Prolonged Excursion II: A Hike on the Camino De Santiago: Burgos to Leon

This story continues in Burgos.

I ended up getting a VERY late start (11:40 AM) from the hotel, but mainly because it had very good WiFi and breakfast, and I took full advantage of both before leaving. I even packed out a fresh chocolate chip muffin to eat as a snack later on. I would've also been perfectly happy with packing out the cold cuts, fresh cheese, croissants, and individually packaged boxes of AMERICAN cereal (definitely a rarity; shout out Toucan Sam), but after considering the fact that I really didn't NEED to carry that much food, the notion did seem a bit extreme.

I had planned to do a 26 km day to a hostel called San Bol. My book described it as "recently renovated with running water and electricity" but still having a "rustic feel." That sounded alright to me. I had slept in worse places, and after two nights in a very nice hotel, it didn't sound like too terrible of a place.

After hiking along at a decent pace for several hours and passing through a number of nondescript Spanish countryside hamlets (towns that generally follow the naming convention "Something de Something Elsos", have a medieval church in various stages of disrepair, several Camino-side cafes, and a small shop with overpriced junk food), I finally hit the last town before the hostel, and, like the rest, proceeded through it fairly quickly. I was just clearing the last few houses in the town when I heard a voice shouting from behind me

"OYE! PEREGRINO!"

I turned. A man was lying in a doorway about 50 feet away in a vibrantly blue sleeping bag. Concerned that he was a fellow pilgrim who may be possibly sick or injured, I headed over to him. As I got closer, I could see that he had other pieces of gear strewn about in the doorway as well...a backpacking stove, a walking stick, hiking boots...but something just didn't seem right...like somehow these items were more like props than actual gear...

"Hola Peregrino. A donde vas ahoy?"

I was a little apprehensive about telling him where I was going, but now that I could see him close up, it was obvious that he wasn't a pilgrim. He was lying on several layers of cardboard, and at least one partially full wine bottle was within arm's reach. I had found the town drunk.

"Albergue San Bol."

One must at times entertain town drunks. Because they will all but certainly entertain you.

"Ah! No! San Bol es CERRADO!"

Not what I wanted to hear. Apparently San Bol was closed. I could have used more information on this, but I figured I'd change the subject and get my town drunk entertainment for the day.

"Tu eres Peregrino tambien, verdad?"

I asked him if he was a pilgrim, too.

"Si! Pero tengo muchas problemas."

He then went into a long story which made little sense about how he had hiked farther on but got in some kind of accident "on the mountain" (generically stated with no additional detail) and had to backtrack, but couldn't stay in the town hostel because they wouldn't let him in for some reason. He continued to ramble on for several minutes, but by that point I had tuned out and was waiting for a gap in conversation to politely exit both it and the town. But none came. So I tried a different approach...

"Mira! Quieres un este Euro?"

I then reached into my pocket and produced a Euro coin. He stopped talking and his eyes lit up. What do you know, money is loud enough to even talk over town drunks. Amazing.

"Si! Si! Gracias!
"De nada. Yo voy. Aidos!"

I flipped him the coin and headed out of town. No way to tell how much time I had lost. But I wasn't too upset, either. And I did get the heads up from him about the hostel being closed. But then again...if he's been in town the whole time, how does he know that San Bol IS in fact closed? Of course he was full of shit otherwise, but I suppose it makes sense to wonder why he would be sleeping in a church breezeway when he could be sleeping at a hostel.

I continued through the town and pressed on several more km. It was getting late in the day, and my 11:40 AM start time had put me much closer to sundown than I wanted to be. Yet when I reached San Bol, it was indeed closed:

And not the kind of closed where hikers can still get in just fine and "closed" is merely a beureacratic abdication of operational responsibility on the part of the owners. The kind of closed that consists of several layers of boards over windows and doors and nails followed by regular checks by property managers to replace any broken/rotting/rusting components. Damn near air tight. Alright town drunk, you're worth the Euro.

Although that didn't stop the San Bol fountain from still being on:

Legend has it that anyone who puts their feet in it will be cured of foot pain. I passed on the opportunity. At this point I'd prefer a time traveling delorian.

I headed out to do 6 more km, but before I left I stopped at the end of the side trail leading to the hostel to make a more official indicator that San Bol was closed:

It's not much, but hopefully it'll help some other Pilgrims out.

After continuing on for several hours (and legitimately being concerned that I had lost the Camino on accident and followed a tractor path by mistake) I happened upon this sign:

A billboard. On the Camino. With distance info. All three are rarities...most of the time the signs you see for hostels are small pieces of 8 1/2 x 11 advertisements nailed to telephone/light poles in town. But to get all three on one sign was a welcome relief. And to top it all off, the hostel (Albergue) looked to have a pretty decent array of services. And, after walking further, I encountered another billboard:

Also with distance info. I decided right then and there I would stay there on general principle; distance updates late in the day on an approach to town are always a welcome sight. And, sure enough, I made it to the hostel a bit later than usual, and ended my 30 km day at around 5:30 pm.

I was absolutely wiped when I arrived, and the Albergue (which also appeared to double as the town's main watering hole) was crowded with both pilgrims and townsfolk alike. The intense noise of the bar combined with my exhaustion from the day and being in a state of mild dehydration all compounded at once, and I began to feel a bit disoriented. Yet the barkeep seemed to notice this, and immediately turned away from a group of patrons to address me.

"You stay here tonight?"

English! I was incredibly relieved to not have to scale the language barrier at this level of exhaustion. But even then, I was too tired to speak. I nodded instead.

"Credencial por favor"

I produced my pilgrim passport. She stamped it.

"Five euro"

I gladly handed over the five euros and followed her back to a decently crowded bunk room. I had fully expected all the bottom bunks to be taken this late in the day, but as luck would have it, one was still open. I grabbed it, then immediately headed for the showers. I was debating on going to bed right afterward, but I opted to head to the bar instead; I was decently hungry, and the small glimpses I got of the menu on the way in looked good. But first things first

"One beer, please"

I ordered in English from the barkeep that helped me earlier.

"Oh, so where are you from?"

The bar was crowded, and I had ordered my beer while standing directly over a group of girls seated at the bar. One of them had turned around and started talking to me. She looked to be about my age, with short brown hair and fair skin.

"USA. Just outside Washington DC"

"Ahhh. Very cool."

She expressed a slight accent on the word "cool." Sounded German.

"Yes. And you are...a German?"

She laughed.

"No, actually, I'm Swiss"

Well. That would be the first Swiss hiker I've met. Ever.

"Well okay then" I said, smiling. "Do people make that mistake a lot?"

"All the time, actually!" She said.

This then spawned a long conversation about the Appalachian Trail, the differences in Scouting between our two countries, the rank of Eagle Scout and its various nuances, the Girl Scout gold award, Tea, Cake, and we were just starting to talk about my beloved Corvette when chow call was sounded for the Pilgrim's dinner and we broke from the bar to head to the seating area. We continue to talk through dinner (along with getting to know pther Pilgrims as well) and stayed up until lights out around 9 pm.

Her name is Karin. She is a 28 year old language teacher from a place in Switzerland called Basel. She teaches high school English and Italian primarily (indeed, her English was excellent), but also knows German, Spanish and a good deal of French (languages which come in quite handy on the Camino, where often times no less than three of them are spoken in any room of socializing pilgrims at any one time). And, in addition to her work as a teacher and interests in most all things outdoors, she was also a 10 year student of martial arts (Judo, and most recently Tai Chi). Karin had set out on the Camino with her mother, Lotti, who had put the Camino on her bucket list and picked this season to go.

A mother/daughter team hike the Camino. If that's not a plot for a shitty Lifetime movie, I don't know what is...

The next morning, after a decent pilgrim breakfast at the Albergue of a fresh chocolate croissant and coffee with milk, I set out around 7 AM. The weather had been good so far, and it looked like it was going to hold for another day.

After about an hour into hiking, I came across this rather interesting monestary:

It was around this point that I heard English being spoken in the distance, though I couldn't make out what was being said. I looked down the Camino. In the distance where two figures, one slightly taller than the other, though aside from the colors of their packs (red and black) I couldn't discern much else. Though curiosity got the best of me, and I closed the distance between them and myself in very short order. Luckily, the road was wide enough to walk three abreast when I caught up with them.

They were two guys on the older side of middle aged. One slender with glasses and short hair (red pack) and the other with a bit of a larger frame (not a nice way of saying fat, the dude does actually have a large frame) and longer hair (black pack). And yes, they were without a doubt speaking English.

"Mornin' gents"

I began to walk alongside the two men. Luckily the trail was wide enough to walk three abreast. The slender one returned my greeting:

"Ah, you must be the lone American!"

...Lone American?! Nonsense. And furthermore...what?

"I'm famous?"

The slender man laughed

"Oh no, we heard you talking at the Albergue last night, eyh"

'Eyh'...well if that doesn't stick out like a sore thumb in terms of a dialect, I don't know what does.

"So you guya are Canadians?"

"We are indeed. Ottowa. Where are you from in the states?"

"Virginia, just outside Washington D.C."

"Oh, really? My dad lived in Arlington for many years. I had my hunting dog trained by a guy in Virginia, too!"

The two Canadians were named Malcom (slender guy) and Ken (shorter, larger-framed guy). Both from outside Ottowa, they had been friends since high school. They had taken many a trip together in the Canadian Outback (canoe, fishing, hunting, etc), and were as close to "real" Canadian mountain men as I had met (which I imagine are a lot like American mountain men, but much nicer and even-tempered). Yet Ken had done the Camino over 10 times previously, and finally convinced his friend Malcom to go with him on this trip.

I spent some time talking with them on our approach to one of the tallest mountains on the Camino, but by the time our group of Pilgrims hit the base of it we all spaced out and got ready to climb:

I dug my trekking poles in hard and powered through without stopping. Lessons from the AT teach you the best way to hike a mountain is to punch it to the top and rest when you get there. Stopping along the way only makes the climb harder. Yet on the Camino, climbing a mountain really means just following a nicely graded foot trail to a neatly formed terminus at the top:

Complete with a shelter and accompanying views of the countryside/town below:

The rest of the day was spent hiking in insanely flat terrain. Such as:

And ended in a fairly nice hostel. With, coincidentally, Karin, Lotti, myself, and the two Canadians. Always a pleasure to see people you already know at the end of the day. Saves time with the stupid "get to know you" questions and allows you to just hang out in a friendly setting without having to run through the small talk b.s.

The following day, the weather took a turn for the worse, and the trail mainly stuck to the side of an old canal:

The wind blowing off the water was brutal, and the flat countryside offered little protection in terms of a windbreak. Yet in the end, our little band made it to a fairly decent hostel in an old monestary (to be shown in a separate entry) and had a decent meal at a local restaurant.

Then, early the next morning, I hit the most underwhelming halfway point in existence:

A small trailside collection of picnic tables. No halfway sign. No photo op. Nothing. In fact, if you didn't have any knowledge about where you were or simply weren't paying attention, you'd miss it entirely. But. That's that. And anyway, Jesus knows it's halfway, and that's what matters out here, right? Right.

Our little band continued to hike together for several days. Ken, with his extensive knowledge of all things Camino, was a wealth of good intel about which routes to take, places to eat, things to see, and hostels to stay at for a good night's rest. We all trusted him, and it tended to pay off well for all of us.

We also picked up some others who hiked with us for a time. A French woman, Dominique, a German lawyer, Karim, and a group of friendly Basques.

The hiking, however, was a bit tiresome. The section of trail we were in, called the meseta, was nothing but extremely flat farmland with no wind break for days and days

Though I did encounter a (Spanish) Panera:

And this creepy airport:

Until finally we ended up in the city of Leon. Known best for it's insanely awesome cathedral:

My opinion on European Cathedrals tends to be that once you see St. Peter's Basilica in the Vatican, there isn't really another one you'll ever see that will come close. So save your time and money, cuz the rest are filled with similar stuff, but just not as good.

And while that did hold true for this Cathedral, it was still cool to check out, anyway.

The most interesting part of the backstory is that it started to crumble in the 1800's, so they hired an architect to fix it. Who proceeded to do ingenious things like remove load-bearing sections of wall and protective surfaces like windows and ceilings. Which was as terrible of an idea as it sounds. So they fired him, and hired on another guy who spent almost his entire career as architect fixing it.

Living proof: it's a hell of a lot easier to do a job wrong than it is to do it right, and some engineers are a living waste of life.

We also met up with a group of Koreans (even a few who I started with several weeks ago) and took turns taking pictures in front of the cathedral.

Our crew:

Ken, Malcolm, Lotti, Karin, Myself.

The hike out of Leon was excellent. Good weather, and we were finally heading back into the rolling hill country and out of the Meseta (less wind). That, and there were plenty of interesting things to see...

The Shire in Spain: