Yesterday we had a lay day in Castrojeriz, in a lovely little hotel over looking the wheat fields. The Roman fort up behind the town afforded sensational views of Castrojeriz and the surrounding plateau and during the day we were also able to sort out some admin. We’d on-sent some warm gear post the Pyrenees to Santiago de Compostella (thinking we’d booked storage) and received an email noting that if it wasn’t picked up by Thursday, they’d return it to sender. That’d be the Correos (post) office in Pampalona, and we had visions of our gear oscillating for all eternity between the two cities until they rotted or alternatively bumping into some random Santiago post office worker decked out in Ice Breaker and Katmandhu.
As with many such services, direct contact is nigh on impossible although, via their site proforma, I have managed to book a personal consultation in Santiago for sometime later this year (date still to be arranged).
As an aside if you’re ever on a pilgrimage looking for ways to test the depth of your peace and tranquility, try guessing the Spanish phone message machine options to get through to an operator. I got there in the end but the operator didn’t speak English.
Happily the barman, because the bar was where we needed to be by then, called for us and sorted it all out…or sold our gear to his mate, not sure, we’ll see when we get to Santiago.
The local Morcilla or black pudding sausage is sensational. We had some for entre last night as well as a rack of BBQ ribs that Fred Flinstone would have been proud of, ‘yabbadabbadoo’. We later thanked the waitress for advising us to share a single rack. In fact she didn’t say much, it was the subtle way her eyes nearly popped out of her head when we ordered two…
Today was fricking cold, nine degrees on Google ‘feels like six’ in the wind (lucky we sent all that gear on to Santiago hey).
A Roman road leads to the foot of slope back up onto the Meseta plateau, a twelve percent grade for 1km which still didn’t warm me up. In somewhat comical fashion I took to powering on up the road and back to Di again, literally ‘running circles’ around her in an effort to keep warm. Di, on the other hand, put her puffer jacket on, an option which, after about ten unecessary additional kilometers I also deemed the wiser choice.
The Meseta is a wonderful and seemingly endless expanse of wheat fields rolling out across the plateau in all directions. It lends perspective to even the most demanding personal problems in its immensity, tiny pilgrim dots nought more than specs on the landscape. No doubt this is what gives the Meseta its designation as the ‘head’ part of the journey – assuming at this stage you’re not still suffering from blisters (body, head, heart the theory goes).
The first town is 9km on from Castrojeriz and an enterprising couple have set up a welcomed, if incongruent, coffee and muffin van out on the plain. I listen to an Australian woman complain bitterly about the albergues showing no vacancies on Booking.com yet still holding places for walk-ins, ‘its bullshit’, she says, ‘I’ve had a gutful’. I note mentally that; the albergues also provide phone, WhatsApp and email, that all users of Booking.com only ever commit a partial allocation to that site and that for centuries, albergue owners have sought to provide food and shelter to pilgrims at the end of the day, not, shock horror, advanced comfort and security to entitled rich white people with $1000 i-phones. I suspect she needs more time in the Meseta and, with an irony not lost on me, I spend most of the rest of the walk constructing ways I might’ve redirected my fellow pilgrim if I’d had the courage in the moment to do so. Roll on the Meseta.
Boadilla del Camino, our refuge for tonight, was granted independence to publically torture and hang their own criminals in the 1500s, so we’ll make sure we pay our bar tab this evening. I ask Eduardo, the barman (and receptionist, just in case you think we’re spending too much time in bars), how I can say ‘….and my wife will have..’ he offers ‘y para mi reina’, ‘and for my queen’. I like it, and will use same hence forth.
A good days walk behind us, a little wine, bellies full, a comfy bed and the promise of a sunny morning on the Meseta tomorrow. Bliss.
I have a lot of respect for the Spanish Correos and happy that they informed you that you needed to take action before they ditched it to who knows where. We used their services a few times and were impressed with their attitude and outcomes. We once mailed Sheila’s freshly baked bread to another address in Spain and they were helpful and efficient.
I’m interested to hear how you cope with the Meseta….,lots of cried of boredom and sameness can be heard!
Buen Camino
Yes, it’s a point well made Kathleen, their services are good. Fresh bread? How did that go? So far so good on the Meseta but I understand we’re just scratching the surface. We’ll keep you informed.