples around rural Spain on our backs. Most everyone carried backpack meat and backpack cheese.
By the time Elizabeth arrived back at the albergue, Lisa and I were dutifully cutting olives away from their pits as the Sardinians were figuring how to use an electric pot to boil water.
We ended the night with a pesto pasta dish and a tuna with tomato and olive pasta dish. What the Southern Sardinian could put together in a pinch was like a culinary Macgyver.
As we sat at the dinner table, winding down for bed, a man burst through the door of the albergue looking completely ragged, tattered, near toothless, and homeless. He carried a pack but did not look like most other pilgrims.
It’s because he was not like other pilgrims.
Thankfully we had two Italians with us to translate his story.
He had walked from Rome to Santiago. And now he was walking back. And it was his fourth time to do such a walk. He then showed us his pilgrim’s passports with all the stamps and his certificates. It was like rolling out scrolls. He had stacks of passports. His first certificate had been folded and unfolded so many times it was in four pieces.
He walked the first time for his priest, then for his mother and family, then for himself, and number four for God. I probably would have done number one for God, but that might be the cynic in me.
He stayed in donation based albergue’s so he was not required to give money. Many nights he slept on the streets. He covered 40-45 km a day. He volunteered at the Vatican when he wasn’t walking.
We sat in disbelief. His clothes were not dri-fit, quick dry, brand name, field tested for the most extreme conditions. He wore t-shirts and jeans. His backpack looked to be older than me. Yet here he was, in front of our eyes, making 800 km look like walking to your neighbor’s house.
We offered him our leftovers. He accepted only a small portion and thanked us profusely.
We went to bed full of pasta and full of wonder at the man who just kept walking.
Day 15: Castrojeriz – Fromista
Distance: 26.1 km
It finally rained all day. We had heard that it would happen at some point, especially in spring. Thankfully we had spent a fortune on top of the line hiking ponchos when we stopped in St. Jean. These are no ordinary ponchos, as they cover the extra hump of your backpack and still have plenty of length in the back.
Our Sardinian compatriots had failed to procure the same and were left to endure the rain with only a regular jacket and a single use poncho. The South Sardinian was soaked to the bone and the North’s poncho had disintegrated the moment a stiff breeze caught it. It shredded immediately and looked like she was little red riding hood in a fringed jacket.
The day started with a large hill that gave us beautiful views of the town we were leaving. After the large hill, the rest of the walking was easy dealing with the weather was not. The Camino walks are nothing like the hikes we had on the Appalachian Trail.
You cannot even compare the two adventures.
The Camino is easier in every sense with the exception of sleeping. On the Camino, unless you want to spend $50 bucks a night, you will end up sleeping in a room full of strangers. Pleasant enough people when awake, but hell on earth when snoring. You don’t hear that in the middle of the Georgia woods.
We took a long break about 6 km before our final destination in hopes of drying off. We commiserated with beer and croquettes. I think we would have preferred no rain to the refreshments.
We arrived at our albergue to find a common room similar to a nursing home. Plenty of older, cold, wet, exhausted pilgrims huddled in the common room to soak up the warmth of the fireplace. This wouldn’t be odd, but the fact that no one was speaking to each other gave the room an eerie feel. Luckily, we found out our Canadian had also stopped here as we saw her pants dangling from the clothesline (she wore exceedingly bright clothes).
Without a kitchen, we resorted to a meat, cheese, and wine party. We spent the night enjoying the company of our young, hip, English speaking group. The South Sardinian, the Canadian (who is presently living in Berlin without being able to speak German), and Lisa (who had been living in Ireland for the last year and has a Irish accent when speaking English. We are unsure if her German also has an Irish lilt to it).
Everyone seemed to be enjoying the good mood as we headed to bed. It turned out even the locals were having quite the time. As we tried to sleep, somewhere between the hours of 11 PM-5 AM, a marching band proceeded to prance around town, waking up anyone with ears. To add to the excitement, what can only be described as a cannon blast was heard several times during the night, although we never saw the aftereffects of whatever battle took place or was reenacted.
No one got much sleep. The midnight party is still a mystery.
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