Day 14 - Hornillas to Castrojeriz

Looking back towards Hornillos as we rise from the fog.

A fairly mystical day today, and only partly to do with the mist. It was more to do with our state of mind, the condition of our bodies and the gentle rhythm of slow walking that we found ourselves adopting.

Pride comes before a fall. Up until two days ago we'd felt stronger every day. Fitter, more able and healthy.

Yesterday the hamstring injury of three weeks ago that I thought I'd shaken came back with a sudden jolt. Not only that, a blood blister where the sole of my foot thickens up out by the edge, had suddenly taken on a life of its own.

But back to the small town of Hornillos, where we had a self-service breakfast in a tiny kitchen at any time we wanted. That was good news, but as we had a relatively short day of 20km ahead, we didn't get down there until 7am. The small table and four chairs were fully occupied by four Spanish gentlemen, who did their best to be helpful. However, although we could make filter coffee and have a glass of orange juice, the bread (or toast) and jam didn't appeal to either of us, so we grabbed a couple of pre-wrapped cakes and hit the road.

The streets of Hornillos.

It was pretty eerie as we set off down the pretty, but empty, streets of town. We'd heard many pilgrims pass by our window already, but as we walked into the mist we were on our own.

Although Cathie was feeling pretty good, she walked slowly out of deference to my ailments.

We were still doing nearly 4km/h, so although it felt like a shuffle, we were making reasonable time as the sun began to burn through the mist, about an hour after we'd started.

To avoid the pressure of trying to walk at an uncomfortable speed (for both of us), Cathie walked ahead. I put on a distracting audio book and shuffled along behind. This gave me ample opportunity to observe her well-tanned legs swinging her along ahead of me.

The shrine of St Bridget (Santo Brigida)

After about 10km we reached the little Shrine of St Bridget and the lovely town of Hontanos. It had taken us two and a half hours and we were ready for a real coffee and breakfast.

The food and rest restored us greatly and we set off to the sound of church bells ringing loudly and enthusiastically (see the videos in the attached photo album).

We each settled into our zone of either agony or ecstasy (or a combination of both). Cathie was loving the day and I was too, in a painful sort of way. 

These ruins are not described, but are a bold statement.

Although I was listening to my book, I was vividly aware of the all the beautiful Meseta countryside around us.

We trundled on to the ruins of the ancient convent of San Anton, where the way passes beneath an arch of the old church.

In the kilometres that followed, we were treated to an amazing display of poppies in the distance - their density and colour making it seem as if a red sheet had been thrown over the landscape.

Not long after, the village of Castrojeriz came into view, with its historic church of our lady of the apple and the imposing castle on the hilltop above.

Here's a copy of some information about the castle: "The first mention of this castle dates from the 9th century during the skirmishes with the Muslim forces. There are three clearly differentiated sections: the Roman part which is today reduced to an almost hidden square tower; the Visigoth part comprising the extension to the castle with different masonry work from in the Roman part; and the medieval part."

As is usual at the end of the day, the last kilometre or two begin to drag, but eventually we found our way to La Posada de Castrojeriz. It's a fabulous old building, but we deferred our exploration until we'd showered, washed our clothes and got something to eat.

By then it was 3pm. The restaurant by the hotel was heaving with Spanish families eating Sunday lunch. No snacks here.  In the bar we found our Aussie friends David and Scott diligently writing their blog as they polished off a few beers. No snacks here either. Same at the bar across the road.

We wandered up to the town plaza. Did you ever hear this one? An Aussie, an American and a Netherlander sat outside a bar. They were joined by a Kiwi and a Canadian who said "We know where you're all from by your accents." And that's how we met Chris, Bradley and Monique.

That certainly raised the tone of the conversations we've had today, since nobody we'd talked to all day except the other two Aussies had spoken English. Besides, Chris was an ex-runner who claimed to be the oldest person walking the Camino at the moment. He certainly didn't look old - he was only 76 - but you never know. 

The library at La Posada.

After a fine old chat, a snack and a beer, we returned to check out our hotel. It's a pretty incredible building. 

As well as a wonderful library, full of books on art and history, it has a lovely lounge and a nice collection of paintings and pottery.

So here we are as the afternoon ticks away and we wait for the dinner hour of 7pm.

As I walk I'm listening to an unexpectedly interesting book called The Moth and the Mountain. Without giving the show away, it's about bravery, exploration, the Great War, mountaineering and the general foibles of the English. I know a song which captures all the same virtues, sung with the self-deprecating silliness of the English race: https://youtu.be/yrq6av5-PS8

Here's today's Relive video: https://www.relive.cc/view/v8qVBJ3dK3q

Finally, today's photos: https://photos.app.goo.gl/F3AS1RrEXTD3fHBD9