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I'M ON THE PLAIN IN SPAIN, SO THERE'S RAIN
The cloudless blue sky that had overseen our walk to Belorado turned gray and rainy by morning, making me glad I wasn't going to subject my bag to the elements all day. I dressed slowly, because the whole layering process and addition of rain pants etc. changes the usually quick morning routine, although I Iooked forward to finally breaking out the Magellan's outdoor jacket I'd been hauling around needlessly for nearly two weeks. After breakfast I stepped out into the steady rain hooded and shielded and carrying a light nylon foldaway bag with my essentials.
It was fantastic to realize how much more easily I moved without the pack burdening me, and I also noted how much stronger my feet and ankles felt without the extra weight. I traipsed through the muddy country roads in the rain quite cheerfully for the first hour, but by the second town I passed I started to notice something: my jacket was not waterproof. I could feel it dampening my thermal fleece underneath, and what's more, my hands were freezing from the chill of the rain. Wet and getting wetter, I scurried into the first open cafe I could find about 8K in and assessed the damage over a steaming cafe con leche.
Wasn't good. The jacket was damp on the inside, and my entire thermal layer was wet. So were the sleeves and sides of my merino wool top (which at least kept me warm), and the tank top layered over it. I had another 20K to go here, and there was a long stretch with no villages ... I couldn't cafe hop town to town as in recent days and dry off in intervals.
Worse yet, my cheap foldaway bag was waaay worse than I'd expected. It just let the rain right through, dampening my extra merino sweater and everything else. It was a lucky fluke that I had happened to have a plastic bag for the first time all Camino and had put my ipad in it wrapped in a towel, because that and the thin windshell I had tossed in for extra protection were the only things that saved it. Oh, and there were also holes forming near the bottom where the stitching was fraying. Yikes. All I needed was for everything to fall out and into the endless mud.
Just then Elke and Thomas sailed into the cafe, equally footloose because Brian had taken a bus, and their bags, to our destination of Ages -- a place past the guidebook's designated endpoint because it seemed better equipped for an influx of pilgrims, and because going extra today shaved time off tomorrow's walk to Burgos. They lingered sympathetically a bit, but, much drier and more energetic, soon sprang back on the road understsndably enjoying their lighter, faster walk.
I realized I'd never dry out completely, so once I got from wet to damp, I re-stacked my six layers of clothes in a more strategic order to improve water resistance as much as possible while retaining warmth. As it happened, when I stepped back out onto the trail the rain had stopped, so I had a reasonably gray but dry walk toward the next town of Villafranca. About the most drama came from a short stint of path right on the shoulder of the highway, when I found myself having to jump out of the way of a tractor trailer making a curve that seemed a little close for comfort. Sheesh, man.
After Villafranca, the trail rose up 1100 meters through forest, then descended to the town of San Juan de Ortega a little over 12.4 K away. I was proud of how that distance, so daunting a week ago, now just prompted me to think, "12K, that's about 3 hours... Okay, let's do it." Up the muddy hill trail I went, hoping not to jostle my daypack to shake the holes bigger.
I WALK A LONELY ROAD.....
The rain resumed as I trudged through the muck up the steep rise into the forest...and then, as I went farther, I started to see snow clinging to the ground by the roadside. Around this time, the rain also began to turn into a light wet snowfall --heavy flakes worthy of any Christmas card. Um, was I not SWIMMING less than 12 hours ago? It was bizarre, but at least this was not as cold as the rain, so I just kept my head down and kept going.
After an eternal approach to the peak, a sign to San Juan de Ortega said "9K". You're. Kidding. I've been going for hours already! A quick glance at my watch stunned me by saying that actually, I'd only been in the snowflurries for about 30-40 minutes. But the tiring hills and bleak landscape had made it seem like forever.
Here's the thing. I was totally alone on that road. Although it was just early afternoon and there are always pilgrims ahead of and behind you on the route, I hadn't seen any. The last walkers I'd seen were a red poncho'd couple many yards ahead, who bobbed into view every now and again far down the path, but way beyond shouting distance. And this was a totally empty road, in the woods, like a logging road, but inches deep In a strangely orange muck the colour of pureed carrots. There wasn't even a place to sort of stop or sit down if you wanted to catch your breath, and I dreaded my laces coming undone and me needing to tug the slick wet cords covered with clay. And the mud sucking in the boots meant you had to pick your way across the dirt road, looking for shallower spots where you could step over the deepest, most absorbent wet patches. If something were to happen to someone here, and they had no phone or way to reach out, there was nowhere to go. It wasn't scary exactly, but the utter isolation was definitely disquieting.
There was nothing for it. I had to go on.
For three hours I trudged down that road, in the snow and mud and eerie quiet under the menacing gray sky, without stopping, as my body heat warmed my sodden woolens and then dampened them again with a sheen of sweat. I just went and went and went, because there was no other option, and the best I could do was get it done as soon as I could. The one thing I was grateful for over and over again was that I was not carrying my heavy backpack... That mercy really kept me sane, and let me move at a pace where I felt I could make progress. It was truly the best possible day I could have chosen to ship my bag, and as long as my other little pack held together I would be okay.
About 5K from the end, as the rolling path began to level out, I noticed the mud becoming shallower...and patches of blue sky between the clouds. Holy crap...it was getting SUNNY AND WARM as I descended, and I realized with a faintly bitter laugh that the sunglasses I had tossed into my daypack out of habit were actually going to be needed. It was turning into a fine day! I mused and marveled: I had gone through high summery heat, November rain, winter snow and fresh conspiring sun in less than 24 hours. All seasons in a day, literally. Kind of astonishing.
Toward the bottom I came upon the first person I'd seen in hours, an older woman called Leslie from England. She told me that my fear up in the snow had been real -- that not far ahead of me, a walker had developed heart issues and had had to wait on the muddy road for an ambulance to take her to Burgos. I thought of the many crosses and memorials we've seen by the road, and of the five deaths on the Camino this year. Chilling.
However, our chat turned to pleasanter topics as the sun and the long awaited view of the village raised our spirits. When I asked her why she was walking the Camino, Leslie gave me the best answer I've heard yet: "I'm walking in thanksgiving for all the blessings in my whole life so far", which included her grandson's third birthday today. She said it so simply, but sincerely, it made me smile in appreciation .
San Juan de Ortega has 18 residents, and is pretty much an impressive church with the sarcophagus of its namesake saint, a large albergue, and a cafe. It's not even a one-horse town -- it's a one-donkey town, as embodied by the guardian listlessly grazing by the town sign and watched our arrival with bored disinterest. I had a short rest and an ice cream, and then picked myself up and quickly finished off the 3.4K to the next (and fortunately slightly bigger) town of Ages. I found Elke and Melissa staying at the albergue where I had sent my bag, and was glad the place had room for me too.
Melissa regularly goes faster and earlier than I do and gets to places long before me, so she can make the long walks look easy. But I was sort of gratified that she admitted she too had found today's epic country road difficult... Glad to know it wasn't just me or my isolated circumstances. She observed that the Camino can really test you, and that like me she had faced that frustration with the endless muck, the lack of rest and the realization that there is nothing to do but keep going. It was definitely a challenge today unlike any other I've met so far, but we all seem to have faced it much better than perhaps before...I know I was way better today than I was during the very hot and very rainy walks last week. It feels good to feel stronger.
After dinner Elke brought Brian and Thomas over for a visit, and as usual we five sat up over wine and conversation till closing time. Tomorrow is Burgos -- but also Brian and Melissa's last days on the Camino, which means Elke and Thomas and I will continue on to Santiago likely alone, since we travel at different paces. I am a little sad that my Camino family is breaking up -- the next two thirds of the trip will surely take on a different flavour than the past five friendly days, and perhaps new characters will emerge in the posts. But I love that I got to be part of this little group and that I have some real friendships to be fond of beyond the many pleasant acquaintances. They're great company, and great people. And before everyone splits off we are going to have a great time in the big city, so watch this space for the reports!
Thank you as always for reading, and hope the updated photos help illustrate the lengthy narrative!
- comments
Jan Delighted to find 3 blogs to read! Got a cup of coffee and travelled with you. I felt the relief of the pool and the anxiety of the muddy country road. Thanks for taking me along....so impressed with your progress!