Author: admin

Out of the envelope..

Dawn is full of stories and looks so positive but behind it all is the sudden death of her son not 12 months before. We sing to the Irish man’s rendition of Kurt Cobain and we laugh and then we are joined by ..the yoga teacher.

He shows us his studio in the back and looks so fresh and full of blue eyed wonderment. He tells me that he has had surgery and his name is Catherine.  He is lovely.  She is lovely …and tells of her journey across Asia and everywhere to get to this point. She is full of ideas to expand her business and has the most amazing wide open pale blue eyes. I have now had a large Gin and Tonic but that hasn’t coloured my opinion but I need to go Home..

”OH no, stay for the crack..you can play the guitar!!!” They say…

”You are in your envelope” Dawn says…I KNOW I am..I can’t get out because I just want my bed!!

It was great…but I cant stay here all night? I have lost Bruce…alone again???  What will happen tomorrow?

Leaving Hornillos for Castrojeriz

I lay in bed that night remembering Dawn and the story of the live chickens in Santa Domingo. I giggled to myself because we had been sitting at a bar…one horse town remember…at the only crossroads. That’s where she had seen me and called out. Next to her was a pillar with a chicken on the top…not a live one I hasten to add…and the locals had told us why there was a statue with a chicken!!

‘One day 2 travellers came to the town and were hungry, but they had no money. So they stole a chicken and put it in their bag.  Pretty soon the farmer came out wielding his stick and shouting ‘Stop thief”

The men stopped but protested their innocence vehemently…at which point the chicken crowed from their back pack and the men were found out and were subsequently hanged!!!

The moral of the story obviously in do not enter Hornillos and steal a chicken!!

Sleep came easily because I felt so proud that I had got there…not exactly alone but I had lost my Bruce. He was the only one who took a photograph of me playing the guitar at the top of the Meseta!!  He had tried to send it me but service etc wasn’t happening. He had nowhere booked so at my digs I had said goodbye

The Plan!!!  I was going to get up really early…like leaving Burgos but it was a city. Here there is only one street…I asked for a picnic breakfast  as I as going to leave before 7am. Why? Because although it is pitch black it is cool and quiet and you can rock up a few Kilometers before the heat. Good Idea No?  Well the dark is an issue.  I was staying literally on the route so all I had to do was leave my case, but on my backpack with everything I needed and go!

But I was really alone! I knew at the end of the street was the Irish bar…deserted now of course…and after that a narrow stony path upwards to The Meseta…thank God for my app but after trekking for half a  Kilometer, ahead of me is a twinkling light, its a head torch on the head of some German man. I follow…but by 7.30 the dawn is breaking slightly and you can actually see.  I’m so proud of myself at this point. The sunrise steals upon you and there you are just wondering where the next village so you can have a coffee and go to the toilet.  This meseta is endless, its miles and miles of wheat fields, dying sunflower fields and no farm houses…nothing.

Every now and again there will be pilgrim cross with a collection of stones. Some have been written on and some are empty but you know that they carry peoples dreams and aspirations and troubles.

It seems to take forever but way in the distance I see the a church. There is always a church. It wouldn’t be a oilfimage with out passing by the church even if it is a mile high or down in a ditch.

Castrojeriz looms..I made it..  or did I?

Castrojeriz, the lower road

Well, if I repeat myself people, please forgive me. Somehow hours on the dusty open road turns your brain to mush. On the last leg I met up with David. He is an American and I think a wise man. Well at least he has lectured all over the world. I often see him striding forth wearing knee high white socks. It makes him look a little German but he tells me that he wears them on the advise of his cardiologist. He must be a good washer or he has lots of pairs as they are always so clean. He is distinctive too, short with a small white beard and moustache.  I asked him where he was staying to which he replied…”at the Posada”

”OH, so am I!”  I said as we enter the slightly bigger village of Castrojeriz.

”Oh but there are 2 you know. Which one are you in?”

The brain mush returns tenfold because I haven’t a clue. I rush to pull out google maps and enter the name. He left me behind as I struggled to get the address..needless to say, its hot, I’m tired and very sweaty. I drag myself along the cobbled street only to find La Posada glass doors and David registering. I beam out loud because I have arrived…well that is until the receptionist tells me No you are in the other one. I’m mortified, I have been rejected..She takes me outside and offers directions in Spanish.  I am good with ‘izquierda, and derecha and todo recto.’…but none of her Spanish figures at all. No words do I recognise…No wonder…because resorting to said google maps again, it takes me down and down narrow cobbled steps , left then right, then left..to the little lower road.

Eventually I arrive, but the door is locked. WHAT….?

I fumble for the voucher and ring the number. The Spanish man on the other end speaks no English….

”Aqui …aqui..” (Here here) he keeps shouting but he ISN’T  here!!  Across the little cobble street is an opening to a tiny bar. It has a big barrel outside and 2 red umbrellas.  I see a burly man approach…

”Si, Si “ he says and registers me in the hotel. Breakfast is over there he explains as he points to the tiny bar, WiFi is over there, dinner is over there…Bar El Manolo…”

I am just too tired to argue so I struggle up to my room which wasn’t bad and go through my routine. Shoes socks off, strip…bathe..was everything and drape it all, anywhere there is space. Charge everything up and clutching IPad and money, I leave to find somewhere, anywhere, other than Bar Manolo.