Camino Day 10
Buenos dias los amigos!
Today’s stage took us from Beldorado to the last village outside of Burgos, Ages (Pronounced Ajez) (ahh-hace).
Today was by far my most enjoyable day on the Camino so far! I know this might come as much of a surprise to you as it has to me, but today was a wonderful day. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, I met Jesus on the way and managed to avert the 3rd World War (just)!
We said goodbye to Dominique and Alain at the refugio this morning. Larry was helping Dominique walk to Burgos today, Alain took the bus and Dominique’s backpack with him and I had arranged to walk the day with Kirsten, the German girl who we have all been friendly with over the past 10 days. She was walking with her other friends (the Camino can be a bit of a pack animal environment) but was happy to swing by and collect me at the ambitious hour of 6.30 am!
As I stood in the freezing cold, it was 2° this morning, I heard them coming before I saw them! The Third Reich had just walked into town – 8 fully decked out German Storm Troopers marching in 2 columns of 4 straight towards me with Kirsten proudly front and left! The Germans, like the cliché version of their beach holiday buddies, were not playing games this morning.
Boots cleaned, rhythm fully defined, not a second later than 6.30 am they were ready for the next days forced march! I must admit I was somewhat alarmed at the prospect of being marshaled up and down the Spanish Meseta, but the thought of being left alone to toil for the day was worse, so I fell in. For an hour they didn’t say a word, we just marched and I must admit there was something strangely thrilling to be involved in this military convoy speeding along the Caminos deserted pathways.
Eventually I fell into small talk with Jesus – well I call him Jesus but his name was actually Martin. The reason for his nickname will be so apparent if anyone ever sees my pictures, so all I will suffice to say is the man could have gotten the lead role in Passion of the Christ without even getting out of bed!
It turned out that Jesus and 3 of his brothers (troopers A,D & F) were on holiday together and had decided to do the Camino as a type of brotherly bonding. We chatted on for about half an hour until I muttered the words, which on reflection I wish I hadn’t, "so where in Germany do you come from?" "Hamburg" came back the reply!
If I had managed to cut short the grunt of recognition the conversation might have ended right there but the fact I didn’t, precipitated the next dreaded question, "You know Hamburg?" This was really dangerous ground right now. Here I was thrashing through the countryside with half of the German SAS and I wasn’t about to tell them that my paternal grandfather carelessly wandered into the sites of a Hamburg anti-aircraft battery in World War II, probably manned by their grandfather whilst, knowing my luck, navigating a bomber lobbing bombs onto their beloved city.
What made it worse was that I had already told this story to Kirsten the day before and at any minute she would let it slip, leading to inevitable retribution and execution before the sun had even risen! "James went there on business once" piped up a small German female voice and I made a mental note to look after Kirsten for the rest of my life. It is amazing how life has a way of catching up with you and I just want to say thanks Gramps, even after 50 years your exploits are still causing havoc!
As the sun rose, my German marching machine left me in its wake. They had decided to try and break their record by doing 40 kms that day and this was far more than I was likely to achieve. My feet were feeling a whole lot better and the rash had miraculously stopped itching, so it was time to get some genuine Camino enjoyment time in!
The countryside had suddenly become green again, and the sun was so warm that it actually physically lifted my whole attitude to my walk. I blazed along the pathways, stopped by little streams to sit and look at the countryside and generally got about as tree hugging as I could manage. Alain and Dominique had left but amazingly the Camino was still here in one piece and, for the first time in days, I was enjoying myself. I was in such a good mood that, before I knew it, I had arrived in Ages in record time.
Larry had reserved us 2 lovely bunks in a brand new refugio and, as I sit here now, beer in hand and friendly company in the courtyard, the past few days seem a bit of a blur. I hope I have had my Camino blues and they are now in the past. If they are, good riddance and may they stay buried away from me and my poor readers who have had to deal with my morbid crap for the last few days. Life is good once more and tomorrow we will make it to Burgos, the end of the first stage of the Camino and a major milestone on my journey!
Adios Los Amigos and Buen Camino
Sumo
LARRY
Alain had decided to take the bus from Belorado and was taking Dominique’s backpack with him. James was walking with another group and I had planned to drop my pack in Ages (ahh-hace), then go to Burgos and return to Ages. I wanted to see if It would be possible for me to make 66K in a day or if I was only kidding myself. As it turned out I was never to know the answer, which is probably just as well.
Dominique had bought some food somewhere the evening before so she wouldn’t have to make any stops. I knew it would be impossible to go the distance without eating and the only breakfast available was, coffee con leche and a croissant. According to my information sheet there was a town, Tosantos, 4K from Belorado. If the sheet was correct, and many times it wasn’t, there would be a restaurant/bar and a possibility of getting something for the road. Another 8K past Tosantos my sheet showed a town called Villafranca Montes de Oca with even more possibilities.
When we got to Tosantos nothing had opened yet and we walked on toward Villafranca. A couple K’s before Villafranca I picked up the pace so I could stop and get something to eat on the road without Dominique having to stop with me. I knew her focus was on getting to Burgos in time to catch her train back to Paris and that she’d planned not to make any stops along the way.
The short section of the highway we’d walked from Belorado had been a reasonably wide 2 lanes leading up to Villafranca. Just before entering town it was necessary to cross a bridge over a small stream. On the own side of the bridge the road went through the town, an old town with streets made more for horses than cars and trucks. There were no sidewalks and very few, if any, curbs. If 2 trucks were passing on the straight parts I found I felt more comfortable if the passing could be timed so I could step into a doorway. If 2 trucks were coming from opposite directions and met at a corner, one had to stop until the other passed. The traffic was moderately heavy and I felt a little ill at ease both from cars and trucks.
At Villafranca I found an open market. I went in, found some almonds, a banana, peach and a chocolate bar. When I got to the checkout counter 2 young, teenage, girls were deciding which hair tint they wanted. It was; this, that, yes, no for quite a long while, during which time I saw Dominique go by on the other side of the street. When I’d gotten close to town I’d taken the dorky looking socks off my hands, which was a mistake. When it came time to pay I had to dump the money on the counter, have the cashier take what he wanted and then slide the balance back into my bag. My fingers had decided to go on strike from the cold.
By the time I got out of the store Domiunique was nowhere in sight. I hurried down the street looking for arrows or other signs that would tell me where the Camino went. Off to the left I saw a nicely graded trail with a bridge over a stream and assumed that was the Camino.
Yellow arrows are the road signs for the Camino in Spain with a red and white stripe, one above the other, the sign in France. Both have the scallop shell as the icon. Sometimes there are 6 or more arrows or double stripes at one intersection and sometimes there are none. Some of the more obvious turning points have lots of markers and some that are very questionable with lots of possibilities, don’t have any. Leaving Villafranca I saw none and took a wrong turn.
The further I went on the path, and it was a good path, the more I was convinced I’d taken a wrong turn. At that point I had to rely on my instincts, keep the sun where I knew it should be at that time of day and not let the situation become more of a problem in my head than than it was in reality.
At times I could hear the freeway, that lead to Burgos, in the distance off to my right. I knew if I kept walking in the direction I was going I would be able to intersect the freeway or end up in Burgos at some time in the future. I felt quite comfortable alone in the countryside and was sure I was headed in the right direction.
About an hour out of town I came to a fork in the road. I sat down on a big flat rock, got out some food and contemplated my options. To the left the road was paved, to the right it was 2 tracks in the dirt, leading over a hill. The sign said 8K back to Villafranca and I had no intentions of backtracking. If I listened hard I could hear the sounds of the freeway off to the right. That’s the direction I chose. It wasn’t long before 2 turned into one and then into a small dirt path through the woods. Years of walking through forests and never getting lost helped me remain confident with my choice.
I had read that there are packs of wild, roaming dogs in Spain. With that in mind I reached into one of the pockets in the camelback, that I wore on the front, pulled out the hunting knife that I’d put in the cardboard box and checked in so I could get it through airport security and managed to get through the train station x-ray, just for times like this. I opened it and stuck it blade first into the partially unzipped pocket. The knife was sticking out enough that it would be easy to grab if necessary and was also easily recognizable as a knife.
It had rained at sometime in the not too distant past. Occasionally it was possible to see footprints and the mark of a bicycle tire in the now dried mud. I was sure that I wasn’t the only one who had taken the wrong path at Villafranca and I kept walking. The freeway noise grew louder and I came to a place where I could look down upon 4 lanes of cars and trucks rushing by.
For a ways ahead the old highway paralleled the newer freeway and the walking was good. At times the old road disappeared into the new and at others it wandered off, down into the woods and back up to the new parts. It was necessary at times to walk the shoulder of the freeway. The exposure I had in Spain made me glad I was walking and not driving. Maybe freeway drivers are the same everywhere. Living in the country I don’t come in contact with freeway drivers in the US very often.
At times it was necessary to take to the ditch. Drivers cut the corners onto the edge of the shoulder and others drifted to the outside of the turns onto the outside edge of the shoulders. Trucks passed other trucks on hills and cars and trucks were forced to make it 3 abreast, using the shoulders. I was hoping to see signs with names of towns on my information sheet so I could get off the freeway and also to know how far I had to go.
At one point there was an old bus stop with a bench inside. The glass windows hadn’t been washed for a long time and the brush had grown tall on one side. I needed a break from dodging traffic and the noise, so I went in and sat down. It wasn’t long before an 18 wheeler pulled into the gravel area just past the bus stop. The driver got out, looked around and went to a small compartment at the back of the cab. He looked around again and then opened the compartment and took out a bag. He immediately began taking something out of the bag and quickly putting it in his mouth.
Another truck pulled in and the first driver ran to the back of his truck and stashed the bag in the spare tire that was hanging under the back of the the trailer. It was a pretty safe guess that the bag didn’t contain tootsie rolls. He then went around and started nonchalantly thumping the tires with a short piece of metal pipe. Hoping that he knew where the town of Altapuerca, or turn off for it, was I got up and walked over to where he was thumping tires.
He hadn’t seen me sitting in the bus stop and had no idea I was behind him. I made sure I was far enough away so he wouldn’t be able to thump me with his metal pipe instead of the tires.
I asked if he knew where the town was. He jumped about 2 feet off the ground. The pupils of his eyes were dilated and he was obviously jumpy. He said he didn’t know where the turnoff was. I asked if he knew the time and he looked at his watch. He told me, in Spanish, it was 12:20. I was disappointed that it had taken me such a long time to get from Villafranca to where I was at that time, wherever that was. It hadn’t seemed that long, in fact it hadn’t seemed anywhere near that long.
I started walking and when I got to the other truck I asked the other driver if he had the time. He told me, in Spanish, that it was 10:20 a time that seemed more reasonable to me. I hadn’t brought a watch on purpose and even in this instance it wasn’t a necessity.
I think the first trucker had a sack full of drugs stashed in that compartment. The funny part, which I didn’t make the connection about until a little while later while walking down the road was: while talking to the first trucker he kept looking me in the eye and then shifting his eyes to the front of my chest. It had seemed a little strange at the time but his whole demeanor had been strange. I finally figured out that he was looking at the knife I had partially sticking out of the pocket in the front of my in-front, camelback. I guess he was afraid I’d snuck up on him to slit his throat and take his drugs,.
Another few miles down the road I saw a hippy looking guy riding a bicycle, coming up a hill towards me on the same side of the road. We were both using the same shoulder and so were the cars and trucks. When he got a dozen feet or so from me I moved onto the grass so he could go by without getting into the traffic lane but he went into the lane anyway. I waved at him to get on the shoulder. A truck was passing another up the hill and it was close, very close, too close. Seeing someone run over by a truck at close range wasn’t how I wanted to spend my day. I still don’t know how he escaped at least being bumped off the road, it was that close.
Another few K’s and I came to a sign that pointed down a side road to the right and said Altapuerca. I could see a village not too far away and was glad to be off the freeway. The road was a narrow 2 lane and I had to take to the ditch a couple of times but it was quieter and less nerve wracking than the freeway.
When I got to town I asked a man if he knew where the town of Ages was. He shook his head no but an older lady came out of where she had been standing in a doorway with a broom in her hand. She told me where and how far it was to Ages. I was glad she was able to help in more ways than one. I’d hoped it wasn’t too far, that I was on the right road and she looked like being able to help someone and having something important to do, had made her day. There were a lot of newer housing projects in Spain with older folks planted in them, with little or nothing for them to do.
That morning the man who owned the pension at Belorado had told us that when we got to San Juan de Ortega, my trip through the woods hadn’t taken me that way, to go another 5K and we would find a brand new alberque at Ages. When I got back on the road I could see Ages about 5K in the distance. The road was good, the traffic light and I made Ages without incident.
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