Week 3: Camino Santiago de Compostela

I was a tad nervous for week 3 of the Camino Frances… as that accounts for the Meseta. And the Meseta, ladies and gentlemen, stands in the Camino World for going inwards, reflecting, breaking it all down and picking up the pieces. Endless stretches of empty, alluring, yet monotonous lands divert the attention to all those random bits flying through the consciousness and subconsciousness of the brain like a raging hurricane, eager to be organized and made sense of somehow. Something rather scary, but highly necessary in my life, as 2019 has all but been friendly to me (and my family). In for a rollercoaster ride? Ready, steady, go!

Of course, also this week I made a video diary especially for you!

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13: Burgos – Tardajos

No room for a laid-back start though… I woke up in Burgos to realize I was robbed. Yup, you read that correctly. While I’m here on the Camino trying to do good by walking with the goal of raising funds for the less fortunate, the butt end of the world snatches it all away without asking.

[Pensión Monjes de la Biblioteca… avoid avoid avoid!]

As such, I opened my week in a police station, basically slurping up the lion share of the day as apparently also crime needs a siesta. That said, the coppers are quite helpful in this part of Espain, and as I luckily speak proper Spanish (3,5 years non-stop traveling through Latin America will do that to you) the process was completed promptly. I had made an 8KM detour to go up and down the only operating comisaría, however, so I was only able to make it to Tardajos before sunset, about 10KM out of Burgos. But I was more than glad I was outta there… I’m pretty sure it’s a great city to many, but I (understandably) left with a rather bitter taste in the mouth.

Night spent in: Tardajos Municipal

14: Tardajos – Castrojeriz

That it’s only a very tiny part of Spain (and the world as whole) that accounts for such a lowlife-style of behaviour, was once again highlighted the very same night. My evening in the (basically deserted) donativo albergue was full of laughter, food-sharing and engaging conversation, thanks to the amazingly friendly hospitalero volunteering in this extremely basic but, for me, comfortable enough shelter. It was therefore with fresh energy and a positive outlook on the future that I stormed into the next day. Yeahhh sure, you can dwell on past events and marinate in negativity, but how’s that gonna solve anything, really?

I had seen the crowds diminishing on the trails over the weeks, as apparently most people only walk small stretches or had thrown in the towel due to fatigue or injuries, but today I witnessed how something as futile as some rainfall has swiped the trails basically empty. I just don’t get those people, honestly… they’d really need to chop off both of my legs before I would even consider stopping before I reached my end goal (although, knowing myself - even in this case I’d probably drag myself forward towards Santiago using hand and teeth, my bleeding stumps leaving a trail of blood and effort behind me). It does feel good to be a lion (Leo) among the pussies sometimes, there’s no way of denying it! Alone I thrive! Sure, it’s rather pleasant to meet some people along the way to chat away time and kilometres, but it’s even better to every now and then check out what you can offer yourself. Terrible solo Bon Jovi trail-karaoke in this case, apparently. Nothing better than falsely shrieking along into the wind with dreadful 80’s and 90’s love ballads, as loud as humanly possible. Saying that you shouldn’t sing in public because you have a bad voice, is basically the same as saying that you shouldn’t pose for photos if you have don't have a pretty face. Exactly, we’re understanding one another.

Night spent in: San Esteban Municipal

15: Castrojeriz – Frómista

Meseta breakdown in 3… 2… 1…

I just needed a tiny push. With the entire shitstorm that’s called 2019 it was only a matter of time before reality would catch up with me. Crammed into a wee, little year my family was served a heart attack, severe pneumonitis with acute hospitalization, ever-worsening MS, a mental depression and one strong dose of breast cancer. Bam. There you go. Shove that down your throat. You’ll probably need to experience it for yourself (and I hope you never do) to know what it’s like to have your 34-year old sister calling you from the other end of the world with the announcement that they found two tumors in her body. It’s like the world held its breath, the birds stopped singing and all music desynchronized into one loud, unbearable blur. All seemed pointless. The plans that I had, the ideas I was laying out… shuuffff, off the table. I needed to be where she was, as if my prompt return would scare the cancer right out of her body.

I’m generally not a person that puts negative emotions into words, unless it’s anger or annoyance. My sadness and tears are private, I don’t know how to express those from one individual to another, that would make me too vulnerable I guess… and I always want to be the strongest link (so this YouTube-video of Santiago Week 3 is BIIIIG for me, a breakthrough one could argue). When I worry, I do, I don’t waste my breath on words. So to get confronted with so many new feelings of confusion, perception of possible loss, the limited longevity of our existence… it was too much. You are always aware of it, but it somehow only seems to happen to others. It’s unforgivingly brutal to have your face pushed so deep into the realness of a situation like this. But that’s where the Camino comes in. You can walk, you can run, my friend… but once there are no people left to distract you, no views to divert you, no parties to soften your short-term memory, it hits you right in the face. And boy, that feels good sometimes. Merciless and highly necessary.

E basta, dust yourself off and get up again. Fear stands for Face Everything And Rise (yes, thank you Papa Roach).

Night spent in: Betania Privado

16: Frómista – Carrión de los Condes

It’s like all the negative energy that had slowed me down this year had surfed right out of my head on the waves of my tears. I felt and looked 10 years younger when I jumped out of my bed, in all but in experience. I chatted the entire morning away with the lively hostel owner Lourdes, who had such a heart for the Camino she started a donativo albergue right in her own house. The best one I stayed in so far; I even had a private room with bathroom all to myself! The good woman elaborately shared her experiences of the summer-Camino, when people often leave at 4AM (hence not seeing anything of the breath-taking landscapes) to beat the heat and secure a spot in the easily filled up albergues. She’d daily find these poor souls, often arriving far before lunch time, sleeping on her doorstep about 3 hours before any property opens its doors. Not that I needed any more confirmation of my excellent choice to start this adventurous endeavour off-season, but it’s nevertheless comforting to sometimes listen to other people’s discomfort (just joking - I'm not that mean).

I decided to go until Villalcázar de Sirga, where another donativo was supposedly located… but alas, off-season unfortunately also means that most shelters eventually close their doors, and this municipal was one of them. So I pushed forward to Carrión de los Condes, where a collective of nuns and monks was awaiting my arrival (and those of a handful of other pilgrims) in their very own monastery. I was positively surprised to learn about their downright open-minded attitude as well… no wine and no beer, giant hysterical signs yelled at me. Great, thanks for the reminder! I’ve been dragging these bags of marihuana along for way too long now (mention you’re Dutch and weed will be gifted to you from all corners of Spain without even asking for it)… about time to exhaust my ample reserves with some by-now-Camino-friends that crossed my path again this fortunate night! I stared at the Maria icon the nuns had attached to my bag, and I’m sure I saw her little thumbs go up two joints later.

Night spent in: Espíritu Santo Convento

17: Carrión de los Condes – Calzadilla de la Cueza

I couldn’t have my short walk yesterday, so I grabbed this day which was reasonably mine. Also for budget reasons, as if I’d only walk 17KM today, I was able to plan the upcoming stages from cheapo-place to cheapo-place. Hey, there’s a reason why I’m able to travel the world fulltime for over 5 years now. There wasn’t much in Calzadilla de la Cueza (fantastic name though), but after 17KM of one long horizontal stretch of monotonous emptiness, any sign of civilization is a welcome change. Plus, for once the privado albergue was as cheap as the municipal one, which means no night clock! At laaaast, after 14 solid years of adulthood the Camino had almost beaten the memory out of me of going to bed whenever you want. Unreal.

I met a cheerful Dutch lady called Margrieta, who after a near-death encounter due to the suffocating stranglehold of malaria, grabbed life by the balls again and stirred it all up. Bye fiancé, bye career and bye-bye old routine habits: Death had accidentally overseen her unwanted application, which means she’s been living on precious bonus time since… too valuable to waste on maybe’s and what-if’s. She found Jesus and I found her… to once again open my eyes for this undeniable truth, often overseen or forgotten. If there’s one thing that became painfully clear to me this year is that at any time Death can come knocking at your door, most often when you’re definitely not ready. All time we have is a gift, as too often we close our eyes and a week has passed, a year has passed… What are you doing, sitting there on your couch? Can’t you hear that loud clock ticking? Get up, run, make noise, absorb, laugh, feel, until the only thing you can hear louder than the tick-tack-tick-tack of your own finitude is the raging pumping of your heartbeat, full of life.

Night spent in: Camino Real Privado

18: Calzadilla de la Cueza – Calzada del Coto

I overslept, when you work until 1:30AM (yes – I work on the Camino, how else is this piece of text presented to you?) a 7:30AM alarm is simply not to be heard. But as I had already stolen the heart of the Italian hostel owner with my Spanish-drenched attempts of Italian conversation (it’s been already 12 years since I was proficient in Italian, more of that tick-tack-tick-tack), I could easily add another hour of my standard slow morning ritual to the delay.

If I have to crown one day as Queen of the Week, then this Thursday definitely goes home with the first price. Dark clouds had made place for golden sunshine, in the sky and in my head. My feet stopped hurting entirely, and so did my legs, now feeling like they’re carved out of though chunks of steel. My body just works. Fit, toned and strong. I felt wide awake, I learned how to sleep no matter the circumstances and close off my mind on command. Tiredness turned into inspiration. My brain is just there, working its way efficiently through messy registers of issues, worries and undirected impulses, organizing and prioritizing separate elements into one sensible whole… deleting the files and programs slowing down the system. It’s a fresh wind, a clean clarifying hurricane within the most lyrical landscape.

I’m just happy to be on the Camino, man, I really needed this. Life is generous.

All delicious sentiments were wrapped into one satisfying time cocoon. I had no idea how long I’d been walking, and quite frankly, it didn’t matter. All I know is that I arrived at the most pleasant donativo albergue in a delightful little hamlet, with most probably the friendliest hospitalero on the entire track (thank you, Ramón!). I learned how to make delicious pasta from scratch (no instant meals!) using nothing more than a microwave, as necessity is the mother of invention. And a continuous sequence of inventing is a pure necessity, on all levels.

Night spent in: Albergue San Roque Municipal

19: Calzada del Coto - Reliegos

I was grateful for all things beautiful and valuable the flat lands of the Meseta had given me, and were granting me once again today (I somehow really got into these landscapes – less highway, more realness)… but today it was less about the journey and more about the destination. The Elvis Bar reached an almost legendary status on the Camino Frances, its reputation preceding the icon hundreds of kilometres. Knowing this, I definitely shouldn’t have stayed in the night-clock-albergue, as it was time for some seriously bad decision-making (like a proper adult!). The Camino is full of experiences, and one of them is definitely being locked out of your resting place, when all your belongings are situated inside. So what do you do then, besides waking up the entire neighbourhood? Go back to the bar of course, to solve all problems of the world, including this one, over 2 more bottles of wine and a fist full of tapas. It worked. As about 25% of the entire population of Reliegos was inside of that pub, eventually somebody dug up a key somewhere and let me back in at a time some summer-hikers would’ve started their day already.

Long-term friendships are wonderful, and you should treasure them. But I prefer these short intense encounters of which I collected so many along my rather unusual walk of life, perfectly preserved in memory exactly as they were on that precise moment… immune for the influence of time.

Night spent in: D. Gaiferos Municipal

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