Camino Crankiness

Hiking across the “meseta” today, which is Spanish for Kansas – flat as far as eye can see. But looks can be deceiving. In Navarre and La Rioja, towns were built on hilltops for defensive reasons (lot of good it did them – most of them were conquered and reconquered every generation or so for hundreds of years). In Castilla y Leon, with no hilltops worth the name, towns tended to be tucked down in the little folds of the plain, where water was more likely and there was shelter from the relentless winds.
So today we walked ten kilometers from Hornillas with nothing but the path in sight. But when we’d just about given up on reaching Hontanas (“Are you sure you saw a yellow arrow this way at that fork five kilometers ago?”), we crested an imperceptible rise and there, down a winding hill, was Hontanas. Unfortunately – speaking of restaurante roulette – the town power supply was out. So my morning café cortado was tepid, and there were no lights in the baño (I could have turned a nice profit renting out my flashlight).










A few hundred yards out of Hontanas, a tree lined road turned off to the left headed straight for Castrojeriz, our destination for the day. Crankily, as is its wont, the Camino path forked off a few degrees to the right of the road, allowing dutiful pilgrims to walk a hundred yards away from the shaded road on a barren, sunny path along the hillside. Comparing the two choices (pictured), I could not believe that a true medieval pilgrim would have chosen the rocky hillside over the flat path (now road) through the trees. So I walked the road. Of course, various pilgrims accused me of departing from the Camino, surrendering my possible entitlement at the end of the pilgrimage to the “EFI” award (first word “every,” third word “inch”). But I feel secure in Mi Camino.

Restaurante Roulette & Jose Maria's Crane

Finding food and drink on the Camino is always risky between the larger towns. Most bar-restaurantes are a room at the end of the house to which an espresso machine, a beer cooler and maybe a bar plus a table or two have been added. Fine when they’re there, but there’s no reliable way to predict what will be there in the smaller towns, and less basis to predict if they’ll be open. Asking people in a larger town whether it will be possible to get coffee or lunch in a given small town along the day’s way results in a shrug of the shoulders.
Today, headed from Burgos to Hornillos del Camino, we were told there would be two bars in Tardajos, but probably nothing in Rabé de Las Calzadas (loosely "marshy-area on the pathway,” after an earlier, wetter age of the Camino). But it was a bright, briskly cool sunny day, so we turned up our noses at the two bars in Tardajos, because they had no outside tables. We had seen a sign promising a bar in Rabé a half kilometer back, and while advertisements are unreliable to say the least as to what’s there (and open), I rationalized that “the chalk on that sign seemed pretty fresh.” Plus, we wanted to push on a bit to shorten the after-lunch walk.
So on we went, with thoughts of a lunchless day (not an uncommon occurrence when playing restaurante roulette). Imagine our joy when we turned the corner into the main plaza and there it was, a bar with tables outside and even a few umbrellas. Doubly so when the bartender greeted our hesitant inquiries whether a tortilla (loosely, scrambled eggs with potatoes or whatever) and, say, tomatoes might be possible with a broad smile, and a promise that there would be a fresh tortilla in five minutes.

Off he went up the street, outsourcing the tortilla. Because he had given each of us a charm-bracelet size medal of Mary, our Japanese peregrine took out her stack of origami paper to make him a crane in return. Someone else asked for a lesson, so they bent to the task of folding (first picture). Not too surprisingly, one crane looked as though it could fly; the other looked like it had crashed, but still cranelike.
Jose Maria was very enthusiastic about his crane (second picture). After bringing us another plate of snacks, he motored off in his late model Volvo. Bar-restaurantes in small Camino towns also seem to be a good business model. But we were delighted with our lunch – delighted enough to barely notice the dusty miles through the fields to Hornillas.

The Joys of Sunrise

The Camino can pass from the sublime to something considerably less in a moment. We spent most of yesterday climbing through a splendid forest of oak and pine before finishing the day at the Monastery of San Juan de Ortega (San Juan “of the nettles,” don’t ask me why), with its imposing Romanesque façade and later bell tower. A few minutes later we were checking into a Motel 3 several kilometers away (real name omitted to protect the guilty). No internet, no air conditioning on a hot day (or more precisely, A/C turned off), and floors that had not been swept since brooms were invented. Nothing else in the area. But then this roadside disaster turned out a fine dinner – garlic soup and grilled beefsteak to be proud of. So redemption is always just around the corner.
Started early this morning, to get to Burgos (“the jewel of the Camino”) as early as possible. Haven’t been out walking for so many sunrises in many a year. The first picture shows the sunrise shadows walking into Atapuerca (on a paved road, a rarity for the Camino, but empty of cars). Atapuerca is riding its lately found fame as the site of the world’s oldest humanoid remains (800,000 years!), but the archeological station was not open at sunrise. That is one trouble with passing through places at random times. The second picture is a sheep lot leaving Atapuerca. Good sunrise light, still. But notable mostly for the sheepdog not quite in the picture. A very large, deep-throated sheepdog, who objected mightily to my reaching over the seven-foot wire fence at the left of the picture to take a picture without (much of) the fence. If it had been a five-foot fence he could probably have gotten his teeth around my hand, but luckily the combination of a tall fence and a large, heavy dog allowed me to take my picture with (nervous) impunity.Reached Burgos at lunch time, after 12 miles of wonderful country walking and 6 miles of slogging through barren industrial suburbs laced by crowded highways. The old problem of trying to superimpose a medieval pathway on a modern city again. But central Burgos is still a haven. A cathedral surrounded by other churches notable in their own right. In an hour or so, I’m off for a 90-minute tour of the cathedral, which will teach me more than I need to know about the 15 chapels circling the nave.