Days 15-16 On and on and on and on

Day 15
Belorado to Atapuerca--18.6 miles; 509 km. to go

I grope my way out of Belorado at 5:30am, using headlights from an occasional car to light up the arrows. Today, I witness a miracle of Santiago on the Camino. Low clouds, almost fog. There´s enough of a heavy mist to bring out the cover for the backpack. Why it´s almost cold out! The endorphins kick in, and it´s an iPod day. Hmm....movie soundtracks seem to fit. A steep climb of nearly 1000 ft is no big deal (the last until the other side of Castilla y Leon). Through the mist and fog I walk, through heavy woods and pine forest, along a beautiful ridge thick with ferns and pink and purple heather. The mist turns to water drops on the fine tent caterpillar webs:



I watch my daily dose of bull running at Pamplona at a village bar. 8am sharp, a firecracker goes off, the street chanting stops, and off go Gilberto and Pocas Cosas, at roughly a half ton each of pure bull, to trample over whatever idiots are in their way. Great camera work on one fallen runner who looks like a downed charioteer in Ben Hur.

After about 23 km. I arrive in San Juan de Ortega, which is home to a well-known church and monastery. To those in Orange County, Ortega means "nettle" in Spanish, although I think our Ortega was a Spanish officer who marched into California with Father Serra.

There´s a little bar here tended by a rather portly man. I ask if there are any bocadillos, a sandwich, and out comes something the size of a Togo´s party platter. You don´t think you can eat something so humongous, but down it goes. An Italian pilgrim, Stefano, who I´ve run into off and on for a week is probably finished. He´s got tendonitis, and a pilgrim doctor in Belorado taped him up. I don´t know how he made it up here, but a taxi is taking him out.


Down the hill into the town of Agés

I keep on going to Atapuerca, where there´s a brand new albergue (7 euros). Atapuerca has special interest as a UNESCO World Heritage Site. Here, some of the best preserved early human remains were discovered by archaeologists. 800,000-year-old bones were identified as a new species homo antecessor, and our early ancestor to those of us with European roots.

Day 16
Atapuerca to Burgos--13.02 miles; 488 km. to go

The pilgrims all thunder out of the albergue at around 5:30am. It´s still cool out with a good tailwind. It´s another village bar with an excellent cafe con leche and a chocolate croissant, and a big flat-screen TV with Pamplona on. The bulls today are from some farm near Cadiz. The runners chant while waving some kind of stick or rolled up newspaper, a firecracker bursts, and off they go. Two minutes it´s over. Pretty tame today: just people trampling over people.



It´s a long walk into Burgos. There´s some sort of immense quarry that must be crossed, with dump trucks veering off in all directions. Arrows are practically non-existant, have to rely on boot prints in the dust. Finally the trail comes out onto the N-120, which must be crossed. All those whizzing cars are just like the bulls on TV. Anyway, the outskirts of Burgos is an industrial slum and then 8 km. of housing. But the well-prepared pilgrim knows that after crossing the RR track, a little bridge leads to a lovely walking path along the river that leads right into the center. Most pilgrims don´t know this and must walk past the housing estates.


El Cid, El Campeador

Burgos is home to a fantastic Gothic cathedral (a UNESCO World Heritage Site), which is airy and delicate and chock full of treasures. It´s also the burial place of El Cid (for those of you who saw the Charlton Heston movie).


Cathedral entrance

I would love to spend another day here, but this is the only spot in Spain not suffering from a massive heat wave. Since the next week crosses the dreaded meseta, I need to take advantage of the cool weather.

Me with a pilgrim statue

Many pilgrims are bailing here--injuries, have hit the wall, you name it. Mostly, it´s holiday pilgrims that only want to walk the pretty parts. They´re taking the bus to León and picking up from there. Every German pilgrim I´ve met so far is a holiday pilgrim. I´m soldiering on, so is the girl from Korea, and the Spanish pilgrims. The Canadians are renting bicycles. More about the meseta in the next post.