Day 18 - Calzadilla de la Cueza to Sahagun

 

The Meseta - it's all about the wheatfields and the sky.

Well for now it's goodbye to towns with names that sound like Sandwich of the Queasy and on to a simpler location, although tomorrow we hit The Hamburger on the Ranch and then on to Mansion of the Mules.

We're on a joyous series of days covering fewer than 20km, although today was a slightly more challenging one of 22km.

We've been on a bit of a roll in the early mornings, with our bodies cutting us some slack. After a fairly lavish 7am breakfast, we were out the door at 7.18am.

The signals from my left hamstring seem to have been absent for two days and for a giddy hour we clocked up 5km. I don't want you to think we're unaware of the historic significance of the path we're treading, even though we tend to get caught up with more immediate concerns like "how fast are we going?" "Will we get there before it becomes too hot?", "Will my body hold out", or "Am I about to be struck down be some terrible over-use injury".

The latter is a real concern. People are dropping like flies with shin splints and various tendon, muscular, blisterish and other injuries brought on by the mere fact of walking on uneven surfaces for six or more hours a day

So to refer to the historic significance. Nine centuries ago, there were as many people walking this pilgrimage route as there are today. Don't ask me how I know this - I feel their spirit rising through the very clay I walk on. Or maybe I read it in a book.

For example, after a kilometre we passed the ruins of the Monasterio de Santa Maria de las Tiendas (the ruins a distant memory of its illustrious past as the 12th century hospice of the Great Knight, administered by the knights of St James.

The early-morning sky.

I wasn't on the lookout, so didn't get a photo. My preoccupation is the sky and the way it dominates three quarters of your vision. On the Meseta, the vistas are long and the changing pattern of the clouds  above make you wander what the day is going to bring.

I couldn't stop taking photos of the sky ahead, hoping they would help predict the weather.

We were both feeling strong as we marched along, but caution dictated a rest after 6km or so at the village of Ledigos. We strive to find the ideal coffee, but our search is hampered by a difference in interpretation. On the whole, a cafe con leche does the trick, but we know not to ask for a large one, as this will largely be milk. Cathie's cottoned on to Cortado - a shot of coffee with a very small amount of milk and that seems a good option.

We off again through country lanes, arriving at Terradillos, then Moratinos, nearly halfway through the day, but we finally stopped for another break at San Nicolas del Real Camino - a precautionary measure before the final stretch of 9km without a break to Sahagun.

We'd been maintaining a cracking pace, but suddenly, on a slow incline, my hamstring sent out an urgent message to stop giving it a hard time. It eased up once we started going down again, but sulked for the rest of the day.

As is the way, we craved shady rest areas all day - they never arrive until you get close to a town that wants to advertise its civic awareness - of course by then you can see your destination and you don't want to stop.

Two kilometres from town we crossed the lovely little bridge that leads to the 12th century chapel Ermita Virgen del Puente. The original pilgrim hostel attached to the left-hand side of the building is long gone, but you can still see the weathered foundation.

Shortly after, you pass through picnic grounds and then the grand archway that marks the mid-point of the Camino. 

This is all a moot point. Most guide books say that the route from St Jean Pied de Port is about 800km. The app we've been using says it's 767km. The waymarkers along the route vary wildly. I've decided that the phone app doesn't change, so I'm going by that. It says we have precisely 360.7km to go. However you figure it, we're on to the long run home.

After we'd made our miraculous arrival just before 1pm and checked in to Hostal Domus Viatoris, we wandered into town for post office, pharmacy, supermarket and food. At the lunch stop, (where we had a lovely pizza), we met up with our Aussie mates David and Scott. They seem to collect pilgrims. Every time we sit down with them, they introduce a new companion. Last night it was an Italian - Dona and an Australian - Lauren. Today it was an American with a complicated lineage - Sue. While we sat there, another American arrived with his Mexican partner. They'd just picked up a special pilgrim credential certifying that they'd travelled half the Camino.

We wandered back past the bull ring - and here's another story. This seems to still be active entertainment. Tomorrow there's to be a running of the bulls - just like the Pamplona event. Carlo - a pilgrim we've seen but not met of many days, is doing it tomorrow night at 7pm. David and Scott have to walk tomorrow to El Burgo Ranero - as we do - but they couldn't get a hotel room there, so their arrangement is the not uncommon one of returning by taxi to the accommodation of the night before, then taxi-ing the next day back to where they left off. What that means is, they'll be back here tomorrow to watch the running of the bulls. Not only that, but the crazy old coots, both in their late sixties, are thinking of joining in.

The town is being prepared with barriers on both sides of the streets. We're slightly sorry not to watch such a crazy spectacle, even if our sense of right and wrong doesn't quite approve.

So here we are, the way we end up most days, lying in bed having a siesta, or drinking beer and writing. Cathie's taking care of one option and I'm looking after the other.

The Relive video: https://www.relive.cc/view/vXvL2wxy316

Here's today's photos: https://photos.app.goo.gl/wKBJX3WkSRuKoPz67

Today's song is problematic. Once again when things got harder I put on an audio book That tends to blot out the ear worms. Accordingly, I have to dig deep into the reservoir of favourite music. I'm reminded of the long-time favourite poem of Dylan Thomas in which he dips his hand into the long lost Christmases of his past to find those special memories. And so why not. This poem is not an easy or short read (or listen, as the case may be). My first wife Helen will remember it well, as I bought the 33 1/3 vinyl album and thrashed it for some time. Here it is - plug in your ear phones and settled down for a long listen (nearly 20 minutes): https://youtu.be/zFSs2IdDmuU