Day 14 or Burgos or Bust

Notes on Day 14, March 9th, Ages to Burgos



Today´s mission was simply to make it to Burgos. I had to leave the Middleberry Crew behind today, or rather they had to leave me behind as they were taking a bus to Burgos to see the Cathedral before heading back to Madrid. Lucky bastards.



In the morning we hovered around the bar in the Albergue while Anna Maria, our solicitous hostess, made each of us a crazy good breakfast of fresh squeezed orange juice, cafe con leche and toast topped with grated red tomato, fruity green Spanish olive oil and salt. I watched hungrily as she made my toast and Anna Maria muttered something in Spanish. I turned to Ally (I constantly and annoyingly looked desperately to her for translations) and asked her what Anna Maria said and waited for some enlightened morsel of Spanish wisdom. ¨She says that the way you are looking at her makes her think if she doesn´t give you your toast immediately you will eat her.¨ Oh. So instead of getting wisdom, I was affectionately chided for not hiding my obvious impatience for my savory looking breakfast.

But then she did offer a little Spanish wisdom, and Ally translated for me. ¨She says that her philosophy of life is that on The Camino, you have to learn to give, but you also have to learn to receive.¨ And with that Anna Maria bid me Buen Camino with a hearty kiss on each cheek and a strong hug before she sent me trundling with my pack out the door and on to Burgos.

A few days ago on the trail I met a German couple who told me of a lovely albergue in Granon and that I should try to break my journey there and experience the home cooking and the tranquil setting. When it didn´t work out for me to stay in Granon, I tried to make myself feel better by thinking I didn´t come to see the albergues anyway. I came to see the landscape and the art and architecture of Spain dammit! But after Ana Maria, and after I reflect on the family dinners I´ve had in the evenings at the albergues, the people I´ve met (the fearless Adrienne, Elena who helped me score great shoes, Veronique with the tattoos), and the conversations I´ve had (in all combinations of Franglais, Spanglish, and Franspang), I realize the albergues are just as much a part of the Camino experience as the landscape and the architecture and the blisters.

Mid-morning I passed the village of Atapuerca where apparently all of us who are of European decent come from. The party began 800,000 years ago with the first Europeans, who happened to be cannibals. Hmmm. We´ve come a long way since then. Or maybe we haven´t.

Then it began. The long, merciless, unrelenting 8km SLOG into Burgos via ugly industrial suburbs and on feet punishing pavement. I tell you it never ended. I had visions of ending it all after 2 and a half hours. I mean really people, I would have lost nothing if I had just said ¨fuck it¨ and taken the damn bus. But my guidebook was written by a tyrannical purist, and he has this way of making you feel guilty if you ¨cheat¨, and I succumbed to the emotional blackmail and walked. I am a total moron.

And there was this one dark lumpy cloud following me into Burgos. It was bizarre cuz everywhere else the sky was sunny and blue and the clouds white and fluffy. No, I just had my own personal cloud here, which all of the sudden decided to pelt me with pea-sized hail for twenty minutes. It was fucked up. I wasn´t that cold, I didn´t even get wet, just poked by this obnoxious hail storm that seemed to belong only to me.

And then I saw it. Beckoning me onwards like and oasis in a desert, I turned a corner and saw the spires of the cathedral. And I felt its call and steeled myself to continue on.



But it seemed like no matter how long I walked, the Cathedral was not getting any closer. Was it a mirage? a cruel joke of a vision after this wretched 8km Bataan death march on evil blacktop and sickeningly cutely patterned sidewalks? And then I saw it. Beckoning me onwards, I looked up at the sign and turned into Pizza Hut.

People, it had to be done. I could not walk another step on that pavement and each neighborhood joint I passed was crowded with people taking their afternoon drink and having their afternoon smoke, and there was no one in Pizza Hut (go figure), and so I knew I could take off my stinking shoes and order a pizza and a Pepsi and rest my weary meaty bones for a minute and breathe pizza scented air instead of Marlborough scented air.



And it was enough. After my grateful respite in the surprising oasis that is Pizza Hut, I marched on towards the cathedral, and when I reached it I knew I had found the true oasis. I really cannot describe its beauty and I will not really try until tomorrow, after I have seen the guts of the thing.



I found the albergue in the city center, and while I showered and changed and got my bunk ready for later that night, I (and the rest of the peregrinos in the dormitory), were serenaded by our hospitalero who played a Spanish guitar (covered with Snoopy stickers) and sang. It was the haunting, sepia colored guitar music of the Spanish plains, and I imbibed the sounds like glass of smooth sepia colored liqueur.

And I ate dinner at a little restaurant with Colin Firth´s younger and slightly less attractive Polish brother Iwo (pronounced Ivo). He was starting his camino here in Burgos and met up with a friend (Tomas - whom I´d already met in Najera) and will continue with him tomorrow. The Sangria flowed, as did the conversation about Russian atrocities during WWII, American Civil War reenactments, the fact that Tomas had been to Indiana and was fascinated by it, and the mystery of missing toilet seats in Spain. (I kid you not. In several of the Albergues there have been no toilet seats.) And while I decided I did not come to Spain to man hunt, I have to admit I am a wee bit disappointed this evening that Iwo will be going on to the next town tomorrow while I am staying in Burgos for the day. Cést la Vie.

But the good news is, this little trooper made it to Burgos!