Camino de Santiago (Part Three)

Pallid faces leered down at us. Others sighed, their eyes gazing upwards. Chubby cherubs floated on clouds, bringing to mind baby Bert Newtons, and on top of all of this, someone had blown the budget on gold gilting. Eddy and I were in Burgos Cathedral. We had been expecting grandiose Baroque but this was a bit much for us. We were making our way out when we came upon a modern, fantasy style painting of El Cid and his faithful steed, Babieca. A tour guide standing nearby said that this was the point where many lady visitors started to quiver. Perhaps because they were giggling so much. Feeling like the blasphemous pilgrims we were, we breathed a sigh of relief when we escaped out into the openness of the cathedral square.

Although Burgos is a big city, we found ourselves constantly running into familiar faces. As a pilgrim you become a local in a moving community, and even if your knowledge of the other person only extends to what language to say hello in, there is a special bond that develops between all people that take the way. On the way out of Burgos, we came across a large cairn. All along the route there are piles of rocks, some as waymarks, others as memorials. Often you come across notes left for other pilgrims. On this one, we found one addressed to me, wishing me happy birthday. The person who had written it was obviously a few days ahead of us and I never found out who it was from, but after that, everyone I met wished me a happy birthday as they had read it too.

A day's walk later, we found ourselves in the tiny village of Hornillos. We were sitting by a pretty stream watching the sun go down, when two giant German shepherds appeared.. They sniffed the air and looked around, then disappeared. A moment later, a flock of sheep charged down the bank, their bells clanging. A donkey followed, looking down at us. The shepherd and his dogs were herding them in for the night. We watched them pass, then wandered back into the ancient hamlet, feeling for all the world like time travellers. Then we arrived at the albergue to discover our dorm had been taking over by a group of Germans who sung when they were awake and snored while they were asleep. Hard to know which one was worse.

The section of the Camino between Burgos and Leon is known as the meseta. It was described in our guidebook as a relentlessly flat, featureless plain and the way crosses it for roughly 200 kilometres. Deciding we weren't the type of pilgrims who get the bus to skip this section, we walked every step. It was, at times, lonely, isolated and monotonous but it also provided some of the most beautiful scenery we had seen. Often, it reminded us of home with its sunburnt fields and vast empty distances. The villages scattered along the way are often only inhabited because of the camino and the need to provide for pilgrims. Despite the abundance of John Deere tractors (we saw more of them than cars some days), some places we passed through were literally crumbling away.

A particularly beautiful stop was at the town of Castrojeriz. Although it has a small population, it winds its way around the base of a hill and it takes twenty minutes to walk through the small town. It was one of our first days on the meseta and it was windy. Overlooking the town was a medieval castle. The prospect of more walking after a hard day's slog was always unappealing but we decided to climb up for a closer look. We scrambled up the hill and met no resistance as we stormed the gates. We climbed out on the battlements and surveyed our flat, featureless kingdom.

It was on the way to Carrion de los Condes that we experienced our toughest kilometres. We were set upon by a swarm of Spanish midgies whose life ambitions seemed to be to make it into any or all of a pilgrim's eyes, nose, ears or mouth. We were forced to take protective measures, that, well, had varying degrees of success, and incidentally, made us look stupid. And then there were the fleas from the 'friendly' albergue cats. Every time we scratched we thought of them. Luckily though, we managed to get through the camino without collecting some nocturnal friends in our sleeping bags. 'Sleep tight, don't let the bed-bugs bite', took on a whole new meaning.

In the later stages of the meseta, the route was often lined with poplars and plane trees. Our timing was ideal as, being autumn, their leaves were at their brightest- a welcome break from the tans and browns of the harvested fields. After eight days of the meseta we approached the outskirts of Leon, the next major city on the route. The gravel paths made way for the concrete footpaths of the city. At one stage, we had to cross a busy four lane motorway and then walk along its shoulder with the trucks whooshing past. Considering 100 000 people do this each year, you would think that Leon's council might consider installing a footbridge or an alternative route.

Once we made it, successfully un-squished into Leon we found it to be a beautiful city. The cathedral was lit by high stained glass windows and it gave forth a feeling of peace and space, with none of the clutter that made Burgos feel so oppressive. We spoilt ourselves with a private room, and although we found it hard to get to sleep without the lull of twenty snorers, we did have a view of the cathedral out our window.

To be continued...