Wednesday, August 28th
7:10am
leaving Sahagun
On the bridge, over the river Cea. Somewhere nearby is the miraculous forest.
7:16am
I'll pretend it's the forest over there, in the caravan park, the 'Camping
Pedro Ponce', sounds like a good place for 40,000 Christians to get themselves
slaughtered, after the lances they'd stuck into the ground transformed
themselves into trees, roots, trunk, branches and leaves.
8:15am
Okay, I've passed the point where the Camino splits for a while. The Camino
Real Frances, and the Camino de los Peregrinos. Choosing the Real Frances,
hope I've made the right choice. If I haven't, then I have to remember
that you always get your first choice in life. I think Alison Lurie said
that.
8:45am
And yes, there's the laguna, just as the guide book said it would be. The
Laguna de los Chopos.
9:05am
And the Ermina, the old hospice, but instead of a crucifix, we have the Saint
James Cross. Fair enough.
9:16am
A grave, no, a monument:
Peregrino a Santiago
D.E.P.
Manfress Kress Friedrich
9.6.1998
I feel lucky to be walking on, but the next kilometre is for you, Manfress.
9:30am
Bercianos
The bar. Coffee and donut, the breakfast of champion peregrinos.
Thinking stuff. Thinking about being a father, and being a son, and like Loudon
Wainwright III said, I am just the middle man. Thinking about what kind of
middle man I am. I think this may be one of my reasons for walking the Camino.
The road between Sahagun and El Burgo Ranero is described in one book as "geographically
featureless", and in another as "bleak".
There's a few other pilgrims on the road, some bikie ones, another two, who look
like father and daughter, waiting at a bus stop that looked literally shot
to shite. One other pilgrim leaving this bar as I arrived.
Still, I don't care if it's 'featureless', it was a great walk, the sun on my back, a gentle breeze on my face, a sky that reminded me of the opening title sequence of The Simpsons, and just being able to think about the stuff that maybe I was meant to walk the 1500kms of the Camino to think about. |
11:06am
El Burgo Ranero
The albergue doesn't open until one. Whatever.
Another pilgrim arrived at Bercianos as I was leaving, but there was no-one behind
me, I know that. Not in visible range anyway, and the Way was flat, and absolutely
straight. Reached the albergue, and well, whaddya know, pilgrims en masse
are just rockin'
up.
11:52am
Just mended the hole in the 'scientifically designed' walking sock. I don't
think they were scientifically designed to walk this far. Still, I'm feeling
good for having mended it.
2:30pm
Tried for Siesta, but it proved impossible. First, the fake pilgrims, the overweight
old bastards, who arrive after having just done maybe
half a kilometre, grunting and groaning as if they'd really walked the
hard yards. They book in, get a bed, talk, continue grunting and groaning,
as though they're trying to actually convince the real pilgrims that they,
too, are real. Listen fatbastard, you know you're a fake, I know you're
a fake, so can we please just stop the game.
Second, there's the younger of the two hospitaleros, who speaks loudly
to anybody that's downstairs, or calls out to anybody else that just happens
to be passing down the street outside. It's a beautiful, adobe building,
but quite small, and his voice is thunderous. I don't mind the classical
music playing downstairs, though it too could be turned down a notch or
two. Maybe they just assume that everybody here is a fake.
So, with a loud "Jesus Christ, just feckin' shut up," I went
wanders, expecting to be told to leave for blasphemy, but no, I'm still
here.
Wanders. The Saint Pedro iglise is locked, as usual, there's groups of kids loitering on one corner, another group of old men in the shade of another building who eye me suspiciously, and old woman in black, bent, with a walking stick. Restored houses, a mix of brick and adobe, quite charming. Saw the lake, the one that's supposed to be full of frogs, as 'El Burgo Ranero' roughly translates into 'Frog Town'.
6:04pm
Outside the bar, and a flock of sheep being moved, followed by the shepherd.
There's two guys at the next table discussing how you have to put 'spiritual'
or 'religious' as your reason for doing the Camino, when you arrive in
Santiago, otherwise you get absolutely zip credit for doing it. You don't
get the
credential. Their conversation then turns to how fast it can be done. The
one talking about doing 30kms a day, at least, has buggered feet. He's
just limped over the road, and yes, his feet are blistered and antisepticed,
and his toes resemble pulp. I'd say he's definitely got religious reasons,
as well as spiritual blisters, holy toes, crucified tendons, pieta'd knees
..
While in the bar, the men are playing cards. Probably some regional variation
on poker, it involves holding cards, then slappin' them down, almost violently,
on the table, while another keeps score.
later
Met Tim. One of the 'hey, put down spiritual' guys, and he's up to 50kms walking
each day. He's a professor of Semetic Languages at some University in Israel.
From the way he talks, he has little but contempt for Christian pilgrimages.
To him, it's purely sport, to be able to say it only took 20 days, and
to finish it in less time than it took his son, who completed it last year.
He's still trying to prove himself better than his son.
later still
In the kitchen, making tea, and talking to Bearnt and Peter. Discussions about
European History, and Bearnt's knowledge was encyclopaedic, leading into
discussions, over dinner, about the New Right in Germany, about the 30
Year War which shaped Europe's destiny, and about working for IBM and the
Deutsche Bank. Peter remodels supermarkets, and in his spare time, configures
computer networks. Bejaysus, these guys are awesome. Just a pity they're
bikie pilgrims, so I probably won't see them again.