Carrion to Torradillos

Day 16 (Thursday 23 May) 414 kilometres to Santiago. For dinner last night I walked to a nearby restaurant that advertised pizza. As I was about to walk through their front door at about 18:45 I heard my name being called. It was Paris Alain, with two Dutch ladies that I had met the night before in Boadilla, Rhea and Janni. They were dining on the restaurant's outdoor patio on the oher side of the narrow street. I joined them for exactly the kind of informal dinner that I had in mind. When Rhea asked where I was staying, I described my hotel (hostal) 200 metres down the street and said that my laundry was drying on the balcony. "I saw it" was her reply. "I know just where you're staying." So, my laundry is not just laundry, it's a flag. I'm in bed with the lights out by 21:00.

The next morning I wake in time for the hotel breakfast at 06:00. The price for OJ, coffee, and some baguette toast ( with real margarine and jam) was 3 Euro. Not a great value, but, from a quick map study the evening before, this morning's trek looks to be somewhat different - 17 kilometres of flat meseta before I encounter the first town. So, breakfast before departure it is. I take my time packing up afterwards and am finally away at 07:00; a late start for me. A week or so ago, Calgary Lise pointed out that I had some sunburn on the back of my neck; a disadvantage of T-shirts without collars. I have a solution readily at hand. The maple leaf headscarf that I wear when the weather looks like it might turn (it fits nicely under my rain jacket hood) also doubles as a turtleneck scarf. I still apply sunscreen, but the "necker" is another form of sunburn insurance.

Clearing the outskirts of Carrion, I notice once again that Spanish gas stations don't post their prices prominently. I detour over to one of the pumps to discover that low octane gasoline is 1.481 Euro per litre (about C$1.93). The day itself is the first one that doesn't seem to carry at least some risk of rain, and so it proves to be. The temperature is around 4 Celcius, but there is no wind, and the skies are clear. The forecast says that a high in the mid-teens is probable.

On the western edge of town I overtake a father and son from Pennsylvania. I'm not clear on the father's name yet, but I wish them a good morning. They ask where I stayed the night and I tell them about the hotel. Privacy, silence, my own bog and shower, and blessed darkness when I turn off the lights. I tell them that it was glorious and worth every cent of the 40 Euro that I paid. The son, Adam, who I believe is ex-US Army, says to his Dad: "That's it. We're going to one of those tonight". His father's response is to say words along the lines of: you wouldn't appreciate such luxury without first experiencing life in the albergues. He doesn't say "no" though.

The trail ahead is wide, hard-packed, and flat, so my pace is quick. I notice that some cut grass that is in the shade alongside the trail has frost on it. I overtake an older Italian gentleman who is walking slowly. He explains in reasonable English that one of his calf muscles is hurting him. Motioning an example I say: "Perhaps you need to stretch? "No" he says, "I need to be younger."

A few kilometres on, I unexpectedly come across a roadside entrepreneur who is selling BBQ sausage, coffee, and other delights. I buy just a banana and carry on (one of the more expensive bananas in this country at 80 Euro cents (about C$ 1.04)). When I finally raise the first town on the route, Caldadilla de la Cueza, I notice Rhea and Janni sitting out front of a bar/cafe, so I join them for coffee. I point out my new socks that I bought in Carrion de Los Condes yesterday afternoon - brown with orange trim (of course I'm wearing brown shorts to match). Rhea says that they didn't recognize me with my new socks, while Janni says that she likes the colour of the trim (the Dutch national colour - from the Royal House of Orange). The previous evening I had explained to Paris Alain that when Princess Christina was born in Ottawa during the Second World War, the Canadian Parliament of the day passed a law declaring that a particular room in the Civic Hospital was Netherlands territory, so that she would officially be Dutch from birth. Diane's father, Nick, fought through Holland during the war as an infantryman, so I feel a personal connection too.

Later, I overtake a nice Spanish gentleman from Barcelona. He explains that he completed close to 400 kilometres of the Camino last year and has now returned to finish the job. There are so many ways to do this. For some reason I'm reminded of an old black and white TV detective program from the early sixties. Remember? The one that always ended with: "There are 6 million stories in the Naked City; this has been one of them". Well, there are not that many stories on the Camino de Santiago, but there sure are a lot of different ways to travel the Camino Frances.

Closing in on the village where I plan to stay the night, I run across Tony from North Yorkshire (he lives about 45 minutes from Whitby, where Diane and I walked the moors and coastline for a week a few years back). He talks about his experiences so far in his distinctive Yorkshire accent: "soom days ...". About 45 minutes from Terradillos de Templarios, I unexpectedly overtake Caledon Angela, and we complete this leg together. The albergue is a modern low-rise that is somewhat distant from the village centre. The cost is only 7 Euro for a bed in a room that sleeps 10. As we are unpacking, Caledon Angela notices that an older German man and a much younger Dutch woman have checked in. She is non-plussed. Apparently these 2 were enjoying carnal knowledge of one another in a bunk bed close to hers last night. Yikes. I tell her that the man is older, so he probably won't be able to repeat the performance for a second night in a row.

As we check in, I notice several large rucksacks in the lobby area. All of them have the name of a bag transfer service attached to them: Jacotrans. These bags belong to people who are walking the Camino carrying only a day pack, while shipping there heavy ruck ahead to their reserved destination. This sight is quite common in the various albergues and hotels. To each his own.

There is no WiFi here, so I will look for an opportunity to post this blog along the way tomorrow.

 

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