2. Oncina de la Valdoncina to Hospital de Órigo. 25 kms

In the east the rosy dawn,

And in the sky above

Wisps of cloud, tinged with pink,

Clear and crisp and pure.

I enjoyed some sleep last night, but awoke at 5:15 and then set out just before dawn. Up a steady rise and then on to the plain, lonely and beautiful.

Harvested hay fields, scrubby land with occasional majestic oaks, and cultivated fields.

After ten kilometres, I stopped for coffee at Villar de Mazarife, and then began a long dull trudge through dried-up corn, crossed over a canal, and then continued on an even duller trudge through more dried-up corn. This was the very worst of vistas, the road stretching out ahead in a long line forever. No bend, no surprise, just more of the same. However, one of us, Spotty Dog the Dalmatian, was running free, bounding this way and that, unencumbered by his saddle pack. You may just spot him in the photo above.

Pilgrims like to write on the El Camino de Santiago road signs that adorn the highway. On just one sign, for example, these ranged from the religious (“At peace with the Lord Jesus Christ”), to the spiritual (“Loving yourself is the beginning of love”), to the personal (“We are back. G and V”), to the practical (“I need to pee”). No obscenity or blasphemy. I remember a quotation (“I am the way, the truth, and the light”) on the path into Santiago that anywhere else would have provoked a blasphemous rejoinder. But some one had scribbled: “Not the only way.”

Eventually, five kilometres further than I thought, I arrived at Hospital de Órigo,
where I’m the only person in a four-bed room. Private luxury! Accommodation, by all accounts, is going to prove a problem later on. Here, I’m on a variant, but tomorrow I join the main stream. I will probably book ahead, something I’ve never done before on the Camino.

At Oncina de La Valdoncina yesterday, I noticed on a bell tower In the distance, the largest stork’s nest I have ever seen. As I approached, what I thought was the stork turned out to be a cross. I guess the inhabitant was out delivering babies.

León to Oncina de la Valdoncina. 12 kms

Who Would Fardels Bear?

Dual pack,

Saddle-like upon her back,

A heavy burden carried she, 

To weigh her down across the scree.

Somewhat miffed,

She should have sniffed 

Her way along the Way,

Conjuring visions of canines past

Assessing them from first to last,

On every wall, bush, tree and stone

A message for dogs, and dogs alone.

Jet lagged. Fitful sleep. Not the best night, not until four o’clock anyway, whereupon I fell into a deep slumber, not to wake until ten-thirty. Not an early start! But having breakfast in front of the cathedral, my spirits revived.

Earth has nothing to show more fair... (Wordsworth)

An inspiring view in full sunlight, no scaffolding, just glorious brown stone! And all the other majestic churches and convents in the old city as I made my way west, before passing through industrial wasteland with its graffitied, dusty white concrete buildings and the occasional abandoned warehouse, roof gone, rafters exposed. A long trudge to the outskirts of the city. The tourist pilgrims would avoid this, alighting from their coach just out of town, but the long, dull stretches are part of the Camino too.

Strange how my pack is heavier, even though I packed less.

At La Virgen del Camino I had to choose the shorter historic route along the N120 or the variant. A desire to escape the highway led me on a track across dry, brown terrain, eventually to the little village of Oncina de La Valdoncina, where I’m staying at Albergue El Pajar. I have walked only 12 kms, but that’s enough for today.

I met two pilgrims on the way, a female couple, the taller one carrying the lighter burden. They had begun at Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port, and had a terrible time crossing the Pyrenees. What is the word for something worse than a storm? she asked. Tempest, I ventured. Well, it was so bad they were lying flat on the ground to avoid being blown away, she said. The dog was injured and had to go to the vet in Pamplona.

I wonder whether the cathedral office in Santiago makes any allowance for dogs. Some days off curgatory, for example? Or perhaps if she doesn’t  make it, the ultimate reward? I am reminded of the bishop of York, who said that if his dog Katie wasn’t going to heaven, nor was he.

 

León

Here I am in the town of León,

Once more to walk, a hapless peon.

There’s just one thing we will agree on,

It’s been a rather dismal eon.

I’m exhausted after two long flights and a long bus ride, not to mention an hour’s wandering around trying to find the León Hostel.

What am I doing in León? Well, three years and a half years ago, I stopped at León after walking the Camino de Madrid with my daughter Rach. So I thought I’d pick up where I left off. I’m bringing my hiking poles this time, and thereby hangs a tale.

I was prepared to check them in as luggage, and having bound them heavily in plastic, I arrived at the AirCanada counter. But the very helpful young person  wondered whether I could carry them on. She spent a good 15 minutes checking the regs, for there was no one behind me, and then gave a Eurekean chortle, and said, “Sporting gear! Take them with you”

I was a bit dubious but decided to give it a go. Having whisked his wand around the contours of my body, producing a sequence of beeps that sounded like R2-D2, and investigated those, the security guard looked at my encapsulated poles in the tray, turned to me, and said one word: “Mobility?” I nodded, and was through.

Oh, and one more piece of advice. Avoid seat 39B. It’s right next to a loo. Very handy for me, but I wasn’t the only one to use it. All through the night: Rattle-click-click as they open the door. Crack, as they slide in the lock. Oop-arssshh, as they flush, that unique sound of an aircraft toilet. Not much chance of snoozing.