Monthly Archives: June 2008

June 6, 2008 Burgos to Hontanas

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I’d read many stories about the heat and boredom of the Meseta, but in my first experience of it — about 3 km out of Burgos — I knew I was in love. The Meseta is a vast plain, filled with grain fields, that stretches basically from Burgos in the east to Leon in the west. Contrary to My Fair Lady, the rain in Spain does not fall mainly on the plain. Instead, this is a hot and fairly dry area, particularly in the summer months. The rainfall is just plentiful enough for a crop of summer wheat, so large farms spread out over the vast, mostly flat land and the camino is mostly on dirt roads that primarily serve these farms.

Setting out alone from Burgos I soon came upon a small but diverse international group. It consisted of an American woman, a Spanish man, and a Japanese man. I joined these three for the day as we walked on ahead toward my goal for the night: Hontanas.

The day was hot and dry, so any bit of shade was very welcome. My new boots, contrary to the reputation of new boots, were treating my feet very nicely. Still, I was hot and dry as I pulled into the town of Hontanas.

This little community, made up mostly of abandoned homes, sits low in a draw and is almost invisible until you come right onto it. Over the previous days I’d heard about another  American, Trevor, and I hoped to meet him here. Sure enough, I sit down for lunch and hear the familiar sounds of American English and I meet Trevor Rasmussen of Ohio whom I’d come to know well over the next weeks. “So you’re Trevor,” I said, and as we talked we began a strong friendship that was one of the best in my many days of camino walking.

I stayed that night at the albergue, where I snagged the last bed — a double in a private room! Soon a young couple knocked on the door and asked if I’d trade them since they were hoping to have some privacy and the rest of the albergue consisted of multiple bunk beds in several rooms. I obliged this charming couple and took one of their bunks instead. That night at dinner I sat with them, discovered they’d only just met a few days before, and heard the young Frenchman describe his dream of opening a crêpe restaurant here in Hontanas. It sounded like an ambitious dream, given the ramshackle nature of the town and the scarcity of any tourists except pilgrims, but I love crêpes (well, the sweet ones, anyway) and I wished him well.

June 5, 2008 Atapuerca to Burgos

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As I opened my eyes in the morning I was surprised to see François, Françoise and Pierre standing next to my bed. When they saw I was awake they said, “Merci, Monsieur.” “Merci? Pourquois?” Why, I asked myself, were they standing around my bed at this early hour? Pierre then described to me how today was the day the Allies had planned to launch their invasion of Normandy. The French, Pierre said, were very grateful for the help of the Americans and on the eve of the anniversary of the actual Normandy invasion the three French people wanted to say thanks to me, an American. I was humbled — not because of anything I’d done, but because of the sincere gratitude expressed by these people who’d benefitted from something my country had done many years ago.

The three French people left before me and I began the long walk into Burgos. At the airport I took the option to the left, said to be a little shorter than the one to the right. Still, it was a long slog through industrial areas. Finally I reached the old city and walked through the gates toward the cathedral. I chose to stay at the Meson del Cid, a delightful hotel above the western cathedral plaza. That afternoon I scouted out a place to purchase new hiking boots and, at the urging of several European pilgrims along the way, I also opted to buy hiking poles which were supposed to ease the strain on my feet and legs. Though the cathedral was closed I did get a stamp for my credential at the cathedral museum and toured the exhibits there.

Once again it was nice to settle into a comfy hotel and enjoy a dinner at a nice restaurant. Burgos is a beautiful and historic city — the site of Ferdinand and Isabella’s famous interview with Christopher Columbus as they considered whether to finance his expedition across the ocean to India.

As I fell asleep I looked back over the 285 kilometers (178 miles) I’d walked over the past couple of weeks. My feet had healed up some from the blisters and with my new hiking boots I expected to have an even better camino in the miles ahead.

June 4, 2008 Tosantos to Atapuerca

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I met two kind and friendly South Africans at Tosantos and enjoyed leapfrogging them as we walked down from Tosantos toward Villafrance del Montes de Oca. This little town is the last stop before a 12 km stretch that walks over a mountain ridge and then down to the ancient church at San Juan de Ortega. With no breaks for water or food and a tall climb, this is one of the more physically challenging portions of the Camino Frances. I had plenty of water and took my time, enjoying the walk.

I stopped briefly at San Juan de Ortega for lunch, then headed on in gathering rain clouds and a cool wind to the town of Atapuerca. There I discovered the main, private albergue was closed, so as I walked up to scout out the church at the top of town I chose a tiny albergue with an attached restaurant. The albergue had soft mattresses and, for the first time I’d seen on the camino, thick and warm quilts on each bed. I’d discover later that the albergue was unheated and the quilts would come in handy during the icy cold night.

Atapuerca is famous as the site of a major anthropological discovery of an ancient hominid species. A museum in town included anatomically correct wax figures of these people-like creatures and a helpful BBC documentary in English playing on a loop on a museum TV. After touring the museum I enjoyed dinner at the albergue’s restaurant, where I met Françoise, her husband François, and Pierre of France. With my high school French I introduced myself and did my best to understand their descriptions of their lives and why they were walking the camino. François had a handicapping condition which did not allow him to carry a backpack, so he pulled his things on a wheeled cart strapped behind him.

I snuggled in my sleeping bag and all of my clothes under the quilt and, after a time, managed to get warm enough to fall asleep. I’d decided to splurge again on a hotel for tomorrow, this time in Burgos where I would replace my hiking shoes with real boots and take a rest day after so much busy travel and walking during the last few days.

June 3, 2008 Santo Domingo to Tosantos

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Back on the camino now I was ready to reintegrate myself into pilgrim life and was determined to make friends along the way toward Santiago. After an overnight at the Santo Domingo Parador I headed out to walk the path to Burgos that I’d seen from a taxi window over the previous days.

After Santo Domingo the camino rises up from the vast fields of grain toward the Montes de Oca. I walked along the path and took photos of the steeple at Grañon that rises just above a ridge, seeming to sprout from the earth like the grain itself. After Grañon I came to Belorado and considered stopping there at the albergue with a swimming pool. Instead I trudged farther, to Tosantos, and there had one of my most delightful albergue experiences.

As I walked into this three-story, parochial albergue in the quaint and tiny village of Tosantos I was introduced to Tomás, the hospitalero. He began to lecture me about the history of the region and about the camino. My college Spanish skills allowed me to catch about 1/4 of the words, but the general impression was that he was very excited about the camino and proud of his albergue. He instructed me to leave my boots on the main floor and choose a sleeping pad in the main sleeping room on the second floor, then told me all pilgrims were asked to help cook the evening meal and were invited before dinner to tour the cave above the town that held its statue of the Virgin Mary.

I finished my laundry out on the albergue’s grassy lawn, hung it up to dry, then joined other pilgrims in peeling potatoes and cutting up carrots for our dinner. At about 18:00 we headed across the highway to the parish church where a kind woman walked us up the hill to the cave chapel. The interior was quite chilly, and we pilgrims shivered as she gave us a lengthy explanation of how the Virgin is carried into town in the spring and returned to the cave in the winter (or vice versa). We were all happy to excuse ourselves and return to the sunshine outside and the warm stew awaiting us at the albergue dining room.

When we arrived we sat down to a delicious and plentiful meal of stew and salad, followed by cups of yogurt, all accompanied by loud conversation and the sounds of Taizé music played on the boom box on a shelf near the table. I learned from this experience that it is a great joy to share in cooking and eating a meal together with other pilgrims, and I appreciated the care and pride with which Tomás carried out his role as hospitalero.

May 30 – June 2, 2008 Santo Domingo to Copenhagen and back

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May 30: I left Santo Domingo at dawn in a white taxi and watched out the window as future camino miles whizzed past. I saw several pilgrims braving the wind and light rain of this day, and once again I was amazed at the colors of the springtime grain fields.

I arrived at Burgos in plenty of time for my train and waited at a cafe as one of the oddest sights of the camino unfolded before my eyes. A group of young Spaniards escorted one of their friends into the train station. He was blindfolded and wearing a bright wig and ballet tutu. He had some kind of sock around his male appendage and it became clear he was getting married this weekend and his friends were giving him a pre-nuptial hazing. He took it “like a man” and the whole episode evinced chuckles from the assembled train goers.

I boarded the train to Burgos, looking ahead to a five-hour journey and enjoyed every moment of this trip to Bilbao. Through fields and forests and across rivers — this was an introduction to the beauty of Northern Spain and I was glad for the opportunity to see this beautiful region. I arrived at the train station in Bilbao and spotted the gorgeous stained glass window above the train gates. Then I caught a taxi for Bilbao’s airport and my flight to Copenhagen.

My wife, Gail, an anesthesiologist and professor of bio-medical ethics, was to speak to the European Society of Anesthesiologists that weekend. It was a big event and her first European speech. When I arrived in Denmark I soon realized there were two Sheraton Hotels and I wasn’t certain at which one Gail was staying. I guessed which one and when I arrived at the lobby I asked the desk to call her room. Gail answered the phone and asked the odd question, “Where are you?” I told her, “I’m down in the lobby,” and she was ecstatic. Her friend, Pam, had joined her for her Copenhagen visit and for a couple of weeks of sightseeing between there and Rome, so the three of us spent the next days enjoying this amazing city and listening as Gail shared his outstanding speech with the European Society.

Since Gail is a doctor I asked if she’d be willing to take a look at the blisters on my feet. “No!” she said, “They’d be too gross!” Even without the support of My Own Private Physician the days away from the camino brought healing to my feet and by the time of my return to Spain I felt much better. My only regret was that I’d left my favorite baseball cap back at the hotel in Santo Domingo and I expected I’d never see it again.

June 2: After a great weekend in Copenhagen I said goodbye to Gail and Pam and headed back via plane to Bilbao. My friend Stefan had suggested that I needed a cell phone so he could send me SMS texts, so I obliged and purchased a cheap cell phone and some minutes as I waited at the Bilbao train station. I boarded the train back to Burgos and caught a taxi to Santo Domingo. As I checked in at the Parador I asked about my hat and, sure enough, they’d kept it safe for me. From then on I’d have a fondness for this hotel and the great Parador chain.