Day 16 - Meseta meseta everywhere but not a drop to drink - 18k

Leaving Bourgos past a building with no downstairs

and a church











Fountain on the way out of town, the picturesque route following the river





Having been told about Jess’s eventful evening in Granon which I was upset I missed (Granon not the incident) as everyone raved about the atmosphere at the Albergue, I took a quick picture of her ruined jacket that had been burned by a candle as she leant back whilst holding hands for a communal prayer. It must have been quite a sight as everyone including the guy who had turned up for dinner in his pants stood around in quiet contemplation and moved emotionally, startled suddenly as Jess caught on fire.








It’s a hard walk as yesterday really took it out of me, stopping at the outskirts of Tardajos by a map of Spain with the Camino marked on it to rest I notice that it shows Tardajos at half way between St Jean and Santiago. Three Spanish guys arrive and I offer to take a photo of them posing next to it, they are happy and wend their way onwards as I decide to find a Pharmacy, my tendons have swollen and I’m running out of Vaseline for my feet and lips. The woman is very helpful and I get some beautifully smelling coconut balm for my tootsies and a big tube of Anti-inflammatory cream, in fact the same stuff they’d tried to sell me in Muruzabal, perhaps I’d have been better getting that afterall then, instead of popping pills every morning and night as I had become used to doing to keep everything going.

I stop in the first bar and meet three Irish people, a man and his wife and their friend. They’ve been doing a week a year of the Camino and were going to get to within a week away of Santiago this time. I wonder why they don’t seem to know any Spanish as they’re coming across as the worst kind of tourists. Some people put me to shame and make me feel bad as they all seem to know Spanish, German and English if not French too and yet others barely know a word and manage to get by somehow. My Spanish is gradually improving but you can see the change in local people when you say that you can speak a little, they know that means almost nothing and the conversations can falter which is a shame, although sign language and a lack of embarrassment at making mistakes takes me a
long way.

It’s a slog today and the weather is looking the meanest yet although comes to nothing until I reach Hornillos del Camino and buy half the shop and a ham and cheese baguette. Who should come past but Cathy and Jess and I wish them well as they head for the Albergue. Getting there myself, the attendant is out so we choose our own beds and I get on and shower and shave, oh that’s better!

I’m thinking about carrying on to the next place before I pay for this one but in the end it’s obviously not a good idea to do another eleven kilometres, just because Harry and everyone had half a day off yesterday and have raced on, I’m not bitter at all honest. When it’s all said and done I’ll have walked every step, even the day of the ghost village (which was deserted but brand spanking new including school and public swimming pool and empty mock Tudor houses) when I was tempted to jump on the back of the Tractor and trailer up a big hill.

I go to the nearest bar for the Pilgrims menu and get added to a table in the corner with an English woman and a Spanish gentleman as Cathy, Otmar, Herman, Jess etc are already tucking in. I was a bit upset that they hadn’t asked me but if I will insist on being so independent I can’t complain when people don’t force themselves on me. She’s not that nice and after dinner I try to join Cathy but we have a boring conversation, which mostly consists of this woman speaking, about religion and where she lives in England. Cathy and I don’t get much of a word in edgeways but something Cathy says sticks in my mind.

It must have done anyway as I awoke early again, this time at 1 o’clock or some ridiculous time and decided to go downstairs and get a drink and a think instead of packing or trying to get some kip. Mulling things over I’m impelled to write Cathy a letter and put down all the things I’d like to have told someone I cared deeply for about the Camino, what I’d experienced already and what I was hoping to achieve, in the hope that it would be off my chest so I could rest, so it was kinda selfish but at the same time I wanted her to know what this journey meant to me and why I was doing it but in a way I could tell that Cathy was looking for answers too not just a physical challenge so I hope it gave her a new perspective.