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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hope it is a lovely town too, with ice cream.
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