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It's 3 PM, I'm in Najera and I just sat down to eat. Spaghetti Carbonara, yum.
Today's walk went relatively fast and I arrived here quite early but, considering the refuge is nearly full, I don't mind. It was a bit cold and windy today and it kept threatening to rain which means I walked a third of the way in Blue Spook outfit. The beginning was a bit hard as we had to walk on a gravel path next to the highway, not including the point where we had to climb down a mud hole where the road had washed away. As soon as we moved away from the highway, the trail led us through the endless Rioja vineyards where an entire troll city had been built out of stone piles. I had to rest up quite a lot along the way as my feet hurt a lot today. After a small climb up to the Pojo de Roldan and a small descent past a gravel factory, we passed the Poema di Camino where I contemplated a little.
Najera is surrounded by red rock formations which add a strange aspect to it. The fortress like church Santa Maria de la Réal is built out of the same material. Unfortunately it's closed on a Monday so I don't get to visit it. The museum remains hermetically locked too.
As agreed with my family, I won't be going home for my grandmother's funeral. If I did, I don't think I'd return to the camino afterwards. Apparantly my entire family is telling my parents to tell me I should keep walking. So, I will.
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Today was the 21km to Santo Domingo de la Calzada. A lot of people got up to leave at 5.15 in the morning, as the refuge last night was packed (over 60 people) I guess everyone wanted to get there bright and early to be sure of a bed. I stay put until 6 AM before rolling out of bed also. As there is a long line at the bathroom, I still have to put in my contacts and my sleeping bag is unwilling to be rolled up, I only leave around 7.20. But Dramatis Dramatiae! My walking stick has disappeared, probably taken by another pilgrim as we had to assemble all sticks below the night before. Boohoo! Luckily enough, the person who took my stick, left behind his/hers. Unfortunately, it's heavier and a bit longer, meaning I'll have to adapt my rhythm. I miss my little buddy, I even marked it. Sigh.
Leaving Najera is done up-hill most of the time through a pine forest part of the way and then on through wheat and grape fields caught between beautiful red rock formations. I left quickly to Azofra where I arrived about an hour later, meaning I walked the 5.5km way too fast. I stopped for about 2 minutes and re-filled my bottle at the fuente and I was up and at it again. This didn't last long. I still manage to pass the large, imposing, mysterious rollo outside of Azofra but 500m further pwaa pwaaa pwaaaaa break-down. No surprise. It wasn't an easy road anyway but consisted of a grit path alongside the carretera, which kills the feet. Luckily enough there are some concrete 'things' lying around next to a field so I rested a bit before being almost knocked over by a spraying tractor in the field. Imagine something like this but bigger. After 15 minutes walking I'm out again. Oh boy. I knock back a couple of nurofen and spring into action once more. The muscles were doing fine, but the feet weren't happy at all.
The path meanders through wheat fields to what looks like a horrible hill. It IS a horrible hill. Oh well, what must be done, must be done and I start my slow ascent, followed closely by an older Austrian lady who is having difficulties also. Thankfully, it's not blistering hot today. I zigzag while I climb up as it's easier on my legs that way and after a lot of huffing and puffing, I get to the top. At another grit factory, I rest up a bit. I figure I should be between the villages of Ciruena and Ciruenela, meaning I took the long way round and added extra km's to the walk. I go on; blubbering a bit because my body hurts and I still have 6 km to go. The road leads me past a strange walled cemetery lying between the two small villages. I cross the carretera and I spy with my little eye another concrete marker where I plan to rest a few minutes. Just I'm sitting down; I leap up again with the first girly scream in two weeks when the biggest spider of Spain scrambles from under the concrete ledge. Luckily, the few pilgrims on the road were already too far away to hear me. Snort. I'm chased off anyway a few minutes later by an entire army of ants who seem to have taken umbrage at my sitting there. Alright then.
I walk on through fields, fields as far as the eye can see. Truly stunning. Entire armies of ants cross the road in columns of five six centimetres wide, leaving small but clear grooves into the road. Incredible. I speed up a little again as I'm feeling a bit better and after a small climb I find myself on the edge of a valley, covered in green fields with the hills far off. It's really a beautiful site. I guess it must all look a lot deader in the summer when all the grain has turned yellow and dry but for now it's still all green and full of life. Jacques Clouteau wrote in his book, that he found no birds here but I hear enough 'prueet prueet' to the contrary. Of course there are still a lot of bugs around also.
Even though the foot soles burn, I walk on. Too fast. The road goes up and down and then Halleluiah! Santo Domingo only 1.5km away. I set my brain to zero and march on. The last km seems endless. It's as if the town is not getting any closer but finally I walk off the grit unto a paved road and into the outskirts of the small town. I moan on and finally reach the still half-empty refugio, meaning all my hurrying was unnecessary. Sigh. Sello, donativo and rest. I meet up with a few people I met along the way including a very nice Italian gentleman. The rooms are not overly pleasant but there are only normal beds, meaning I won’t have to climb up to a top bunk as usual. I take a quick shower, do some laundry and go for lunch. Bar Los Arca has a menu del peregrino at 7.75€, canneloni, steak and french fries, bread and vino tinto and The Simpsons in Spanish on TV. And how sad is it that I virtually know these episodes by heart? As I get a whole bottle of vino for myself, I'm a little careless and throw back a glass or three or four meaning I walk out of the bar a bish drrrunk. Jush a bish. I deserved it.
I make a quick call home where my father rails at me for having walked too fast and then I go read in the plaza next to the church, enjoying the sun. It's bloody hot here.
When the church and museum finally opens at 5 pm, I jump to it. Unfortunately, photographs are not allowed, meaning I buy about two dozen postcards. Oh well. It's a shame really, as there were absolutely stunning photographs I would have liked pictures of. The cathedral is very large and gothic built on a roman base. The crypt with Santo Domingo's grave had some leftovers of roman polychromic stone sculpture. What stopped me for a moment in the crypt were some oddish circle-shaped marking on the floor of a heavy object (probably a candelabra) that must've been moved hundreds of times.
The chicken coop was kind of funny although the chicken seemed a bit stressed out. A stowaway sparrow gorged itself on the grain in the coop and profited from the tradition. I also looked quite a long while at a marvellous St Veronica and a truly stunning Flemish Primitive of the annunciation which I had already seen in Brussels on a lend-out once. In the Claustrum, where all the treasures are displayed, was a strange large wooden Christ on the cross of the 12th century with a truly beatific and serene face. The cathedral is beautiful and peaceful but not quiet due to the large amounts of tourists.
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My first stop is in Grañon around 9.30am for a cafe solo and a technical break. The road leading to here has been made right next to the highway, except for a little useless detour of 3 km over a hill. We pass the Cruz de las Valientes which memorizes an auta-da-fe between Grañon and Santo Domingo, which was rather cool. I visit the tiny church which oddly enough makes me think of my grandfather who passed away almost 10 years ago. Hm.
About an hour later, I cross over into the Province of Burgos, meaning I've done almost a third of the way. It's a shame there are no yellow arrows in real life to lead you.
I stop today's walk around 12.30 in Redecilla de Camino, which is tiny village smeared out along a busy road where heavy trucks thunder past by the dozens. The walk to here was not specifically interesting but that's partly because I'm tired and my feet hurt a lot. I realise that I overdid it yesterday and swear that it's the one and only time I'll rush just to make sure I have a bed. The refugio here is small, clean and privately owned with very clean showers and a teeny tiny kitchenette. There is an equally tiny shop annex bar where I buy some soup and yoghurt for lunch.
The church is not very interesting although it has a stunning baptismal font. The visit is made rather unpleasant because the church warden keeps following me, making sure I won't steal candlesticks and the two ton font. No thanks, my backpack is heavy enough. Grr.
As in every village, it's literally teeming with swallows and sparrows and there is never really a second without 'tsjilping', which is nice. It was very hot today and there was almost no wind so I'm glad I got to stop early. I passed three young people with a donkey a bit earlier which was nice also.
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I arrived quite early in Belorado, the end of my second small day walk. It wasn't an easy walk though as it was once again on the foot-destroying grit along the carretera. The road wound through three micro-villages: Casteldelgado, Villoria de Rioja and the village of three lies: Villamayor del Rio. The name means Large City on the River but translates to micro-village on the brook. Snort. The first 7 km went quite easily, but the last five were pretty painful and hot. As soon as I arrived in Belorado, I headed to a nice cafe on the charming Plaza Mayor for coffee and croissants. Yummy. I'd probably be able to go on after an hour's rest or so but everything has been precisely calculated. Also, my feet might spontaneously amputate themselves out of protest. Ahum.
I plan one more small leg to Villafranca Montes de Oca which is about 12km and then two long legs of around 20 km each to Atapuerca and Burgos. That will be hard enough, no need to push on madly now. I'll probably take a day off in Burgos also as there is a lot to see and I want to pick up my mail (HA HA HA).
The Belorado refuge is right next to a stork-populated beautiful church. The largest nest has young which clap their beaks to get the parents attention, very cool. Sparrows and swallows sublet the lower parts of the nests so it's a real sight to see.
I met two young men from San Diego, CJ and Gary with whom I've had somewhat of a talk. There are quite a few Americans on the road.
As it's extremely hot today, no one moves much except from shade to shade. It's really a very pleasant village.
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I arrived again very early in Villafrance Montes de Oca even though I didn't hurry at all. It got really hot as from 10 AM anyway. My feet are doing a bit better today so I hope they'll hold out till Atapuerca tomorrow.
Montes de Oca is not a very nice village as it consists basically of one very busy street with two rows of houses flanking it. It has one hotel annex restaurant annex bar, one bar annex shop and the funniest refugio I'll sleep in on my entire trip.
The restaurant fare was rather plain but consisted of an excellent lentil-cauliflower-chorizo casserole and chicken with the ubiquitous french fries. Yum.
Entering the village was an adventure in itself as apparantly some bees had escaped the truck they were being transported it and they started swarming towards me. (I think I already mentioned I'm a bit of an entomophobe). A lady beekeeper immediately stormed towards me, telling me to cover my face and spraying me with clouds of smoke. She accompanied me about 300m, smoking me all the while, until I was out of bee reach and ferocity. Okay, that was creepy.
The refugio is in an old abandoned school and is very very very basic. Very. But, it still filled up quite quickly and I again meet up with the Austrian lady I met first on the hill before Santo Domingo. She's having quite some trouble with her knees. The school in which we stay has been abandoned as there are only 7 children left in the village and they all go to school somewhere else. Kinda sad.
It looks like rain tonight which will be nice as it'll cool everything down a bit but it also means we'll be ankle-deep in the mud tomorrow. We already had to jump from stone to stone on some parts of the road. I again walked through three dead villages: Tosantos, Villambista and Espinosa de Camino. I rested up about twenty minutes in the last two villages and didn't see a living thing in either. It's odd passing through a village that looks deserted, knowing people still live there.
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I arrived in San Juan de Ortega after about three hours strenuous walking and took the chance to rest a bit by the fuente before going on. The road to here started out with a steep climb up to the alto which was covered with heath, small firs and brambles. Very very beautiful. The road then led on, after a very steep descent and even steeper climb through a large imposing conifer forest. As the markings were pretty sparse in there I feared I had missed a turn off and had to track back a kilometre before finding the arrow which told me I had been in the right direction the entire time. Sigh.
Rather frightening moment, when I turned a curve in the road, I almost bumped into a man loading a shotgun, a hunter of course, but I tell you, meeting a guy with a gun in the middle of a dark deserted forest is rather an EEP experience.
After a while the road opened up and led down to the tiny hamlet of San Juan, which was a very nice view. I visited the church which was very plain and peaceful before walking on to Atapuerca. As long as the road led through the woods, it was very nice but as soon as it led out on the tarmac, it was hell indeed. On top of everything, I kept missing the arrow to the refugio in Atapuerca, meaning I wandered around in the noon heat for half an hour longer than needed before finding the albergue. I fell on my bed and napped for a good hour before showering and lunching. It was too hot today.
As soon as it cooled off a little, I went to sit by the closed old church and enjoyed the world.
Sometimes, when I look at the wide wide open land, I can't believe I walked all that. It's empowering, but frightening. My entire body hurts and is tires but it's so worth it, whatever 'it' is.
As I sit on that bench in Atapuerca, I notice it's never really quiet here. There's the constant chatter of young birds in the trees, the shrill shrieks of the parents, the high aggressive buzz of a bee, the deep drone of the big black bumblebees, the very high fine hum of another sort of bee, children in the distance, someone chopping wood, the wind in the grass and trees, thunder 20km away in the mountains I crossed this morning, a plane high up in the clouds. Is this silence? The birds fly low, the air is very heavy, and there will be a thunderstorm tonight.
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