Day 11, Hontanas to Fromista

Old convent

Not a promising start to the day – the pitter-patter of raindrops on the roof of the albergue told me that at last I’d be getting some value from my Berghaus Paclite waterproof trousers. Martin Young said something before I left which was very wise – the challenge is not walking, it’s getting up everyday mentally knowing that you will be doing a long walk. This morning was a bit tough, not helped by a poor night’s sleep caused by leg cramps. I dressed (washing was going to be a bit of a challenge in the shared unisex bathroom) chatted to some Aussies who had walked 10k before I’d had breakfast and set off into the mist. One of the great things about mist is that you do get some surprises like the ruined convent above which suddenly appeared. As you can see, the old tower actually traverses the road. Another pilgrim told me he spent the night at the hostel there – everything is done by candlelight. Sounds wonderfully atmospheric until you realise that includes using the bathroom.

Apparently there is a castle on that hill

The town of Castrojeriz made a good pit stop for coffee at 11am. The town is dominated by its castle, parts of which date back to the 9th century. The guidebook made a big point of saying it was worth the extra climb so you could enjoy the view from the summit of the hill. As it was impossible to see the summit I gave that one a miss. The wind then picked up and I did a gruelling few miles up one of those annoying slopes that never seems to reach a peak. The rain added its welcome and before long I was in that happy and contradictory position of being damp, hot and shivering all at the same time. I needn’t have worried – the hill was followed by 3 miles of mud and the shivering stopped as I hopped from tussock to tussock in a vain attempt to avoid carrying extra soles of clay.

The headwind picked up even more and soon I was bent double trying to make progress. In high wind conditions, rucksacks are essentially sails trying to take you back to France. As I am about 3000 feet up, I shouldn’t be surprised by the ferocity of the wind but it’s pretty wearing in its consistency. Always from the west, always against you. The sun is of course always to my left so I am going to end up with one of those comedy tans that looks like you ran out of artificial sun tan lotion before you got around to the right half of your face.

A canal with no shopping trolleys!

But sunshine always follows rain as Elkie Brooks sang and on the last stretch (6k of the 35k done today) the sun duly came out as I walked along a canal towpath. The contrast with English canals could hardly be starker – no barges, no rubbish, no groups of lads and laddettes “just aving a laff” in cruisers. Just complete peace and a vast number of birds, none of which I could identify.

St Martin, Fromista

But it was all worth it in the end as I came into Fromista. This is the view from my hotel. it’s the best Romanesque church in Spain. 300 carved corbels, unspoilt by later additions, this place was everything that Burgos was not. The man selling tickets inside was a bit overwhelmed by my enthusiasm, showing him the extracts about Fromista I had copied onto my iPad. He got the message though – I got the specially discounted entry price, available only to pilgrims. Result.

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