Pepe provided two small cakes and cafe con leche for breakfast. We stopped for something more substantial but all there was was this.
And this, my new favorite cookie.
We walked to Atapuerca, ad close to Burgos as possible. Here are things we saw.
When there is a long stretch in between towns there is frequently an enterprising citizen who has set up the equivalent of a lemonade stand. Here it is.
There was more walking.
We stopped for lunch and I had a tuna empanada.
In Atapuerca I got to experience one of the negative sides of being a pilgrim. The albergue didn’t take reservations, but when we called there were 26 beds. By the time we arrived there were 13. And 15 people in line.
The hospitalera was at lunch, so she told Dalilah to just go grab a bed. So we all did. Except a very rule-following lady who was first in line but waiting for her friend, and apparently thought that what we all should do was politely stand in the sun behind her until either the hodpitalera or her friend arrived.
I’m thinking, “Lady, these people are hot, hungry, and tired, and this is the last albergue for almost 10 miles. (It wasn’t, as it turns out, but most of us didn’t know that.) If you wanted a bed you should have grabbed it and one for your friend.” But like so many people, she didn’t want to solve her problem, she wanted to complain about it, because Chris (an Australian man we met) offered to give his up and get a private room and she said no.
When her friend arrived she told her she didn’t want to stay there anyway. They needed to find a place with less people. I’m like, “Yeah, good luck with that.”
At dinner I met Zack, short for Isaac, who after the Camino is going to study law at Yeshiva University. I’m a little confused as to why a Jew is doing a catholic pilgrimage but didn’t ask. He’s an interesting man. Will probably die of skin cancer, since he is a blue-eyed freckled red-head who doesn’t believe in sunscreen. But everyone is immortal at 22.
We ate pizza, and I scandalized the Italians at the table by ordering pizza with pineapple. As we sat and ate, Zack asked, “What is your favorite part of the Camino?” I immediately said, “This.”
At the table were two Germans, two Italians, two Americans, one Australian, one Frenchman, and one Spaniard. They had been tired, but now were laughing. Were dirty, but now they were clean. Were hungry, but now they were filled.
When we returned, we went to bring in the laundry. Here came Bjorn, red-faced with anger. After sitting for at least 45 minutes with a towel around him waiting for a shirt to dry, he came waving another shirt yelling, “Jane! I have to wash again because a f$&@ing bird took a f&@$ing s$&t on my f$&@ing shirt!” He was so mad. I still laugh.
If it weren’t for the walking, I could Camino every day.
Travels and Adventures with Jane 