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.

Okay, guys, this will be short. I’ve had to do three days postings in one day. Today was a lot of walking, some in the rain, to stay at Albergue La Campana. Pepe, the owner, cooked paella.

Here are some pictures from today. Good night.

Here is Pepe’s house.

I told Bjorn and Dalilah the two things I had to see were the Cruz de Ferro and the chickens in the cathedral of Santo Domingo de Caldzada. We reached them yesterday. Here are pictures I took on the way.

Why are there chickens in the cathedral? I will get the story wrong, but roughly it is this. Many years ago,a young German man was making the pilgrimage to Santiago. The daughter of an innkeeper in Santo Domingo de Caldzada fell in love with him, but he did not return her affections. So she hid a silver cup in his baggage, knowing he would be hung as a thief.

His heartbroken parents finished his Camino, and when they returned to Santo Domingo de Caldzada, their son, miraculously brought back to life by the saint, begged them to cut him down. They went to the Mayor, who laughed and said, “Your son is no more alive than the chickens on my plate.” Immediately the chickens sprouted feathers and began walking around.

Sometime in the 1350’s Pope Clement gave the cathedral special dispensation to have live animals inside. The cage you see was built in the 15th century.

When I went in there was a senior tour group. I had to kind of fight my way through, then fight my way back because I was supposed to leave my backpack in a closet, then fight my way through again. But the whole time the seniors were telling each other to move and let me through. It was like I, as a pilgrim, had a higher status than they.

I can’t tell you what it was like, to see the soaring vaults, solid stone and yet impossibly light, the gold, the statues, paintings, everything a cathedral should have, and then in the midst of it to hear, “Ur-u-ur-u-Ur!”

It made everyone laugh, me included, then it made me cry. In part for joy, because I was really here, really living what I had only dreamed about, but also because it was a reminder that here, too, was God. Christina told me to hear the rooster crow is good luck. I will be very lucky then. He didn’t shut up practically the whole time I was there. Here is a picture from the parapet, a reminder that cathedrals with their treasures had to be defended.

Stopping at the cathedral meant we had to walk in the hottest part of the day, and we got lost. Bjorn stopped to wait for Dalilah and I under a tree and when I got there I checked to see how much farther. “Bjorn,” I said. “The Camino is over there.” “No!” “Yes.”

We puzzle over the map, which shows the blue and red lines of the Camino, and then us, a small blue dot in the middle of nowhere. There is nothing for it but to go back. If there is ANYTHING someone walking 500 miles in one direction hates, it is going back. But there is no choice.

When we get back to the turn we missed, there is a bright yellow arrow at least a foot long. How we missed it I don’t know. We sit under a tree, two unnecessary kilometers under our feet, over five to go, and I say, “Well, guys, the good news is the hottest part of the day is done. It only gets cooler from here.” Bjorn and Dalilah weren’t comforted, for some reason.

We FINALLY get to the albergue, which was a donativo. My phone was dead, so google San Juan Bautista in Granon, Spain for pictures. It was AMAZING. We went to the 7 pm pilgrim’s mass, and were blessed by the priest. Even though it was a mat on the floor, I slept as well as I ever do.

I couldn’t get pictures of the albergue, but here is the window. See how thick the walls are?

I wasn’t able to plug in my battery or my charger, so very few pictures. I also did not have access to WiFi last night, so w/o pictures, we’re just going to have to call Monday a loss. Here are the pictures I do have.

Frankly, right now walking is just work. The excitement of being in Spain has worn off. The view is beautiful but it’s another wheat field like the hundreds of others you’ve walked past. The uncertainty of “Am I physically up to this?” is gone too. You know you are.

So walking is getting up one more time, putting on your boots one more time, enduring pain one more time, dripping with sweat one more time. The small part of you that wonders “Why the hell did I do this?” grows. And you don’t really have an answer. But you know you can’t stop.

So you don’t. You put one foot in front of the other. You find a tree (there haven’t been that many lately) and walk to it, praying you can rest under its shade. You calculate your water. Do I have enough? How far is the next fountain? Am I getting a hot spot, or (God forbid) a blister? (When the only method of transportation you have is your feet, blisters are serious stuff.)

And finally, blessedly, you see a town. Food. Water. Shelter. Your backpack is wet with sweat when you finally put it down. Your boots are covered with dust when you remove them at the door, and you walk like a duck into the hostel because your feet are so sore.

Does this sound like fun? You’re right. It isn’t. But then you sit around a table, listening to the mix of languages, sharing dishes of your native land, everyone with a common goal, everyone understanding that though we are all different, we are the same. And the part of you that wondered, “Why the hell am I doing this?” remembers why.

After we met him Giorgio called Dalilah and was very ugly. “B$&@h. I hope you die.” Apparently the very contrite guilty man who faced us was someone very different. But he is done and we go on. I am keeping the theme though. We simply changed to Spanish. “No pensar, solo caminar.”

We got up at 6 and ate some fruit, then got warm pastries from a shop. If cherries from the tree made my mother jealous, what will she do when she reads about freshly made “pain de chocolate” with the chocolate still melted and the croissant warm and crisp? About an hour later we ate our picnic leftovers for breakfast. The others were incredulous that there is a gun in my closet, one of the subjects we talked about at breakfast.

We got on the subject because Bjorn said my knife would be illegal in Germany because you could open it with one hand. They were shocked that I bought it in a supermarket, and that you could buy guns there too. (I know it isn’t exactly a supermarket, but how do you explain Walmart?)

After breakfast we walked to Navarrette. Along the way we passed a fence, where you take sticks and make a cross. Here is mine. We passed the popular bar and were on our way to another when we met Jose Maria, who invited us to his house. He is 90 years old and hand makes wooden signs. He fed us wine and almonds, then gave us a small wooden circle on a stick, with a shorter stick protruding out. It is for opening cans.

I sang “The Man I Love” and all I could remember of “Besame Mucho” to say thank you. Then we went and ate lunch. On the way we passed the church, where mass was just beginning, Bjorn asked Dalilah if he could take a photo, but she explained it would be rude, especially during a service. Google the church at Navarette to see it. OMG.

We ate then walked to Ventosa. My left foot is getting bad. I frankly was worried if it would make it before I left. The deformity from the surgeries forces my ankle to roll inward, which is stressing it and causing it to swell. That was one reason I got the special inserts. I am sure if I didn’t have them I wouldn’t have made it this far.

Bjorn used to be a medic in the army. He said to take ibuprofen, wrap it in a cold towel to reduce the swelling, and he will tape it tonight. I just need to make it to Burgos, or some place flat where I can rent a bicycle. Even if it isn’t flat, the hills aren’t much more than I’ve done in Chappell Hill or around Brenham. I will ask Dalilah.

Now we are in the only albergue in Ventosa. It is beautiful.

I gave Dalilah the bad news that we have to get pedicures, so I can reduce the size of the callus. She is devastated.

An advantage, or disadvantage, of traveling with young people is they drink. When we come to a major city, they party and then spend the next day nursing their hangovers.

What that means for me is I can nurse my feet and knees that are so much older. I understand why I am with Bjorn and Margrette, who actually walked on today. Bjorn likes with a woman 19 years his senior, and Margrette, who is my age, has a boyfriend who is 12 years younger.

We will miss Margrette, but we are sure we will find her again. It is the way of the Camino. There are waves of pilgrims, and you get to know the people in your wave. Oscar and Isabell are taking a bus today because Isabell’s feet are very bad, and she can’t walk today. So their crew walks, and they bus, and everyone stays together.

Giorgio has left us. We’re not sure for how long, and we’re not completely sure why. He and Dalilah had a fight last night, and he hates our room in the hostel where we have decided to stay another night. Apparently we are still in the storming stage.

Here is what I had for breakfast.

Giorgio is gone. He contacted Dalilah and said he wanted to walk by himself. They were beginning a relationship, but he was very rude to her last night when she wouldn’t help him buy drugs. He is on Camino to kick his habit. I have been very careful to always keep my valuables with me or locked since I found that out.

So today Bjorn, Dalilah, Christina and I bought a picnic and took it by the river, where we ate and talked about what to do. One of the things I said was, “His problems are too heavy for my backpack.” We saw this along the way.

It was decided that Bjorn and I would meet Giorgio at the hostel while Dalilah and Christina had a drink somewhere out of the way. We would give him some money Dalilah was keeping for him (long story,) make sure he got his stuff out of our room, and say goodbye. Bjorn and I were not looking forward to this, but we were best suited for the task. We saw this on the way back.

It went very well. He was already packed and outside. He was leaving for the next town (at 5:00 pm) and asked about Dalilah but didn’t press when Bjorn said, “She is still in the city.” He took the money, kissed our cheeks, and was gone. We got a key to lock our room just in case, but we don’t think he’ll be back.

And so our Camino goes on. Maybe without him I can get these guys going earlier in the morning.

We planned a short walk today of 9 km (I’m trying to wrap my head around the fact that I now consider a six mile walk “short”) so we could take a rest day in Logrono. We have walked about 100 miles so far.

All yesterday I was the last one, and the others would drop back and ask “Okay?” or “Esta bien?” I would respond “Si. Soy una tortuga.” They would smile and go on.

This is the view from our room at 6. (The earlier you walk, the cooler it is.) I got ready and went downstairs. 30 -45 minutes later there is no sign of my family. I understood what Bjorn felt yesterday, because if they had left I would have cried. They were still there, so I go upstairs and say, “You guys are slow.” Giorgio said, “We are ready.” I said, “Estoy una tortuga? No! SON tortugas!” They laughed.

After breakfast we met Margrette and Christina and walked together. Margrette tends to stay in hotels, but might start staying with us. Christina is part of the family now, so 1/2 of us are German.

We began walking around 8:30. We stopped fairly soon; I’m still not sure why. I needed a toilet but there wasn’t one. After a bit I put on some bug spray because in that shady spot I was being eaten. And we still don’t move. So when it looks like we’re about to move I head off, since I’m slow, and Bjorn says, “Go on. We’ll catch you up.” Except he forgot he said it.

So I walked and walked, and there was no sign of my family. As I neared Logrono there was a woman selling jewelry and cokes outside her house. I bought one and waited, but I still needed a toilet. So after a bit I went on.

Soon after you enter the city there is a park. There I saw the St. James rose. Not far after was the pilgrim office. Toilet!

Only I got stuck. I couldn’t get the door to unlock. I jiggle and push, praying I don’t have to bang and yell, “Disculpe? Disculpe!” I finally got it open. Then went downstairs and read my kindle on a bench. Here came my family! “Jane!,” they called. “Mi tortugas!,” I replied.

This is part of the church in front of our hostel, which is called “Hostel Entresueno.”

They thought I was behind them, so they kept waiting for me. We found a restaurant, where I had rapas (similar to calamari) and some of the best ice cream of my life (sorry, Blue Bell) and then found a hostel.

Dalilah and Christina are shopping, Giorgio is napping in the lobby, Bjorn is napping in the room, and I’m in the lobby writing. Later we are finding a post office and I’m mailing a few things home. I packed some things I don’t need. Many of us find we’ve done this. Bjorn is mailing stuff home a second time.

Mailing stuff home took over an hour. The girl didn’t speak English and didn’t really know what to do. We started a tapas crawl but only ate at one restaurant. I did NOT eat the miniature squid. I drank two glasses of wine and got very sleepy.

After dinner (or was it before) we listened to Dixieland jazz, and I tried a new line dance. I also sang with a hat on the ground in front of the church, I’d always wanted to try busking.

After a night of being plugged in, my phone was only at 20% in the morning. So almost no pictures.

This was on the wall of the Los Arcos albergue.

Bjorn takes a long time getting ready, so we left thinking he would catch up. He was really angry we left without him. I was reminded of group dynamics. Forming, storming, norming. Our little group is no different, even with the range of cultures.

Walking was easier today. The mosquitoes were bad in the morning. Here is a church I saw.

I don’t remember where. The church in Viana is having a concert tomorrow. I can’t tell you what a contrast the architecture was to the heavy metal sound.

Giorgio was in charge of dinner. Southerners have nothing on Italians.

This was food for five people.

Our theme has become “no pensare, ma caminare,” which is Italian for “Don’t think, just walk.” And we do. 153 km, which is about 92 mikes. We are a little less than 1/4 done.

Last night I had what seemed like a good idea. Choose the bed by the window, where a cool breeze blows through. This morning, at 5:15? It’s cold!

I had a delicious tortilla y patate made just for me.

These are some things I saw. Today I might have found my Camino family. I knew when I did they would be young. Giorgio, Bjorn, and Dalilah are all in their 30’s.

I met them at the wine fountain in Irache. (Yes, Fred, I got there early enough to get some.) Giorgio offered to take my picture and we just kind of stayed together. We are in a private room in Los Arcos, full of pasta Dalilah made. My share of the pasta and wine was 5 euros. All told today I’ve spent maybe 20 euros, maybe less. I can spring for a hotel room in Logrono day after tomorrow.

Giorgio and I ate cherries fresh from the tree.

We chose not to walk to the Castillo and explore. There is not much posting today. One, I was busy cooking and socializing. Two, my phone ran out of battery. Three, my charger cord is malfunctioning, so I can’t charge my phone.

Here are the rest of my pictures.

We walked through incredible heat. In the middle of nowhere, like an oasis in the desert, there was a food truck.

We arrived 15 minutes before it closed. What I would have done without it I don’t even want to think.

The last picture is Dalilah in the garden of the albergue in Los Arcos.

I lost Jackie. I got up at 5:30, meaning to be gone by six but actually getting on the road at 6:15. The morning was beautiful. Fresh and cool, the sun not hot, snails making trails across the path. I got to Obonos and thought I would get a drink out of the machine. That’s when I realized. My money belt, with my money, and my passport, and my credencial, were back in the locker in Muruzábal.

There was nothing to do but go back. So I walked 30 minutes back to the albergue, arriving at 7:15, 15 minutes after the time I was supposed to meet Jackie in Puenta la Reina. So I stopped and had some breakfast with Bernie. Then I got on the road and got to Puente la Reina around 830. Of course Jackie is long gone, as I would want her to be.

I walked alone for a while, and then I met Jute, who was on the Camino only for a day, as a birthday present. She and her dog Luke walked with me for several hours, until we got to Lorca. It was obvious she had her lunch with her, but I needed to buy mine. We actually had separated earlier, because Luke wanted to play in the stream and he was so hot and tired that Jute thought she needed to let him.

As I climbed the hills from Puente la Reina , before I met Juta, I saw the most beautiful yellow bushes that had the most heavenly smell. It was sweet and clean and it mingled with the scent of the pines to make a smell that was indescribable, but somehow wholly Spanish.

I did not mind being alone today. I am lying on my bed in my albergue now, the only pilgrim here, and as a result I am able to use voice to text, and this post will take me a lot less time than most usually do.

I am staying in Casa la Magica in Villatuerta. It’s nice. No bunkbeds. Of course the bunkbeds aren’t so bad, if you have the bottom bunk.

But back to being alone. I know I am not Catholic, and I hope I am not being sacrilegious, but I felt like a bead in a Rosery. I was separate, distinct, wholly myself, and yet part of something larger. The Camino is like the string that holds all of the beads of the rosary together. Even if you do not pray as you walk, to be part of it, is to be part of a prayer.

had gazpacho and txistorra, my favorite new sausage, for lunch in Lorca. I have had walked enough, with my trip back. So hard as it was, I tightened my boots and I kept going.

It was hot. My pack was heavy. My feet were sore. My knees were getting wobbly, even after I stopped for food. So I decided that I would not continue on to Estella, but stop in Villatuerta.

Those who have done the Camino Frances, and even some who have not, know that the ultimate English-speaking guide is the Brierley guide. That guide divides the Camino in 34 stages, and suggests a stopping place for each.

I have decided, temporarily at least, to stop one town before the Brierley guide. This is in part because it is still just too hard for me to do the walking to catch up to Brierleys guide at this point, and there’s no real reason why I should. The only timeline I have is be in Santiago ready to fly out on the 25th. That’s it.

Fred recommends I take a rest day in Logrono. It’s about two days walk from here. I am thinking very seriously that I might. I have now been traveling for a week, although I have only been walking for five days.

Fred told me he is going to Mother’s tonight to finish the deck. I asked him to explain to her how consuming the Camino is. When you walk it, walking is not just what you do, it is who you are. You are a pilgrim. It seems as if you have always been one, and will always be one. There is walking. That’s it. The other ties, family, friends, job, everything that belongs to your other life, are ties that pull you back. On the Camino, you are free, and the only other people who can understand are people who are, or have been, fellow pilgrims.

As Juta and I made our way down a cobblestone path, I mentioned how much I hate cobblestones. She replied, yes, but they are very old. I begin thinking of all the pilgrims, almost 1000 years of pilgrims, that had walked that road before me.

We came to a Roman bridge, still standing, still usable. I stood on the bridge and looked out and thought how what I saw could be almost exactly what a Roman had seen before me.

Even with voice to text I am falling asleep. The white wine that I had with my tuna sandwich must be affecting me. Good night.

Okay, I am crazy and insane for posting iat 2 in the morning, but I just saw stars! On the Horizon. Up in the heavens. Stars like I haven’t seen since I was a little girl. Stars that I wanted to see when I camped in the white desert, but the moon was too bright.Stars like Fred has possibly never seen. For those of you that remember, they’re still there.