Today the path started back up toward the mountains (goodbye my surprising Meseta with your lovely vistas and soulful villages).

  
  
 

 
 

 

When I arrived in Rabanal I was starving (and hot! the temperature has really spiked) so I stopped at a small tienda for snacks. 

The señora asked me where I would be staying for the night and I told her I was too hungry to make such important decisions at the moment. Actually I just shrugged.  (I’ve learned its best to decide these things with una cerveza y un bocadillo).

She probably saw me eyeing the hammock in her garden so she suggested the donativo albergue next door. There were a couple of inns nearby (maybe one of these have tubs?) and as I guzzled, I mean slowly sipped, my cerveza, I weighed the options of tub vs proximity.

Here’s the calculation I used to make my final decision:

Heat + dos cervezas = proximity

Correcto decision! The Albergue Gaucelmo is the best place I’ve stayed. Really! 

 

 
 

 

It’s run by the London-based Confraternity of St James and shares (very old) walls with the Benedictine Monastery. Although I don’t exactly know the meaning of the word “Confraternity” I love it nonetheless and have already used it at least three times today.

This Confraternity (four times!) knows how to run an albergue correctly. We had a proper English tea time in their gardens with homemade cakes and cookies. And visiting monks.

I’m very charmed by this sort of thing so when the young monk asked me to attend Vespers tonight of course I said yes (though I don’t really know what that is either). And again, correcto decision!

Latin prayers sung by German monks in an ancient, candle-lit church in Spain is a very charming thing. I’m glad I went. 

Signs on the Camino 

  

Just as I seldom look at the guidebook until I’m lost (and usually not even then) I’m not really one who goes looking for extra meanings around every corner. It’s not that I’m opposed to others’ conjectures and interpretations– I just prefer the subtleties of my own philosophies.  

(Ok, I make an exception for peregrino feet. It doesn’t take much imagination to see the analogy between foot problems and life problems — untended, they both usually get worse.)

  

So what do I make of the fact that I awoke yesterday with an acute case of laryngitis? I feel just fine but I couldn’t talk above a whisper. I guess it’s my own interesting version of the peregrino plague. What else could it be?

Who me? Talk less and listen more? 

No, it can’t be that. I’ll distract myself with some photos from today.

  

    

  
  

 

  

 

 

A nice easy walking day as the path climbed out of the city and back up onto the Meseta. 

Most of today’s route was through open country – scrub brush, range land and few towns. A really lovely isolated stretch of the Camino. Blooming lavender scented the air, the birds sang and I rejoiced that I was out walking again. Out walking in the WIDE OPEN SPACES!

 

 

  

  

  

One of the reasons people have gotten into trouble on the Camino is that they haven’t walked at their own pace.  It’s so easy to start rushing — to try and keep up with the people out in front or to stay on a guidebook schedule. 

  

And one of the hazards in walking with others is the tendency to keep walking when really the thing to do is stop and deal with the task at hand — the kink in the sock trying to start a blister, the empty water bottle needing a fill and the desire for silence when there’s chatter all around.

 

 

  

 

 

My preferred pace has always been a negative split. I love to take my time in the mornings to look around the towns, greet the resident perros and, of course, have uno más café con leche. 

By midday I’m ready to put my head down and just go. But my goal is always to arrive at my destination with enough energy to enjoy what ever else the day holds (usually laundry) and I try to resist the urge to let my adrenaline dictate how fast I go each day.

 

 

Besides, it’s been my observation on bike rides, on hikes, in classrooms and now, on the Camino, that the back of the pack has more fun.

As I thought about all this today a terrible thing happened. This got stuck in my head and wouldn’t leave–

🎶  Because you know I’m all about that pace, ’bout that pace, no trouble

I’m all about that pace, ’bout that pace, no trouble…🎶

I’m sorry but I had to share.

 

 

  

My unexpected day off in León was wonderful. I toured their impressive catedral, roamed the barrio gótico, and ran into Camino friends I hadn’t seen for days.

 And almost vanished, never to be heard of again.

 

  
  

My preference is to walk alone when I can and chat and socialize with my fellow peregrinos at café stops and in the evenings. I treasure this time by myself — to have time to think and time to marvel at my surroundings. It’s possibly the nicest thing I have ever done for myself (the bathtub last night being a close second).
With all this walking and fresh air my body feels strong and healthy. And I feel calm and happy. Actually, there is only one part of me that is taking a real beating on this trip. 

I’ve always had claustrophobic tendencies. I try not to think of myself as an actual “claustrophobic” as that sounds a little too neurotic. I like adding “tendencies” – it makes it seem almost trivial, just a little touch of the claustro here, nothing too serious, haha.

Well now I can see I’ve been in serious denial. 

  

As the trip has progressed I’ve developed a terror of getting locked into the bathroom of one these ancient cafes or bars. The doors stick, the walls are crumbling and the locks jam. Usually right when the timed lights go out (apparently the Spanish do everything more quickly). 

I’ve taken to just leaving the door unlocked. I much prefer a stranger walking in on me than getting stuck in one of these airtight vertical coffins. (Ok, that does sound a little neurotic doesn’t it?).

And today? After my tour of the catedral, I decided I would pay the extra euro and tour the cloister and its museum. A stern woman wearing a dark suit and carrying a big key ring started rapid firing Spanish at me. 

As I’m an agreeable sort,  I just kept nodding. Do I want to see old statues? Si!  Old paintings? Why yes. Treasures from the Middle Ages? Of course!

She led me down a long corridor, stopped at a low door and slowly unlocked it. Cool! A secret door – what a great tour! 

   
 

After saying something else in Spanish she let me in to the room and then hurried out. And then she locked me in.  AND THEN SHE LOCKED ME IN. 

Oh no! I realized what she actually had been saying to me was “do you understand that I will lock you in the windowless basement vault with no fire exits and that no one will hear you scream? And they will find your bones next year?”

I huddled by the door whimpering until miraculously a school tour group came out from another room and then I stumbled out after them into safety.

I need to learn Spanish.

 

 

  

I walked a long way today. A really long way. 

That hadn’t been my plan when I left the albergue in the morning. It seemed I was two reasonable days walk from the city of León and I figured I’d walk the better half of the distance and then find a hotel. That way I could get up early tomorrow and have enough time to explore the city a bit before heading onward.

Truthfully, my real goal for the day was to find a bathtub. After staying in the hostels for the past week it was all I could think about.

So far, I haven’t made any reservations for places to stay. And I haven’t had any problems. I just look around when I get into the town and pick a place. (“Oh no, that’s Señor Snore going into that albergue, I think I shall try the next.”)

So it came as a surprise when I got within quitting distance that there were no hotels. None. Well, no worries, I shall push on. And on. Where have the good people of León hidden their hotels? 

  
 

 

 

 

  
 

 
  
  

 
And so I continued onward until I found myself in the winding streets and alleys of  León’s barrio gótico. There must be a place here. Anything, even a mattress in the attic would be muy bueno.

And right then I heard my name called. It was my Canadian amigos who I haven’t seen in days. Yay!

 “Come stay at our hotel around the corner”!

And the señora said sí, una habitación and sí, con bañera. And I took one look at the charming room with its giant bathtub and decided that two nights in León was meant to be.

Somehow everything I wrote yesterday has vanished into the Internet haze. I try to write down a few thoughts from my day as soon as I’m showered and relaxing.  I knew that if I didn’t make this a daily practice one day would blend into the next and I wouldn’t remember anything.

How right I was! Good thing the iPhone photos have date stamps. 

Wi-fi has been spotty or nonexistent where I’ve stayed in the Meseta so I write my few thoughts down offline and try to upload later. (“try” being the operative word here.)

I love an excuse to say “wee-fee” so whenever I get a chance I always ask if it’s available. And they always say “sí, señora”.  Now I have to figure out how to ask In Spanish, “but does it actually work?”

 

 

      

   

 

   

  

 

 

The Camino towns where I’ve spent the past few nights have been so dissimilar I feel as if I’ve been visiting different countries.

Frómista seemed a sad place, and the faces of its residents were worried and downcast. No high-fives or “Buen Caminos” here. Maybe because it was Sunday and everything was closed or maybe it was the rain but its been the only town I’ve been happy to leave. (In fairness I need to add that I didn’t get to visit their Museo del Queso (any town with a cheese museum can’t be all bad.)

 

 

Carrión de los Condes, on the other hand, is a fascinating medevial town with smiling people and muy bueno restaurants. If I had more time in my schedule I would have liked to stay another day. But again, to be fair, I need to point out that I was sitting near the smiley parish Padre in the restaurant and everyone who went by stopped in to chat and high-five with him. (He had a nice face.)

Tonight I am staying in the small village of Terradillos de Los Templarios, population 80 (I’m sure they exaggerate.) All the structures are built of brick or adobe since there is no building stone anywhere near here. Even the church — it’s beautiful in its simplicity.

When I walked around the town this afternoon the only creatures stirring about were the giant storks nesting on top of the church. I’ve seen quite a few of these the past few days and it’s been fun watching them  awkwardly take off and land into their huge nests. I think that if Yogi were a bird he’d be one of these.

 

 
  
Much of today’s path was along the old paved Roman road known as the Via Aquitana. Warnings about lack of water and cautions about the sun were a moot point -/ lovely cool and breezy, a perfect day for hiking.

 

 

  

   

 

 

  

  
  

 

I listened to the steady rain as I lay in my bunk this morning (wishing Nelson could bring me a latte) and could think of no good reason to hurry out into the weather.  Not very pilgrim-like of me. Most mornings start very early and involve a sleepwalk into the next town for café con leche. Today is the day, I decided. Today I shall stay in this village until their cafe opens! 

 

 
 

 

It was mid-morning before I finally rolled out onto the trail, joining up with the only other remaining peregrinos — a group of Spaniards who departed the cafe in a haze of smoke and caffeine-fueled chatter. 

Like many others at this stage of the Camino, they had sent their backpacks on ahead to their next destination and were walking with only small day packs. 

Unless I get injured, I have no intention of parting with my backpack. Not out of any sense of false pride (just look those light and happy Spaniards, practically floating along the trail). 

No, my pack needs to stay with me because I have a thermal comfort zone which only varies about five degrees and I spend much of my day seeking that zone (hat on, hat off; gloves on, gloves off; mud flaps on, mud flaps off…). 

 
So I need my stuff. I didn’t bring too much and I use everything pretty much every day. Besides, I love the flexibility of deciding when I want to keep walking and when I want to stop for the night. Flexibility outweighs any pack.

More loveliness from the Meseta- who knew??

  
  

 

  

 

 

  

The Camino casualties are mounting. I no longer want to ask people how they’re doing because I’m afraid of their answers. So many people are having a hard time because of blisters or other even worse problemas.

My Nevada amigo has a bad case of shin splints. I don’t exactly know what those are but I’m highly suggestible, and as soon as he told me about it, my leg muscles started to spasm in sympathy.

And my young Danish friend? With the ice bags and handfuls of Tylenol? When I asked him what was wrong he told me very earnestly that his ligaments had broken off and were now down around his ankles. He was so pleased with this diagnosis that all I could do was nod in agreement and give him an orange.

This morning I left Castrojeriz with my Queensland amigo and walked slowly with him as he limped up the steep hill as the path rose back up onto the Meseta. He still presses forward in spite of a leg infection that landed him in the hospital in Longroño.

***I am in awe of my injured amigos’ determination to make it to Santiago. ***

When I asked the jovial Australian what motivated him to continue in spite of his obvious pain, he thought for a moment and then said “I want my wife to be proud of me”.

Now I don’t know his backstory but I do know I had to fish around in my pack for my hanky, (sniff sniff).

 

 

The Meseta continues to surprise me. Maybe it’s the time of year or maybe I’m just not far enough west yet but it’s truly beautiful — emerald green fields dotted with wild flowers and lovely little Camino villages.

  

 

   
  

  

  

  

 “Take care with the sun and carry plenty of water while traveling the lonely Meseta” the guidebook warns. I should like to add that the springtime peregrino should also be sure to bring their mudflaps, I mean rain pants, and of course, their trusty poles.

The rains stayed in the sky today but the after effects from yesterday’s storm lingered. The quicksand path became a shoe-sucking mess of wet clay and I battled to keep my trail runners on my feet.

Speaking of shoes, my Hoka trail runners are the envy of the Camino — ok, I mean the two young gear-head Californians. One of them confided that she’s taken to lining her hiking boots with maxi-pads in the hopes of cushioning her poor feet.

My shoes are lightweight, provide plenty of cushioning and today I had the added pleasure of wonderful sounds effects as I squished down the path toward the village of Hontanas in search of my morning café con leche.

  

 
  

 

 
   

The sound effects ended as the path joined the road into the village of Castrojeriz. This is wonderful cycling country, with good roads and little traffic.  

Castrojeriz supposedly has only 50 residents and I think they were all in the bar laughing and eating as I came into town. When I saw the beautiful tapas on display I decided I too should be laughing and eating and that it was now time to call it a day.
 

 

  

Staying tonight in a cool room in a Casa Rural. 20€

  
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