Camino Continues: Bye Bye Burgos!

IMG_0940

Distance left to Santiago: 501.2 km

After stopping off in Burgos for two nights, I felt ready to hit the road again. I had walked over 1/3 of the journey by then and found myself still up for the challenge. Sure, I was sore and tired but I wasn’t done with the walking. The city was beautiful but full of trinkets I didn’t need or want to carry. I left my private room around 7am and tentatively stepped my way down the stairs. It felt good to go.

I was surprised to find myself in open countryside in no time, and the sound of early morning traffic was replaced by birdsong and insects. The morning was cool and still: it felt ripe with possibility. My belly was still sore but emotionally, I felt robust again. Some “alone-time” and decent sleep had done me the world of good.

I hoped to walk to San Bol that afternoon and at 24km, it seemed like a reasonable distance. But with only 12 beds, I had my doubts that this private hostel would have space for me by the time I’d arrive. Pilgrims swooned about San Bol as some sort of mini-retreat or oasis spot…lots of people wanted to stop there but we couldn’t all fit. I pinned my hopes on it anyway and started walking west. In between, there were other places I could stop off if I really needed to. Having a get-out clause was important that day.

I don’t know whether it was because I had slept well, or began to find my rhythm, or what, but the next 1/3 of my camino journey was probably my favorite part of the whole thing. I was surprised by that. I knew I was heading into the Meseta region and was facing a week of flat landscape with nothing but wheat fields and beating sun. People around me had talked about skipping the Meseta region entirely because they’d heard it was “boring” or “too hard”. I’d heard that the Meseta was the mental part of the camino – all that open space and the lack of shady trees can do strange things to your mind. Apparently, it’s the section where people either:

  • Lose their minds
  • Find themselves
  • Find God
  • Start hallucinating, or
  • Give up and go home

It sounded pretty extreme.

I didn’ t believe in taking a bus or train across it just because the flat landscape sounded dull. But so far, I had enjoyed the undulating trail, with humpback bridges, woodland, and vineyards. I’d enjoyed the variety of colors and textures. The ever-changing landscape had fed my spirit, even on difficult days. So, how would it be to walk for a week across a flat, empty landscape, in 35 degree heat, for hours at a time?

Turns out, I loved it!

That morning, walking out of Burgos and into the open countryside was like being able to breathe again. The sound of my feet crunching on gravel, the sound of my walking poles tapping the earth, and the swing of my body with each step forward were, together, a liberation. I was on my third week of walking and things were starting to look up.

As early morning turned to late morning, the sunshine burned away the lingering clouds and dew to reveal yet another, azure blue sky. I could get used to a life like that!

IMG_0941

IMG_0942

One thing I loved about the openness of the Meseta, in particular, was being able to see when the next town or village lay ahead. The flat, expansive landscape made it easy to spot the rooftops and shade of human habitation. With it, there might be the prospect of a coffee or some lunch, maybe the chance to sit in the shade for half an hour and air out my sweaty feet. The 100m descent into Hornillos de Camino (above) gave me a great vantage point of the village ahead. Though it has a population of only 70 people or so, my chances of getting a coffee in a half hour were good. It motivated me to keep walking.

I’ve followed other camino blogs and seen versions of the photo above, taken in the spring when the ground was lush and green. To me, it was almost unrecognizable. The day *I* walked into the village, the earth was a dusty brown color for miles around. The crops had already been harvested and only coarse stubble remained. This was the beginning of my Meseta experience.

Hornillos de Camino did, indeed, give me a chance to enjoy the shade, air out my feet, and enjoy some tasty, tuna empanadas for my lunch. Afterwards, I pottered around the Gothic church, lit some candles, and gathered my thoughts for the next leg of my journey.  There were less than 6km to San Bol but I wasn’t sure of my chances of scoring a bed there. If I couldn’t get one, I’d have to walk another 5km to Hontanas, and the afternoon was only getting more hot. I needed to make sure I had the energy to walk that far, and more, if it came to it.

IMG_0948

IMG_0950

The hostel is a bit in off the roadway so you could spend half an hour walking there to ask for a room only to find none available, and have to double back to the main trail. There were days on camino when those half-hour detours were a luxury I couldn’t afford – in terms of time and in terms of minding my sore feet. This day, however, I felt good. I felt strong enough to risk it, and strong enough to walk another hour to Hontanas if I had to.

Even though two pilgrims ran past me on the trail to get to the hostel (and secure beds) that day, I kept my pace and my calm. I didn’t worry about it. Their anxiety about accommodation had dogged them every day for nearly three weeks already. We’d met earlier on the trail, chatted, laughed, and compared notes. But here they were, literally racing for beds and pushing ahead of me to do so.  I had expected (and assumed) the camino was all about camaraderie, humility, and surrender. There were days when I was surprised to find otherwise.

IMG_0960

As luck would have it, I made it to San Bol in the early afternoon, just in time to score the second last bed…what relief! I even got to choose a bottom bunk bed inside the cool, stone bedroom. The facilities were clean and modern, but basic. There was one toilet and one shower, so there was always a line of people waiting their turn. We were asked to wash our clothes in the ice-cold stream outside, so the scene of a dozen pilgrims rubbing their clothes against the rocks was….rustic. We sat in the shade of the tall trees, dipping our aching, blistered feet into the cold water, and getting to know each other. Somehow, the usual scramble for beds, showers, and laundry facilities was lessened here.

There was quiet.

There were pilgrims writing quietly in their journals and falling asleep under the trees. There was the sound of clothes on the line, snapping and flapping in the brisk, summer breeze. And there was a sort of idyllic calm to it all. It reminded me of childhood summers spent in summer meadows, lying in the long grass, gazing at the sky, with not a lot going on.

It was exactly what I needed that day.

IMG_0962

Later that evening, our hospitalera cooked up an enormous paella for us in a pan that was 1m wide, and we feasted on the seasoned rice and sticky chicken with gusto. With a green salad, lashings of red wine, and baskets of bread with olive oil, and we were happily sated. More pilgrims had arrived by then and would sleep on the tiled floor that night, but we shared a meal with merriment and laughter.

Our generator stopped working at 8pm so it was lights-out then, with no electronics, no lights, and no interruptions from the outside world. A small group sat outside by the stream to smoke cigarettes, finish the wine, and play soft guitar music while the evening sky gently darkened. I was in bed by 8:30 that evening (a record!) and fell into a deep sleep within seconds.

Bliss.

Breaking the Blogging Rules

I’m sure someone, somewhere has put together the Top 10 Tips for Blogging and one of those tips is “Get up at 4am to make sure you blog every day!” (or some other Type-A, Tiger-Mom equivalent that says “No excuses, you lazy bum!”)

You know the types: Get your message out there, build your network, command that spotlight, etc.

I get it.

Social media can be pretty fickle and it takes effort to stand out in the online world. Millions of people are competing for attention this very minute and sometimes you have to shout loudly, and often, to get heard at all. When it comes to blogging, you have to have something to say. You have to say it often. You have to say it loudly. You have to say it across different platforms. Otherwise, no one will read, no one will follow, and no one will care.

I get it.

And I admit, I have failed miserably to do any/all of these things the past few months. I’ve broken the blogging rules. I’ve neglected to write in all areas of my life – be that emails, text messages, and this lovely blog. There have been a collection of factors: illness, bereavement, and some major changes in my daily workspace. Even when I’d navigated my way through *those* distractions, I was faced with a broken laptop, a water-damaged smart phone, and had no broadband for a while. Quite literally, I lost use of the very tools I need for communicating online.

My list of hurdles became comical in that “The dog ate my homework” kind-of-way. I’m sure they read like an elaborate list of excuses.

And as the weeks rolled on, I wrestled with frustration, exasperation, and guilt about this non-writing life I seem to be living lately. Sure, my life has become busy in unexpected ways and my days have been full to the brim…but still, I expected that I should somehow make the time, conjure the wi-fi I needed, and find a way to keep writing – regularly and diligently.

This blog is my candle in the wind. If I don’t keep it lit, then who will?

If I don’t keep it lit, won’t it just fade away?

I went round and round in my head with all the reasons why I want to blog and all the reasons I found it hard to sit down and write.

I admit, sometimes I just didn’t feel like it.

There, I’ve said it.

And if I’m being really honest, I sometimes liked the feeling that came with being offline and somewhat inaccessible for a while. It reminded me of my days walking in Spain and the freedom of being “off the map” for a few weeks. In Spain, the leave of absence allowed me to ignore all the white noise of modern living and just “be”.

But this recent period of silence didn’t sit so easily with me.

I wondered: Have I beached up already?

I’ve written only a portion of my camino journey – the section from St. Jean Pied de Port to Burgos. There is still *so* much I want to say – about the walking, the terrain, and the things I learned along the way. But have I already grown bored and lost my self-discipline to see this thing through?

I wondered all of this until quite recently, someone pointed out to me that writing a blog about the camino is a bit like walking the camino.

There are days full of bright-eyed, bunny-eared enthusiasm and things go easily. There are days of exhausted reluctance, when the biggest challenge is to physically show up and look interested. Camino presents a litany of challenges – weather conditions, illness, sore feet, loud snorers, lack of vegetables – the list goes on. And yet, thousands of people every year, find a way to sidestep all the reasons why they should not walk camino. Every year, thousands of people find a way to keep going, despite the odds.

I was one of those thousands of people.

I found a way to keep going despite the challenges. I hope to do it again, now, with blogging.

Bear with me. I know the journey can feel like a long one but I still think it’s worth it.

Do you?

Camino Francés: How Long Does it Take to Walk 500 Miles?

Before I walked the French Way (Camino Francés), I knew two friends who walked the route just months before me. Lovely Jen walked in the spring of 2013 and spread her trip over 7 weeks, walking the extra 100km to the coast. Amiga Number 2 walked in the summer of 2013 and spread her trip over 4 weeks. They both very kindly gave me similar advice for my own journey:

  • Pace yourself
  • Your body gets stronger as you go

Different women, different trips, taken at different times of the year. There’s no comparison between them but they were the people I knew to walk it most recently so I couldn’t help but pitch myself against them in some way – rightly or wrongly.

I certainly wasn’t physically fit enough to follow in the footsteps of Amiga 2 – that would have meant walking 30km every day for 30 consecutive days, in 40 degree heat. (Celsius).

No way!

But I didn’t want to be away for 7 weeks, either. Somehow, it felt like just a bit too long for me. I had a strong inkling that I needed 6 weeks away so I was willing to heed that – but what amount of time *should* I have taken?

How long does it really take to walk 500 miles?

In the month before I flew, I scrambled around trying to get my gear together, while packing up a job, and saying goodbye to friends I wouldn’t see for a while. I clearly remember bumping into a former boss who, as it happened, walked the French Way years before me, over two summers.

How long are you going for?

I’m hoping to go for 6 weeks, all going well. (Inside, I realized that if I broke an ankle on Day 3 that would be the end of it, so I rarely spoke about what I planned to do but more so about what I hoped to do.)

Ah, you’ll do it in 5, he replied.

Without realizing it, he’d set a bar for me and I could feel myself rising to the challenge. From that moment on, I still felt I needed 6 weeks but silently hoped to “do it” in 5 weeks so I could fulfill that expectation.

But why?!

Logically, I knew that he wouldn’t care how long it took me. I’ve never seen him since so it’s not like we’ve had that conversation where he might have quizzed me and judged me on my performance. So why did I care about fulfilling his expectations? I still wonder.

I booked a one-way flight to France without knowing when I would return. I wanted to be sure I got over the Pyrenees alive and well. I wanted to be sure I really could walk for miles and miles, day after day, before I booked my return flight. So, flying on a one-way ticket was a prudent move in that regard. It also meant that I didn’t have the same pressure as other people around me to arrive in Santiago by a certain fixed date. In theory, I had all the time in the world. Husband encouraged me to walk comfortably and safely, and not worry about how long it took me. And because I’d resigned from my job, I couldn’t say that I had to get back to work by a certain date. True, the finances were carefully planned but I had a bit of wriggle room if I needed it.

I’m sure there were people who wondered whether my marriage with Handsome Husband was on the rocks after a few short months – after all, why else would I book a one-way flight to another country and leave him home alone for weeks on end?! If anything, Happy Marriage got stronger because of the camino experience, so I didn’t care what anyone else thought. Husband and I knew the real reasons for my walking and I had his full support. I didn’t need anyone else’s approval.

Himself and I were to celebrate our *first* wedding anniversary in early October. If I took anything longer than 5 weeks to walk, I would miss that special date. I felt I really, really needed more than 5 weeks, but was it right to celebrate our anniversary apart, with me rambling around in Spain?

I asked Handsome Husband what he thought.

Being the cool and unflappable guy that he is, he told me:

Don’t worry about the wedding anniversary – we’ll have fifty more of them!

And with that, he sent me packing!

We talked about maybe meeting in Santiago for the anniversary. Wouldn’t it be great to be reunited after all those weeks apart? Wouldn’t it be cool to be in a vibrant, colorful city? Wouldn’t it be a massive high for me to walk all that way to join him? There were lots of reasons why it was a great idea and the pilgrims around me latched on to the romance of the story.

Every time I’d bump into my new friends, they’d ask about Husband and our anniversary plans in a few weeks. And without realizing it, this was the raising of a second bar – another challenge to walk the 500 miles in 5 weeks.

I felt the pressure of it.

And honestly, that pressure followed me every day across Spain. Himself told me not to push myself to hurting, but I felt the pressure to get to Santiago by a certain date – and that depended on me covering an average of 25km every day, whatever the weather, whatever my physical condition. There was no wriggle room.

Separately, some of my camino friends told me I was too hard on myself and pushing myself too much. I didn’t agree. Some part of my psyche took over and my mission was one of endurance, not enjoyment. I wasn’t so happy with that attitude at the time. And yet, if I hadn’t been bull-headed and hard on myself, I’m not sure I would have made it to Santiago.

I wanted to walk it all. I didn’t want to take buses or trains to help with timekeeping or even with injury. I met people who took buses because of tendonitis and I thought they were being far too soft on themselves.

I wanted to carry my backpack myself. I didn’t want to avail of the mini bus services that carry backpacks for a fee. And in the meantime, my left arm went numb with the pain of carrying a pack that was clearly too heavy.

Why did I put myself through all that?

I just wanted to “do it” a certain way, but there were times that “my way” was unforgiving on my body. I had limited patience for self-pity and pain, and I felt that the only way I would get to Santiago was to keep going – whatever the weather, whatever my condition.

So every day on Camino, I walked with a medium-to-high level of inflammation – all day, every day, for weeks on end. I woke to it in the morning, I walked through it all day, and fell asleep to it at night. Pilgrims around me took pain relief even in the early days. I never really considered taking anti-inflammatories until 200km from the end, when I reached a breaking point. By then, I’d done so much damage to my feet that there was no way I’d complete camino unless I had some medicinal support. By the end, I didn’t care how many horse tranquilizers I took – I just needed to keep going.

I felt the pressure to “do it” but I didn’t walk 500 miles in 5 weeks.

I did walk 500 miles in 6 weeks, and that included 4 rest days along the way.

I couldn’t compete with the people who walk it in a month. I couldn’t compete with the Brierley Brigade. I shouldn’t have tried to compete at all but I felt a judgement on my shoulder all the same – whether it was my own or someone else’s.

I didn’t make it all the way to Santiago in time for our wedding anniversary. I also didn’t fulfill the challenge my former-boss had unknowingly set.

And most of all, I didn’t walk at *my* leisure. I didn’t walk according to my body’s preferences. I walked 500 miles in five and a half weeks because my mind whipped me to do so. I walked it in this time because my spirit urged and pulled me on. I walked it in that time frame because I didn’t know how to stop and I didn’t want to stop. I am proud of my walking but I pushed my body way too hard. A recent injury reminded me what it feels like to be in pain and inflammation every day. It’s not fun – and I did that to myself every day across Spain.

If I’d stopped every time I felt tired, or sore, or because I just felt like it, I think I might have needed more like 8-12 weeks to walk those miles. That would have been a more comfortable pace for me. That would have minimized the injury and inflammation. That would have been a very different experience – so different, that I can’t even imagine it.

How long would *you* need to walk 500 miles? How long would you need to *comfortably* walk them?

And what are your experiences of pushing your body too hard?

 

A New Beginning in Burgos

When I decided to stop in Burgos and get a private room, I knew a few things:

  • I was running on empty
  • I needed some space and time to myself
  • I needed a chance to mentally regroup

I slept soundly the first night in my little single bed. Such bliss! I planned to continue walking the next day but when I woke in the morning, my body said otherwise.

I asked if they had space to let me stay a second night.

, the receptionist replied.

Delighted and relieved, I went back to bed and slept for another 5 hours!

This was *my kind of camino!*

Even though I planned my camino journey in just a month, I knew in advance what my “challenges” were likely to be. I wasn’t that worried about breaking a leg or getting lost on the trail. I wasn’t even worried about the alleged lack of beds or the fact that I spoke very little Spanish. Before I ever strapped the backpack to my shoulders I knew that these would be my main personal challenges:

Separately, I had a sense of what my physical challenges would be but funnily enough, they tied into the personal challenges above. I guess it’s a case of:

Where the mind goes, the body will follow.

How did I know what my stumbling blocks were? Well, these were my challenges in everyday “real life”. I knew I carried them with me to France and Spain, too.

I knew who I was “going in”.

Question was, who would I be “coming out” at the end?

Time, and lots of walking, would tell.

I’m not ashamed to admit that by the time I got to Burgos, I was starting to get a little crazy around the edges. My nights in Villambistia and Atapuerca pushed my buttons and I felt frazzled almost all the time. I had a notion that walking Camino would fill me with blissful contentment and radiant connection with my fellow pilgrims: so why was I feeling grouchy and tearful?

I put it down to being exhausted and over-stimulated, and just not getting enough sleep to recalibrate. Simple as that.

I’m like this in my everyday life, too. If I work too hard, play too hard, and don’t get enough “down time” on my own, I get strung out and sick. In my “real life”, I have a private room every night. I have a front door, which keeps some of the madness at bay. When my life gets too loud, I have ways of turning down the volume.

On Camino, I didn’t have any of those things, so taking 2 nights in a private room in Burgos was my equivalent of “turning down the volume”.

I slept a lot, I explored the city on my own, and I ate a beef burger (not chorizo, not baguette, not pork!) in a trendy, hip wine bar full of young people in a party mood.

Burgos was one of the spots on my Camino where I got to hit the “RESET” button and it gave me a new beginning.

Getting some sleep helped quieten some of the crazy and I came to realize a few things:

  • I need what I need. Some days I need to walk fast, others I need to walk slow. Some days I need a private room to sleep and be quiet. Instead of judging myself and berating myself for needing these things, I’m better off just tending to those needs as best I can, and getting on with things.
  • I was roughly 1/3 of the way into my 500 mile journey. For almost 2 weeks, I’d walked with a tentative hope in my heart. I hoped to make it to Santiago and I wanted to make it to Santiago, but I was never sure I would make it to Santiago. I had done no physical training and I was never sure whether my body would continue to rise to the challenge. In Burgos, I realized I was 1/3 of the way “there” and that knowing filled me with confidence for the next leg of the journey.
  • I needed to walk more for myself. At different points up to then, I’d changed my pace and plans to suit others – usually because I didn’t want to offend them. I had a notion that walking Camino meant we were all equal, all humble, and all with the same agenda. I was a bit misguided in that belief. In Burgos, I realized I needed to get a bit more selfish about my own process, my own needs, and my own journey. I needed to “grab it by the horns” and go make it my own.

I got the rest and sleep I needed. I turned down some of the crazy. I left my little bed and the city feeling a bit tougher, a bit stronger, and a bit more focused.

I didn’t know what it would bring but I knew I felt ready for the challenge. Burgos had given me a chance to hit “RESET” and start again.

Does this sound familiar at all? What did *you* do to hit the “RESET” button in your life – whether on camino or elsewhere?

 

 

 

 

 

Burgos, Spain: You Get What you Need

IMG_0928

I stopped in Burgos for 2 nights to rest, re-group, and take some alone-time. I was tempted to join the public albergue in the centre of the city but after two very noisy nights on the camino trail, I needed some quiet time by myself. I picked out one of the private albergues recommended in Brierley’s guide-book (finally, I actually read it!) and perched myself in a quiet room near the grounds of the university.

IMG_0923

For the handsome price of €35 per night, this is what I received:

IMG_0922

It had a small private bathroom too, so I didn’t need to stand in line with 20 other people waiting for my turn in the showers – what bliss!

The room was a calm oasis after days of noise and tension. I lay on my bed (with sheets!) – and listened to the sounds of birds chirping in the ivy and flowers outside my window. It was a welcome change from the sound of washing machines and chatter.

Here, I had enough steady wi-fi to make calls home to Handsome Husband who was holding the fort without me.

Here, I slept solidly for hours on end.

Here, I was glad to take a break from walking and carrying my backpack, and give my feet a break.

I slept, I ate, I relished the quiet.

IMG_0930

Downtown, I browsed and wandered through the city, famous for its gothic cathedral. I ate alone, I sent postcards home, and contrary to what Brierley suggested, I welcomed the sights and sounds of the city. It wasn’t a shock to my system at all. Surprisingly, it was a source of revival.

In the city, I could come and go as I pleased. I could reclaim my independence. I could be anonymous for a day, while I browsed through tourist shops and city sights. Oddly enough, the city gave me a chance to rest, and I grabbed it with both hands.

And with 532km still to go, I would need all the rest I could get.

What did Burgos mean to you?

IMG_0927

 

A Break in Burgos

IMG_0936

Distance walked: 20km

I won’t lie, I was very glad to leave Atapuerca.

After breakfast with Barb and Dave, I walked out of the small village with them, and was glad to leave behind the crowds and noise of our busy hostel. I’d decided to find a private room in Burgos later that day and I could hardly wait!

Brierley’s guide-book says, “Familiarise yourself with the various options [for descending into the city of Burgos]…and prepare for the hard slog into the city itself – after the relative tranquility of the camino from San Juan de Ortega city life can come as something of a shock.”

Of course, I didn’t familiarise myself with the different routes.

I didn’t like to study the map in advance – I preferred to figure it out as I went along and see what the route presented. Around 6-7km outside the city, the path splits in two. To the left, is a leafy walk along the river Arlanzón, allegedly scenic and beautiful. To the right, the path skirts alongside Burgos airport, allegedly through miles of ugly concrete and industrial buildings.

Days earlier in Villambistia, a woman told me that she and her friend planned to take a city bus and skip those miles entirely.

I purposefully asked her, “If Camino is like life, is it right to “skip the ugly bits” just because you don’t like them?”

It was a thorny question to ask.

Lots of people talked about skipping bits of, or whole sections of, camino, just because those parts had a reputation for being boring or ugly. I could understand taking buses and trains because of injury or illness, but I didn’t like the trend towards an “à la carte camino”. I didn’t think “ugly” countryside was a valid reason to omit entire sections of the journey and I wanted to challenge that way of thinking.

She knew I had asked a loaded question.

I didn’t ask it just to be an ass; I just wanted to understand her thinking. My own “rules” for walking camino were rather strict and it was a novelty to hear from someone who was a lot more relaxed about it all. She presented an argument that I thought was reasoned and pragmatic, even though I didn’t share her views. But you know, it didn’t really matter either way. When it came down to it, her journey was none of my business.

Without knowing it, when I came to that junction in the trail that day on my way into Burgos, I chose the path to the right.

At the time, I just followed the yellow arrows as I saw them, and I didn’t even notice that most of the crowds around me had disappeared to the left. I was lost in my own little world, shuffling along, putting one foot in front of the other on the gravel trail. When I looked up, I realised that the expansive airport runways were to my left, behind large wire fences with warning signs all over them. For miles, I passed through industrial warehouses and concrete paths. When I looked around, there were only a handful of other pilgrims within sight. The usual crowds were nowhere to be seen.

Brierley warned me of a “hard slog into the city”, and dozens of people had told me about the ugly descent they would avoid.

In truth, those few kilometres were among my favourite of my entire camino.

How come?

Well, they were quiet. Even with the noise of airplanes and motorway traffic, the trail felt quieter than it had felt in days.

After two particularly noisy days on the trail and in hostels, those few miles gave me a break from the masses. Sure, it wasn’t the most scenic part of northern Spain but I didn’t walk Camino just for the scenery. I walked because I felt compelled to. I walked because I needed some time. And oddly enough, the grey suburbs of Burgos gave me the space and time I needed that day. I didn’t notice that it was “ugly” or difficult in any way. I was happy in my own skin and grateful for the time alone.

That experience was a lovely reminder:

Don’t listen to the scaremongering.

Don’t believe everything you hear.

If I’d listened to the people around me, I would have taken the leafy river walk, just like them. I’m sure it is beautiful but it wouldn’t have given me what I needed that day, which was alone-time and space.

If I’d listened to others, I would have taken a city bus and skipped that section entirely – but imagine what I would have missed!

There are a million ways to walk Camino. Everyone has an opinion on the “right” way and the “wrong” way, but only *you* can know what’s right and wrong for you.

It’s like life that way.

And sometimes, the “ugly bits” turn out to be surprisingly good!

IMG_0937

Spain: Walking from La Rioja to Castilla y León

Crossing from the La Rioja region into Castilla y León….

I love that the Camino signage changes from region to region….

IMG_0905

And I love that the water fountains along the way are so ornately rustic:

IMG_0906

IMG_0907

Brierley’s guidebook tells me that “Castilla y León is the largest autonomous region in Spain with an area… 11 times the size of the region of Madrid but with a population of only 2.5 million (less than half that of Madrid).

You will spend over 50% of your time travelling through 3 of its 9 separate provinces Burgos, Palencia and León. It contains the incomparable Meseta the predominately flat table or plateau region that makes up a third of the Iberian peninsular…

Cereal crops cerales hold sway here, mainly wheat but with oats on the poorer land and some sheep and goats grazing on the hillier parts. It is a sparsely populated arid region, primarily flat with gently rolling hills. However, the seemingly endless horizons are broken up with delightful villages seemingly unaffected by the speed of modern life.”