Day 14 – Burgos to Hontanas

As expected, the Albergue didn’t open until 0600 on the dot. Clunk, creak, clatter, then patter of feet. We were literally prisoners of the Vatican, banged up in ‘stir’ for the night. There were a few puzzled faces, geared up and ready to go at 0530, only to have to stand around and wait until the dungeon master appeared to free us. They didn’t ask the prior day, and to “assume” makes an “ass” out of “u” and “me”. Arf. Arf. I was stretching. They were pacing.

I’m on day one of three days collapsed into two to give me more time at the back end and in Finisterre. I am transiting part of the area called the Meseta, which is en route to Léon, the next significant destination.

It is soul-destroyingly boring. Much like a moonscape, but alas without the Lunar Rover. Nothing to see except mile-upon-mile of sun-bleached dirt and then more anaemic, unfriendly dirt.

And when you get into town, it’s so hot that the tarmac gives underfoot to my Tevas (imagine the problems with my stilettos…?) – and you can smell the oily discharged quite strongly. This uncomplimentary assessment is not my isolated, biased view, incidentally. It is the universally-held view of everyone here, that I, as unofficial, unelected, unaccountable spokesman (so European, no..?) am merely articulating. There was a lot of relief to have finished the day’s hiking. I know that some have cut this entire section out and chosen to take the bus to Léon. Pussies. Go big or go home. No middle ground.

Speaking of buses, I didn’t see any Koreans today. Maybe there’s a scheduled detour to an outlet mall…?

Redemption for the day’s travails is the piscina. Out of nowhere, in this one street, two dog, three car, four bar town, there’s a swimming pool. A humongous one. I’m guessing 27mx15m (weird, yes, but I measured and counted the squares in the fencing), with separate paddling pool, lifeguard, BBQ, fussball table and……bar. The lifeguard also moonlights as the barman and though he advertises cocktails, he’s unable to dispense them: a mixed-up mixologist.

Why someone put such a large structure in such a small town is beyond me. They did. It could have been 1/3 of the size and been more than ample, and I’m not sensing that the gene-pool here is going to produce the next Michael Phelps – if you feel me…? It’s here, as with much of the excess infrastructure, courtesy of Frau Merkel’s “free” €uros. My unit is nicely chilled and my tired legs feel great.

32km was a long way to walk with a heavy pack, in the heat and with nothing to occupy the mind but pain. Tomorrow will be the same but at least I’ll be able to leave at 0500+/- instead of the Fascista-mandated 0600 and knock some of the tedium out in the dark and cooler temperature.

It’s still a LONG, LONG way to Léon.

It’s beginning to cloud over (bit late for the pilgrims, eh, Big Yin..?). I’m going in for one last dip then back for dinner and zzzz.

Post script. Just after dinner, the Dominican Sisters offered a foot massage to pilgrims, which included moi. As I was waiting, I heard the saddest thing.

THUD!

A baby pigeon fell out of its nest, and without the strength to fly, it hit the ground right in front of the entrance to the Church. I’d have thought that the Powers That Be might have intervened on their own doorstep, but no. The little furry body shuddered and made a couple of final, sad sounds and was lifeless as the mother looked on from above the arch on the door. Now, I know the death of a baby pigeon ranks low by any measure of global relevance, but nonetheless, the timing and location were intriguing, so…..

I don’t “do” churches, but on this occasion, the confluence of events, free foot massage and avian death compelled me to do do. I’ve attached a couple of pictures of what is quite a warm and seemingly contemporary place of worship, located in a little town in the middle of nowhere. Vatican tendrils do indeed extend far.

Have a good night.

Day 14 Photo Gallery