Day 13. May 5, 2019. Cuenca de Campos to Santervás de Campos. 21 kms.

The wooden pillar stood outside the church

Bearing up the heavy beam above

Faded were the carvings on the face

Of what was once a humble work of love.

Weathered by the heavy wrack of time.

Of its design mere traces do remain.

What once was first a testament to God

Is now eroded by the wind and rain

Saintt or sinner? What story did it tell

To faithful folk assembled down below?

No matter now. They all have gone

The artist, and the world he tried to show.

It was bitterly cold this morning as I walked the five kilometres to  Villanon de Campos for breakfast. The sun just above the horizon, the wind biting my fingers, I followed a footpath-cum-bicycle path, once a major road for it was raised above the fields, but was now lined with trees and the occasional iris, and provided with benches for people to sit and enjoy the bird life.

I had breakfast at the Bar Restaurant Camas, well, coffee and a couple of sweet horribles. It was there that I encountered one of the most idiosyncratic loos I have ever experienced. Entering through the door marked Servicios at the back of the bar, I stumbled in the dark down a couple of steps, lucky not to have broken my leg, and careered into the Gents. I pressed the dreaded timed switch, and sat down. I fixed my eyes on it, ready to press it again, when it timed out.  But it flashed on and off at intervals, then gave up altogether. I tried the switch again. Same thing. Bit like doing number twos under slow-motion strobe lighting. And the toilet was a leaner. You know what I mean? As I leaned over, it leaned with me, somehow maintaining its seal with the sewer pipe beneath. I completed what the French would call une grosse commission, left the toilet on an even keel, minded the step, and returned to the bar. To be fair, on looking back at the door on the way out, I noticed an Attention Steps sign.

(On a pedantic note, notice that I careered into the Gents. I did not careen. The latter verb means to beach a ship to repair the hull, as Captain Cook did on the coast of  northern Queensland. “Shut up, you reactionary old pedagogue,” I hear you say. Sorry, the misuse of careen, and other words like fulsome, which doesn’t mean full, and disinterested, which doesn’t mean uninterested, really bothers me. Yes, I know, commomon misusage eventually becomes common usage, but when that happens the English language suffers a little loss.)

I set out for the town of Santervás de Campos, 16 kilometres across the fields. The wind howled about my ears, threatening to pluck my Tilley from my head.

I entered the hamlet of Fontinoyuelo, a sad place, where a few houses were in good repair, but many were in ruins or heading that way. I passed a playground, overgrown with weeds, silent forever to the sound of children’s voices. I sat down on a bench in front of a church and ate my bread and cheese.

Part of the church had been repaired, the front stuccoed, and new rafters were holding up the roof above the porch. But it was a losing battle. Bricks were falling, leaving holes in the walls of the church. I was particularly struck  by a weathered post still displaying the trace of original carvings.

I walked on, not far now, along a slightly more undulating track leading to the little town of Santervás de Campos.

As I walked in the door of the albergue, a woman cried, “Peregrino,” and a man, “We eat at half past two. It was a nice welcome!

Later, a woman appeared and told us were having a tour of the museum and church. This town was the home of Ponce de Leon, the Spanish navigator who first set foot on the continent of America. The museum was excellent for a small town. The church was a mix of styles, but the Romanesque apse was particularly fine. There were two statues of Christ, one from the 12th, the other from the 16th century. The latter was the typical crucified Christ, head forward, bleeding, suffering, not suitable for children, symbol of the joyless Church which prevailed in recent centuries. But the 12th century statue was of Christ alive on the cross, presenting a different message to the faithful.