Castrojeriz to Fromista – 24.9km, 5.4 hours, Hostal Oisabeth, don’t ask €

You really can’t ask for a much better day for walking on the Camino. We had one big climb that stretched for one kilometer but that was done in the very cool of dawn’s early light. After that, most of the way we walked under a cloudy but not threatening sky. We did count about 20 drops of rain hitting us over a half hour or so but it never looked like it would really rain. Without the sun, we walked the mostly flat balance of the trail at a decent pace but sweat-free.

That climb that started 2km from Castrojeriz is a bit of a bear. The sign at the bottom said it’s a 12% grade but many parts look more like a 45º angle to me. The trail goes on an angle from north to south on the alto mesa’s eastern side but as we walked up, I counted five false summits where, from our location, it looked like we were about to reach the top only to discover 50-75m later that it was just a curve and the real top (or un-real top the first four times) is way up there. I still beat Melanie to the top though so today I get the foot massage.

Breakfast #1 was at our hotel in Castrojeriz and it was twice as good for half the money compared to the grubby little bar in Itero dela Vega where we had breakfast #2. In fact, that second breakfast was so bad that by the time we got to Boasilla del Camino, we didn’t even bother to stop for breakfast #3.

After a nice hike along a white elephant canal that was completed about 1850, just before the advent of the railroad that superseded it, we arrived in Fromista. Our lodging options didn’t look great here if we wanted a private room. We finally bit the bullet and splurged on a decent but overpriced hotel. We are apparently competing with the touragrinos for rooms as well as bag forwarding services. Touragrinos are pilgrims who booked through a travel agency, have large suitcases forwarded from one private room to the next, have probably prepaid for their meals too, they have a van that follows them and picks them up when they are tired, etc. they are still pilgrims but they sure put a wrench in the systems to gum up the works for everyone else. By the way, when we arrived at the hotel at 12:30pm, we were greeted with a locked door and a sign that said check-in was only a 2:00pm.

We tried to while away the time and have a light lunch but after checking at a few bars and cafes, we found they only opened for lunch at 1:30pm. Spain really needs to visit the 21st century. We eventually found a bar with nice salads and pinchos (and ice cold beer) so we were happy.

Being happy though is not a feeling 100% of the time on the Camino. Let’s take yesterday for example when I was contemplating killing or maiming at least seven people. Feel free to skip a few paragraphs if you don’t like hearing bitching and moaning.

The first would-be victims were two bicyclists riding on the trail just before the Convent of San Anton. I heard a bike bell in the distance behind me and immediately put my hand up to acknowledge that I heard them and I raised one finger (not that one) to say I need a minute to get out of the way. The trail was barely wide enough for one person walking and it had thorny bushes on both sides so I needed to get to a spot where there were no bushes. Ding, ding again so I said in English, give me a second, I’m looking for a place to get out of the way. Ding, ding again and I ignored it this time but quickened my pace. Next, I heard a woman’s voice just a meter or so behind me say “puede” which is Spanish for “can you get out of my way?” With irritation in my voice, I repeated that I was looking for a place but this time in Spanish. The “woman” then repeated the “puede” just as I reached the first available clearing where I could jump out of her way. How close do you think I was to jamming my walking stick in the spokes of her back tire?

Later, at the terrace bar in the hotel, I was the fifth person waiting to order drinks when a touragrina from Aussieland asked for two glasses of red wine. The bartender pulled the house wine out of the cooler and showed it to her. She said no, not that one. He pulled out another one that she was happy with and he poured two wines and asked for 3€. She asked him to “put the stuff in it”. Huh? The bartender took out a can of Coke to see if that is what she wanted to add to the wine (some people really drink that here). She gasped and said she wanted a wine cocktail. The poor guy took out orange juice and the woman started to freak out. She finally remembered the name of what she wanted, i.e., sangria. He pulled out a premixed bottle of sangria (so that she didn’t see the orange juice going in) and poured two new glasses for her. Then she asked for ice – for the glasses which were already filled. The barman didn’t understand as she kept repeating ice, ice, ice. I lost it a bit and yelled out “hielo” so she could get her ice and go. The only thing that stopped me from murdering her through this ten minute ordeal was that the other people waiting to order were going to kill her first. Also, we felt awful for the bartender. As a result, we ordered in Spanish, dos vino tintos frio. When he reached for the bottle, we said no, we will take those two glasses already poured.

The final bit of craziness was when we sat down for dinner. The menu of the day included six first plate options and six main course options. The poor, overworked bartender (a different one) was reading the menu to a group of four Spanish women behind me. After every option, each woman took a turn asking one stupid question after another such as (Can I substitute smoked salmon for the canned tuna fish on the salad? Does the Merluza have any seafood in it because I am allergic to seafood? (Merluza is a common fish served in every restaurant in Spain.). How do you cook the boiled potatoes? After fifteen minutes, they finally dismissed the poor guy with their orders, the only person working as a waiter in a busy restaurant. I didn’t have to kill them. The waiter beat me to it.

Other than that little stuff, we’re happy, relatively gimp-free and looking forward to Leon in a few days.

[edited to add: we just got back from dinner. We tried several places and they all opened at 8:00pm. At 7:20 though, we finally found a place already open but every seat was occupied by a touragrino. Grrrrr…. Even Sangria lady was there. We also found German Felix from Roncesvalles. The last time we saw him was in Burgos where he arrived the day before we left. We had dinner with him there and never expected to see their gang again as they were taking more rest days. He caught up today by walking 45km straight through from Hornillos. Mía, his friend is 5km behind us while Pedro and Debby stopped in Castrojeriz.]

Peace y’all. Goodnight George and Leo. Don’t let the bedbugs bite. Don’t even let them lick you!