Day 21 - 13 May - Sahagun to El Burgo Ranero

As Bill Haley famously sang:

When you’re walking the Meseta                          

Daily ten to fifteen mile                                          

Your mind turns into mashed potat-er                    

And you start to crazy smile                                   

And you know sooner or later                               

You’ll be losing it with style

After a coffee and giant but tasteless croissant at the hotel we were on the road this morning at twenty past eight. The stroll out of Sahagun was pleasant enough along a tree lined path which eventually morphed into a road side path and there it stayed for much of today’s eleven miles to Burgo. It sounds pretty boring I know but it all remained very pleasant. The adjacent road to our right hand side saw only a handful of vehicles pass and the countryside to our left was largely green and - yes you’ve guessed it - pleasant. 

We had a good six and a half miles from Sahagun to Bercianos del Real Camino, a small village and the only rest stop of any consequence between Sahagun and Burgo. So we stopped for coffee, a slice of tortilla and a very tasty slice of Tarta Santiago. Then onwards to Burgo.

Burgo is very typical of the villages we have encountered whilst on the Meseta part of the Camino. Far more ramshackle than the villages we passed through in the earlier part of our Camino - almost certainly reflecting life style and living standards in this part of Spain - the Meseta villages see beautifully renovated properties standing side by side with others which are barely standing. Adobe (mud bricks, enhanced with straw and/ or dung) was the principle building material historically and you walk past properties that look like they were made out of, err, mud bricks enhanced with straw and/ or dung. These villages typically have a main street and/ or main square and a church, at its centre, usually of such grandiose design and splendour that it looks like it has been airlifted in from the Vatican. Anyway, most of these villages have a certain charm and Spanish-ness even if quaint they are not.

We checked in to our private hostal. Our double room is small and delightful and immaculately clean. Lovely. Accommodation is consistently problematic to come by, a combination of peregrino numbers and fewer, post-Covid, bed options. So, we spent an hour sat in the sunshine with a beer looking at options and now have the next two nights booked. However, tomorrow’s anticipated ten-miler has now become a fifteen-miler as a consequence so we have decided an early start will be in order. 

Later we strolled around to the main street and parked up in a bar where we ended up eating. There we met Mark from the UK who is hoping to complete his Camino in a total of two weeks having run the first bit, now cycling and then running the last bit. Ex-military, he does iron-man events in his spare time (doesn’t everybody?). A really nice and interesting guy although I now feel a bit inadequate only attempting to walk the five hundred miles.

We still have one more day left of the Meseta, that part of the Camino that many choose to avoid. Mrs C was always a bit concerned about the Meseta because the long, straight road with monotonous scenery in the Spanish sun is said to mess with your mind and she thinks my mind’s messed up enough as it is. Be that as it may, the Meseta has simply been different to what went before and presumably to what lies ahead. It really has been integral to the whole experience to date and apart from inventing half human, half rabbit creatures and railing a bit at cyclists (not you Mark by the way, I wouldn’t call anyone that does iron-man events an arsehole) I think I’ve survived it pretty well. I haven’t seen the light yet but I’m told that the Lord works in mysterious ways. He let me down this last week with Sheffield Wednesday’s play-off ambitions so he’s got his work cut out but who knows what the rest of this adventure may yet have in store for us.

Day 20 - 12 May - Ledigos to Sahagun

As famously sung by Queen:

You like to ride your bicycle                                   

That’s well and good and fine                                 

But if I could I’d take your bike                                    

And shove it where the sun don’t shine

With the knowledge of a relatively easy ten-mile day ahead of us, I lay in my top bunk this morning allowing the rustling/ banging/ door slamming/ general getting-up noises of fellow peregrinos wash over me, eventually emerging once everyone else had either set off for the day or gone down to breakfast. 

I hate getting people’s names wrong. This morning in the LaMorena bar waiting for my breakfast coffee, I spoke to Geoff and called him Keith. Twice. My apologies Geoff. My only possible excuse is that you allowed me to have just one too many beers yesterday. So not entirely my fault. Possibly?

Whilst in the bar for breakfast, we met properly with Amy (USA) - who we had seen in passing several times over the last fortnight - and she introduced us to Peter and Marsha also from the USA. 

Anyway, we hit the road soon after half past eight and it was lovely. Pretty much a level path throughout, we were at Terradillos de los Templarios (strong Knights Templar connection - I need to read up on this) almost before we knew it so we marched on to the village of Moratinos where we stopped for coffee and where we saw, for the first time, a few houses seemingly built into grassy knolls. It was all a bit strange and after giving it serious consideration, I determined that these partially burrowed residences are probably lived in by half-human, half-rabbit creatures. It’s the only logical conclusion.

First beer stop was at San Nicolas del Real Camino where we saw more of the same. It was like something out of the hobbit. And then, a final four miles to our destination for the day of Sahagun where we had treated ourselves to a hotel. Some Spanish hotels are better than others and this one wasn’t. Neither was Sahagun especially promising but after a relax and freshen up, we set out from the hotel to give it our best shot and, as it transpired, we had a great few hours in the town. To start with, we have reached that part of Spain where you get a little tapa with every drink. I think this is particularly civilised so I set out to eat as much as I possibly could.

Throughout the course of this exploratory expedition we met new friends Scott and Maxine (UK), Michael, Paul and Margee (USA) and met up again with Amy (USA) and Tony and Pat (UK). We had a rather splendid time and eventually retired back to our hotel at the ridiculously early hour of eight o’clock but there again we had been out since half past two.

Sahagun is not an attractive town but it has history and is generally known as the halfway stage of the Camino Frances. Indeed, according to my Camino Ninja app, we have now covered just over two hundred and fifty miles and with just the one minor blister to show for it thus far - not too shabby.

So then, what have we learnt to date on our Camino? Well, with apologies to all those nice, considerate cyclists out there of whom we have met several, what we have mainly learnt is that cyclists on the Camino are a right royal pain in the arse.

Listen guys, just because you’re wearing hi-viz lycra clothing does not make you Eddie Mercks and nor does it make you king of the road (or, in this case, king of the path). It does however mean that your arse shape is no secret to anybody and, worse still if you stand up on the peddles, neither are the bits at the other side.

When the Camino path tracks a road, use the bloody road. That’s what it’s there for. And if you must use the path, don’t leave it until the last possible, available second to ring your little bell or beep your little hooter to alert us to your presence. A bit of notice please. We’re not mind readers. Arseholes.

Day 19 - 11 May - Carrion to Ledigos

As Bob Dylan famously sang:

How long a road must a man walk down

Before he needs a fa-cil-i-ty

How many miles can a full bladder sail

Before it’s in need of a pee

Yes, and how many times must the cannonballs wait

Before they’re ready to land?

The answer, my friend, is blowin’ in the wind

The answer is blowin’ in the wind

We made good our escape at six thirty five this morning. The mail bags did their job and we scaled down the wall into the courtyard and then off through the gate. We weren’t alone. It was like a mass jail break. The streets of Carrion were full of fleeing peregrinos at silly o’clock. No looking back. The sun hadn’t yet risen so it was cold but we were free. Never look back.

Carrion itself was a nice town. Just don’t book a cell at the monastery. We exited the town over the stone bridge onto the N-120 road and quickly thereafter on to the PP-2241 which appeared to have been built simply to accommodate the adjacent path for peregrinos, such was the absence of traffic. With the best part of eleven miles between Carrion and the next town of Calzadilla de la Cueza this was always likely to be a long day, hence the decision to set off early. A mobile snack van, after four miles, provided opportunity for a coffee and croissant and there were a couple of rest areas along the route but no facilities as such.

I would suggest the average age of the peregrinos that we have seen along the way to be in the region of sixty to sixty five. That’s an average age. Eleven miles. No facilities. Sixty to sixty five. Hmm, what could possibly go wrong? Today’s logistical challenges were not about feet and legs. Today’s logistical challenges were all about bladders and, err, other parts of the digestive waste system. It started fairly early on in the eleven mile challenge. One minute, the middle-aged/ elderly lady is walking on ahead of us, next minute it’s rucksack abandoned and mad dash into the bushes. And therein lies one of the particular challenge of the Meseta - not that many bushes. 

The first eleven miles today pretty much consisted a dead straight path with fields of crops either side. Actually quite pleasing on the eye but less so the bladder. Sad to report there were some casualties but that’s what a good, strong Spanish coffee can do to you. 

Calzadilla was indeed a sight for sore eyes and probably other sore bits as well. But with the temperature rising, peregrinos would be well advised not to forget that, post Calzadilla, they have another four miles to walk before the next village with facilities. Sadly the euphoria of reaching Calzadilla was, for many, temptation too much thus leading to “issues” further down the line. I am pleased to report however that both Mrs C and I were suitably circumspect throughout, resulting in an incident-free journey and safe eventual arrival at the small village of Ledigos.

The walk itself, around fifteen miles, was relatively easy and far more scenic than we had expected. We’re liking this Meseta!

Our accommodation for the night was a private albergue LaMorena and the facilities were superb. Yes we are in a dorm but it is comfy, clean and remarkably private. Plus I have Mrs C underneath me, Manuela next to me on one side and a nice American lady next to me on the other side. What’s not to like?

There were a lot of familiar faces staying at LaMorena including Dan, Tanya (both USA), Carolyn and Manuela (both Germany) plus a few new names to remember. We spent a lot of the afternoon and evening chatting to Geoff from the UK, a seasoned walker/ traveller who, when he isn’t walking/ travelling is an alcohol and drugs counsellor so I was in pretty safe hands throughout. LaMorena was an excellent stopover and I celebrated with several beers, secure in the knowledge that Geoff was on hand just in case.

Today’s long walk has not been without its casualties, including at least three peregrinos with allergy/ hay-fever type symptoms. There were a few sore feet around as well and I am gutted to report my first blister, albeit not painful. Be grateful for small mercies though - today could have been soooo much worse.

We have a relatively easy day tomorrow so I may have a lie in. That’s if Mrs C, Manuela and the nice American lady will give me some peace. 

Day 18 - 10 May - Fromista to Carrion de los Condes

As Bobby Pickett famously sang:

I’d done walking in Spain, one afternoon               

When my eyes beheld an eerie loon                  

Igor from his desk, all hunched and short 

Demanded that I “geeva me your passaport”

It was the mash, it was the monastery mash         

For not much cash, we thought we’d give it a bash  

With hindsight yes, our decision was rash.            

It was the mash, it was the monastery mash            

Sad to say that Fromista rivalled Cirueña for poor choice of overnight stop but we were in good spirits as we passed by the town’s best feature;

Mrs C’s shin splint issue had calmed down. With hindsight we think yesterday’s long, steep incline early on in the walk had aggravated the problem but today we had a nice, level walk ahead of us.

We passed over the roundabout and along the    P-980 road that would eventually take us to Carrion de los Condes, twelve miles ahead. After a mile and a bit we diverted off the straight road into the village of Poblacion de Compos where we stopped for a coffee. After yesterday’s crap villages, Poblacion was a bit ramshackle but authentic. Quaint no. Genuine yes. And the coffee hit absolutely the right spot.

We had the option of a more scenic route after Poblacion but one of us needed the certainty of facilities en route on a “just in case” basis so two miles later, along the very straight road, we were in Revenga de Compos. We found a bar and as it was nearly half past ten, I had a little beer. On then to Villarmentero de Campos, a further mile up the very straight road where we weren’t thinking of stopping but we did, enticed by a rather hippyish watering hole where the lady owner sat strumming a guitar, there were big sculptures in the gardens and a couple of geese attacked a peregrino. Here we met Carlos from Canada who, it transpired, was at Orisson the same (first) night that we were.

After Villarmentero we took a short hop cross country to pick up the aforementioned scenic route alongside a small river which was delightful and much nicer than the P-980. This diversion eventually emerged at the Ermita (church) de la Virgen del Rio where a new-age young chap was strumming a guitar and selling cold drinks on a donativo basis. It would have been rude not to.

Then on to Villalcazar de Sirga where we stopped for a light lunch. Thereafter the final three and a half miles were completed walking alongside the still very straight P-980 into Carrion.

Accommodation along the Camino seems to have been in fairly short supply so we have been booking one, sometimes two, nights ahead. Last night, by telephone, I had secured a double room at the Real Monasterio Santa Clara for fifty euros. Later, I received a voice message, in broken English, suggesting a problem (?) but they could still fit us in. So anyway, we turned up at the monastery hotel/albergue to be greeted by Igor -  probably not his real name but it should be. He shuffled across the courtyard to meet us, unlocked the door to the reception and ushered us in. Our fifty euro hotel room is now an eighteen euro twin cell in the albergue, provide your own sheet and towels. With accommodation sparse, beggars can’t be choosers. Igor explained the rules - this is a monastery after all. 

I had previously done a bit of googling about what monks actually do. This seemed to amount to not much more than praying, meditation, chanting, growing vegetables and singing. Take out the vegetables and it sounded just like being a football fan to me. 

Anyway, Igor continued his shuffling, giving us the royal tour. Cell. Latrines. Exercise yard etc, after which we were let out on parole so we strolled to the town centre where we parked up at a bar, in the sunshine and stayed there for two and a half hours, meeting variously with Carlos again, Tony and Pat (UK) and Tanya (USA). 

We have a sixteen mile day ahead of us tomorrow and only one town, after ten miles, between Carrion and our destination of Ledigos. Accordingly, we are planning our escape for six thirty so that we can get the bulk of the miles in before the temperature gauge hits twenty nine degrees. With potential watering holes tomorrow notable only by their absence, I have been adopting the camel principle by filling up today. As we speak, Mrs C is sowing together mail bags which we intend to knot together to make good our escape tomorrow. We would have preferred bed sheets but you only get those with the fifty euro room option.

Day 17 - 9 May - Castrojeriz to Fromista

As the Boom Town Rats famously sang:

Itero de la Vega is fairly crap                             

after seven miles on the road                                  

And nobody’s served in Boadilla today                  

‘Cos the whole bloody place is closed                   

Fromista doesn’t seem much better                       

And Wednesday’s gone and lost as well                 

I can see no reason, ‘cos there are no reasons     

Why I shouldn’t cry bloody hell, hell, oh oh oh       

Tell me why I don’t like Mondays…..    

There’s a vicious rumour going around that I snore. Seven people appear to be spreading this rumour but it doesn’t mean it’s true. Anyway, after a good night’s sleep in our eight-person dorm, we breakfasted at the albergue and were on the road for just after eight. It was cold but sunny and the fresh start gave way to warmth throughout the morning and heat in the afternoon. 

A mile or so out of Castrojeriz and the level path became a steep climb, over half a mile, up to Alto de Mostelares. The views back towards Castrojeriz were stunning. The path plateaued for two miles - you could see for probably twenty miles in every direction - and then back down again to present one of the iconic images of the Meseta, that of your path stretched out before you for miles.

Our first stop was in Itero de la Vega, seven miles in to our near sixteen mile day. Unlike the series of delightful villages and towns over the last couple of days, Itero was a bit crap. After coffee, we set off knowing we had another six miles to the next village of Boadilla del Camino. In between time the landscape was flattening as we took the path through fields of barley and wheat, fallow and ploughed. Slowly but surely, the Meseta was beginning to get a little less interesting, a little more monotonous. We had a couple of improvised rest stops before we reached Boadilla which was just as well. It was closed. Nothing was open. The albergue bar? Cerrado los lunes. Without too much trying, and despite spirited competition from Itero, Boadilla won the crap village of the day award.

It was two o’clock now and very hot. Worse, Mrs C’s shin splint problem was playing up again. Ibuprofen and gritted teeth were necessary. We were another ninety minutes before we reached Fromista, the last mile or so of which alongside the Canal de Castilla which made for a pleasant change of scenery. We haven’t seen much of Fromista yet but what we have seen would suggest that it too is a candidate for the crap awards. Pretty much every bar and restaurant we saw was closed. Half day closing on a Monday? At least our hotel was very nice. 

After dinner we spent the evening watching, on my i-phone, a miniature Facetime view of our TV back home showing Sheffield Wednesday get knocked out of the League 1 play-offs. Bloody hell. Mondays eh? Scheiße!

           

Day 16 - 8 May - Hornillos to Castrojeriz

As Electric Light Orchestra famously sang:

Sun is shinin' in the sky
There ain't a cloud in sight
It's stopped rainin' everybody's on the Way
And don't you know
It's a beautiful new day, hey hey

Parting is such sweet sorrow. We bade adios to La Casa del Abuelo and hit the road, after breakfast, at eight forty five. We had twelve miles ahead of us as we started out towards our destination for the night, Castrojeriz, where we had bunk beds in an eight- person dorm awaiting us.

We were now at the start of the Meseta section of the Camino, a part that some peregrinos choose to miss out on as, allegedly, it can be a monotonous few days in terms of scenery and en-route facilities. We shall see.

Monotonous scenery it certainly was not today. The six miles heading to the first town of Hontanas saw an initial gradual ascent to the high plains where, aided by the fine weather, we could see for miles in every direction. Our first stop of the day for coffee was at a modern albergue pretty much in the middle of nowhere, our second just a mile further on as we dropped down into the village of Hontanas.

We were already at the half way mark for today’s walk although with no more stops, save for improvised and picturesque stopping points, until our destination of Castrojeriz. The walking was easy, on a level path with English countryside to our left and Spanish terrain to our right. The approach into Castrojeriz was very different but equally spectacular as that into Hornillos yesterday. On a flat, straight road we could see the town in the distance, topped by the ruins of a castle on the hill overlooking the town. I hope this image can do it some justice;

And so to Albergue Orion, our home for the night. The elegant señora welcomed us with……a scouse accent! Yes, this was Sam from Liverpool who, along with the Spanish owner and his Korean wife, looked after us splendidly. The weather beautiful and very hot. We sat in the garden, drinking beer and chatting with other guests. Later, we enjoyed a Korean-inspired communal meal chatting variously with Manuela from Germany, James from Ireland, Daniel from the UK and Robert from Holland.

The red wine flowed and another Camino miracle happened. It transpires that I can now speak German! But first I need to take you back a few days when we last met up with Janna. I have no idea how the subject arose but Janna confirmed that the German word for sh*t is “Scheiße” (the weird letter is where we would normally use “ss” so think of “scheisse” pronounced like “shyster” but without the “t”). Then, last night, Carolyn was surprised to hear me use the word “doppelganger” which then led to a discussion of other German words we use in English including “kindergarten” and “poltergeist”. Just for good measure, Manuela added “rucksack” into the mix so now I can string a complete sentence together in German: “Look, there’s a doppelganger of a poltergeist with a rucksack in the kindergarten. Scheiße”! 

The Camino will provide! Tomorrow, I hope to become an expert in heliophysics.

Day 15 - 7 May - Burgos to Hornillos del Camino

As The Animals famously sang:

There is a house in Hornillos                                  

La Casa del Abuelo                                               

We ate, we drank, we dried our clothes                

Washed down with vino tinto

I was awake at six thirty this morning, after an intensive night of rubbing Mrs C’s leg. Between us, we watched the How to treat Anterior Shin Splints with Kinesiology taping video and applied said tape accordingly. Fingers crossed. Down to breakfast and the Spanish version of sausage, bacon and egg was actually very tasty. A good start to the day.

The walk out of Burgos was much more pleasant than yesterday’s walk in and Burgos was certainly our favourite city of the three (the other two being Pamplona and Logroño) through which we have passed in the last two weeks.

We had thirteen miles ahead of us today, the first six miles or so on easy, level terrain and the sun was shining, even though the breeze carried a chill. Once out of Burgos we were back in the English countryside, all very pleasant until we started to track, then pass over and under a stretch of motorway. One final underpass and suddenly it all changed. We emerged alongside a river and then followed the road into Tardajos where we took our first coffee rest stop. This was a real village, as opposed to ghost village, with a population, facilities and an attractive mix of new and old. The next village of Rabe de las Calzados was even nicer, the sun was shining, it was now getting warm and it would have been rude not to stop and have a beer. 

Then, a long gentle ascent through a Spanish terrain of wheat fields and barley as we headed up towards the Alto Meseta at nine hundred and fifty metres above sea level which plateaued for around two miles before we reached, what was for me, the view of the Camino. The town of Hornillos del Camino lay two miles ahead and one hundred and fifty metres below, the downward path before us dotted with peregrinos heading towards the town.

Hornillos was our destination for the night with a double room booked at La Casa del Abuelo (Grandad’s house). We would have checked in at two o’clock but the father and daughter team who were running the place were so busy serving thirsty, hungry customers that we just sat in the sun and had a beer. Two hours and a couple more beers later, we did check in to the room. It was lovely so we went back to the bar to celebrate. Other than a quick freshen up and a ten minute stroll to see the rest of the village, we spent the entire afternoon and evening at Grandad’s house, sitting in the sun as our washing dried on the line behind us. Much of this time was spent chatting to Carolin from Germany who was delightful company. Carolin is on a sabbatical from her job as a marketing executive with Nivea. I have to confess, anyone who can convince Liverpool players that a good complexion is key to their success on a football field deserves the utmost respect. 

This has been our favourite day on the Camino so far. The walking, the scenery, the sunshine and the camaraderie of fellow peregrinos has been exactly what we signed up for. Mrs C’s shin splint problem has been as if it didn’t happen. Another Camino miracle? Personally, I think it’s down to a combination of three things;

1. Dr Michael’s magic tape.                                    2. My expert massaging skills and whispering, throughout the night “you want I wub your leg?”   3. The magic of Grandad’s house. We loved it!