Camino Frances

Castrojeriz, Spain
We had dinner last night with a small group of American pilgrims for the first time in our 18 days on the Camino. Something seemed missing when there was only one language at the table. Afterward we attended vespers at the local convent. The nuns did a great job of welcoming and including the pilgrims, giving a message of inclusivity by observing that we all have red blood no matter our nationality or religious persuasion. Nuns have a reputation for not missing a trick, and those in Spain are no different. One of the pilgrims who straggled in fashionably late was called upon to read the benediction. He did a good job, but bet he'll not be late again. The short service ended with a pilgrim blessing, leaving us with a warm feeling. We left Rabe de las Calzadas at dawn, in anticipation of a long (27.6 km) day. We walked most of the morning with our French Camino friend Natalie whom we'd met on the way out of Burgos. Turns out she was a sailor too, having sailed an old wooden boat, gaff rigged with no engine or electricity, around the Iberian Peninsula many years ago as a newlywed. Listening to her adventures brought back fond memories. The rain from last night turned the clay path into mud with gigantic puddles, caking our shoes and making it feel like we were walking in cement overshoes. Our first coffee stop was Hornillos del Camino, a quaint little village of 58. While we sipped our drinks, a little old lady came in and said it was going to rain. Even though the weather forecast we had seen predicted sun and no rain for 2 days, I assured her that we were prepared. Then in typical American fashion I asked when it was going rain. She looked at me and said it would rain when Mother Nature wanted to, since she was a "bruja" (witch). By golly she was right, and we began to see squalls on the horizon. We hoped it would hold off long enough until we got to our destination. Walking on the meseta is a whole new experience. The meseta is a mostly flat plain with few trees for cover and serves as the breadbasket of Spain. Many pilgrims either take the train or rent a bike to avoid walking it. Heck, we live in Florida, sea level and flat. We are right at home with this terrain. We got this! The funny thing is that when you are on foot and thus moving slow, you notice many things that might otherwise go unnoticed. The lone stalk of wheat that escaped harvest, the colorful wildflowers growing by the side of the road, the piles of compost waiting to be spread in the fields, even the fat little mice who have gorged themselves on wheat all have a certain beauty. We had intended to stop off at Arroyo de San Bol, a little spring with reputed healing waters for a myriad of foot ailments along with a rustic albergue (as in no electricity, which equals no hot water), but it was just a tad too far from the main path to warrant the detour. By noon we'd made it to Hontanas and treated ourselves to a delicious lunch of empanadas, small meat pies and a welcome change of pace from the standard ham and cheese sandwich. On we charged, trying to stay ahead of the rain clouds. When the wind whips up, it really blows here, and it was on the nose most of the afternoon. We broke out the ponchos a couple of kilometers outside of Castrojeriz, but fortunately by then we were walking on the road and not mired in mud. We finally arrived at our lodging about 3 pm, and hot showers took precedence over arrival beverages for a change.Läs mer