Day 20, June 27th, 2023
And they all live happily after they have finished rummaging around. It is unbelievable - rustling here, rustling there, I don't need an alarm clock at all. Whereas I feel guilty at the slightest noise I make, but that also means I am getting practically nothing done, because everything happens in slow motion for me. The perfect solution would actually be to pack everything the night before and then carry the things I need during the night outside the next morning and finish packing there. As it is, it takes me a full half hour this morning to get ready. Once I finally get my rucksack out of the dorm room, I brush my teeth and leave the hostel through the garage, because the front door stays locked until 6:30.
I love the moment when I set off in the morning. The air is so fresh, the temperature is perfect and nothing hurts. It is just getting light when the sparrows start chirping merrily. They chirp nonstop all day long until it gets dark again in the evening. I wonder what they are talking about all day.
Today's route involves seventeen kilometres across the Meseta, without shade or a water source - and without breakfast. This just shows how important it is to have at least a few biscuits in your pack. If only I could have a coffee! This insatiable craving for coffee initially makes me think it is an illusion when, after eight kilometres, a kind of food stall appears at the edge of a field, complete set up with tables and chairs. In fact, a young man who looks like Menderes (a German wannabe-singer), has built a business here, supplying pilgrims with all sorts of treats and, of course, coffee! Very few pilgrims pass by without stopping. As a little extra, everyone gets a shot of freshly squeezed orange juice with their order. Menderes seems to have poured his heart and soul into this stall. He serves his customers with dedication and tries to take several orders at once so that no one has to wait long. This causes him a bit of a scramble, but he sincerely apologises for any inconveniences and no one holds it against him.
Refreshed by a toast with ham, cheese and egg, and fuelled by my two lifesavers coffee and Aquarius, I continue straight ahead. I again switch from my hiking boots back to my sandals, pass through the first village on the trail, Calzadilla de la Cueza, and keep going straight on until I reach Ledigos after 23 kilometres. Like in most villages on the way, there is not a soul in sight, neither residents nor pilgrims. In front of a hostel, a small grill with still-hot charcoal is smoldering listlessly. I go inside and ask at the bar for something to eat, whereupon the owner points to some freshly grilled meat skewers under a food dome. They look delicious so I buy a skewer, order a salad and a large beer. I take the opportunity to charge my phone and treat myself to an ice cream from the freezer for dessert.
Once again I miss other pilgrims and wonder where all the people I met along the way have gone. How I long to see a familiar face, someone I can exchange a few words with. And then, of all people, snoring rotten-tooth Nicola walks in, who can't say anything in English except yes and no , and I can't say anything in Italian except sì and no . His French harem isn't with him, he is all alone and greets me with kisses on both cheeks. His T-shirt is soaked with sweat, and I am disgusted.
»All good?« I ask, giving a thumb-up.
»Yes«, says Nicola, also giving a thumb-up and pointing questioningly at me.
»Sì«, I say.
In any case I want to sleep in my tent tonight as the weather forecast is good. I just need to find a suitable spot and maybe a supermarket where I can buy some food. I decide to walk to Terradillos de los Templarios, about three kilometres away. Here I immediately find the village green with a fountain, which is perfect for pitching. A statue of a knight stands at the edge of the meadow, constructed from all sorts of mechanical parts like nails, metal rods, gears and chains. The village, named after the Knights Templar, was a stronghold of the military order. Their main objective was to protect pilgrims on the Camino de Santiago.
A little further is a hostel with a small garden café where I buy a beer, an apple, and some kind of puff pastry filled with custard from the display case. That will be my dinner, as there is no supermarket here. As I sit there in the garden, munching on the olives that are served free with my beer, a man hobbles towards me. I have seen him a few times from behind, trudging along in pain with small, quick steps, always flapping his arms in a strange way. I tell him in English that the way he walks looks painful. He answers me in German, because just as I have seen him many times before, he has also noticed me and my small German flag on my rucksack. His name is Manfred, he is seventy-six, and he tells me he has already walked the Camino de Santiago on several different routes. His feet look terrible, covered in blisters and chafed skin, with plasters and some kind of red tincture. He says that after about five weeks on the trail, the pain stops, just when you reach your destination. Well, then I still have a while to go.
Manfred is walking with a young Czech woman named Maria, whom he met along the way. He says he would be lost without her, she always tells him where to go and when it is time to leave. I wonder if Maria even wants this and if he doesn't eventually become a nuisance to her, because I find her rather quiet and can imagine that she is happy not to have to talk constantly. Manfred is very nice but also a bit annoying, because he keeps bringing up economic and political topics, which really isn't my thing.
I stay in the garden with Manfred and Maria for a few hours, but eventually get tired of it and go back to the village green. Here I lie down on my sleeping mat and wait for the sunset. How silly. There are still four hours until sunset. What am I going to do herefor so long? Just lie around?
The village green is not particularly spectacular. Just a village green, really. Next to my iron protector, the knight statue, there is a small fountain and a little further back a table with a bench for sitting. The small village road runs alongside. Behind some conifers stands a luxury estate, and behind a hedge on the other side, on a rise, is a barn containing various pieces of farm equipment. Just out of this hedge come two cats with their kittens, with whom I want to share my bread, but they don't like it. Understandable, I don't like it either.
I am bored. I fill my collapsible bowl with water and do some foot care. I remember how the Frenchman who camped next to me in Villatuerta asked me if I washed my feet every day, because that helped with the pain. I wonder if there is any truth to that, especially since I shower almost every day and yet they still hurt.
Anyway, I remove all the blister tapes, and in the process the old skin of one blister on my little toe falls off because new skin has already formed underneath. Great, one less thing to worry about on my foot. Now I just have to get my right heel under control and keep an eye on my left one. The foot bath feels so good - the cold water helps my poor swollen feet return to their original shape, at least partially. Then I clean everything thoroughly, let my feet dry well, stick some fresh tape on the remaining nasty spots and put on fresh socks. What a relief! I also wash my old socks in the soapy water, they can dry on my rucksack tomorrow. So much for that.
I am bored again. I am sitting on this green on my mat doing nothing. And where have all the cats gone? And should I pitch my tent right here later, or shall I move over to the table and bench? Right now I am sitting by the fountain, because this is the only shady spot.
When the sun is finally low enough, I actually move to the bench. I would like to pitch my tent now, but a Jeep arrived earlier and is now parked diagonally opposite the hostel, with its engine running. I don't want to start while the car is there. Why doesn't it just leave? I decide to at least assemble the tent poles and put the rest together once the vehicle has driven off.
I have just finished assembling the tent poles, they are lying flat on the ground, when a man walks towards me. I hold my breath, greet him politely and wait to see what happens. He almost trips over the poles, but just says »oh«, smiles and continues walking towards a fence in the corner of the village green, where a few steps lead up to the barn. Phew. I stay put on the bench and don't do anything for a while. After some time he comes back with the little kitten in his hand. He then disappears towards the still-running Jeep and doesn't come back. After twenty minutes I am fed up with waiting as I want to go to sleep soon. It is unbelievable, but I have just finished setting up the tent, when the man comes back with the kitten. I play the innocent country bumpkin, smiling broadly at him to signal look, I am actually quite nice, and am clearly enjoying the sight of the kitten. The man smiles back, sees the tent but doesn't say anything. Not even when he returns after he dropped kitten at the barn and finally drives off in his Jeep. Crikey, I am lucky. It could have ended very differently.
So I crawl into my tent and quickly realise that the ground beneath me is very uneven. There is a bump under my back. I switch sides but it is no better. And then there is the big dog behind the fence, guarding the barn. He barks loudly and deeply as soon as anything he doesn't recognise moves. When I have to go out at night, I move on my tiptoes because I am terrified he goes berserk when he sees me.
Brrr, kalt ist mir auch.
Distance: 26,1 km / Steps: 42108
Looking back at the clip weeks later, I don't know what I was even thinking during that endless straight stretch. Is it possible to think of absolutely nothing to completely block something out? Strange.