Day 9 From Belorado to Burgos

The place I stayed in last night at Belorado had a great name – A Santiago. It was a combination of hotel and hostel. On the ground floor were the bedrooms – pretty basic but at least private,

although one of the world’s largest earwigs had disregarded the single occupancy rule and wanted to share the shower with me. A dim decision on his part as it was easy for me to wash the earwig parts down the drain. In the basement were serried ranks of bunk beds. The building seemed to be made of plastic so I could hear the hostellers below me as they could undoubtedly hear me squishing bugs.

Nonetheless I had a nice dinner (the company, not the food) with a French Canadian chap who had spent a year training for the Camino. He was about my age and we chatted in franglais for hours. He had taken the preparation seriously and regarded it as an integral part of the Camino. He had lost 75 pounds (! – I checked that number in English, French and Spanish) in his training programme. He did seem a little less than impressed with my slightly extended walks with Monty.

The big excitement this morning though was walking through Belorado and seeing a stork nesting on one of the houses. How those things ever fly is a mystery – they are so ungainly – but I do love seeing them.

Nesting Stork

If yesterday was primarily about the motorway, today was primarily about mud. There was a long, long stretch (about 6 miles) along a track through some woods and I was amazed by how glutinous the mud had become. We had rain last night and, in between some nice sunny spells, we had two serious downpours and two hailstorms today. I do love my hat. – the makers should advertise its hail-protecting properties. What’s interesting is the way the mud changes colour in a very short distance. Using Farrow and Ball terminology, the mud changes from “Russet Revival” to “Belorussian beige” and back again in about 50 yards. Whatever the colour, there’s serious money awaiting anyone who realises that this stuff could be a substitute for any adhesive on the market.

Mud, glorious mud

How pilgrims deal with the weather is also interesting. A lot of pilgrims, like the lovely Brazilian family (dad, mum, son and son’s wife) I met today use these big ponchos that cover not only them but their rucksacks. It is certainly rain proof but of course one is actually then just a tent moving along at a snail’s pace. And looking like a snail. And when one has a strong headwind – which we had all day today – the drag makes it doubly difficult.

But still, but still. The isolation of the walk into San Juan de Ortega meant I had some extended time of prayer. I took the photo above so I’d remember just how wonderful I felt in one of those moments when you feel truly loved.

In San Juan de Ortega there was a pretty and large church with a mixture of Romanesque and early Gothic styles. The Romanesque capital shown is Roland fighting (and slaying) the monstrous Moorish giant Ferragut. In the bar nearby I got chatting to an American lady who asked me why I was doing the Camino. I said to spend time with God. She responded quite emotionally and we talked a bit about the Holy Spirit. I’m noticing that the Camino is starting to strip away inhibitions. After a week of enduring pain and blisters, it is almost as if pilgrims are shedding their reluctance to talk about what matters to them.

Burgos nightlife

I had planned to stop in Atapuerca but everywhere was full so I pushed into Burgos (another 27.5 mile day). I booked into the nearest hotel on booking.com that was on the Camino. Delightfully it was called the Hotel Las Vegas. It’s a dump of the lowest order, next to a strip club (see above) It’s quite chilly in the room and there is no heating but by a stroke of luck someone has vandalised the hair-drier in the bathroom so I’m using that as my heater. But still, but still. It’s so easy to know God when one is out in the woods and in the middle of His creation. In anonymous cities it is so much harder. I guess I need to keep on remembering the central message that He loves the surly waitress in the hotel, the exploited girls in that strip club and even those pathetic sad men who visit them.

Tomorrow I will get through Burgos and out onto the Meseta, that broad flat plateau that makes up a third of the Iberian peninsula. I’m looking forward to it. I’ve walked about 100 miles in the last four days and it feels good. My legs don’t agree but they are just idiots so who would listen to them.

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