Puente la Reina – Villatuerta

Day 6, June 13th, 2023

In the night i have to go for a wee and as I climb down the ladder and stand up on the floor, I practically collapse in on myself from the pain. It feels like stepping into a pincushion, the soles of my feet are burning so badly. I can only move forward with flat feet, taking small steps and in a stooped position, and I realise that I fit right in with the elderly Frenchmen in the room. Incidentally, no one in the room actually snores, which I hadn't expected given the occupancy. One of the men, however, sleeps with a CPAP mask, and the machine makes strange whistling noises all night. There's always something.

At 6:30 I am sitting alone at a table in this enormous hall, waiting for my breakfast. The owner is sitting behind the counter, completely unmoved. He only starts to pay attention when I present him with my breakfast ticket. He must have forgotten that I bought a ticket from him last night. I know, it is difficult to keep up with five people... Finally, without a word, he places a tray with two slices of toast, coffee, orange juice, butter and jam on the counter and sits down again. I am left to collect my breakfast myself.

I leave the hostel half an hour later. As I am walking down the hill, I see that annoying Richard coming across the river bridge. I freeze in shock, hoping he doesn't see me, but it is already too late. His braces flash beneath his broad grin as he extends his fist bump towards me in greeting. Now I have no choice but to walk beside him for a while, and this while turns into a whole hour. Richard is actually a nice chap, just very loud and kind of conspicuous. There is something odd about him. After a while I explain to him that I am slowing down from now on because I do not want my bum pain to return. And luckily it doesn't, instead my feet are bothering me today. It is strange, really. I have done countless hikes in these boots and never had any problems with them. Now I am getting blisters and sore feet. It can only be due to the rucksack, the limping, the swollen feet from the many kilometres every day and everything combined. 

After a hellish climb just before Mañeru, a woman approaches me from behind and ask if I was German. She has obviously spotted the two small flags I bought in Pamplona for my rucksack – a German and a British one.
»Are you Steff?« she asks. This is funny, she says Andrew told her about me. The woman's name is Marion, she is also German but now lives in Colorado, USA, where she was in the army and is now a nurse. Together we treat our feet on a small hill behind the village, and Marion gives me some sheep's wool to put inside my socks on the blister that hasn't burst yet, as a kind of cushion. She swears by it and says it works better than any blister plaster. And yes, the sheep's wool really is great, it takes a considerable amount of pressure off the blister. Unfortunately it doesn't help with the pain in my bum which has come back. I know I'm repeating myself, but again I can only hobble. I am utterly desperate. Hiking is such a beautiful thing to do, but under these circumstances it is no fun at all. 

Little Miracles

Shortly after, I hear something that sounds like someone throwing a small stone into some water, or like a frog jumping into a pond. But there is no water here at all. After the sheep's wool incident, I immediately think it must be God. God really is everywhere on the Camino de Santiago, as everyone says, and now He wants to tell me something. Should I perhaps drink more? There! Again! What is that? I hear it again twice an hour later, very close to my ear. I don't understand it. This sploshy plop sound stimulates my desire for something cool, something that will soothe my aching feet. I begin to think how wonderful it would be right now to hold my swollen feet in an ice-cold stream. So at some point I say, »Please, dear God, they say the way gives you what you need. I needed sheep's wool, and I got it. Now I would like some cold water for my battered feet, please«
It takes no more than ten seconds before I hear the sound of a river beside me. Am I dreaming? And I think, if there really is a river, maybe there is a bridge coming up where I can get down to the bank? It is unbelievable, but a moment later I am crossing the Río Salado over a small stone bridge with a sand bank easily to access. This is totally insane! I can't get my shoes off fast enough, I am so eager to get into that cold water. I want to cry with joy as I plunge my feet into the icy water. I would love to sit here forever, and I actually do stay until my feet are numb, then I pull myself together and force them back into my boots.

In the small town of Lorca, I eat a hearty vegetable soup as substantial as a stew in the bar of a hostel. I am not really hungry, but I have to take advantage of the generous offer and eat what I can get. The hostel is run by a Japanese woman who stylishly paints my name and the words buen camino in Japanese characters next to the stamp.

Shortly after Villatuerta, on the left-hand side, is a 12th-century chapel, the Ermita de San Miguel Arcángel, dedicated to the Archangel Michael. Behind it is an olive grove surrounded by bushes on a meadow dotted with more scattered olive trees and a few tables and benches. I think this is a perfect spot to pitch my tent. It is just too early and too hot so I go inside the chapel and lie down on the stone bench where it is nicely quiet and cool. 

Vadim

A young man with long dark hair and a full beard also seems to be settling down here. I see him sitting outside on a bench at a table, reading. There is a rucksack in the chapel, probably his. Eventually he hobbles in and tells me that he needs to rest his foot and will sleep here. I ask him his name and where he is from, but his English is very poor, so I have to piece together his words myself: His name is Vadim. He is Polish but lives in Germany, more precisely in Baden, where he started his journey. His mother is Russian and his father Ukrainian - a decidedly unfortunate combination. Later I learn that both his parents have died. Now Vadim is on his way to Santiago de Compostela because he was »called«, as he says. He only ever sleeps in churches or ruins because he feels safe and secure there. A true pilgrim, this Vadim.

Eventually the chapel becomes too cold and the bench too hard for me, so I decide to pitch my tent now, since there was no one else around except Vadim. With the strong wind up here, setting the tent up is a real challenge as it is such a light wight, it easily blows away. The tent pegs don't hold well in the hard ground, but in the end I manag to secure my home and heave all my gear inside. Now it won't fly away under any circumstances. 

I can't stop thinking about Vadim. He mentioned earlier that he was going shopping, but he hasn't gone. Have I misunderstood him? Does he perhaps hope I go shopping because his foot is hurt? Is he hungry? I get a strange feeling, and then I remember the half-eaten cheese sandwich I have left. I am not going to eat it anyway, I never want to eat bread again in my life. So I decide to take it over to the chapel, where I find Vadim huddled on a bench in a corner on his air mattress. He immediately gets up when I try to give him my cheese sandwich, but he doesn't want to take it. He says he has enough to eat and holds out a plastic bag full of cakes and cookies. He proudly shows me all his supermarket food and lavishly offers me from everything.
»Here, I have some drinking chocolate. Do you know what drinking chocolate is?« he asks, holding out a bottle. Funny, as if I didn't know what hot chocolate was. I take a sip, because I feel like I would hurt his feelings if I refused his generosity. So this whole shopping conversation was probably meant to be about him already having been shopping and simply wanting to share his food with me. I get a piece of cake and a rice pudding from him, and in return, I leave him my cheese sandwich, whether he likes it or not. I could sleep here too, he suggests, but I am quite happy out there in my tent, even though it certainly would have been another adventure and a completely new experience.
Strange fellow that Vadim. But I feel safe with him over there in the chapel. It is reassuring to know that someone else is nearby.

I lick the rice pudding from the plastic cup like a dog as I can't be bothered to look for my spoon. I am incredibly tired. Suddenly I hear someone. A young Frenchman has the same idea as me and wants to settle down here for the night. 
»Oh, somebody already here! I had the same idea«, he laughs, when he spots my tent behind the bush he has chosen from a distance. I poke my head out and greet my new neighbour, who is now pitching his tent a little further on, behind another bush. How nice, now I am definitely not alone anymore. And it isn't long before the Frenchman comes back to me, plonks down by my tent wanting to share his food with me. He has brought a rather hearty sausage from the butcher which he cuts into small pieces with his pocketknife and spreads out in the torn bag in front of us. He also has bread and cloves of garlic. I think the idea is so wonderful and so cosy, but I don't feel like eating at all. Out of politeness I nibble on a piece of sausage and a clove of garlic. I have never eaten a whole clove of garlic like that before - how spicy it is!
»No unwanted visitors with this« laughs the Frenchman, whose name I unfortunately forgot. But he is a fun-loving, outdoorsy lad who seems like nothing can faze him. We have a great chat about the Camino with all its little wonders, about faith and about life. All that is missing now is a bottle of wine and a campfire, then it would be perfect.

Distance: 19 km / Steps: 31421