Day 20: Castrojeriz → Boadilla del Camino (19.42 km)
I started the morning strong, climbed the hill to the meseta, zooming past many other pilgrims. After a quick goodbye to the view of Castrojeriz behind me, I proceeded forward into the expanse of green fields, which were flat, but not as flat as the ominous warnings of Camino Repeaters suggested and did not, in fact, resemble Mordor in the slightest.
As I ambled along, I tried to figure life out, but didn’t make much progress. After about 8 km of nothing but wheat, barley, more wheat, and barley again, there was a makeshift food truck. It was an RV, and the owner was selling orange juice and snacks he’d picked up at the grocery store. I really needed an energy boost at that point, so I bought a glass of orange juice. Service was hard to get and then he charged what I could have bought two full breakfasts for.
Not more than another kilometer down the trail was a town with a nice café where I got a real breakfast for a fair price. Service was still hard to get and a rude boy cut in front of me. My alter ego, Spanish Victoria, was not doing her job, possibly because the people there didn’t actually speak Spanish.
Frustrated, I resumed the trail, my confident amble deteriorated to a weak stomp. A pilgrim who passed me was blaring a podcast from his phone. I was appalled, not at his rudeness (he was going to be out of my earshot in less than a minute anyway), but at the garbage he was wasting his time and brain cells on. I kid you not, he was listening to some guy give a lackluster description of a sandwich he had once to another guy who clearly didn’t care. On a journey where people are trying to think, this guy would rather listen to someone else’s tedious conversation than his own thoughts.
Dark rainclouds filled the sky and the distant sound of the cuckoo bird’s call became a countdown to imminent downpour. The wind picked up, rippling the fields around me like a green, undulating ocean. I imagined I was swimming in choppy, open water.
The skies opened up just as I made it to a small town. I checked into the larger of the two albergues near the church which was topped with huge stork nests. I scored a bottom bunk, took a much needed shower with the water pressure of Niagara Falls, and spent some time relaxing next to a roaring fire in the common room.
Pilgrim dinner was next door in the adjoining hotel. Usually we were expected to pay in advance, but here they asked that everyone pay at the bar on their way out and joked that if we’d better not forget because they know where we’re sleeping. Dinner was the usual: lentil soup, chicken or fish, and flan or rice pudding for dessert. I chatted with John from Texas who enjoys retirement on a boat with no responsibilities. I told him about my career dilemma. His philosophy was that life is good if you do what you enjoy. He said he encourages his adult kids to follow their own paths, and that I should follow my interests and work interesting fun jobs around the world.
Back at my bunk in the albergue section of the establishment, I finished writing my journal entry for the day, put on my somewhat clean jammies, snuggled into my sleeping bag, and closed my eyes. But not for long. My eyes snapped open and my heartrate shot up. I’d forgotten to pay for dinner! I scrambled out of my warm sleeping bag, threw on my sandals, and sprinted (or as close to a sprint as I could manage) through the rain to the bar. That was a close one. I paid and returned to bed to curl up in my now slightly damp jammies.
Day 21: Boadilla del Camino → Villarmentero de Campos (14.59 km)
One of the nicest things about the Camino Francés is that you always walk west with the sun behind you in the morning. That morning I left earlier than usual and peaked over my shoulder every few seconds to glimpse the sunrise that was visible below the surviving clouds. The trail paralleled a canal, and I’d heard that it’s possible to travel this section by boat, but I never saw one. If one had happened to come along I would definitely have stuck my thumb out.
Along the canal there were a few small forests where the trees grew in suspiciously neat rows. The Camino crossed a lock where I ran into a couple of the Aussie nurses. I assured them that my blisters were doing much better. Actually, the one on the bottom of my foot had grown to the size of the patch that covered it.
The dark clouds showed no sign of clearing up. I arrived at a town and slipped into a café just as it started sprinkling. There I had breakfast and a good conversation with Lori from North Carolina about the history of the Camino. She’d learned somewhere that even hundreds of years ago, the Camino had been used to draw in tourism, but it had also been used as a punishment. A wrongdoer might have been sentenced to the walk to Santiago as penance for their crime with the hope that they wouldn’t come back. I admit I felt more like I was doing penance than enjoying a vacation, but it still felt worth continuing.
The rain was still fairly light, so I put on my poncho and kept walking. I looked down to avoid stepping on the snails that populated the trail, which had become a grassy path next to the road. I tried to make the most of the walk by trying to plan my life (in vain) and contemplating the universe. At one point I thought I’d figured out God until I remembered there were a few hundred thousand things I hadn’t taken into account. Then it rained hard. My boots soaked through and water crept up my pant legs up to my knees. In the next town I sought refuge in a café where I found Geraldine and Troy. I removed my boots and the now drenched bottom of my pants, which I was very grateful could be zipped off, and joined them for a hot ColaCao. They very kindly gave me a bandage for my now aggravated blister. I set off again in my sandals and shorts, somehow more confident than before. The new bandage lasted less than two meters, but I didn’t care anymore. I limped my way onwards, whistling “Singin’ In the Rain” all the way to the next town. A much better use of my time than all that over-thinking.
As I entered the next tiny town and began scanning for albergues, a voice called my name and I started. It was Fiona looking for coffee. She and her daughter had gotten a private room at a hostel nearby. I wished her good luck on her coffee hunt and opted for the albergue. A group of Germans were there waiting for a taxi to Carrión de los Condes because there was a power outage here. I didn’t know if it was another major blackout or just this place, but either way it didn’t bother me as long as there was a dry bed to sleep in. The place was operated entirely by one very nice hospitalero who gave me a discount due to the lack of power.
Within a couple of hours, the rain cleared up and the power came back and a couple other pilgrims checked in. We hung our wet things outside to dry next to the donkey paddock. Meanwhile, I found a ukulele inside and occupied myself trying to remember a few songs.
While I was plucking away, the hospitalero came over and calmly asked me how to say “lluvia” in English. I told him, “rain”. He immediately shouted for everyone to hear, “It’s rain!” and we all dashed outside to rescue our clothes.
Dinner was a whole lot of lentil soup and fruit. Afterwards we (including our hospitalero) watched the epic clouds billowing up on the horizon. My fellow pilgrims were Ulrica from Germany, and a Hungarian man whose name I can’t remember. Ulrica spoke a little English, the Hungarian spoke no English but a little German, and the hospitalero spoke only Spanish. We managed a little general conversation about the Camino. Ulrica said that she’d heard it said in a movie once that “you think at the pace you walk” and that idea had stuck with her and fueled her motivation to walk the Camino. I would remember that later when my thoughts became more productive.
It must have been even colder in the albergue than it was outside because I had to put an extra blanket on top of my sleeping bag that night. The donkeys in the paddock didn’t seem to mind at all.
Day 22: Villarmentero de Campos → Carrión de los Condes (9.67 km)
I was the first one up in the morning and set out carrying my poncho under my arm in expectation of imminent rain that never came. It had to be a short walk because I had been warned that after Carrión there was a 17 km stretch with nothing except a food truck along the way, and I didn’t feel up to doing a 26 km day.
Kim Kimmy had sent a message to the group chat that she’d lost the stuffed animal (apparently named “Labubu”) that she had hanging from her backpack. She thought he might have fallen off at a certain place near where I was. I searched the area and found him hanging from the door of a house, wet but otherwise unharmed. I decided to have a little fun with him…
Labubu and I checked into Albergue Espiritu Santos which had a big female dorm and single beds. Ulrica arrived there not long after I did. We had a couple hours of peaceful rest that was only disturbed by a group of old women who failed to read the room and constantly shouted to each other across it.
I went to the church to see the famous singing nuns and meet up with Jack, who had been tragically slowed down by tendonitis, and found Fiona and Evannah there too. There were four nuns, one played guitar, and they did the entire performance sitting in the front row facing the alter. Afterwards they hosted a group singalong in the albergue that they run next door. There was a big turnout; we were crowded into the foyer of the albergue with people lining the open stairway up to the next floor. They had everyone introduce themselves to the group. Most of the introductions started with “I’m so-and-so from wherever and I recently retired”, so when my turn came around I couldn’t resist following the format, much my own amusement and I hope some of the others.
Once we’d all heard and forgotten each other’s names, the nuns passed out sheets of lyrics. For a minute I thought I’d been roped into a Jesus song circle, until they kicked the party off with “Guantanamera” (a song ubiquitous at Latin American parties). With their coolness officially established, they asked whoever wanted to to share a song. An Irishman jumped right in and impressed us with a soulful ballad. Then the volunteer hospitalera asked all the Americans present to join her in singing the last song she ever sang with her late mother. To our great relief, it was just “Home On the Range”, a simple folksong that every American is practically born knowing the first verse and chorus of. As we crooned our hearts out, I found myself singing better than I’m usually able to. I suspect some magic was at work there.
Oh give me a home, where the buffalo roam
Where the deer and the antelope play
Where seldom is heard, a discouraging word
And the skies are not cloudy all dayHome, home on the range
Where the deer and the antelope play
Where seldom is heard, a discouraging word
And the skies are not cloudy all day
Several others were eager to share. We heard a Chinese song from a group of ladies; a young Italian man borrowed the nun’s guitar to play an original song that he’d written about the Camino; a Swede with a deep voice sang a very short song that he apparently starts every morning with about how “today is gonna be a good day”. I tried to persuade Fiona and Evannah to share an Australian song, but they begged off because they still had a cough. Jack was equally averse to honoring us with an English drinking song. We finished off with the whole room singing “Ode to Joy” in both German and Spanish (pronunciation was admittedly a little rough) in honor of our German friends in the room who were feeling a little shy. Then it was back to the church for mass and a pilgrim blessing. The nuns remarked that it was huge turnout and gave everyone a paper star to carry to Santiago de Compostela, because Compostela means “field of stars”.
It was surprisingly difficult to find dinner in the area, but eventually I found a place that served cheap burgers. I also picked up a chocolate bar from the grocery store to take on the long stretch coming up. Labubu and I got a good night’s sleep in the quiet dorm.
Day 23: Carrión de los Condes → Ledigos (23.2 km)
The 17 km stretch was flat and straight through fields, some covered in pretty flowers. “Home On the Range” played on repeat in my head as I strolled along, making me wish I knew more of the lyrics. I was solo most of the day, saying brief hellos to acquaintances as they passed me. The only people I passed were octogenarians.
I passed Anthony (I’m not sure if he’s an octogenarian), who I hadn’t seen for a couple of weeks, still going at his own slow and steady pace. He declared, “I go all the way to Santiago!” Although I wouldn’t see him there, I believe he probably did.
The legendary popup bar was about 7 km in. Jack was just leaving when I arrived. We said the usual “see you down the trail”, but that was the last time I saw him in the flesh. Now that his tendonitis was better I would have had to take three steps for every one of his. I felt in no rush, however, and sat down to enjoy breakfast. Their tortilla was excellent and came with a little glass of fresh zumo de naranja. I was a little concerned about the lack of facilities, since there was still another 10 km to go through open fields with no sign of adequate tree coverage.
I rejoined civilization (intact) at the same time as Carrie and Julia. Julia went on to catch some transportation and continue the Camino in her own way. Carrie and I went straight to the bathroom. We had lunch—the paella was disappointing—and chatted about the Camino experience so far. She had accommodation in that town, but once again I decided to push myself a little further.
My legs were hurting badly by the end. As I got more stiff and sore, the sunshine that had endured all day gave way to clouds. Fiona and Evannah caught up to me and we arrived in the next town as it started raining. There were signs for two different albergues and we went to the nicer looking one. It had pod style beds and a nice patio area where pilgrims were enjoying themselves. Unfortunately, they were all booked up with reservations. The other albergue had beds, but they were not so nice. I got a top bunk with a ladder this time, but it was held on by duct tape and fell off when I touched it.
There were a couple of pilgrims who played guitar and a little music group formed. I joined them shortly before dinner. Either the magic spell was still in effect and I still sounded like I actually knew how to sing, or my companions were overzealous in their praise. I suspect a little bit of both.
Dinner was a typical pilgrim meal: soup, chicken or fish , ice cream for dessert, and plenty of wine to drink. A few people may have had a little too much wine. I fell asleep to the sounds of random laughter about nothing and some odd folks shaving each other’s heads in the bathroom. I was glad that these were not representative of typical pilgrims and that I had found other friends.
I burrowed deep inside my sleeping bag, and before I knew it I woke up with the disturbing sensation that someone was touching me, but I couldn’t move. I was lying on my side and it felt like a woman’s hand and arm was holding me down. Was someone trying to rob me? I could see only blackness inside my sleeping bag. I tried to call for help, but no sound came out. I tried to scream. Nothing. I recognized this nightmare: sleep paralysis. I’d had it before. If you’ve never heard of sleep paralysis, it’s when you wake up during the cycle of sleep when the body is naturally paralyzed. It is common for people to have hallucinations during this state of what are known as “sleep paralysis demons” and to feel physical pressure, usually on the chest. And it’s terrifying. Especially in a strange place surrounded by strange people. Had I not known what was happening I probably would have panicked, but I forced myself to remain calm and wait. The demon hand and arm continued to hold me down until I fell back into a state of fitful sleep.
Day 24: Ledigos → Sahagún (15.19 km)
The first thing I did in the morning was confirm that I had not been robbed. I hadn’t. The whole thing had been a chilling hallucination just as I’d thought. That knowledge didn’t clear up the sense of eeriness however, and I proceeded to get the hell out of Dodge.
The trail swung near the highway, and the signs revealed that we’d entered the León part of Castilla y León. The terrain didn’t change much except that now Castilla was crossed out on all the way markers.
The musical spell still lingered. An old man passed me (I was even slower than the day before) at a steady pace with his poles adding beats to the rhythm of his steps. An accompanying sequence of long notes started playing in my head. I matched the man’s pace and kept up with him in his blind spot like an obnoxious driver on the freeway. Walking to the beat helped me to keep going until there was a nice breakfast stop. The café/bar was in an albergue where they gave out wax stamps. You even get to choose the colors and design.
Without the old man keeping pace with his poles, I got slower and slower. I rested for a little while by an old Roman bridge and finished off my chocolate bar. The town was in sight, less than a kilometer away. When I dragged myself up, I tried to walk on the softer patches of grass. Pasqual, one of my Italian friends, saw me hobbling and “towed” me the rest of the way into town. Basically, he stuck one of his poles out behind him, I held on to the end, and we marched together along to reggae music. It was surprisingly effective.
He deposited me on the doorstep of the municipal albergue and into the care of a nice pilgrim named Pedro, who gave me a needle and thread for my blisters. These items had not been available in any pharmacy, but now I recognized that this truly was the one true way to treat blisters. I will spare you the photo of the carnage.
I learned from friends that this town marked the halfway point of the Camino Francés. Apparently you can get a halfway certificate at one of the churches. I thought about going to get mine, but only made it as far as dinner, where I enjoyed an enormous bowl of lentils. The rest of the evening was spent listening to someone having a flute lesson somewhere in the large building that the albergue was only a part of. It was nice as far as municipals go, with pod bunk beds and ok showers. I had a good night, no sleep paralysis.
Day 25: Sahagún → El Burgo Ranero (18.17 km)
My journal entry for this day leaves a few things to be desired, like details and complete sentences. I had been so fixated on my blisters up until this point that I hadn’t noticed I was getting shin splints too.
It was another sandals and toe socks day. I walked to the edge of town to wait for Kim Kimmy. She and Labubu were reunited, and she introduced me to a new friend, and one of the bravest pilgrims I met: Noriko from Japan. Noriko spoke neither English nor Spanish, only Japanese, and communicated with a special handheld electronic translator.
Early on there was a fork in the trail, and we decided on the shorter path that wasn’t next to the road. From there my memory is a fuzzy blur. It was probably flat, there were probably fields, my legs definitely hurt. My mind kept asking, “Why are we going to Santiago?” To which I kept replying, “I don’t know, but we’re doing it anyway.”
I arrived at the tiny town completely despondent at the site. It looked too much like Dead End, USA, complete with train tracks and a truck stop. I stumbled into the first albergue I could find (the Camino path didn’t follow where the actual businesses were for some reason) and got a cheap private room where I could cry without anyone looking at me. It had two twin beds and a bathtub so small that I just used it to wash my feet.
My charger stopped working and my phone died, but eventually I found where Kim Kimmy and Noriko were having dinner. Apparently I was late for the reservation, but the lady running the establishment forgave me when she witnessed the incredible speed at which I ate and the profuse compliments I gave. The food was truly excellent; I think I inhaled half a chicken.
That night I had a strange dream (no sleep paralysis) in which I was given a drug that made my vision slightly blurry so that I would “see the big picture and not get lost in the details.” Something for me to work on in the next couple of days.
Victoria Castillo 