Astorga

Day 23 (Thursday 30 May) 264 kilometres to Santiago. I'll be a tourist today and just take a few pictures. That and check around all the albergues to see if I can locate the owner of the walking sticks that I found yesterday in Mazarife. The weather is sunny and clear. I wore long pants on the trail the day before for the first time, just because of the wind. It's back to my beach bum look today.

Astorga is a delightful little city. I can see why it was one of Mark's favourites last year. After a huge breakfast in the hotel, I stroll around for a couple of hours in the morning, after a great night's sleep. I take what I am sure are the usual pictures. I also recce my route out of town for tomorrow, which proves wise, as it is not well marked.

This is a lazy day. Tomorrow I'll start a run of 11 days (10 nights) to reach Santiago de Compestela on Monday the 10th of June. In the interim, my athletes' foot is contained and I feel that I can do the same with my heel pain (plantar's fasciitis), so long as I stretch my calf muscles on a regular basis. It's not rocket science, but it does require some diligence. Quality is mainly about sweating the details.

 

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Vilar de Mazarife - Astorga

Day 22 (Wednesday 29 May) 295 kilometres to Santiago. The dining room at the albergue was almost full when I entered with Dutch Herrman and Joyce at 18:45. They had to sit at one table and me at another. A young Spanish girl was across from me, but she had only the one language. Gesturing, she made it clear that her feet were in bad shape. She finished only the salad course before excusing herself. At that point, the Spanish couple sitting with Herrman and Joyce, on their own initiative, moved over to my table for two, so that I could dine with my Dutch friends. In appreciation, we hosted them to a glass of wine after dinner.

During dinner, Herrman recounted how they had come across an American lady who had slipped and injured her ankle during the steep, slippery descent from the Pyrenees into Roncesvalles on Day 1. She had heard a snap during the fall and there was concern that the ankle might be broken. Herrman took her pack on his front so that she wouldn't have to bear the weight. The pack came up so high that he couldn't see his feet, so Joyce had to guide him down the trail, with the US lady hobbling along after. There were no medical care facilities in Roncesvalles, so she took a taxi to Pamplona for x-rays and treatment. The ankle was indeed broken - her Camino was over. Herrman said that the story had been passed by word of mouth so often that he feared the latest version would have him carrying the woman for 2 hours in a blinding snow storm. Nonetheless, it shows what kind of people this Dutch couple really are. I hope that I get to see them again.

Packing up in the morning, I notice that one of my dorm mates has forgotten his walking sticks. He is French speaking, but I can't remember his name. I have encountered him several times in the past, so I strap his sticks to my pack and hope to see him again. He has about a 40 minute head start on me, so that may not happen this day.

I'm finally away for Asorga at about 06:40. It's going to be a long day; I have 31 kilometres to travel. The temperature is in the high single digits, but the air is in motion today - strong and gusting from the northwest. I put on my rain jacket to serve as a windbreaker. I spend almost the entire day alone, walking through countryside that is flat at first, then gently rolling. I have food supplies with me, including 2 apples. I eventually stop for a coffee and stuffed croissant about 15 kilometres away in Santibanez de Valdeiglesia. I meet Karen from Vancouver there and we walk a short way together leaving the village. There is no common spirit though (she hated the Meseta and I loved it), so I'm sure we're both content when she rings her engine room for an extra 2 knots and moves on ahead.

Who was it that first coined the phrase: amber waves of grain? Perhaps W. O. Mitchell? In any case, the grain fields alongside the trail are certainly echoing these words in every aspect but colour. It's going to be some weeks yet before they turn from green to amber.

I finally raise Asorga on the near horizon by about 13:30, but it takes me until 15:00 to find the hotel where I've reserved a room for 2 nights. My pace has been slowed by the wind (I sometimes had to lean into it) and a recurrence of my heel pain. I'm not stretching enough, so will need to focus more on that. I do not see my quarry, so am unable, yet, to return his walking sticks.

 

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Leon to Mazarife

Day 21 (Tuesday 28 May) 317 kilometres to Santiago. I wake to the sound of my escalating church bells alarm at 06:00 and am out the door 40 minutes later. The sky is mostly clear and the temperature is about 7 Celsius. For the first time, however, there is a moderate wind blowing from the north that persists all day. As I head west across the rio Bernesga I notice that 2 or 3 people have dossed down for the night in the small anteroom of a bank, where a 24-hour ATM is located. They must really be on a budget.

Given the size of the city, it takes me about an hour and 40 minutes on hard pavement to clear the last of the residential and industrial suburbs. It's like walking into Burgos in reverse. There are alternative destinations available today - Villar de Mazarife and Villadangos del Paramo, both about 22 kilometres away. I want the former, but it takes some careful looking to spot the turn off from the route that most other pilgrims seem to be following. I make what I think is the correct hard turn to the left and am rewarded shortly thereafter with a Camino trail marker. When you're not absolutely sure of your decision, these markers are a small relief. Good friend Kenn Moody has a natural sense of direction, so he would be much better at this than I am. In any case, I'm muddling through. I stop for coffee and croissant (breakfast) at Fresno del Camino, about 10 kilometres from Leon.

I'm soon into some gently rolling hills, but there are some flat parts too. The Meseta is not giving up easily. A while later I overtake Dutch Herrman and Joyce, from Utrecht. I haven't seen them for several days, and we walk pleasantly together towards Mazarife. They tell me about running into an older French gentleman in a straw hat who appears to be walking the Camino backwards. They have no common language. The only clue is the Frenchman pointing east and saying something like "my wife". This happens again the next day and the day after. Finally they involve another pilgrim in the conversation who speaks French and Dutch. It turns out that the man is driving his car ahead a certain distance and then walking back along the trail to find his wife, who can't manage walking long distances without support. He then leads her to the car and they repeat the performance, with stops at cafes and albergues within driving distance, as required. It takes all kinds.

When we reach the village of Chozas de Abajo, about an hour from our destination, we divert to a nearby bar for coffee. Herrman buys the drinks while I help Joyce with a blister problem. We expect to reach Mazarife before noon, so we don't rush our break. We briefly consider going further, but the next albergue is 14 kilometres on, so that won't wash.

We check into a nice private albergue, Tio Pepe, at about 12:00. After a shower and some hand laundry, I find Herrman and Joyce on the back patio. I buy a Spanish omelette for my lunch, and a bottle of wine. We share the latter and enjoy some time in the sun. Herrman goes to a local supermercado to buy some groceries. Joyce is taken with the name of the place - M. Jesus. She says to her husband: "It must be a very religious shop". "I don't think so" says Herrman, "they sell booze."

I walk off the wine taking pictures around the village and buying some croissant for tomorrow at a local bakery.

 

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Leon

Day 20 (Monday 27 May) 318 kilometres to Santiago. Today is a rest day and I revert to being a tourist in Leon. My intent is to therefore keep this particular blog posting very short and provide mainly a few pictures. The Camino is a unique experience, but being a tourist and a semi-convalescent in Leon is not.

When I went out for supper last night there was a light rain falling. A perfect time for it, even if it did break a cycle of several days of sunshine.

I'm a tourist for about 3 hours in the old city of Leon and take all the usual pictures. The weather is once again ideal. The hotel had provided me with a tourist plan of the town, but the scale was too small to be of any use to my eyes. I was therefore looking for a better one when I noticed the local tourist information office, right across from the cathedral. Imagine that.

With my improved map at hand, I explore the Roman walls (apparently the Seventh Legion was garrisoned here) and some of the other historic buildings, but only from the outside. While on my walkabout near the cathedral I encounter Deutschland Irmhild. We sat at the same dinner table at the end of Day 1 back in Roncesvalles. This is the very nature of the Camino. I'm reminded of a saying that was on the kitchen wall of a neighbour many years ago: Make new friends but keep the old; these are silver those are gold.

Walking down one of the main streets amongst all the shoppers and stores is quite a contrast to walking the Camino. I treat myself to a large ice cream (Diane keeps asking about it) before retreating to my hotel for some "feet up" time.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Mansilla to Leon

Day 19 (Sunday 26 May) 336 kilometres to Santiago. An uneventful afternoon and evening in Mansilla. I dined with an American father and son, Chuck and Zack, from Minnesota, and an Australian lady from Melbourne whose name I've forgotten. I was asleep by 21:30 (practising for the old age home). In the morning I deliberately slowed down as I had a hotel reservation in Leon for 2 days and the walk is only 19 kilometres. That seemed like a stretch when I was training for the Camino, but now it's a short day. Breakfast in the albergue (tostada - toast; OJ; and coffee) and then repack. As I was doing that I could hear the local rooster, but his snooze alarm was set at 5 seconds instead of 5 minutes. Out the door at 07:45; the last one to clear the dorm. The weather is high broken cloud to the west, with light winds and a temperature of about 6 or 7 degrees.

I stop for another OJ and coffee in the village of Villarente 6 kilometres on when I notice many other pilgrims gathered outside a small bar. The ladies from Tasmania are there - Dorothy (AKA Dot) and Christina. Ironically, Dot works for a doctor named Dash. The Morse Code twins. Another gentleman at the table looks a bit weary and Christina asks him: "Feeling OK Paul?" "Yes" says Paul. "Resisting the urge to break into a run, but I'm alright."

I chat with Charlie from Athens, Georgia, who is taking some time off before starting medical school in his hometown in the fall. He shares some apple slices around the table. I've got to start paying more attention to my Vitamin C intake. After getting underway again, I note that low hills are starting to flank the trail. The Meseta is behind me. I stop to ask whether I can be of any assistance to an Australian couple who have stopped alongside the wide, hard-packed track. They're fine, but, helpfully, the lady notices that my rucksack is askew. Her husband checks the back straps and, sure enough, one has come loose. He tightens it for me and I immediately feel better carrying my 13 kilogram load. I'll need to pay more attention to this too when I take off my ruck at the end of a walk.

Entering the outskirts of Leon, I meet Damon, a retired air traffic controller from Los Angeles Centre. We talk aviation for a while. When I can't remember the name of a United States Air Force base in California, he reminds me that it's Edwards AFB - their flight test centre. I remember that the bartenders in the Officers' Club could mix a mass batch of Margueritas faster than anyone on the continent. That's not all I learned there, but it still stands out. So does the reply to a question about what they were working on in the way of advanced weapons systems: A new air-to-air missile that is powered by desire and homes on evil intent.

I finally arrive at my small hotel at about 12:45. The cost for 2 nights (I'll rest up here tomorrow) is 53 Euro. Depending upon which pharmacy neon sign you believe, the temperature is either 18, 19, or 20. It's finally getting warmer.

 

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Calzadilla to Mansilla

Day 18 (Saturday 25 May) 360 kilometres to Santiago. Last night's albergue, while pricey at 15 Euro, was the best yet. Four single beds to a room (no bunks), with sheets bottom and top, a blanket, and a counterpane. A real bed. Best of all, I turned out to be the only occupant of my little dorm. Luxury. Checking my e-mails in the afternoon, I see that Diane has corrected my statement that it was Dutch Princess Christina who was born in Ottawa - in fact it was Margreit. These non-fiction blogs are hard work. After completing the usual chores, I dine with Kiwis Rachel and Tom from Cambridge on the North Island. They are taking a 2 month holiday, which includes the Camino, before moving to Melbourne so that they can experience life in a big city. Before retiring, I ask our server whether it would be possible to pick up a sandwich in the morning before I leave, as there are essentially no enroute stops. She says yes. As I fall asleep I can hear the wind gusting and moaning in the eaves. Perhaps the chain of light wind days will be broken tomorrow.

In the morning, I imagine the kitchen sparking into action to prepare breakfast for its 07:00 start. That would be my opportunity to ask for my sandwich (bocadilla) to go. In the event, nothing is stirring as I exit at 06:25, bound for Mansilla de las Mulas, about 25 kilometres away. I have 2 energy bars in my ruck, so I'll be fine. The wind has dropped overnight and the day promises to be a repeat of the 2 before. As I exit the village, following some white arrows (not the usual yellow), I sense that I'm not headed in the right direction. The signs for the Camino are few and far between. In the event it takes me about 35 minutes of walkabout and a few short false starts before I sort out where the trailhead really is. So, my start time is really 07:00. I mark this down to experience (it turns out that white arrows point to a tienda (small grocery)) and rationalize that I wouldn't have taken some moonlight photos of the local church and some roosting storks if I hadn't taken a wrong turn.

Once I clear the town on a secondary paved road, I'm completely on my own. I'm on a beautiful Spanish plain, but, as far as people are concerned, I could be on the dark side of the moon. The trail turns to hard packed earth, studded with many rounded and pointed stones. This is the Calzada Romana, described in my guide book as "... the most perfect extant stretch of Roman road left in Spain today." I had imagined that the surface might be rectangular stones, but, except for a few stretches where the cart tracks are somewhat elevated, it looks like most other dirt tracks in northern Spain. I weave from side to side, seeking the smoothest terrain underfoot. Perhaps I'm looking at the sub-surface of this ancient road after the rectangular stones have worn away? In any case, this modern legionary is walking in the tracks of some ancient soldiers (including Mark Bucken).

This landscape is reminiscent of the Canadian prairies and I feel right at home. There are even trains passing to my south. The analogy starts to break down with that thought, however. These are Spanish TGV electric trains and they appear to be travelling along controlled access track. What is missing is the low, mournful whistle of a Canadian diesel locomotive as it approaches a level crossing.

I note that there is a range of snow-capped mountains to the north, between me and the Bay of Biscay. It actually starts behind me to my right and continues through my 12 o'clock position before petering out to the southwest. It looks as if I can reach the high ground ahead of me by the end of the day, but I know that this is a visual illusion. Notwithstanding, I also know that I'm looking at the end of the Meseta. It's been grand, but I'm also ready for some different terrain. I notice a gap in the range on the horizon ahead of me and surmise that this may be my route to the city of Leon tomorrow.

About an hour before I reach Mansilla de las Mulas, I come across Dutch Rhea, taking a break on the side of the road. She is the first person that I have encountered in more than 4 hours. Somewhat footsore, I enter the town through the Arco de Santa Maria and find my albergue about 5 and one half hours after I set out.

 

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Terradillos to Calzadilla

Day 17 (Friday 24 May) 387 kilometres to Santiago. I checked into a private albergue (7 Euro) on the outskirts of Terradillos de Los Templarios yesterday. For the price I paid, I got a lower bunk in a room with 10 beds in it. I enjoyed sitting outside in the sun with a glass of wine while I waited for my dhobi wash to dry. Caledon Angela and I noticed an American jogger head west down the trail at a 5K pace - this after walking I don't know how far today. Afterwards he was apparently doing ab crunches in the back yard. He must be ex-Special Forces.

Our dinner is routine, except that we are seated with Cathy from Colorado, who I have not met before. She was enthralled with the Burgos Cathedral when she passed through there a few days ago. It is huge - possibly bigger than Notre Dame - and incredibly ornate. My reaction is the opposite, however - this place is over the top and I can't avoid a sense of hypocrisy.

I gather my belongings around me and am asleep by 21:00 or shortly thereafter. When I wake a couple of hours later I'm greeted by not 1 but 3 terrific snorers. Not world class, but right up there. One is a woman. At any rate, my sleep deficit increases. I'm awake at 05:45 and out the door 40 minutes later. My little "miner's headlamp" is a big help when I'm repacking. The weather is exactly as it was the day before, except with more mist. My first waypoint is San Nicholas, about 6 kilometres away. There I buy a coffee and a croissant, but the croissant is stale. I am a solitary walker today, heading for Calzadilla de Los Hermanillos, 27 kilometres away

Before the city of Sahagun I come across what I believe is the geographic centre of the Camino de Santiago, with some sort of dedication to the Virgin Mary. After passing through the city of Sahagun (population 170,000), I reach a waypoint about 5 kilometres on where I have a choice of 2 trails. I take the one that moves away for the highway. Once I've made the turn, I am entirely alone. It feels like everyone else has chosen the other pathway. I'm confident of my navigation, however, so I press on alone. I try to purchase some more sunscreen from a small grocery (tienda), but all they have is SPF 10 (I didn't know that it existed). Later in the day I'm overtaken by Dutch Janni. She too is heading for Calzadilla. I reach the albergue 6 hours and 20 minutes after setting out. They have space available. This is an especially good thing today, because there are not many beds in this village. The albergue is more expensive (15 Euro), but it's the new gold standard. Four beds to a room; no bunk beds; and segregated showers that are the best that I've encountered so far.

My heels are a bit sore at the end of each day, despite stretching as often as conveniently possible. They seem to respond to some overnight rest, however, and I begin each morning in reasonable shape, at least as far as heels are concerned. I feel that I should have seen this problem coming, because I've had it before from jogging. I thought that walking would not bring it on - wrong. My athletes foot is about the same. I'm optimistic that I will be able to contain it. At the end of this day I noticed that one toenail had cut into the flesh of the adjacent toe. I've got what I need to deal with that too - so I'm still OK. I've showered; had lunch; done my laundry, and am enjoying a 2nd glass of wine while I get this blog off. Life is good.

 

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