Day 21, June 28th, 2023
It's only fourteen degrees Celsius this morning at six, quite unpleasant. I pack up everything quickly, take down the tent and wash myself at the fountain with just two fingers. I lam still wearing my long woollen trousers and sleep sweater when I leave.
After a short while I reach a small village called Moratinos, where I have a coffee and a croissant in a small café. It is cosy and warm here, it reminds me a bit of all the teahouses in Nepal. As I sit here, slowly thawing out, I reflect on how my hike has actually turned out. In the entire three weeks I have only slept in my tent five times. First, there were constant thunderstorms, then I got ill. Then came more thunderstorms, then the intense heat and now a cold snap. The temperature is supposed to even drop into single digits in the coming nights. It was a crucial mistake to send my good sleeping bag home. I could easily have withstood the temperatures with it, so I am really kicking myself for it. Or was it not a mistake at all, but meant to be?
My back, my feet, my cough and perhaps even my head would certainly benefit from some sense, therefore I decide to abandon my original idea, the »just me and my little tent, simply starting to walk and seeing where I end up.« and send my tent home. While I initially just wanted to go tent-hiking somewhere, I have increasingly become a pilgrim here on the Camino, determined to complete the journey to Santiago de Compostela, no matter what. I am right in the thick of it and can't get out, like a pull or a magnet that grows stronger the closer I get. But what actually distinguishes a pilgrim from a hiker?
Pilgrimages are often associated with personal reflection, penance and the search for spiritual renewal, whereas hikers tend to indulge in adventure, physical exercise combined with relaxation, and the enjoyment of nature. I do reflect quite a lot. After all I have endless time and nothing to distract me from my thoughts here on the Meseta. I am still not actively seeking spiritual renewal, but perhaps it is happening unintentionally. The whole thing is still adventurous enough, but it is not working out the way I imagined. For example, I hadn't anticipated this unbearable pain in my feet which makes me avoid every unnecessary step at the end of the day. I would never dream of turning left or right onto a dirt track to see if I could find a place to pitch my tent. The thought is completely absurd.
From now on I want to sleep exclusively in hostels, like every other pilgrim. The thought of this and how everything will be even easier from now on, makes me feel incredibly light-hearted. I feel truly liberated because another burden has been lifted from my shoulders. No more boring waits for sunset so I can finally pitch my tent and go to sleep, and no more mosquitoes biting me to pieces. Instead a shower, a bed and electricity every day. And if I ever can't get a bed, I still have my sleeping mat.
Once I overtake a tall, heavy, slightly limping young man named Mika. He tells me that he too had a tent with him but sent it home.
»That's how it is,« I remark, »the Camino gives you what you need.«
»But not always what you want«, Mika adds.
Just before Sahagún is the official midpoint between Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port and Santiago de Compostela, the Centro Geografico Del Caminogate. Big day. I am passing beautiful sunflower fields. It is breathtaking and Mika says,
»That's exactly what I wanted«, and I think to myself I will stay a little further behind him to take a picture that shows him in front of all that yellow splendour. It turns out to be a really beautiful photo, but Mika doesn't even want to see it.
»Oh no, I am just fat!« he says, raising his arms, from which his walking sticks dangle, in despair. His words echoe in my mind. Mika is just over twenty and doesn't seem very self-confident. Yet here he is, all alone. And he is walking this long distance. How can he possibly claim to be so he is just fat? I wish I had told him how great he is, but at that moment I am simply speechless.
In Sahagún I head straight to the post office to send my tent home. Still somewhat traumatised from my experience in Nájera, this time the shipping process is no problem at all. The postal worker speaks some English and is incredibly helpful, she even helps me packing. It is also much cheaper, I simply have to write the address on the package, pay twenty euros and Bob's your uncle. I also send my pocketknife along by the way, I barely use it.
I can hardly feel my rucksack anymore. How I wish I could weigh it, but I would estimate it at seven kilograms at most. Maybe I am wrong though; after all I have gained back muscle and gotten used to the daily burden. I am making up for the lost weight with a few bowls of rice pudding and some biscuits at the supermarket. Just thinking - if I ate all my groceries right there on the doorstep, I wouldn't have to carry anything around.
I bump into flapping Manfred and his faithful Maria near a crossroads. We sit down together in a café for a break, but Maria is clearly happy for a little respite, gets up again and goes to visit a nearby church, and I look after Manfred for her. At some point he asks me if I wanted to continue my walk together with them, which I politely but firmly decline.
In Bercianos del Real Camino I get a bed in a hostel located just before the town entrance. It resembles a large warehouse or industrial building, but it looks new and clean, and there is a large meadow in front. All around are fields and the main road next door. Everything is very spacious, and it seems to me that most pilgrims pass by to find accommodation elsewhere.
When I first get to my five-bed room, someone is showering in the bathroom with the door slightly ajar. So far, only one other bed is occupied, but the equipment and clothing lying on it leaves no doubt that it is a woman. Then, shortly after me, an Italian father and his young son arrive. The father doesn't realise that the bathroom was for one person only and is about to throw the door open, I can just stop him.
The mysterious person in the shower turns out to be a Spanish woman in her mid-sixties. She speaks very little English, and I find her personality unpleasant. She seems eccentric to me and I simply don't like her.
I would love to have some company, someone with whom I can have some nice conversations, sit in the garden with a few beers, and later have dinner in the hostel restaurant. Unfortunately there are hardly any people around. Should I try and strike up a conversation with the Spaniard-woman? She soon comes towards me when in sit in the garden by myself. I smile at her, she gives a strained smile back, looks away immediately and walks straight on. She probably dislikes me just as much as I dislike her.
I treat myself to a load of laundry for four euros, and since it is so warm, my clothes dry in next to no time. How wonderfully freshly washed clothes smell, especially when dried in the air!
On check-in, I bought a ticket for the pilgrim's menu for this evening, and now I am getting something really delicious: a salad with tuna, fries, and a thinly sliced steak - the obligatory "meat lobe". I always ask to get the starter and main course together at the same time which makes the meal less monotonous.
For David this would be paradise, because I get a whole bottle of wine served with my meal. All that for just thirteen euros. It reminds me of Pamplona, when Andrew bought a litre of wine for one euro fifty in the supermarket. Certainly not the best wine, but definitely worth for the price. Lemonade costs more.
I am quite happy to be eating alone now, as I am already pretty tired and don't feel like talking to anyone anymore, when a young Korean woman comes to my table and asks if she can join me. That's what you get, I think to myself, and offer her the chair next to me. If someone is looking for my company, I am certainly not going to turn them away. The young woman says we have bumped into each other a couple of times today. Really? I haven't noticed. Me and my facial recognition issues! These are sometimes a problem at work, too. I once sent a business class passenger back to economy after I had served him twice just moments before, because I thought he had gone to the wrong class. Embarrassing, but unfortunately it happens to me every day when a face isn't particularly distinctive or the person doesn't remind me of anyone.
Ultimately the conversation with the Korean woman is rather slow. She doesn't talk much and her answers are brief. It becomes too tiring for me so I excuse myself and go back to my room.
The Spaniard-woman - I don't know why I call her that, isn't there when I put myself to bed, nor are the father and his son. But when she does arrive, she makes a racket as if she was alone in the room, completely inconsiderate. She can clearly see that someone, in this case me, am lying here asleep, or at least trying to. I put my earplugs in and thankfully don't hear a thing anymore.
Distance: 23,1 km / Steps: 36381
No video today, as my route was different from that of Camino Time Lapse.