San Juan to Burgos

San Juan de Ortega to Burgos  Part One


A miserable night in San Juan changed to a miserable morning in San Juan.  It was cold and raining.  And there was no breakfast.  The hostel had nothing, and the only café in town was not open.

Off we marched.  And again we had to walk uphill for normalcy.  Would we never walk downhill?  Up and up we went in the rain, and the rocks became more slippery as we went.  Once again I thought the camino had trumped itself for dangerous conditions.  These rocks were individual nightmares.  However, we eventually came to the top.

There was a big sign up there, and a big rock arrow, and also a nice tribute to the walk of the Amber series.  We stood in the rain and admired it all, until continuing forward.  After about one hundred yards, I realized I had left my walking poles, so I went back to grab them.  Then I ran back to Leo.  Exhausted I admired a vista, with a nearby sign stating we were leaving the Pyrenees, there were no more vistas.

It is a sad moment.

It is also a freaking “I LOVE IT” moment.

Even as we descended along the fence line of the military base, a group of Spanish soldiers ran past us, and I thought even with the rain, the day was not so bad.

That idea was short-lived as it began to pour. Dripping and soaked, we made it into the town of Orbaneja, and stumbled into a café full of wet pilgrims.  We took a coffee and sat down to contemplate our next move.  Going into Burgos was rumored to have two options:  along the river or along the busy streets.  Even as we discussed the options, a local leaned forward and told us the river route was too muddy.  So we opted for the city walk. (Later we would discover the river walk was ok.)

We trudged along in the intermittent rain, around the Burgos airport and into the suburbs. And then miles of the long highway into town.  Eventually we caught a bus with other pilgrims, and we were deposited within the old town.

Leo and I arrived in Burgos broken.  Our bodies were tired, our spirits were broken.  Our clothes stunk.  About two blocks before the municipal Albergue, I asked Leo to stay in a hotel.  He said sure, as long as it wasn’t expensive.  And so we stayed that night in a luxurious haven.  We spent the afternoon exploring Burgos with Susanne and Heidi, but we failed to meet them for dinner.  Leo wanted private time, and I was too tired to insist on meeting friends.   We were tired, but we knew we had made our first landmark!

Tosantos to San Juan de Ortega

Tosantos to San Juan de Ortega

After a fitful sleep, we left the Albergue fairly late in the morning.  I remember the sun was bright in the sky.  I also remember Luis giving his pilgrim blessing to Leo.  I was feeling short-changed, the camino obviously loved Leo but not me. 

I think I walked a little disappointed and angry on this day, and I was constantly ahead of Leo.  According to the map, we walked uphill all day, but I don’t’ remember that fact.   I do remember passing the Family Fearn at a civil war monument, and talking for a few minutes. Then I was off again, down a short slope, and up a ridiculous climb, and then through the woods for an hour or two.  The path was a firebreak between two sections, and quite unlovely.

Far ahead of me was a young lady, another German girl, who I recognized from her coat and backpack.  She suddenly ditched off to the right, and I assumed she had gone to pee.   I waited, and then waited some more, and finally decided she had died in the woods, so I crept closer.  It turned out she was just having lunch on a log.

I continued on to San Juan de Ortega.  The village contained the church, the Albergue and one restaurant.  I waited until Leo arrived about an hour later, we said our goodbyes to the Family Fearn, and we went inside.

The rooms were backed to the gills, with barely a foot between beds.  The bathrooms were packed with people doing laundry and filthy floors.  And the place was freezing.   We joined the Americans Kay, Maria and Jean for dinner.  John and Penny from Australia joined us.  And a very interesting gay man from China, who lived in South America also joined us.  I forget his name but Leo will tell me.

Dinner, which promised garlic soup, was terrible.  And the dining area was freezing.  Of course, upstairs we were packed like sardines, and it was hot and stuffy.  I awoke at 4:00 am, dressed in the hallway, and then lay awake, waiting for Leo to take me out of there.   When I reawake at 6:30, it was raining.

Granon to Tosantos

Granon  to Tosantos

After leaving the monastery, Leo and I found ourselves walking on a cold and breezy morning.  The sun was out, but it did little to warm us.  However, the dirt path stretched away over gently rolling hills, and we walked several miles looking for a cup of coffee and something more substantial than the toast we had eaten in Granon.  We diverted from the path to cross a highway, and enjoyed churros and chocolate at the Spanish equivalent of a Truck Stop.  Back to the path again, which now paralleled the highway for several miles.  As we neared Belorado around lunch time, the day had warmed itself significantly.  We wanted to stop for lunch, plus Belorado was the last town for several days that had an ATM.

There was a sign for an ancient Jewish quarter in the village, and I wanted to check it out, so we detoured.  We didn’t find the Jewish quarter, but we did find a lovely modern plaza with restaurants, stores and banks.  We also found the Family Fearn, Susanne and Heidi all relaxing in the warm sunlight.  Leo and I had a lunch of bocadillos and beer.  If I recall, this is the first time our sandwich had bacon and was served warm.  The pilgrims drifted away, and eventually we began to walk again.  There were still six kilometers to go for the day.

Tosantos is another village in Spain with a few buildings and no residents to be seen.  The guidebook states 20 people live there, but we did not see signs of anyone.   The Albergue is in an old hopsital.  The sleeping arrangements are again on mats in the attic.  This place is watched by a kind and beloved man named Luis.  He was not there when we arrived, just a group of young Spanish hospiteleros who welcomed us eagerly and kindly.  In the cliffs above the town is a hermitage church carved into the stone, and while the guidebook says it is always locked, a night spent in Tostanos includes a guided tour!  We were to meet in the courtyard at 5:00, visit the hermitage, then come back and prepare dinner with the communal meal served at 7:00.

As there was a line for the showers, I went to the attic and laid out my mat to take a nap.  I had no sooner closed my eyes, then I was surrounded by four German men, talking loudly and organizing their spaces for the night.  Nap ruined, I went outside to find the Fearn children having a great time with the dog of the house.  Of course Susanne and Heidi were there, too.  Today I would also meet Patrick, the movie star from Australia, and Francesca, a young girl from Italy.

At 5:00 we all went to the hermitage.  Super cool but no photos were allowed.  We felt very special to be given access to this gem in the cliffs.  And then we came down the hill to prepare dinner.   Just moments  before dinner was to be served, in walk Stonerboy and his girlfriend.  Suddenly dinner is postponed, and all the young volunteers disappear.  Obviously the weed brigade had arrived.  I really don’t care if people smoke, but I was irritated that all the hungry pilgrims were now put on hold.

At 8:00, we finally sat down to a delicious dinner.  The only problem, all the wine was at one end of the table the OTHER end of the table…with all the stoners.  For everyone at my end, we were given one small gourd with enough wine for each of us to have a sip or two, as long as several others completely passed.  One of the German men was ticked off!  He kept pounding the table and yelling, “More Wine!” but he gave up when he realized the volunteers were completely oblivious.

Dinner was delicious.  I was mesmerized by the movie star who sat across from me.  Also there was a young girl from the Netherlands who had an amazing story of her previous Camino.  She had been hit by a car and her head split open just days from Santiago.  She had returned after healing to complete her journey.

As dinner came to a close, a group of Italian men began to sing.  Of course they were from the end of the table with the wine, so I figured they had too much.  But when they were done, the Spanish began to sing.  And then the Australians.  I realized the idea was moving its way around the table, and each nationality would sing a song to represent their country.  And then I had the horrible realization Leo and I were the only two Americans at the table.  I had no idea what song!

Luckily, Heidi from Switzerland was next.  As I was later told, Heidi was a professional yodeler.  She had traveled the world with her talent.  Not the “yodel’lay ee who” that we think of in the States, but a beautiful slow song.  I just could not believe that beauty came from that small woman.  When she was done, the room exploded in excitement.  Of course nobody could follow that performance, and I was spared singing.

At the conclusion of dinner, Stonerboy Fran announced he was going to set up another service in yet another private chapel.  He also said anyone not attending should volunteer to do the dishes.  Hmmmm.  I did not want to be responsible for the dishes again, and I also did not want to go to another hippie service.  Since dinner was already an hour late, I claimed exhaustion and went to my mat.  I could hear the singing and prayers, as I drifted off to sleep.

Except when the service was over, the four German men came into the room, talking as loudly as ever.  Leo laid down on his mat and told me the service was really special.  Fran was not in charge, it was the beloved host Luis who led the evening prayer and discussion.  I fell asleep a little angry with myself for being so judgmental over a little weed, and disappointed I had missed this opportunity.

The morning would bring a new day, another walk, and more adventures, emotions, opportunities and pilgrims.  Day 11 was now past.

Azofra to Granon

Azofra to Granon

In the morning, we would arise and leave Azofra.  It was freezing cold, and I am not sure we saw another pilgrim upon our departure.  We certainly never saw Irma again.  I hope her all the best in this world and the next!

We walked along empty paths, as the camino had become very quiet after Easter.  We entered the suburbs of Ciruena, an eerie place of empty homes and driveways.  It reminded me of a zombie apocolypse, the way the homes marched on and on, and yet there was no sign of habitation.  Many pilgrims would remark on the oddity.

Eventually we made it to Santo Domingo de Calzada around lunchtime.  The cathedral in this town celebrates the Miracle Chicken.  Leo and I bought tickets into the cathedral, and while Leo heard the chicken cluck twice, I missed it both times.  This was another instance on the camino where I felt God was talking to Leo, and ignoring me.  I started to think maybe my reason for walking was for the sole purpose of introducing Leo to God. 










----Just a side note, looking at our entries to Facebook at this time, Leo and I were both into heavy thoughts of family, God and life.  It is only natural that I would start to think of everything as a sign to improve Leo’s faith. -----

Afterward we hit a café, and there were Kay, Maria and Jean, having lunch and a pastry.  They said Kay’s feet were full of too many blisters to continue, and we all said our goodbyes.

Leo and I continued on to Granon.   We checked into the church, our lodging would be mats upon the floor.  The shower revealed no hot water.  However, several things happened.  I ran into a Hospitalera that I adored from the movie “Six Ways to Santiago”.  I grabbed a quick hug.  Second, we attended Mass, and afterward received a pilgrim’s blessing, the first of our pilgrimage.  Third, we helped prepare a wonderful communal dinner with the many pilgrims staying in the church.  Attending were Susanne, the Family Fearn, John and Penny from Australia, Imca from the Netherlands, Francesca from Italy, and Tomas, who we had not seen since Day One in St Jean Pied de Port.  It was amazing to see him again.   Also,  a man and his girlfriend from Spain and Peru, respectively.  They were volunteers along the way, and they volunteered this evening.

I don’t know, I could be wrong, but I think Fran, Monica and the young hospitalera in Granon went outside and got stoned.  All I know is that after dinner, I helped John and Jim wash dishes, and then went to a famous, but secret sanctuary to sing Kum by- Ya.  It should have been a spiritual moment, but I was too invested in the pot-heads who I thought were ruining my camino.

On the bright side, I finally spoke with the Family Fearn.  (Leo had been talking for days, but I only said hello from time to time.)

Ventosa to Azofra

Ventosa to Azofra

We have begun to lose track of the days.   We awoke early again, and leave the Albergue before the other pilgrims.  Even as I type this, I am amazed, as I remember the camino as all late starts, long after the other pilgrims had departed.   We stopped for breakfast at the only place with an open sign, and indeed while the sign was open, it was a good twenty minutes before the owner was ready to feed us.  And then off we went.

At this point, I think Leo and I were both done.  Tired.  Over it.  We decided to walk only a few miles to the town of Azofra, for two reasons.  One, it was nearby.  Two, the rooms were for two people only.   Albergues are 100% part of the camino, and they cannot be avoided, but they are tiring.  I personally felt as if I never slept in an Albergue, only rested.  The people snore, cough, roll over on their squeaky beds, go to the bathroom, slam doors, turn on lights, have conversations at inappropriate noise levels and inappropriate times.  I was always amazed when someone said I snored, because I had stayed up all night listening to them!

Anyway, Leo and I hobbled toward the next stop.

I passed a woman along the road, long white hair and too many bags.  I thought she was a crazy local, so I waved and continued walking.   Leo of course, slowed and talked with her.  I don’t’ think there was much conversation, but Leo eventually took some of her bags and helped her into town.    Wow, she was wonderful of course, and Leo had shown me again how jaded I can be.

Her name was Irma.  She was 83 years old.  She began the camino from Germany in 2014, but when the cold weather set in, she went home.  As soon as Spring arrived, she went back to her departure place and began to walk again.  She only did a few miles each day, but she was hoping to make Santiago by the end of Summer.   Leo and I got all of this once we had arrived in Azofra and met other pilgrims who could translate.  Irma understood English, but did not speak it.  In fact, while we were enjoying a beer with Irma (she had two!), we met up again with Garry (two rr’s) from Australia.  He was ranting about a woman he heard was walking at the age of 83, while he was proud of walking at 79.  When he realized this might be the woman, he interrogated her until she gave him the German equivalent of a “fuck off”.

They did eventually get along.  Garry did the whole, “I am not worthy” routine, and Irma ate it up.  Also present were Violetta from Poland, Christina from Germany and Yolanna from the Czech republic.

Leo and I eventually got into the two person room in Azofra.  We had dinner with an English woman who taught school in Hungary.  She was avoiding a particularly amorous man from Hungary who was chasing her.  In a hilarious instant, I met him in the hallway as he kept opening his door to see if women were walking past.

The room in Azofra was freezing, near 36 degrees.  It was very cold when we left in the morning.

Easter Sunday: Logrono to Ventosa

Easter Sunday:  Logrono to Ventosa

What can I say?  We got up in the morning and we walked. As crowded as the Albergue was in Logrono, we noticed immediately that there were less pilgrims now on the camino.  The Spaniards were going to service in the morning, and then getting in their cars or trains and leaving for home.

I suppose I wanted to go to Easter service in Spain.  But we left so early in the morning, and I wasn’t really thinking about anything other than our next town.  The previous day’s walk had left us both in pain, and we decided on a short day, not only for the rest, but to get off the guidebook and to start enjoying some of the “famous” stops along the way.

That morning as we walked, I decided to sit down and figure out our next move.   I told Leo to go forward, I would catch up.  The walk was a nice romp around a reservoir.  After a few minutes, I continued along the way.  There was a café about an hour away, and when I got there, Leo was not there.  I checked the bathrooms.  No Leo.   Hmm, our agreement was to always stop at the next café until the other person caught up.   I began to hurry up the next mountain.

Leo always went much faster than I going up, so I was not surprised I did not catch him.  At the top however, once past a giant billboard of a cow, I could see the path for several miles to the next town. And though the people were small, I did not recognize Leo’s backpack at all.   I began to panic, mostly because I figured he had gotten lost, and somehow he was going to blame me if he did (because I had the guidebook).  I began to hurry down the hill.


Eventually I reached the town of Navarette.   No Leo.  I asked the other pilgrims, most of whom I knew by face, not by name.  No Leo.  I desperately searched for Wi-Fi in this tiny village, hoping to get a connection, knowing if Leo were lost, he would find me through Facebook.  No Wi-Fi in this town, and No Leo.   I had decided to walk to the next town, when I passed a café and Leo was sitting there having a beer.  He had no idea I thought he was lost.

So on this particular occasion, there were two routes going the same way.  I took the fast route, Leo took the route through the zoo.  He saw all sorts of animals, while I had a small breakdown.  We would get separated several times again, but I never worried as much as I did on this day.

We continued our short trek, and detoured off the main way to the small village of Ventosa.  The Albergue was quiet, and though it eventually filled, our room was a quiet one that night.  We met Garry, two rr’s, from Australia, who was 79 and proud to be walking the camino.  We had a dinner of swordfish in the local bar, and went to bed.  Easter Sunday had passed.

Los Arcos to Logrono

In the morning we had a lovely breakfast as provided by the Albergue de la Abuela, including a nice cake that is made daily.  Originally the grandmother made the cake for the pilgrims, but now her son carries on the tradition.

It was a beautiful day.  All around us were pilgrims celebrating the Easter weekend.  This would be our longest walk of the camino thus far. I have many pictures of wonderful landscapes and steep hills.  This could be the archetypical day as went walked kilometer after kilometer through the countryside. 
Once we were in the town of Viana,  we stopped for lunch across from the cathedral.  Leo wanted to sit outside, but I was cold and insisted on an inside table.  After lunch we took a few minutes to tour the cathedral.  As we were leaving, we noticed some Spaniards stomping on a stone in the yard.  I asked about it, and the story revealed this was the burial marker for a much hated local politician.  Tradition maintains that visitors show their disgust by stomping on the tomb!










As we approached Logrono, the road became asphalt and our feet began to tire. We crested a hill and began the descent into the city.  There is a woman who lives along this path, her family guarded the pilgrim road into Logrono for generations, and she is still there, greeting weary pilgrims and offering a stamp.  Leo and I stopped for a minute and then continued along.  Suddenly I remembered I had left my guidebook, and I had to run back up the hill.  It was amazing how many pilgrims I passed who were coming into the city.  I grabbed my guidebook and hurried back to Leo, and we entered into the suburbs.

At one point we smelled thick smoke, and ashes fell around us.  We were passing the crematorium!  Service had just ended!  Oh, what a reminder that Europe is not the same as the States!  We continued to along the riverbank, around us more and more pilgrims were marching.  Then up a few stairs and across a wide bridge into the city.  On the other side of the river, the paths diverged to different hostals.  Leo and I decided to head toward the municipal. As we walked up the narrow street, I noticed a sign which translated said, “Go around the corner to enter the Albergue”.  So Leo and I turned when others went straight.

Did I mention it was Easter weekend, and that there were many Spaniards along the camino?   All the hotel rooms, private albergues, casa rurals, etc had been pre-booked by the locals who were coming into the city for Easter services in the morning.

Leo and I walked into the Albergue just as two other pilgrims were finishing check-in.  We handed over our credencials and began the process of being assigned a bed.  Behind us came a tidal wave of other pilgrims.  And here is the thing:  Leo and I got the last two beds in the city.  Everyone else who either have to go back, or go forward…miles and miles!  Women were crying, men were moaning.  Groups began to call for taxis to take them to the next town.  We lost Maas, Anna and Swiss Maria at this time.

All Leo and I knew were we were done for the day, our “dogs were barking”.  We went to find our beds, and well, there was Susanne in a bunk over from us.  She introduced us to Heidi, another pilgrim from Switzerland who spoke very little English.  Glaucia was also there at this Albergue.  We decided to cook dinner in the kitchen.

Leo’s leg hurt fairly badly, and my feet were not happy, but after some initial consternation in the courtyard, we were able to walk to the nearby market for supplies.  Dinner was going to be delicious for only 3 euro per person!  We also stopped by the cathedral, and marveled at the scenic public square.  Logrono is a city I would like to visit again when I have time.

The five of us cooked a wonderful dinner of salad, pasta and wine.  Susanne did a great job!  There was a contigent of young Koreans in the kitchen, and I felt bad that we did not have enough to share, but even as we began cleaning, they went out to the market.  An hour or so later and the Koreans had a dinner twice as amazing as ours.  I was lucky to receive an asparagus wrapped in proscuitto from their feast.

Between the long walk, grabbing the last two beds and the wonderful communal dinner, this was a magical day on the camino.