Did I wonder aloud yesterday about my fear of boredom on the Meseta?? Oh no, I’m sure I didn’t. Because that might have been what brought on all today’s excitement. No, it must have been someone else.
 

 

It was raining softly when I left Bugos this morning (adiós my beautiful, scary catedral). The city looked romantic in the mist and I marveled at the play of light on the buildings and streets.

  
  
The path continued out into the countryside, the rains increased and I had occasion to learn a new equation:

Springtime rains + Camino dirt path = Camino quicksand.
  

It is true. My hiking poles, formerly “sticks of death”, have redeemed themselves. Indeed I’m not sure I could have pulled my feet out of the muck were it not for my ever-valiant, trustworthy poles. I shall never utter a bad word about them again.

 
 

 
 

 

 

 
 

One of the unexpected pleasures of knowing so little Spanish (except for restaurant items – me gusta comer!) is that I often see signs warning me of dangers – but of what I am unsure. I keep myself endlessly entertained as I speculate as to what I should be watching for or what might jump out at me.

  

 

Staying tonight at a small albergue and the señora is fixing paella for the peregrinos.  9€ for bunk, 8€ for dinner (which always includes wine – I still get very excited by this). 

  

I’m so glad I lingered! 

After a leisurely tour of the espléndido Burgos Catedral (constructed from the 13th – 18th centuries although most of the building was done in the first 22 years), I climbed to the 9th century castillo, and then explored more of the old city.

Now I’m nice and rested and ready to tackle the next stage of the Camino — the daunting and mysterious Meseta, the high plateau that will make up the next third of the journey.

My comfort zone is in the mountains and I welcome their ups and down. But the Meseta, the endless plains of wheat fields and dirt? I must admit I’m a little worried. I can handle anything but boredom.

A few photos from my non-boring turista day:

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The little village of Agés is now my favorite of the Camino villages so far. No one here seems to speak any English but they still managed to tease and have fun with the peregrinos. And the food — ah, muy bueno!

After dinner I tried to be sensible and order a piece of fruit for dessert but Señor rolled his eyes, shook his head and then brought me slice of homemade tarta de manzana instead. ¡Excelente!

Today’s trek took me from Agés and the tranquil countryside to the hectic city of Burgos, the capital of Burgos province and the historic capitol of Castile.  The last 10km into the city center were along a busy stretch of road that reminded me of parts of the old highway 99. Definitely headphone time. 

  

I’ve been on the fence as to whether I should take an extra day here in this historic city — to sightsee, to rest and to stay ahead of the plague. A rest day seems sensible but I’m feeling good and hate to lose momentum by stopping. 

It was all decided in the flash of an open shutter – once I looked out my hotel window and saw my view I ran back down and booked a second night. Yay!  

  

 

Hotel Meson del Cid (not 5€)

  

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Apparently I look a little worse than I thought. In addition to the black eye, the wind and rain  from yesterday’s storm chapped my nose and face to a lovely Rioja red.  Great.

 At this rate I’ll be entering Santiago with a bag over my head.

When  I checked into the inn last night, the Señor (who spoke no English) looked at me with a concerned, questioning face. I was too tired to do anything other than pantomime the truth and showed him my hiking poles.

He tried not to laugh and then went over to the bar and poured me a tall draft beer…on la casa. 

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Another lovely walking day. I’m still in the agricultura area –  fields of wheat and peas instead of vineyards. And extra fun today was spying some stealthy truffle (?) hunters with their dogs, trowels and baskets. 

  

  

The path wound up and over the pine and oak laden Montes de Oca (though “mountains” is stretching it). Heading west, ash and juniper lined the path downhill until it was time for for a cerveza break in San Juan Ortega ( St John of the Nettle — why all this itching on the Camino?).

  

  

I had planned to stay at the monastery in San Juan but as I walked into the village someone with a bugle started playing a mournful “taps”.  It gave me the serious willies so after my beer I kept on walking. 

  

Staying tonight in Agés, a very small funky village. And based on the villagers I met, ( ok I met only two of them) they are a smiling, happy lot. And I had the best lentil soup ever. A total win of a day.

Bed is at the albergue San Rafael – 5€ for a mattress in the attic, showers, wifi.  (It’s actually a lot nicer than it sounds.

   

 

I said a too-soon adiós to La Rioja (my people!) as the path took me into the Burgos province of Castilla y León, the largest autonomous region in Spain.  

  

  

In honor of my lovely husband and my KPG amigos, I stopped for my café con leche this morning in the lovely village of Santo Domingo de la Calzada, the Spanish patron saint of civil engineers. 

And just an aside to the KPG designers, how about incorporating a medieval stone arch into your next gateway project? Could be a fun new look for the Seattle suburbs.

The toll on peregrino feet continues to mount.  In my haste to race the weather today I neglected to pay attention to mine and am paying the price tonight. Lots of people are in bad shape and some are wondering how much longer they can continue.

My German amigo, the self-described “Black Forest Barbarian” is one of the casualties. I hope he makes it.

My Uruguayan amigo has the right idea. He stops under olive trees to read his book whenever he can and wonders why everyone else is rushing so. 

And my rainy song this afternoon? Gregory Alan Isakov – The Stable Song 

🎶  Remember when our songs were just like prayers.. 🎶 

So beautiful, this time I set repeat on purpose. 

Lots of peregrinos are sick and last night Señora Plague had the lower bunk. I’m going to try to sequester myself and stay in inns if I can the next few days. 

Tonight at the Jacobeo Inn. Not much of a room but plague free.

For ten days I have successfully dodged the weather. Last night, as the clouds rolled in and the wind picked up, I knew it was time to pay the piper. 

As I started to feel a little anxious about today’s long walk in the wind and the rain I suddenly remembered my superpower- I am a Seattleite! (And I remembered to pack my waterproof skin.)  I can do this!

Between rain squalls I managed to see more of this beautiful country. I have now decided that if Nelson is a Catalunyan, I am a Riojan. Wonderful wineries, friendly locals and no more angry graffiti. 

 

 

  

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 In the afternoon the winds picked up and the rains poured down just in time for a long uphill climb. So I tucked my poles under my arms, leaned into the wind and decided it was time to break out the headphones and play some inspirational music. 

But what to play? Ah, this is perfect – 

🎶 … Roland the headless Tompson gunner / Norways bravest son / They can still see his headless body / stalking through the night / in the muzzle flash / of Roland’s Thompson gun / in the muzzle flash of Roland’s Thompson gun…🎶

I somehow hit repeat and listened to this at least fifty times. Sorry but I needed to share.

And I have lots of extra time because I checked into this albergue early. The señora is fixing a group meal for us tonight which makes me super happy. 10€ for room, 9€ for dinner and wine

My preference in the mornings is to leave the albergue by myself and stumble around sleepily –I mean, walk in solitary mindful meditation. 

So it should have come as no surprise when somehow I whacked myself in the face with my hiking pole (I can’t believe I am admitting this). It didn’t really hurt but I now have a growing bruise under my eye. 

Oh great. Looks like I’ll be walking to Santiago with a black eye. So while I still feel good, I look a little alarming. People are asking me if I fell on my face or hit my head on a bunk.

 No. No, I say…it was the Basques.

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I’ve decided that instead of taking full rest days off along the way (barring illness or injury), I would take a shorter, more leisurely walk once a week or so. Today was my first “easy” day. I loved not feeling rushed and had time to poke my head into every church and cemetery and read all the signs. And had time of course to say ¡hola! to all the perros.

When I arrived in the small village of Ventosa, I followed a little perro up the road. This is where he lead:

A hotel! And not just any hotel but a beautiful old house with gardens, a sunny sitting room and elaborately furnished dining room.

I ditched the college kids and checked in. I may stay here a week.

Cost: 40 € includes breakfast and wine on the terrace

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I crossed into a new province — the great wine producing region of La Rioja. Vineyards now outnumber the canola fields and olive trees line much of the path. I have always wanted to see this region of Spain.

  

  

According to my guidebook, in La Rioja, “you will meet a friendly people who have been welcoming pilgrims since medieval times.” Sounds good to me. I should like to be welcomed by these fine, friendly folks. ¡Estoy aquí!

Advertisements for albergues and pilgrim-related services have started cropping up. Small stands selling fruit, trinkets, and cold drinks dot the path occasionally where it crosses roadways.

Some peregrinos complain about the “commercialization” of the Camino. But I don’t mind.

I am acutely aware that although I am walking an ancient path, that path lies smack in the middle of modern day Spain, with an unemployment rate of over 20% in some areas.

So I try to buy a piece of fruit or a fresh squeezed jugó de naranja whenever i can. Besides, I have no doubt that the medevial merchants advertised their services as well — “First-rate peregrino cloak mending!” 

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Just as I was getting a bit discouraged by all the Basque Separatist graffiti and signs “¡España es una ruina!” I came around the corner and found this guy

Staying tonight in Longroño. I walked for a bit today with a priest from England who told me that his order refers to the town as “Long Groan Oh” due to its distance from Los Arcos (29km). I have to agree.

But I did get to see these en route

 

  

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The hostels are beginning to look like civil war infirmaries: limbs strewn about, rolls of gauze everywhere and a low, continual moan. I’m shocked at how badly so many people are faring.

Me? I feel good! Other than a couple of tender pinky toes, all is well. To what do I owe this good fortune? Middle-age sensibilities? 

Perhaps — I paced myself over the Pyreenes, drank plenty of water and have been eating well. But more likely it’s my lucky (laminated) rabbit foot (thanks Jane)  and prayers to St Servatus, patron saint of feet (thanks Joan).

I have no intention of becoming cocky however. [knocks on wood, lights candle]

   

Speaking of hostels, somehow I’ve gotten to this point in life without having ever stayed in one. Maybe I had a deprived young adulthood? 

Patrick told me I’d meet the best people ever and the worst people ever in the hostels. So far nearly everyone falls into the best category. Except Señor Italy, who was clacking on his phone at 5:30am with keyboard clicks TURNED ON! A pox on him!

I’ve enjoyed staying in the albergues so far. No fuss, few decisions (top bunk or bottom bunk?), and certainly a good deal. However I am not ruling out a private room should the urge (or opportunity) strike. 

The irony of last night’s stay at the  donativo was that I had the best nights sleep so far. There were a lot of young guys as predicted but the great thing was none of them snored! It’s also possible that I simply crashed from tiredness. (And I’m not going to discuss the Rioja wine factor).

And today’s walk. I need to break out a thesaurus for some new superlatives. How about a few iPhone photos instead…  

  

   

   

  

I was sitting out in the Los Arcos village square with my Canadian amigos (lovely sisters from BC and a couple from Ontario), drinking wine and relaxing when this guy appeared with his guitar and began singing and playing the most wonderful music.  

Staying tonight at the Casa de la Abuela albergue. Small, private. 13 € includes breakfast, lockers. laundry service is another euro. laundry service, ahhhh.

  

I took a right as I left the albergue this morning (once again in the dark).  I’d cleverly asked directions back to the Camino last night. “Take a right at the church.”

But somehow I’d neglected to notice last night that there were three churches within a couple of blocks. Which was mine?

 As I wandered in circles looking for the path I heard footsteps coming up behind me and then heard a man saying something urgent in Spanish. Oh dear. I grabbed my hiking poles tighter and turned around to look.

A man was holding out something dark to me.  As my eyes adjusted I could make out… my glove! which I’d managed drop while I circled. He then softly wished me a Buen Camino and went on his way. [insert slice of humble pie here.]

Now that I am well out of the Pyrenees I keep expecting the scenery to diminish. Happily not so!

 

 

   

 

  

My Lonely Planet phrase book lacks anything really useful. I wish I had known to have Jennifer, Julio or Nicole prepare some translations that would have come in handy today.

For instance, “señor, he is indeed a beautiful rooster, but he is blocking my path and scaring me.”

  

Or,  “señora, your village church bells are the loudest I have heard yet, how lucky I was to have heard them all night.”

  

My Spanish is improving however, and I was able to understand Señor Caballo when he said happy birthday Mason!!

  

I am staying tonight at my first donativo hostel. (No cost, just donation). I have been warned about these — bedbugs! stinky young men!  We shall see.

 Albergue Parroquial San Miguel Archangel