http://elinb.dk/english_diary.htm
The adventure began in the morning with Mary taking her Spanish AS Level exam. Peter collected her from college at 1pm, we lunched, loaded the car and set off for Marsworth to stay with Peter's brother, Ken, overnight.
Ken took us to Luton Airport at 5am and we caught an Easyjet flight to Madrid, arriving at around 10am local time. There was a delightful child sitting behind us in the plane, taking a keen interest in the views, "look at the colours of the fields; just like camouflage." As the plane was letting-down into Madrid, Mary suddenly said, "I know what I've forgotten - the Spanish dictionary." "There's confidence for you," said Peter. The Metro journey to the Continental Auto bus station was quite painless and we soon booked two seats on the 3pm coach. This meant we had some hours in hand. Since the forgotten dictionary was really for Peter's benefit, we bought one at the bus station bookshop, only to find some time later that it was a simple phrase book with only a meagre dictionary section. It proved useless. We went up to street level and immediately found a minimarket and stocked the larder. A suitable park in which to rest and eat proved more elusive, being several streets away at the Auditorium. The coach left spot on time, the first part of the journey being through fairly flat country until we reached the first major halt at Soria, where we had a welcome 15 minute break. Soon, we were climbing into the mountains on a hairpinned road. The descent from the summit was really spectacular, the road following the course of the Rio Iregua which had cut a canyon through the lime and sandstone rocks. We arrived in Logroño at 7pm and took a 10 minute walk to the refugio which was in an old quarter of the town. There was no problem booking two beds and we were pleased to see a couple of computers in the reception area, so we were able to e mail our family with news of our safe arrival at the starting point.
The dormitory was quiet and we slept well and arose at 6am, breakfasted and prepared our kit, especially the walking poles which had been folded and taped to the rucksacks for transit. It was already hot early in the day and we talked with a a Dutchman as we walked out of town. We needed an application of sun cream every couple of hours. At mid-day we rested at Navarette and ate lunch, but set off too soon ("mad dogs and Englishmen") so when, after an hour we reached Ventosa, we holed up in a shady bar until 3pm, dawdling over a Coke and ice cream. It proved to be a long haul into Najera, not helped by a "wrong slot"; the way-marks were hidden round the side of a flour mill but we carried on walking towards a distant town that we thought was our target. Luckily, a lorry pulled up and pointed us back in the correct direction. Shortly after rejoining the Camino, we found a poem written on a wall in German and Spanish, and luckily there were printed copies of it in the refugio at Najera. We eventually arrived after 6pm too tired to do much except wash and rest, the day's journey being a little over 30km. After eating, we strolled to a shop for milk. There were two thunderstorms before bedtime. During the evening a nearby youth club was playing Galician Celtic music. The young Spanish warden spent most of the evening treating pilgrims' feet. Mary had a recurrence of the inflammation of her legs which had curtailed last year's walk; so applied the Cortisone cream left over from the visit to the Doctor in Viana.
The morning was misty and dull after the overnight rain. We set off at 7.30. It was ideal for walking so we made good time to Azofra (5.5km). The mist began to clear around mid-day and it became fairly hot again. However, we arrived in Santo Domingo de la Calzada at 2pm. (21km) "Calzada" means causeway; Santo Domingo built a causeway across the Rio Oja and founded the town which bears his name. He lived to a ripe old age and was a really good chap. The first refugio we came to was a Cistercian Monastery, so we booked in there. It proved an oasis of calm (except for the magpies, doves and sundry other birds); certainly it was better than the main refugio. After freshening up, we went to the cathedral and museum where we saw, and heard, the legendary chickens. We then wandered around town and had the menu del dia at a small restaurant. A very peaceful night followed.
We left just after 7.30 and made good time to Grañon (6.5km), taking a direct route along a main road as there was little traffic. A bar in Grañon was open where a monster bacon and cheese bocadillo was obtained; half of it being stowed for later. The route then went via several small villages at 2 or 3 km intervals which eased the journey. There were plenty of fountains ("fuentes") and at least one Coke machine in a village without a bar. We normally carry around 3litres of water between us, and top up where possible at fuentes. The occasional Coke is good because of the sugar and the slight lift from the caffeine. Peter found the last stretch into Belorado very trying on the feet. The first refugio was full; it was a temporary building while the original in an old theatre was being refurbished. The warden walked us all the way to a new refugio where we found a wonderful, friendly, family welcome and were given coffee and cake on arrival. The new dormitory on the ground floor was full, but they offered us (cheaper) beds on the top floor in the roof space! It was comfortable. The lady warden said she would leave the key in the door of her flat, on the floor below, so that we could use her toilet in the night instead of having to go down six flights of stairs. The adjoining roof space was a chicken house, and we could hear comforting farmyard noises on the other side of the wall. We made an evening meal of the left- over bocadillo, and soup made from one of our vegetable stock cubes. There was a brief thunderstorm after which we walked around town and had a beer in Kai's bar. We returned to the refugio before the next downpour and wrote the diary and postcards. We slep well, in spite of the next-door cockerel misfiring at 2am. At 5.15, it came on full song, so we made a fairly early start.
We had a lean breakfast of coffee and crisps, expecting to find a bar in Tosantos. Sadly, it was closed, although we found a panaderia which had 'day old' bread that was better than nothing. There was no bar in Villambistia, so we rested on an ancient timber seat in the shade of a farmhouse, where we were joined by the two Swedish ladies. The next village, Espinosa, had a bar, so we had a Coke and ice cream. We arrived in Villafranca Montes de Oca ("Oca" = goose) at 1pm and bought ham sandwiches. The two Swedish ladies came into the bar and one of them asked if we could enquire, on their behalf, about a taxi to St Juan as the elder of the pair did not feel she could face the climb up into the mountains. She went off when the taxi arrived, leaving the younger lady to walk on alone. After she had left, we found her drinking mug on the bar floor; we took it in the hope of seeing her again. Fortunately, we met a pilgrim who was going on to St Juan that afternoon, so he took the mug. Mary went off to explore. The Confraternity guide book reported that the refugio was "best avoided unless stuck". Mary WAS stuck, with a lame husband. We had thought about staying at the bar, which was noisy, however Mary returned and said that the refugio was basic but not that bad, so we dropped anchor there. It was an old schoolhouse, certainly better than the one at Zubiri (last year) and it was to be a memorable episode. We had a lengthy conversation with Jan, a German from Cologne, who spoke excellent English and had friends in Faringdon in Oxfordshire. He told us he had seen a pilgrim with a donkey earlier. About 4pm we heard "he-haw" and there indeed was "el burro" complete with traditional panniers. After being unloaded and given a drink it was led over the road and tethered on a patch of grass. The animal's owner was a very flamboyant Frenchman called Juanito, who we thought must be in some branch of showbusiness. There was a good shop near the refugio so we stocked up with cherries, bread, beer and membrillos, also plasters from the farmacia. During the afternoon, the school hall was taken over by a party of village ladies who were having a craft meeting: painting, sewing, picture framing and the like. The evening was true Camino; noisy multi-lingual conversation, sharing of food and drink. Apart from Jan, we met Fernando, a Madrileño, a trio of Italian ladies and a Danish teacher named Elin who spoke fluent English, and we exchanged sore foot remedies. We didn't expect to get a good night's sleep due to the constant traffic of heavy lorries on the main road, but weariness and fresh air got the upper hand.
We did not leave until 8 am as we wanted to photograph No-No the donkey being kitted up for the journey. Actually, it was an ass as it had the cross markings on its back. The weather was cool and misty. There was a steady climb up through the woods, followed by a fairly level 12 km through the forest of the Montes de Oca, but nothing that need have worried the Swedish lady. I think she must have seen the height above sea level marked on her map and had forgotten that we were already quite high in Villafranca. At one point we found a message from Elin "Thank you Mary" scratched in to the sandy track (that was for the small breakfast of tea and cake we had shared with her).
On arrival at St Juan de Ortega, we found that the bar had no bread and, although the refugio was closed, the priest's sister was dispensing sellos (the stamp for our pilgrim passports) and selling tee-shirts and postcards. We went into the church (which was being extensively refurbished with EU funds); it is impressive but not too ornate, with some fine carvings on the pillars. At the equinoxes, light comes through a window and strikes the carved capital of one of the pillars. Juanito had arrived a little before us with No-No who was resting with an Italian lady's donkey in a field by the bar. We pressed on to Ages, arriving at 13.00 to find a widely advertised cafe "with Internet" was closed. There was a further 2.5km on road to Atapuerca, a village with prehistoric monoliths. There was no refugio listed in our book, so we were delighted to find a new one ("La Hutte") near the church. It was a beautifully restored building with 20 beds.
There we met Fernando and other pilgrims from the Villafranca party, so we joined up with Fernando and two Frenchmen and went down to the bar for lunch. The menu del dia was of a very high quality; the trout was delicious. The meal was served in an upstairs dining room and finished around 4pm; very civilised. Thunderstorms were gathering by now, although the main rainfall was in the hills we had passed through, and some of the late arrivals were decidedly soggy. It was becoming distinctly chilly, but the refugio had a lovely woodburning stove. As luck would have it, there was a Scotsman in the party who was stove salesman, and he took on the role of chief stoker. There was a pile of old pallets outside, so he smashed them up with a rock to feed the stove. Between downpours, we took a paseo to find a telephone to call Phil but got his answering machine. Yet another good sleep.
Breakfasted on soup and rice cakes, went out into the rain at 7.30, and climbed up a limestone ridge. As we topped the rise, the rain eased and Burgos came into view, still over 10km away across rolling cornfields. Walking was hard going, the limestone mud is first cousin to mortar so it builds up dead weight on the boots as you slither along. It's no good kicking it off because in two steps it's replaced. It can also be very slippery in laces and without the walking poles we would have fallen over more than once. There's a choice of three routes after the ridge, one of which goes through a couple of villages. We opted for the "straight on" middle route which eventually reached the village of Orbaneja which proved to be a little spot of heaven. The bar was open and we ordered hot drinks.
Fernando and others were already there tucking in to bollo con mantequilla y miel - chunks from a discus shaped loaf, spread thickly with butter and honey. We ordered some too and it was indescribably good. The outskirts of Burgos were horrendous. A long trek past the city rubbish dump, alongside the airport with dumper trucks pushing stinking rubbish about. It must be even worse in dry weather. There were major roads to negotiate and endless industrial buildings. We were tempted to take a bus but couldn't see one, so we slogged on. The waymarks also disappeared, so Mary repeatedly buttonholed old ladies and asked the way to the cathedral, finally asking a priest. Eventually, it came into view. In olden times the cathedral would have stood out for many miles, now it's obscured by city high-rises.
The cathedral is truly splendid, but difficult to photograph due to its vastness. There was a bronze statue of a medieval pilgrim "sitting" on a seat and we took photos, or so we thought. The camera had been given to Mary. It seemed to contain film as the numbers were showing in the little window. We had been happily taking pictures, but it was only later, when we had apparently gone past 36 shots, that we began to have serious doubts. On return home, a local photographic shop confirmed the absence of film. We have to be content with the pictures in our memories. The Burgos refugio was on the far edge of town in a park. It was almost full, but Fernando found Mary a lower bunk. Hans, like several others no doubt, had bussed in from Villafria. We ate a late lunch, braved the showers (cold!) and Mary did the laundry in a lavandero like a long cattle trough out in the grounds. Mary was determined to see the Museo de Monasterio de las Huelgas, as she had missed it the first time in 1997.
It was raining and we were tired and cold, but luckily it was only 5 minutes walk and well worth the effort. The Monastery was founded in the 12th century by King Alfonso XIII and Queen Leonora Plantagenet (sister of Richard Lionheart). It was to be the burial place of the royal family and a nunnery for royal ladies. There were many fine exhibits, tapestries, costumes and artefacts (many recovered from recent examination of the royal tombs). It was getting colder and we were ready for a good hot meal so we went to La Gloria next to the University Law Campus and tucked into the pilgrim supper. Peter's feet were now very much better. For the first few days he wore knee supports which almost certainly restricted the circulation to the feet causing swelling and considerable discomfort. Experiments without the supports were favourable, so they were discarded without complaint from the knees, and to the great benefit of the feet. Mary had had no recurrence of the leg inflammation thanks to the cooler weather.
It was very cold in the morning, just 6°C, and we could see our breath. The fleeces, which we had nearly sent back to England after the first couple of days, became indispensable. Burgos has the reputation of being the coldest place in Spain during the winter, with temperatures as low as -10°C. Yes, we can believe that. We had a brief breakfast of ricecakes, then off at 6.50am. We made good pace to Tardajos (8.6km), but none of the bars were open and several pilgrims were milling around in disappointment. Luckily, we found a small panaderia tucked around a corner, only day-old bread but better than nothing, and we supplemented breakfast with some honey biscuits.
The rain started again and we walked with an American couple, Lyn and Carl, to Rabé de las Calzadas where the refugio was open. The warden was dispensing hot coffee and lovely music was playing on the radio. Typical of the little oases on the Camino which lift your spirits during times of struggle. And struggle we did for another 8km in steady rain on the lime mortar, suffering from "diver's boot syndrome!" About 1km short of Hornillos del Camino, we reached the edge of the ridge to see a superb panorama. No camera, with or without film, could capture the sheer majesty of the scenery, so it has to be left imprinted on the mind. We arrived in the village before noon to find a bar about 200m beyond the refugio. We ordered drinks and Mary went back to the refugio to book in and claim two lower bunks. Then followed the customary lengthy lunch break. We bought a 1/2 litre of house wine in a plastic water bottle to have with our evening meal. Back to the refugio for a siesta.
Around 7pm, the sun came out and it warmed up a bit, so we went outside and whirled our wet socks around to the great amusement of the others. "Is this some kind of meditation?" they asked. "No, we are attempting to fly to the next refugio." The evening meal was a mixture of rice, tuna and "Cuppasoup", something that cooked quickly as there were others who needed to use the gas ring. We shared our Tiger Balm with a German girl who had tendonitis on her shins and not for the last time. It continued to plague her for several days until, finally, she had to return home from Carrion de los Condes.
7.30 take-off, but slow-going in the mud. We didn't arrive in Hontanos until after 11am (10.7km) and the American couple, who only had one walking pole between them, were left far behind. As we were making the final descent into Hontanos, we met another German lady who was crying with the pain of tendonitis. Out came the Tiger Balm which we applied to her ankles so that she could limp to the refugio. We went into ictorino's bar for a bocadillo, coffee and one orange, and we were charged €5, which we thought was a bit steep. We stayed on the Roman road from Hontanos as we had had quite enough mud. It was steady walking with little traffic. After about 4km, we came to the arch across the road which is almost all that remains of the Convent of St Anton. Here, they treated patients with an unusual type of leprosy during the middle ages.
We met a Frenchman there and he took a (non-existent) photo of us by the archway! Then, we continued on our way to Castrojeriz, which will have a special place in our Camino memories. The small Roman town is dominated by a hill topped with a castle. The town is long and narrow and wrapped around the base of the hill. The refugios are towards the far end of town and when we reached the first, older, refugio, it was closed, so we went in search of the newer one. It too was closed but due to open at 2pm, so we left our packs in the care of Carla and Kendra while we went in search of bread and other supplies.
Not far from the refugio we found a shop displaying a tobacconist sign so went in to buy stamps, only to find on closer inspection it was a hardware shop. Or was it? Next, we went to a food shop but they had no bread. Strolling back towards the refugio, we saw a boy with a couple of loaves in his haversack. "Where did you get them?" we asked. He indicated the hardware shop. Yes, there was bread. There were also walking boots. Mary said she would return when they reopened at 5pm to try on the boots after she had had time to wash her feet and put on clean socks. (The sole of one of her old boots had split and it hadn't proved possible to buy suitable replacements in England.) Back to the refugio for a wash and siesta.
The weather was still cool and overcast so, unfortunately, the smart, new, solar powered refugio had no hot water! Juanito and No-No arrived, the first time we had seen them since Burgos, and snooping in the register revealed that Juanito was not in show-business but a gendarme! He originated from near Avignon. We returned to the "magic" hardware shop at 5pm. Mary deliberated at length over the purchase of boots - not something to be done in haste. Peter, meanwhile, amused himself by making a list of the products on sale in this amazing emporium. What do you need? Toiletries, shavers, thermos flask, BOOTS, capes, flower pots, household cleaners, sunglasses, birthday cards, cigarettes, stamps, bread, batteries, film (HUH!), toys, tennis racquets, china, leather goods, electric blankets, hose pipes, (an amusing juxtaposition of Tampax and garden spades!), wheelbarrow, ironing board, boot polish, sink plunger, pens, cotton reels, axes, guide books, walking sticks, candles, fencing, postcards, (note that there is no full stop at this point, surely something will have been omitted). All this in an area of around two or three hundred square feet.
We had by now got quite chummy with the shopkeeper named Amancio Yagüez. The boots seemed to be OK, so we paid for them. Then, Amancio said, he hoped we would not find it too heavy to carry but would we accept a gift of a Camino tile? Indeed we would and, if it proved too heavy, something else would be ditched in its favour. The boots needed a full road-test, so we took a paseo to the cyber cafe and checked e-mail. We were getting used to the Spanish keyboards. The @ sign is ALT+2, among other distractions which slowed the typing speed, the going rate on-line being €1 for 12 minutes. Then we met the three New Zealand ladies - June, Ann Marie (daughter) and Robin (friend). They claimed to know a good eatery (La Oliva) and we were not disappointed. We liked Castrojeriz a lot.
Again slept well, in spite of some snorers and the attendant protesters. Left at 7.30; the rain had cleared leaving a crystal-clear morning. The first km was across a flat river valley with an ancient causeway. (Rio Odrilla). Then, the track started steeply upwards, again limestone, but less muddy than of late. About halfway up we saw large amounts of crystalline material embedded in the mud and glittering in the sunshine. We're not sure what it was, but it may have been a form of quartz. It was very windy as we reached the crest (alta). After about 1/2 km, the track descended again into undulating cornfields. We stopped briefly to snack at a picnic spot where the road joined the track for a short distance. Soon after we left the road, we came to the Ermita de San Nicolas. This is an isolated refugio, run by an Italian group, which we had not expected to be open until later in the month. However, it now opens on 1st June. We were welcomed with coffee and a tour of the tiny building which has no electricity. Just outstanding hospitality.
Resuming our journey, we crossed the Rio Pisuerga which is the border between the provinces of Burgos and Palencia. The track followed the river for a while, then turned off to the village of Itero de la Vega, where a small shop served to replenish the mobile larder. On the way out of the village we met an old Madrileño pushing a bicycle. He insisted we went to see his holiday home, which turned out to be a sort of lock-up garage absolutely plastered with postcards and magazine cuttings. Apparently, he spends every summer there. His pleasure in life was showing it to the passing pilgrims. He had albums of photographs and postcards from all over the world. We promised to send him a postcard from Exeter to help swell his collection then some others pilgrims arrived and we took the opportunity to make our farewells, otherwise we might have been there all day!
A steady climb up again to a col, when Boadilla del Camino came into view, albeit 4km away. It took at least another hour to get there, and we found a private refugio with a beautiful garden full of stone flower tubs. It was also a restaurant and, as lunch beckoned, it being 1pm, we stayed and ate ensalada and merluza (hake). The provisional plan had been to stop there for the night, but we felt well refreshed after the meal so decided to press on to Fromista, which was another 6km. Most of the journey was level alongside the León canal with its abundant frogs. There is one variety of frog which makes an extraordinary noise: aww, aww, aww, EE, EE, EE. The canal was crossed at the outskirts of Fromista over an old flight of locks (no gates remain, just a series of weirs). The information board made interesting reading; the canal was started in 1753 and finished in 1849 and was used mainly for the transport of grain (one barge carried 30 ox-cart-loads). The peak usage was 1860 to 1880, but then came the railways.
The main use today is for irrigation. We arrived in Fromista at 4pm and booked into the new refugio. All the normal dormitories were full, so we were the first to be diverted into an overspill area and we chose two beds in the far corner. There were no kitchen facilities at the refugio and we reckon the local bars and restaurants sponsored it to keep it that way. Next to the refugio there was a Museo del queso (cheese museum). That was a "must do", of course! Not that there was that much to see; it was mostly equipment for separating curds from whey and moulds for forming the cheeses, although there was also an exhibition of black and white photographs from Morocco. We took another non-photograph of the museum sign as Claire and her friend Nicolas are knowledgeable about cheese, but that's another story... Mary was fretting about the return bus from León to Madrid which we had not researched before we left England. Her state of mind was not helped by the man in the turismo office who had nothing listed, but surely there must be reasonable public transport between two major cities?
Next we went to the supermarket to stock up, followed by a phone call to book a double room at the Monasterio de Santa Clara where we planned to stay the next night. (One of the few refugios where you can pre-book.) Finally, we found the cyber cafe, checked e mail and the ALSA bus company web site, finding that there were buses about every two hours from León to Madrid. Panic over! We sat and talked with the two girls, one from USA, Kendra, the other from Puerto Rico, Carla. Kendra had been in the US Air force and knew Mildenhall and Lakenheath. Carla was reading for a PhD, on 9th and 10th century cathedrals, at Cornell University.
The overspill dormitory was good, and it must have been much quieter than the upstairs ones. We were about the last to leave the refugio; the hospitallero was grumpy, and the €2 breakfast wasn't very memorable: coffee, two little cakes and an orange juice, which we kept for later. The first 4km to Población del Camino was a good path alongside the road. We talked with Kendra and Carla. Then the track veered off, away from the road for 5km before rejoining the road at Villarmentero de Campos. There we found a small cabin bar where we bought a custard tart and drank the orange juice. The bar keeper had a smallholding which he was tending in between bar duty. It was here we met the Portuguese lad who was to do all the washing up for 24 people at Bercianos, but more of that later!
The track was alongside the main road for the next 10km, but we detoured into Villacazar de Sirga to visit the church. This was voted the best-kept village on the Camino in 1997. It was still windy and we became quite tired towards the end of the trek, although it was good to be under blue skies again with swallows swooping around us. We arrived at Carrion de los Condes at 1pm and found the Monasterio de Santa Clara just a short way into the town. We joined a small queue to book in and a rather officious young man told us to wait here, then there. All we wanted was to find our nice double room and dump our packs! A change of clothes, then out in search of food. The restaurant La Corte looked promising. It was packed with local people out to Sunday lunch. Mary had macarones, Peter the garlic mushrooms, as good as anything in a top restaurant anywhere in the world. A large, whole grilled trout followed, and we were now adept at doggie-bagging the left-over wine (in an empty water bottle) for the evening. Back at the refugio we had a (wonderfully hot) shower, took a siesta and then went for a paseo.
We investigated the bus situation for the following day as we had to miss out the section to Sahagun because we were running short of time to reach León. The bus stop was outside the bar in the square and the tickets were on sale inside. The bar had some bird cages hanging on the outside wall, containing finches and two with quails which emitted a shrill TWIT TWIT TWIT noise that could be heard from a considerable distance. One of the quails had a little pulpit sticking out of the front of its cage where it stood to sound off. As it TWITTED it bobbed its head up sharply. Luckily, the kind owner had lined the roof of the pulpit with foam to protect its head! Our evening meal was in the refugio and comprised bread, cheese, olives, and the leftover wine. Out in the square again, we phoned Claire and took several non-photographs of the numerous storks nesting on the pinnacles of the old buildings.
We left the refugio at the obligatory 8am after a quick breakfast, and went to the bus stop bar, although the bus was not due until noon. We sat around talking with Carla and Kendra, who were going on to León, and they looked after our packs while we walked around town calling in at the church of Santa Maria (which was where we first saw the strange electric "candles"!). As we returned to the square, Juanito and No-No were on their way through town and Gallic greetings ensued. The bus turned up about 1/2 hour late and we were on our way to Sahagun, arriving at 1.30pm, and a good job we made it that day, and not the next, because the fair was in town in readiness for running of the bulls on the morrow. We now had a gentle plod along a gravel track for 10km to Bercianos, a small village where many of the buildings were adobe.
The refugio was at the far end of the village and described by the Confraternity guide as "to be avoided". Could be a good sign, we thought, and we were not wrong, clearly one of the best-kept secrets of the Camino. It was the old parish house, in the process of renovation, and the welcome from the Basque hospitalleros was wonderful. They showed us the accommodation, which was a choice between refurbished rooms, each sleeping three on floor mattresses, or a larger dormitory, accessed via a somewhat rickety staircase. We chose the first option, especially as the toilets were on the same floor. The hospitalleros told us that they would serve the evening meal at 8pm.
Mary did the laundry, after which we went to the bar at the far end of the village. We found a small shop on the way, enabling us to stock up with cherries and other provisions, including a bottle of wine, our contribution to the evening meal. We helped the Portuguese lad to set the tables as the meal was delayed beyond the billed 8pm. There was some small kerfuffle going on over the road, and it transpired that we were waiting for the neighbouring farmer to return with his cows and unlock his wine cellar. Eventually, the hunting party returned with arms full of wine bottles and the meal for 25 got under way. And what a way! Firstly, there was farmhouse bean and vegetable stew with pieces of fat bacon. You could stand a small shovel up in it, let alone a spoon! There was also garlic and bread soup, plates of olives and pickled courgettes and enough French bread to build a shed. Large bowls of salad, and sliced tomatoes sprinkled with chopped garlic, then arrived.
Finally, there was just room for fruit. At the end of the meal we started to clear the table but were immediately called outside. We assembled on a grassy patch around the side of the refugio bathed in the setting sun. The hospitalleros talked to us about the real meaning of the Camino, firstly going alone and finding yourself, then finding companions and meeting the locals, and the importance of bonding with people. They said that further down the road we would come to Cruz de Ferro, one of the highest points on the Camino. There we would find a cross with an enormous cairn of stones. We were to take our own stone, hold it in our hand and imagine opening the stone and putting into it all the bad things from our lives. Then we should throw it onto the heap and walk on.
A party of women from the village joined us, and we formed a circle, holding hands and standing in quiet meditation for a while. Then we milled around, exchanging hugs and kisses. There was much talking and more hugging and we waited until the sun dipped below the horizon. The swallows swept over the small lake and around the village in tight formation. It was a very emotional experience, and one which we will remember as the highest point this year's pilgrimage. Then, back inside for a communal washing up party, the Portuguese lad dominating the wash bowl. Doubtless some of the ladies wished they could load him into their rucksacks and take him home! Without a doubt, Bercianos was as good as it gets!
Breakfast was provided; bread, jam and coffee. We were sorry to leave. On the way out of the village we passed the ruined church. The low hills around the village were peppered with bodegas, (underground storage caverns), presumably for all sorts of produce. Unfortunately, a bodega was extended too near the church causing the tower to collapse in 1998. Today was a long tiring trek along a featureless road and it was getting hotter. We arrived at El Burgo Ranero and de-packed at a fuente on the edge of town. Mary went looking for a bar, but Peter had pointed her in the wrong direction and she came back some time later, rather hot and bothered, after completely circumnavigating the village.
We snacked by the fuente then resumed on the correct route, past the bar and refugio, meeting up with Fernando again. The next 12.8km was on a fine, freshly etalled road. A former farm track, the bill-boards proclaimed proudly that it had been improved with EU funding. We saw about 5, maybe 6, cars all day. Probably someone had spent all day driving backwards and forwards over a counter and reported around 1700 vehicles per hour. That's the way to do it, folks! We could do with some of that lovely tarmac on the new A30 at home where the noisy (ridged) concrete surface is infuriating the local population. There was some relief along this road at the occasional picnic spots (obviously, they are trying to develop the traffic along this route).
Eventually, we got to Reliegos at 1.30pm and collapsed into the bar, but the restorative powers of a Coke and a chunk of tortilla were soon demonstrated. A man in the bar said that the next refugio at Mansilla de las Mulas was already full. That decided it for us; we were stopping in Reliagos for the night, even though it meant 25km on the morrow. The refugio was fine but already busy. We washed and rested, but the siesta was somewhat disturbed by a din from below which sounded like a children's play group with counting games and the like. Later, we found a school hall on the ground floor, where the play group meets. (This room becomes the overspill dormitory at night).
We went to the small shop and stocked up with cherries and milk. Why do we keep on about these cherries? Well, they're in season, delicious, good for you (refreshing, with instant energy fruit sugar) and ridiculously cheap, under €2 (about £1) per kilo. That compares with supermarket prices in the UK of about £8 per kilo. Nearly all food, in fact nearly everything, in Spain is less expensive than in the UK. The 4 hour luxury coach journeys were about £10; and the Madrid Metro €0.95 to go anywhere. We digress, back to food.
The Portuguese (washing up) lad, his Mallorcan friend Edith, (who had translated the talk about the Camino for Peter at Bercianos) and Ana, the little Brazileña with the brilliant smile, had asked us if we would like to join them for a meal of pasta, but we had already arranged with the two English couples to meet them for the menu del dia at the bar at 8pm. As it turned out, the Brits sat outside drinking gin and tonics until we had almost finished our meal so we could have eaten at the refugio with the others! (We had the usual cheap meal but, ohh, so good, and there are local variations.) After the meal, we walked around the church on the hill, surrounded by the tomb-like entrances of the many bodegas. It was like being in the Valley of the Kings.
Fairly good night's sleep, but awakened at 3am as some of the younger pilgrims got up to walk to León by starlight ("the milky way"), (much grousing from the non-participants). So this was it, the last day's walk for us, 25km. Would we make it without recourse to a bus? We moved off before 7am after an early breakfast. Ana gave us a carton of fruit juice and a big hug each before we left. She is about Claire's age, and mother of two children, but looks like a teenager. We followed the EU road to Mansilla de las Mulas, where we saw some walkers waiting for the 8.30 bus. (Get thee behind me, Satan!) The next 5km was walking on, or alongside, a busy main road, and we were glad to reach a large bar on the approach to Puente de Villarente for Coke and custard tart.
Mary was not looking forward to the next bit, for we had to cross the Rio Porma over a narrow bridge. She had been terrified in 1997 by the heavy lorries on this stretch, roaring past, only inches away. However, we were much relieved to find the safety had been improved by the addition of crash barriers between the pedestrians and the traffic. You could see how much more dangerous it had been in the past; and there were still ominous kinks in the crash barriers! It was getting hotter and there was little shade over the next 6km except in the small village of Arcahuega where a slight detour led us to a bar for a welcome short break. Then, followed a climb to the Alta del Portillo and back onto a busy main road.
By then we were extremely tired, but there was a road-side cherry stall for some instant energy. We were now within sight of León and it was not too long before we were crossing the Rio Torio and entering into the city. We had a choice of two refugios; one where Mary had stayed in 1997 which was a convent where they had been locked in at night with iron bars on the windows, and the other which was part of a Youth Hostel. We chose the latter, but had to ask the way two or three times as the waymarks were sparse. The refugio/Youth Hostel was enormous and we booked into a room with four double bunks. All the lower bunks were taken but a Spaniard from Barcelona, whom we had found grumpy at Carrion de los Condes, changed bunks, at his suggestion, so that Mary could have his lower one.
After a wash and change, it was again time to find fuel. We asked the hostel receptionist to suggest somewhere and she marked a couple of nearby bars on our map. The nearest one looked OK, so we settled in for the menu del dia. Much refreshed, we walked to the bus station to book our tickets to Madrid for the next day, choosing the 9.30am bus. Then we set off for some sightseeing. Nothing you have read or seen on TV prepares you for the wonder that is León Cathedral, unless, of course, you have previously been to Chartres, which is said to out-do León, but that is difficult to imagine. The stained glass is stupendous, the best in all Spain. The sheer scale of the building leaves you wondering how on earth it was built without the aid of cranes, scaffolding and the like.
We took more non-photos, but the camera was now seriously suspect and we switched to the disposable camera which had hitherto only been used for indoor shots because it had a flash. There was a bronze statue of Gaudi sitting on a bench facing one of his creations. Mary sat beside him and, fortunately, was captured by the working camera. We ambled back, very tired now as we had probably exceeded 30km that day with all the additional sightseeing.
There was no great rush in the morning. We just had to allow about 1/2 hour to walk to the bus station, so we left the refugio a little after 8am. The bus journey was not particularly memorable except to remind us just how vast is the meseta (the plain in Spain upon which it rains, mainly). The bus station was down on the south side of Madrid, so we enquired about the nearest Metro station to the Prado. The Metro was very crowded and Mary felt movement in her "riñonera" (bum-bag) and grabbed the wrist of the would-be thief, a gypsy girl, who muttered an apology and disappeared rapidly to the other end of the coach. Luckily, she had been dipping into the main pocket which only contained things like torch, plasters, matches and other worthless clutter. The purse was safely in another compartment.
Peter found one of his bum-bag zips partially undone, but the bottle of sunscreen and the precious Tiger Balm were still present. What a difference from the treatment we had been used to over the past fortnight. Up on the streets, it was very hot; one of the street thermometers actually showing 40°C. There were a number of bars around the Prado so we chose one which was only a little dearer than those we had been accustomed to in the North and the meal was good. Then on to the Prado. We tried playing the pensioner card, offering our passports as evidence. Peter was deemed too young and had to pay €3. Mary, who was expecting to pay at least half price, got in free.
The art collection was truly wonderful and, of course, three hours was insufficient to see everything, so we concentrated on the things we especially wanted see; the Velázquez room for Mary; The Three Graces by Rubens for Peter! We stayed until closing time at 7pm then returned to the, now much less crowded, Metro for the trip to the airport where we faced a very, very long walk (much of it thankfully on travelators) to the Easyjet desks. Clearly, the budget airlines don't get the prime spots in the terminals. The in-bound flight was late, so there was a 3/4 hour delay taking off, but some time was made up during the flight and we were less than 1/2 hour late getting into Luton. There was a small panic because there was no immediate sign of Ken but it turned out we had walked past one another in the crowd and the dark.
Nowadays, the only real danger is the traffic on the sections of the Camino under tarmac. We met some people on the Camino that we call the "Wish You Were Here's", that is, those who have seen a documentary about the Camino and thought, "oh good, here's a holiday with a difference". They travel the easy sections, sometimes lightly laden, while their back-up car carries the luggage, and stay in the better refugios for a bit of the atmosphere, but otherwise in hotels. They are thankfully absent from the likes of Villafranca Montes de Oca and Bercianos.
Recall our remarks about the kindness, generosity and hospitality of the people; the oases; the little spots of heaven. We have had some difficult times in our lives in recent years, but the Camino reminds us of what is really important in life and just how little you actually need: companionship, food and shelter. The greatest of these is the first-named; good companions pull you through the worst times, and laugh with you in the good. There are other bonuses like the stupendous scenery, the close contact with nature not possible when travelling by car, the soaring melody of the skylarks, the blaze of wild flowers, the butterflies and the strange noises from the frogs.The aches and the mud and the vagaries of the weather pale into insignificance faced with the good things. No "alternative holiday" for us, just rich experience.