Day 19, June 26th, 2023
The Dutchman and the Frenchman are still asleep in their tents when I set off early. It is windy and cold. A hot coffee would be wonderful right now, but the idea of trying my luck again at yesterday's hostel doesn't even cross my mind.
For quite a while, the path follows the Canal de Castilla, which was heavily used for transport within Castile until industrialisation in the mid-19th century. The landscape here strongly reminds me of East Frisia or even the Dortmund-Ems Canal.
Six kilometres later, I have a piece of cake and a coffee for breakfast in a greasy bar in Frómista. I don't know why most barmaids always seem so rude. Is that the Spanish mentality? I would have loved not to pay for the pre-packaged cake at all but simply open it and eat it right there in front of the barmaid. But I restrain myself, after all I am on the Camino de Santiago. I would at least like to be looked at when I buy something, and even better if they actually spoke to me.
From now on the entire route to Carrión de los Condes follows the main road. Even so, it is lovely as there are hardly any cars, the weather is pleasant, and the air is filled with the wonderful scent of Spanish broom, which blooms everywhere along the roadside. In Población de Campos, however, I choose an alternative route that takes me away from the main road for at least six kilometres. It is just a straight path here too, but at least the scenery is a bit nicer.
About fifty metres ahead of me walk two pilgrims, one of whom looks familiar because of his rather stocky build and somewhat clumsy gait. It is annoying Richard. He doesn't recognise me straight away - mind you, it has been a long time, but as I get closer, his braces flash at me under a broad grin. We exchange a few words, then I quickly move on, because I don't really know what to say to Richard besides the usual small talk. On the one hand, I like him because he is so different, but on the other hand he exhausts me. Maybe I am being unfair to him, but I think he talks a lot but says nothing.
»Straight ahead« is the motto of the Meseta, with its roads and paths that seem to stretch on forever, sometimes busy, sometimes less so, and sometimes not at all. Walking on a section strewn with small stones is difficult. Like the Princess and the Pea, I feel every tiny pebble beneath my feet. I observe others doing the same, sometimes preferring the paved road to the pilgrim's path right next to it. I switch from my trail running shoes to my sandals, which provides some relief and allows me to make good progress.
The last ten kilometres to Carrión de los Condes are tough. It is a - of course, straight and uninterrupted stretch, and my thoughts have plenty of room to wander. I think about friends, family, fears and joys, about God and everything extraordinary, about coincidences that might not be coincidences at all, about life, death, and sometimes I even think of nothing at all. I also listen to a lot of music. All the old songs and the memories they awake catapult me to the most diverse periods of my life.
Another street sign. Carrión de los Condes - straight ahead. Carrión, Carrión, ... sounds like »carry on«.
I listen to old recordings which I made as a child with my cassette recorder. I always did that when the family got together. This makes me think about my Grandma Marga a lot, and I cry constantly because I still miss her so much. She died thirty-four years ago; I was just nineteen and in a real clique for the first time. Up until then, I had been a late bloomer in everything. With the age of fifteen I still liked to sit in my grandma's apple tree. When gran got ill with cancer, I hardly ever saw her anymore. Instead of supporting her or visiting her more often, I was always with my new friends. I think now that I didn't want to accept that she could die. Up until then no one close to me had ever died. Since then, I have deeply regretted I left her so alone in the time before her death, and especially that I never told her how much I loved her. As a child I was quite cheeky with her, and even later I often took out my teenage tantrums on her. Despite this she loved me unconditionally and did everything for me. I still remember how, as a small child, I was always allowed to fall asleep on her belly. She would crawl on my back and tell me the fairy tale of the wolf and the seven little goats again and again because I didn't want to hear anything else. I will never forget that feeling of security.
In the distance I see the road rising slightly and think that the village must be beyond it, but it is not. I do make out the church steeple in the distance though, but it is still incredibly far away.
Carry on, carry on…
I wonder on how many insects I have stepped in the last few weeks. I have never really thought about it before. But with every step we destroy something we don't even notice, as if we were on another level or rather in another dimension. How insignificant everything seems as soon as something gets smaller. When I look out the window as a passenger on a plane after takeoff and watch cars and houses get smaller and smaller until they look like tiny dots on an almost colourless, unstructured surface, then I assume that we humans are fundamentally no less inconspicuous in other dimensions. These other dimensions could be something higher, something we can't see, maybe because it is actually four-dimensional. This includes the possibility that an earthquake, or even something like a storm and flood that we perceive as severe weather, might be much more than that. Perhaps insects also perceive us as a kind of storm or earthquake. A life might feel just as long to a mayfly or an ant as a life does to us. Time and space change as the radius increases. Therefore, it is only logical that from a cosmic perspective, our existence as humans is just as short as that of a mayfly is to us. My being may therefore be just as unimportant as this road sign to Carrión, at least for the next higher dimension.
The weather forecast for tonight isn't looking too good, so I decide to stay in a hostel again. When I finally arrive in Carrión de los Condes, I head for the Santa María del Camino pilgrim hostel wich is on Calle de Santa María, situated next to the Plaza de Santa María and the Iglesia de Santa María del Camino. Ha! I have been so looking forward to writing that sentence. The Santa María parish hostel is an exclusively religious hostel run by Augustinian nuns. In the afternoon there is a Christian reception and a musical gathering followed by a Eucharistic celebration, a communal dinner, night prayer and the blessing of the pilgrims. I would love to participate in all of this, but I am simply too exhausted. Sometimes I am not even aware of what an important place I am in. That is why, even now, while all this is happening in the hostel, I am just sitting on a bench in the village square, listening to what is going on next door.
I am hungry. Unfortunately there are practically no bars or restaurants here, and when I do find something that seems to serve food, it is anything but inviting. I don't understand it, there are so many pilgrims here, they must all be hungry. And anyway, where are they all now? The restaurant I finally find is simply awful inside. It has no atmosphere whatsoever, it is dark and oppressive. So I decide to sit outside and order a tuna pizza and a beer.
Back at the hostel I lay down on my bed and fall into a very deep sleep. The only thing that helps me to get going again afterwards is a shower, but forcing myself to do have it takes a lot of energy. I have actually planned to at least go to the pilgrim's mass later, but instead I sit in the church for a while before the mass starts. Just sitting there and enjoying the silence gives me more than a mass in Spanish that I don't understand.
I find a tiny corner shop, which is also dark and creepy. I can't find anything that appeals to me at all, and in the end I only buy a can of Aquarius to drink, two peaches and a dry little loaf of bread. The cashier simply places the bread on the counter when I pay, just like the one in Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port. I ask for a bag but oh, if looks could kill! The change is also slammed onto the counter completely listlessly and reluctantly, without thank you, without goodbye, without any eye contact. I guess that is really the Spanish mentality. I accept it, but it is not for me.
This whole village is frustrating me, I don't know why. Eventually I go back and sit down in the village square next to the church for a while. Suddenly the church bells start ringing, so loudly, and when I look up I see the large bell spinning on its own axis, creating a double gong sound. Funny, I have never seen this before. Check out the video clip below.
I wander aimlessly for quite a while with my bread and two peaches in my hand, before I retire to bed playing with my phone. I am the only one in the dorm at that moment, everyone else is either at the pilgrims' mass or somewhere else. Once again, I feel like I am doing everything differently from everyone else.
After a while an Italian young man approaches me and asks if I would like some pasta as they have cooked some and there is plenty left. I am not hungry at all but take the offer, so I go with him into the garden, which is right next to the kitchen. It is the gesture and the thought of missing out on something really special if I don't. The pasta is delicious, with tomato sauce, olives, and capers. There is not much conversation though, practically none at all, because the Italians tend to keep to themselves, and I don't have the energy to change that today. I quickly finish my meal, wash my plate and go back to bed. Strangely, even the garden of this hostel has made me feel depressed and I am glad to be leaving tomorrow.
Distance: 25,3 km / Steps: 39570