Day 14 (Tuesday 21 May) 469 kilometres to Santiago. Two nights ago over dinner in Burgos, Newmarket Gerry said that he was having blister problems with his feet. When asked, he said that he lubricated his feet every morning with Vaseline. Strange. Did he get his socks wet at some point. A look, a grim nod - yes. While on the trail today, I thought about why he quit the Camino the morning following our dinner. Was it the blisters? Was it the frightening incident with the dogs? I don't know. The Camino turns into a motivating and spiritual event for some, and a disillusioning experience for others. I think that some of the factors are:
- Physical fitness;
- Medical problems, especially with the feet;
- Coping with being largely solitary while walking;
- Coping with the loss of privacy and personal space when staying in the hostels; and
- The repetitiveness of hostel life (showers, laundry, trying to stay warm in unheated rooms, dinner, and bed).
Of all the issues that I encounter, it's the foot problems that seem to be the most prevalent and that bother me the most. In many cases, walkers are in considerable pain only for want of useful information. Nonetheless, I have to be careful about what I say because many people take helpful advice as criticism of their ignorance. That seems strange to me because I am an inveterate borrower of good ideas. Notwithstanding, I will give my views if asked, but say nothing otherwise.
In Hontanas, last night, I was able to choose my bed and therefore selected a lower one that was furthest from the door that led to the toilets. I had a much better sleep as a result. I dined with some familiar faces, including Caledon Angela. The pilgrims' meal that I chose was excellent: ensalada mixto, chicken ragout, and ice cream. I was in bed by 21:00.
This morning, I rolled out at 05:45 and was underway in dim light by 06:25; destination Boadilla del Camino, 28 kilometres away. The temperature is about plus 2, but the winds are light and the sky is mostly clear. As I pull my walking sticks from a large canister next to the boot rack, I remind myself how fortunate I am that mine have natural cork handles. Not for the material itself, but for the colour. So many sticks have black handles that mine easily stand out, thereby making the morning search somewhat easier.
As I walk by my first waypoint, I hear a clock in a nearby tree. It isn't though, it's a real Cuckoo. The road carries straight on to the town of Castrojerez, where I have a light breakfast. I hope to find an ATM so that I can top up my cash supply, but, in the event, the Camino bypasses the main street and I don't spot a bank. Going through the town I walk for a few minutes with 2 ladies from Sheffield and we talk about walking holidays. They recommend the walk along (Roman Emperor) Hadrian's Wall, from the west coast of England to the east at Robin Hood's Bay (a place that Diane and I have been to on a walking holiday in Yorkshire). The Lake District is another favourite of theirs, as is the Northumberland coast. I file this away for future consideration.
On the far side of Castrojerez, the trail climbs at an angle to another elevated tableland. I stop partway up to reduce the amount of insulation that I'm wearing and to put on some sunscreen. Just as I dig the tube out of the bag, the sun disappears behind an overcast layer of cloud. It looks like it might start to rain. I decide - not yet - and carry on as before. As Dad was fond of saying: "Life is probabilities". We'll see how we'll I have judged them today. The view from the top is awesome. There is a huge number of wind turbines visible all around the near horizon. I descend to an ancient stone bridge near the village of Itero de la Vega. As I cross it I leave the province of Burgos and enter that of Palencia.
Just before the village of Itero de la Vega, I encounter Paris Alain, a dinner companion from the night before. Our conversation goes back and forth between English and French as we walk toward our common destination for the night. We stop for coffee in Itero and I notice that a few scattered drops of rain have started up. I choose to don rain gear and cover my pack, but, in the event, that proves to be overkill. We overtake Lynea from White Rock (a southern suburb of Vancouver) and I chat with her for a while. She started off staying in albergues, but didn't care for it. She says: "I'm a pilgrim not a martyr." Now she shares a hotel room each night with a congenial German lady who shares her opinion of hostels. Each to his own Camino.
Alain and I raise the village of Boadilla del Camino at 13:15, six hours and fifty minutes after I departed Hontanas, and check in to a private albergue. The sleeping quarters are somewhat cramped, but it will do. I miss the privacy and comfort of my own home, but that is one of the benefits of walking this rustic trail. Good friend Lorna Unger e-mailed me to ask why I didn't stop for a day to rest up and explore. I had to think about that today. I believe that it's because the scenery of the open road appeals to me more than the towns and villages. As White Rock Lynea put it today: "it's like walking from one spectacular landscape painting to another". I'm also not particularly intrigued with the history of the various churches and other local highlights that I come across. History on a grander scale appeals to me (the Roman Empire in this region, for example), but there is no convenient way to explore that. I suppose that another factor is how remarkably disinclined I am to do any more walking once I've reached my destination for the day (although that's another reason to stop for a while if the area is intriguing) In any case, I'm pressing on and enjoying what I can see along the Camino itself. I'm holding up reasonably well; I'm treating some athletes' foot (which occurred despite the daily use of foot powder) and my heel pain, but I'm optimistic at this point that these issues can be handled.
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