Category: Corona

Santa Domingo to Belorado

Gosh If I am tired and make mistakes please forgive me. The routine and continuous journey seems to make everything swim. Speaking of which, when the day has finished and you check in and collapse on the bed, you open your eyes and look up at the ceiling. It goes in and out like a kaleidoscope for a while.  So bizarre but I think its because the road you travel is mostly a stony track with small stones and bigger boulders. So your head is down most of the time before you look up. It’s almost dizzying.  You may think that it’ s  unnecessary but if your foot hits a stone and twists or the camba  of the pathway changes …it is so difficult . So when you arrive your vision is going in and out because the pathway is still in your brain.

Naturally I was on the third floor in Santa Domingo del Calzade but who cared because there was a lift!! There was no restaurant of course so after all the recuperation ablutions, washed and changed, I sauntered out. It was only 50 yards away but a bar beckoned with its cream parasols and a fountain in the middle. Here was fine place to recuperate and write. I looked up at the fountain. It was concrete and some sort of phallic shape dripped into a scallop shell…but no matter ..I was sat down and the olives were coming and the massive G&T went down like silk.  Not so much the meal.  Paul and Fiona had booked evening meals everywhere so I just tagged along and paid my 11/12 euros….But we were so hungry. Dinner was 7.30 but I thought it would be a good a idea to go early and wait outside!!! It’s just not the Spanish way. I think I was eating the walls when the poor girl arrived, I even switched on the lights for her and gave out the bread. Bread takes on a whole new meaning on this marathon of marathons.

You have a choice of the pilgrim menu and unlike me I had a first course of pasta, followed by fish and creme caramel. It didn’t matter…I was eating…tomorrow was another day. Sleep or being in bed for more than 8 hours is bliss.

Out of the envelope..

Dawn is full of stories and looks so positive but behind it all is the sudden death of her son not 12 months before. We sing to the Irish man’s rendition of Kurt Cobain and we laugh and then we are joined by ..the yoga teacher.

He shows us his studio in the back and looks so fresh and full of blue eyed wonderment. He tells me that he has had surgery and his name is Catherine.  He is lovely.  She is lovely …and tells of her journey across Asia and everywhere to get to this point. She is full of ideas to expand her business and has the most amazing wide open pale blue eyes. I have now had a large Gin and Tonic but that hasn’t coloured my opinion but I need to go Home..

”OH no, stay for the crack..you can play the guitar!!!” They say…

”You are in your envelope” Dawn says…I KNOW I am..I can’t get out because I just want my bed!!

It was great…but I cant stay here all night? I have lost Bruce…alone again???  What will happen tomorrow?

Leaving Hornillos for Castrojeriz

I lay in bed that night remembering Dawn and the story of the live chickens in Santa Domingo. I giggled to myself because we had been sitting at a bar…one horse town remember…at the only crossroads. That’s where she had seen me and called out. Next to her was a pillar with a chicken on the top…not a live one I hasten to add…and the locals had told us why there was a statue with a chicken!!

‘One day 2 travellers came to the town and were hungry, but they had no money. So they stole a chicken and put it in their bag.  Pretty soon the farmer came out wielding his stick and shouting ‘Stop thief”

The men stopped but protested their innocence vehemently…at which point the chicken crowed from their back pack and the men were found out and were subsequently hanged!!!

The moral of the story obviously in do not enter Hornillos and steal a chicken!!

Sleep came easily because I felt so proud that I had got there…not exactly alone but I had lost my Bruce. He was the only one who took a photograph of me playing the guitar at the top of the Meseta!!  He had tried to send it me but service etc wasn’t happening. He had nowhere booked so at my digs I had said goodbye

The Plan!!!  I was going to get up really early…like leaving Burgos but it was a city. Here there is only one street…I asked for a picnic breakfast  as I as going to leave before 7am. Why? Because although it is pitch black it is cool and quiet and you can rock up a few Kilometers before the heat. Good Idea No?  Well the dark is an issue.  I was staying literally on the route so all I had to do was leave my case, but on my backpack with everything I needed and go!

But I was really alone! I knew at the end of the street was the Irish bar…deserted now of course…and after that a narrow stony path upwards to The Meseta…thank God for my app but after trekking for half a  Kilometer, ahead of me is a twinkling light, its a head torch on the head of some German man. I follow…but by 7.30 the dawn is breaking slightly and you can actually see.  I’m so proud of myself at this point. The sunrise steals upon you and there you are just wondering where the next village so you can have a coffee and go to the toilet.  This meseta is endless, its miles and miles of wheat fields, dying sunflower fields and no farm houses…nothing.

Every now and again there will be pilgrim cross with a collection of stones. Some have been written on and some are empty but you know that they carry peoples dreams and aspirations and troubles.

It seems to take forever but way in the distance I see the a church. There is always a church. It wouldn’t be a oilfimage with out passing by the church even if it is a mile high or down in a ditch.

Castrojeriz looms..I made it..  or did I?

Castrojeriz, the lower road

Well, if I repeat myself people, please forgive me. Somehow hours on the dusty open road turns your brain to mush. On the last leg I met up with David. He is an American and I think a wise man. Well at least he has lectured all over the world. I often see him striding forth wearing knee high white socks. It makes him look a little German but he tells me that he wears them on the advise of his cardiologist. He must be a good washer or he has lots of pairs as they are always so clean. He is distinctive too, short with a small white beard and moustache.  I asked him where he was staying to which he replied…”at the Posada”

”OH, so am I!”  I said as we enter the slightly bigger village of Castrojeriz.

”Oh but there are 2 you know. Which one are you in?”

The brain mush returns tenfold because I haven’t a clue. I rush to pull out google maps and enter the name. He left me behind as I struggled to get the address..needless to say, its hot, I’m tired and very sweaty. I drag myself along the cobbled street only to find La Posada glass doors and David registering. I beam out loud because I have arrived…well that is until the receptionist tells me No you are in the other one. I’m mortified, I have been rejected..She takes me outside and offers directions in Spanish.  I am good with ‘izquierda, and derecha and todo recto.’…but none of her Spanish figures at all. No words do I recognise…No wonder…because resorting to said google maps again, it takes me down and down narrow cobbled steps , left then right, then left..to the little lower road.

Eventually I arrive, but the door is locked. WHAT….?

I fumble for the voucher and ring the number. The Spanish man on the other end speaks no English….

”Aqui …aqui..” (Here here) he keeps shouting but he ISN’T  here!!  Across the little cobble street is an opening to a tiny bar. It has a big barrel outside and 2 red umbrellas.  I see a burly man approach…

”Si, Si “ he says and registers me in the hotel. Breakfast is over there he explains as he points to the tiny bar, WiFi is over there, dinner is over there…Bar El Manolo…”

I am just too tired to argue so I struggle up to my room which wasn’t bad and go through my routine. Shoes socks off, strip…bathe..was everything and drape it all, anywhere there is space. Charge everything up and clutching IPad and money, I leave to find somewhere, anywhere, other than Bar Manolo.

Fromista behind me..

I left as usual in the pitch black and picked up my picnic lunch which I took a peak at and found it was …well not good. In fact I would like to say that it ‘was God awful’ but I have to be a good pilgrim!!?

The sandwich was squishy white bread stuck with cheese and ham, a juice and water and some kind of chocolate wafer biscuit.  I’m getting quite brave now so 30 minutes out, I came across a little bar that was open, It was only 7.30. Anyhow, I was happy to order a coffee and ditch the breakfast. I sat on the seat outside underneath a hanging owl. Well it wasn’t real thank God but he was my sort of breakfast companion.

The only funny thing was that the wife of the cafe spoke Spanish to everyone, 50 to the dozen, I don’t even think her husband caught everything she said. Of course I braved up to her and asked for the toilet and where the bin was. Mistake! Whatever she said it was a monologue with gestures and I was no wiser. I did get that I had to ask for the key to open the toilet…its only open to Patrons!! I’d had a coffee…I prayed that was sufficient. It was ?

I’m a general in the Roman army…

Last night the meal was ok and the Rioja was amazing!! But today I am going to get up really early. I forgot to order a picnic breakfast but it will be fine. I don’t sleep and toss and turn but I know I will be able to cope with this. I get down after closing my case and doing everything …and its 6.30…Marta and Barbara are there eating breakfast. Its so early here, I am impressed. But I’m not daunted.

Its one of those places where it isn’t a buffet. You have to be seated and they serve you.

Well, I seem to be the redneck this morning…I say to the maitre D….Para mi …picnic breakfast..Mi .desayuno….

He was SO lovely, ran in the kitchen and pulled together my feast. I really felt humbled. I say good bye see you later to Marta and  Barbara and I set off…to be fair…I am grateful to leave. Tonight will be better!!

Its pitch black…open up torch and app….where am I?

Sunday and my day of rest?

I bounced down …in the elevator!! Well you have to preserve your energy don’t you?

“Oh Donde es Mango?” I say….the receptionist looks at me like I’ve fallen off a log and explains that it’s sunday and everywhere is shut!

“What! No shoes, no dress….”

”But you can go to mass in the cathedral she explains. My face must have said it all. The worst thing was now that I had got this far, I didn’t know what to do with myself. There was no usual morning routine and I didn’t want to stop in case I forgot how to walk,and wouldn’t go on the next day. What possessed me to stop for a day?

There was nothing for it so I meandered down to the cathedral. Sure enough at 15 mins before mass the huge wooden doors opened and we all filtered in.

Here endothelial my bright lesson. The next 45 minutes were the most unexpected of my whole trip. Out in the square they were erecting a stage for a festival of bicycles??? Go figure! And pop music was blaring out and being tested. Not exactly conducive to going to mass.

Inside, an attendant in a black suit seemed to be officiating. We all take our seats and at the given hour, a procession of no less that 4 priests in emerald vestments followed by another clergyman in white enter and start a sung mass.

Firstly, it sounded so beautiful, I was transfixed. I felt privileged to be there. I though it must be taped music but found out after mass that most of it was led by the organist, a large man with a voice from heaven. I could almost follow it and go through all the motions waiting for the communion. We all turn and wish each other ‘Peace’ and shake hands.

I can’t explain why but at that moment when people turned back to continue the mass, the tears tripped from my eyes. I tried to hold my face in my hands. I felt stupid, emotional, old or something but the tears wouldn’t stop. The mass continued in the stateliest of fashions. I have never been so moved in a service before. It was like watching a meticulous pageant of great peace and dignity. I wanted to hold my sobs in. I took communion and went back to my seat. I can’t even tell you if I prayed..if I did, it was just for everyone I knew, especially my babies.

I left and walked quietly down a pretty street. Without any prompting I just wanted to tell my mum…but she wasn’t there and right there in the middle of the street I had to stop and cover my face again. There is no rhyme or reason for anything I suppose and if I could have done so I would have let go completely. Would that be coming out of my envelope I wondered?

Thank God I was getting a message from Fiona saying, “we are here? Where are you?”

 

It didn’t take me long!!!…..we were off to meet Simon and Juliana from Brisbane. So the conversation flowed…you know….’I have a son in Brisbane…blah blah…’ Juliana is a psychologist and Simon seemed to know his way around a map and its faults with the scales and elevations. A glass of much appreciated wine restored the bonhomie. We set off from the Four Lions cafe?????…to meet up with Jean Pierre and Marianne.  It was great. I was walking and talking and going to eat with six others and no one seemed to bother that I was on my own. We were kindred spirits. I laughed over the wine choice with the men and of course paid my way, and chatted about Panama hats with the girls. It was just what I needed.

We chose an Italian because I had to get up and move on the last leg of my journey…and it was open early. It was just outside the cathedral and El Niño was blowing a hoolie. It was warm but the poor waiter who was trying to serve at least 70 people at once and struggled to get the paper mats to stay on the table.

Tagliatelle with Putanesca sauce…first spicy food that I have had. It wasn’t enough because I am greedy but everyone seemed satisfied apart from the wine so we moved on to have a night cap. mmm Lovely.

The only difficult thing was that Simon started showing me the routes ahead. I was flabbergasted.

There was 22.2 K followed by a 31K day, then 20K followed by 34k and a massive , massive climb after that to 1550 meters to the Iron Cross. Was I stupid to have missed that? I would be on my own again as they were staying over. I went to bed with my head full of how can I do this?….I had another few hotel sweets and switched the light off.