Camino de Madrid. Day 5. April 27, 2019. Segovia to Santa Maria la Real de Nieva. 33 kms

"Aba, daba, daba, daba, daba, daba, dab" 
Said the Chimpie to the Monk 
"Baba, daba, daba, daba, daba, daba, dab" 
Said the Monkey to the Chimp…

We spent a day in Segovia with our friends Paul and Michelle from Lyon. We explored the town. Segovia defies description. But I will defy my own maxim and make a couple of comments.

Every town in Spain has its plaza mayor. Typically, as in Salamanca for example, it is a grand rectangular space with buildings on four sides, each with an arcade to give shelter.  People walk and talk and eat and drink and entertain each other as they have done for generations. The plaza mayor of Segovia was different, with only one right angle and not four sides but six, more like the chords of a circle than a rectangle. The cathedral was at one end, the theatre at the other. The Plaza is magnificent. If I ever come close to being deeply moved by the spirit of the Camino, it is in places like the Plaza Mayor at Segovia.

We visited the cathedral, of course. For me, it was cold in more ways than one. Religious works of art adorn the walls and the crypt has been converted into a special gallery. Walking around and looking at the paintings, I could understand why lapsed Catholics feel such hostility towards the Church. Nowhere on any face in any painting could I see an expression of joy or happiness. Rather it was misery and fear and self-righteousness. And I fancied i could see the men who would have a later role to play in one of the Church’s most shameful moments.

The other joy for me in Segovia is the Roman aqueduct that brought water to the old town from a reservoir in the hills. The walled city was surrounded by a natural moat and the aqueduct carried the water across this gulf. We had dinner at a Lebanese restaurant just by the aqueduct. This was our view.

We stayed for two nights at Exe Casa de Los Linajes, a charming hotel with character, for 75€ a night. But we had to move on.

We set out the next morning with Paul and Michelle who were going to walk with us for a while before turning back to Segovia. It was a glorious day: sunny, cool, with a gentle breeze wafting through the green fields of wheat. This is just like the Canadian prairies, said Rach.

Suddenly, as we came over a rise, we could see the next town ahead, the sight that gladdens every pilgrim’s eye. I was desperate for a coffee. Cafe, dit Paul, est le carburant. Oui, j’ai répondu, et la bière est l’additif!

We said farewell to our dear friends. We had spent a delightful moment together.

Over a beer at Los Huertos, the next town, we discussed our predicament it was 10 kilometres to the little town of Ane which the guidebook had warned us against and my correspondent Gitti had said to avoid at any cost. I was particularly perturbed by a comment in the guidebook that said we had to carry out our own waste. What did that mean? A portable dunny? 

But it was a further ten kilometres on to Santa Maria la Real de Nieva where we could find food and accommodation, a 20 km stretch from where we were, and it was already one o’clock.

We walked for a while along a discontinued railway line, and then suddenly crossed a bridge over the line and adjacent river. Here there were two arrows: one pointing along the road and the other down the embankment. What to do? It looked easier down the road so we walked a few hundred meters but then the path turned back along the foot of the embankment to the bridge. I swore at the guide!

We walked on into a pine forest where little containers were collecting the sap from the trees. Not for sweet syrop, we speculated, but for pine oils for the skin. Leaving the forest we walked across a field that stretched out to the horizon.

Rach and I argued about the pronunciation of the word “Tonga”. For her, the hard “g” was not sounded; for me it was.

Out of curiosity we checked out the albergue at Âne. I expected to see the line from Dante on the door, but inside it was not too bad: big, two rooms, one with a heater, and lots of beds. Notes from different Pilgrims included one from Australia that thanked Ane “for a wonderful night”. Mind you, that was in 2014. 

We staggered on. A few kms before Santa Maria, we spied a structure off to the left that looked like a small prairie grain silo. More about this later.

When we arrived at the albergue, there was no room. But one of the pilgrims told us there was a hostel just a kilometre out of town. Our guide book confirmed this: it was 1.7 km out of town and accessible from the way.

Here beginneth a tale of woe familiar to every pilgrim. Feel for us. We had walked 33.3 kms and now had to keep going. I railed at the guide book at the time, but on later reflection realized that our misfortune was our own doing. We assumed that the 1.7 kms “out of town” was further along the way, and we walked on. Unable to find hostel or signpost, we consulted Sheila (Siri’s cousin) who directed us half a kilometre to the west, and then back towards town and into an industrial site besides a large crane. Nothing, apart from half a dozen pilgrim shells on a post. Had this once been the site of a former Hostal Avaunto? Rach phoned the proprietor who told us that, yes, he was one kilometre out of town, but on the other side, towards Segovia. I won’t prolong this tale of misery, but after a couple more minor mishaps, we found our meal and a bed at the Hostal Avanto. It was near the peculiar prairie grain silo we had noticed earlier. It was 8:00 pm.