4. Astorga to Rabanal del Camino. 20 kms

Gaudi’s Bishop’s Palace at Astorga

An Electric Camino 

Ease on the throttle and ease off the pain.

No need to suffer aching calves again.

This is our Camino, we’ll do it how we will.

Look at those poor bastards, struggling up the hill!

How much better are my tortillas than any I have tasted so far this trip! My tortilla for breakfast this morning may have been mass produced in Ponferrada.  No onions. Just powdered potato. But typically, as I stopped for a cafe con leche four kms out of town I noticed all the breakfast specials illustrated on the table in front of me. Bacon and eggs and beyond. One lady was even taking a photo of it. The breakfast we might have had! And I could see the onions glistening in the tortilla on the counter.

After refreshment, I followed a long, straight, white stony path heading west. Pilgrims in front of me, pilgrims behind me, as far as the eye could see

Pilgrims in front of me,

Pilgrims behind me

On to their Compostelle

Strode the six hundred.

On through Santa Catalina del Somoza where the bars were doing very well by the pilgrims, who were stopping for a breather and a coffee. I stopped for a break as well.

And then on towards the hills. Every one is kind and helpful on the Camino. Ahead of me, a horse was giving directions to the pilgrims who followed. Here, he was leading me off to the right. Beautifully positioned!

The day ended with a difficult scramble up a rocky trail, and it was getting hot! Eventually, I staggered into Rabanal fearful of not finding a bed. I was even willing to accept a top bunk. I couldn’t have gone on, and was ready to sleep on the floor, or a church pew, or even outside. I arrived at the first albergue as three Germans were being turned away. But just then the host received a phone call and called them back. He had received a cancellation. And then he beckoned me. By yourself, he asked, and sent me after the Germans to be the fourth person in a two-double-bunker room. And a young woman who had already put her stuff on one of the lower bunks, looked at me, and offered it. The Camino really does provide.

Normally, when I arrive, I shower and do my washing, but not today. I stumbled down the stairs to the bar below and ordered a demi-litre of beer.

In the afternoon, all is quiet at Rabanal del Camino. The wave has dissipated, some of the pilgrims having settled in here, the others headed on to Foncenadon.

The village has two churches, representing the two aspects of Christianity. One church you can enter, the other you can’t.

The first, a baroque church, has statuary and gilt carving behind the altar and on both walls of the nave. You can admire the elaborate design, but an iron grill prevents entry.

The other is a simple Romanesque church, unadorned except for a statue of the crucified Christ above the altar. White paint is peeling from the ceiling, exposing the bare stone beneath. You can enter and pray or meditate or relax or think. It was here, 19 years ago that I heard two monks sing Gregorian chant. But not tonight, I am too hungry.