A Pilgrimage Walk from Le Puy-en-Velay to Santiago de Compostela, 2003. 9. Seventh Week (6-12 June)
Pilgrimage walk from Le Puy-en-Velay to Santiago de Compostela, 2003. Week 7 (6-12 June)
Friday, 6 June, 2003. Atapuerca. [Day 43. In Spain, Day 10]
10 p.m. and it's still light outside. We’re staying in a private gîte called “La Hutte.” A French woman named Jacqueline runs (owns?) it, with a hotel (= chambres d’hôte) attached. We arrived mid-afternoon, when Jacqueline as well as many Spanish pilgrims in the hostel were taking a very extended nap. We sat outside, waiting to sign up and get in. It’s a habit here in Spain that some will get up really early and take off, in order to get a place in a hostel as soon as the doors are opened – around noon, often – and then eat lunch and crash for three hours or so. In France, where you can reserve a bed, no one felt the need to depart before dawn.
The walk today: cloudy this morning until the sun emerged at 11 a.m. On the climb from Villafranca, my tendons were sore and I was having difficulty walking. I don't know why this was happening. Was I carrying too much? I had to stop for a bit. I managed better after 1 p.m, when Caroline took some of the weight (= lunch things, my water).
A lovely walk uphill, through forests, onto a hill crest.
Then down we went to San Juan de Ortega, a dignified church, standing almost alone, with simple decoration inside – pure. We continued on to Atapuerca. The spaces were wide open now. Is this a taste of post-Burgos Castille? Atapuerca has fame for its prehistoric remains. We saw signs, but didn’t visit the archaeological site.
Caroline persuaded me to drink 3 liters of water upon arrival. I’m still visiting the WC regularly.
I hope my legs will be OK tomorrow. Sandra (from South Africa) gave me a foot massage and a reiki treatment to help the tendons.
Dinner: We ate in this hostel/hotel’s dining room, at the same table with Vincent, Sandra, Neil (who lives in Jersey), and Kop (from Holland). €20 for Caroline and me.
Tomorrow: Burgos!
Saturday, 7 June, 2003. Burgos. [Day 44. In Spain, Day 11]
10:15 p.m. In Burgos, at last. [Note: The main city of northern Castille, a major commercial center in the later Middle Ages, and home of El Cid, an 11th-century nobleman and hero. I was here once before, in summer, 1970, on a short tour of Spain and Portugal with Rigel, a college classmate. On the last leg of our trip we crossed northern Spain by train: La Coruña to León, León to Burgos, Burgos to Barcelona. I don't remember anything about Burgos except that I liked it.]
Getting to the center of Burgos was something of an ordeal. The eastern outskirts feature warehouses and factories, the dull aspects of a large modern city. We then walked through a large, unpicturesque modern section, reaching the attractive historic center at 2 p.m.
The hostel – albergue – lies on the western side of town. I couldn’t face another 30 minute walk to the albergue only to find it full; we’d have to retrace our steps to the center to find a hotel. Moreover, I didn’t sleep well last night and my lower right leg, front, continues to bother me. A treat was definitely in order. After a good lunch – salads for both of us – I set off to look for a hotel. By 3:45 p.m. we were comfortably installed in two rooms in the Hotel España and we took naps.
Later we visited the Cathedral – a Gothic building of the 13th century –
complex, ornate, and fascinating.
After the Cathedral, we headed off to use the internet. We ate dinner at a bar, with tapas, which was wonderful, with ice cream afterward at a small shop in the Plaza Mayor, near the hotel.
This morning, Sandra, a former long-distance runner, gave me an anti-inflammatory patch (of the sort used by marathon runners to kill pain) to apply to my sore lower leg. I think it helped. No great pain in walking today: 2-3 on a scale of 10, as opposed to 6 yesterday. But Caroline again carried part of my load. I bought ibuprophen tablets and have now taken two. I asked the woman in the pharmacist if they sold a lot to pilgrims; she smiled and said “Yes.” It would be wise to take a rest day tomorrow, but Caroline is eager to walk – and I shouldn’t say “No” unless I really can’t walk at all. Perhaps when we get to León I’ll ask for a rest day.
Hot today: 32° C, I saw announced here in town. I drank another round of anti-hydration brew today (made from powder bought in Estella).
I walked a while with Mark, a student age 29 from Bremen. As do many Germans, he walks with a pair of collapsible metal walking sticks that looks like ski poles. Caroline talked with some American youth; we now have six walking at our rhythm: Jivad and David (met in Zubiri), Christine and Andrea (sisters), and Sabrine and Marshall (brother and sister, from St. Louis).
Sunday, 8 June, 2003. Castrojeriz. [Day 45. In Spain, Day 12]
We slipped out of the Hotel España at 7:30 a.m. Spain doesn't get going as early as France, a problem for pilgrims who want an early start. We were lucky: we soon found a bar and a bakery that were open, for coffee and a croissant and chocolate bun. The albergue of Burgos was still far off. A good thing we didn’t stay there, for it would have been a long walk into the city center and the cathedral, but its location on the western edge of the city gave pilgrims there a good start for the day. When we passed by, we saw Neil (journalist working on the island of Jersey) whom we had met in Atapuerca.
My leg recovered, miraculously. Thank you, Sandra! Most fortunate, because we ended up walking 40 km. The albergue at Hontanas was full, so there was no choice but to walk an additional 8 km to Castrojeriz and hope for space there. We reached Hortanas at 4:45 p.m. After a break, we set off, arriving at 7 p.m. Castrojeriz is spread out over the south slope of a good-sized hill, like a small mountain.
(photo from the internet: travellingsimply.com/walking-the-full-camino-de-santiago-days-15-and-16)
This town looks really interesting. If only we had more time to explore! The albergue, which fortunately had space, is run by two men, 30-ish, one Spanish, one Argentinian (the latter speaks English), who gave us a warm welcome. The hostel, clean and well run, is located high up on the hillside and has great views. On the very top of the hill is a castle – too far a climb for us, though.
This evening's menú del día was OK, nothing more. We ate with Bob (who is English) and Melissa (Australian). Bob worked for Reuters, in computer security. After having spent a few years in the UK, Melissa hopes to work in Cyprus (South) as a waitress before returning to Australia.
Monday, 9 June, 2003. Frómista. [Day 46. In Spain, Day 13]
6:10 p.m. I’m sitting on a stone park bench in Frómista, in front of the albergue, across from the church of St. Martin (pure Romanesque, 11th c., with sculpted capitals,
and sculpted figures under the eaves, all around the building).
It’s hot and dry, like an oven, like the Anatolian plateau in the summer.
We left Castrojeriz at 8 a.m. Then two stops, first for coffee in Itero de la Vega, followed by a second in Boadilla for our picnic lunch. Shade in each case. The landscape I find beautiful, broad spaces, some bluffs, valleys with fields green with wheat, sometimes generous clusters of red poppies or other wildflowers. This scenery began yesterday, late morning. I had expected rocks, dirt, and weeds only, and flat contours, the Castilian landscape having been described for us, negatively, as austere. But this reaction may be that of someone accustomed to forests, trees, and the constantly changing terrains of, say, France or Navarra, not to mention Germany, not of someone like me who is used to the American west or the Anatolian plateau. I am very pleasantly surprised.
The heat (from late morning into the afternoon) and the brilliance of the sunlight I like less – as a walker, that is. But thanks to wind and sporadic clouds, the heat has not been overpowering.
Many storks in the region in the past few days, on church belfries and towers.
A Frenchwoman in the hostel has a serious bandage on her leg up to her knee. She is suffering from tendonitis and isn't to walk for three days (doctor's orders). She was talking on her mobile phone while I was trying to take a nap.
We’re almost halfway through the Spanish section. We still have a long way til Santiago, but nonetheless I’m starting to think of the end of the trip. I realize things can still go awry! I must accept whatever comes – but I’m grateful to have made it this far.
Tuesday, 10 June, 2003. La Calzadilla de la Cuerza. [Day 47. In Spain, Day 14]
6:30 p.m. We have been allotted two upper bunk beds in a medium-sized room (sleeping 28) on the ground floor of a modern albergue. Since we are usually among the last to appear, we are habitually relegated to the upper bunks.
I’m happy to have arrived. The walk was long: 36 km. Not difficult, because the terrain was mostly level with few ups and downs, but tiring. We had 17 km to do after lunch in Carrión de los Condes (a larger and livelier town than Frómista), a lot for after lunch. The road was straight but curiously La Calzadilla de la Cuerza, which lies lower down in a valley, was invisible until the very end. A bit of wind kept up throughout the day so it was never unpleasantly hot.
The “minimalist” scenery continues to be attractive, with green fields and wild flowers and occasional poplars. This morning, the tree-lined trail followed alongside a river, but eventually gave way to a new senda de los peregrinos (“pilgrims' path”), a gravelled path next to the highway, nice but without trees. We met a trio of English-speaking pilgrims, 60-ish, very friendly, husband and wife from Australia (husband of British origin?) and brother-in-law, living in Scotland. We chatted as we walked into Villalcazar about 10:45 a.m., where we all settled into a bar for a snack. Caroline and I shared a slice of “tortilla with potatoes,” a delicious potato-and-egg pie which I'm realizing is a Spanish staple. The trio were hungrier: a full slice for each.
A simple breakfast was served at the albergue this morning – café con leche (coffee with milk, well prepared), a carton of fruit juice, and a packaged “bollo” (a sort of sweet cake) – between 6:00 and 6:45 a.m. only. This got us going early; by 7:20 a.m. we were on the road, a record for us, I think.
In Carrión, Caroline sent a package of things, including exposed film, to Paris. We picnicked in a shady park on the western outskirts of the town, across from the monumental Monastery of San Zoilo (now a 3-star hotel).
A flock of sheep have just passed by in front of this albergue. The dust, and the dry air make me think of the Anatolian plateau. Otherwise, the landscape doesn’t look particularly Turkish – not rugged enough, no hills with sharp edges, no mountains except far far in the distance to the north.
Wednesday, 11 June, 2003. Bercianos del Real Camino. [Day 48. In Spain, Day 15]
6 p.m. The albergue where we are staying is in an old building. One part has recently been modernized, with all facilities. The other part, far from the WC (therefore impractical for me with my middle-of-the-night visits to the bathroom) is a large room that gives a feeling of a large unimproved storeroom or attic, with beds added. We’ll sleep in the new section, on mats on the floor, in a room for four. At the moment, it's only us in the room. A communal dinner and breakfast are offered, and so is an informal prayer session after dinner. All this reminds us of the hostel in Tosantos. An older Spanish couple are the hospitaleros (the volunteers who run the center), and a priest has come by. This hostel was recommended by Rémy in Tosantos, overriding a negative review in our English camino guide (which hadn't yet heard about the renovation). The hospitalero in La Calzadilla of last night confirmed the recommendation. Indeed, it looks very nice.
It has been a hot day, so I’m drinking my bebida isotónica (isotonic drink) now, to ensure hydration. As we walked today, the landscape gradually became more desiccated, culminating in the approach to Sahagún, an important agricultural and market center in the Middle Ages. We had a coffee stop early on (after breakfast in La Calzadilla), then a picnic lunch in Sahagún, in the outdoor terrace, shaded by trees, of a bar. Hermi and Franz (from Vienna, who started in Pamplona) were there, too. We have in fact been walking at the same rhythm recently. Yesterday evening we had dinner together. Their English not so good – like my German – but we communicate nonetheless. Hermi today has some sort of stomach trouble, so they stayed behind in Sahagún to wait for pharmacies to reopen after the siesta.
Sahagún itself has a picturesque plaza and dramatic ruins of a famous Benedictine monastery. [Note: As an archaeologist, I must pay tribute to Bernardino de Sahagún (1499-1590), a monk who left this monastery for Mexico where he compiled an extraordinary encyclopedia of the cultures of the indigenous peoples.]
The walk west of town was pleasant, with poplar trees planted at regular intervals. We walked for a while with Marie-Paule and Chantal (from Metz and Annecy, respectively), whom we first met when we sought a shady picnic spot by a chapel outside Villatuerta. They were sitting by the church, picnicking in the shade. We lost them after Torres del Río, but they reappeared last night. Today they stopped earlier than this hostel in Bercianos, however.
Thursday, 12 June, 2003. Mansilla de las Mulas. [Day 49. In Spain, Day 16]
5:30 p.m. The albergue was full when we arrived. Indeed, by 1 p.m., we learned, it was essentially full. We stopped for a while in its attractive courtyard for water and for a cigarette (Caroline and Vincent), and to greet the French and German people met last evening, and Hermi (back in form) and Franz, the Austrians. Then off to find a hotel. We're now sharing a room with Vincent, a small room with three beds. The room costs €40, for three, whereas the albergue would have been only €3 per person. It seems extravagant but at least we have beds.
The walk today was largely through dry fields on a prepared path alongside the asphalt road. The countryside, especially the last 6 km to Mansilla, looks like the US West, like Colorado or California’s central valley. Flat, with distant hills. The temperature has been quite warm and it’s dry.
We held hands and stood quietly, thinking of someone in need that we could pray for. Two Frenchwomen sang “Psaume de la création” [note: a modern French religious favorite, written by Patrick Richard in 1984], followed by a brief song from some Germans. The sunset was gorgeous. Very, very moving.
This morning, Caroline and I were the last to appear for breakfast, at 7:15 a.m. The hosts, Nekane and her husband, José Mari, appeared, and we chatted some more. I took their picture.
In a week or two they will be serving as hospitaleros in Ribadiso, further along the Camino, so we may see them again.
Finally we left at 8:20 a.m..
My Spanish is OK for understanding – just OK. It's fine for reading, but inadequate for saying much. I have forgotten all the verb tenses, not to mention their countless irregular forms. But still, 37 years after having taken my last high school Spanish class, I’m happy to be able to get by.
Comments
Post a Comment