(Castrojeriz to Boadillo del Camino: 19.1 km, 5 1/2 hours with about an hour break; 26,500 steps, plus 1850 later)

Matthew 25:31-46
v. 35-36 ‘For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me.’

There is much looking after the stranger along the Camino. Beyond the reasonably priced albergues and pilgrim meals, the pilgrims look out for one another. Sit here with us. This fountain is dry–do you need water? Will there be room for the slow Japanese lady? I remember my foot care from German and Brazilian women. In today’s walk Maurice developed a blister behind his toes. When I came back from hanging the laundry, the French Canadian in the next bed was listing all the supplies needed and supervising Maurice’s proper blister treatment. Lord, help us to carry the concern shared in this like-minded community back to our more complicated lives in the real world. Help us to give more generously of our means to those around us who are in need.

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We were up at 6:15 and out at eight, but first Maurice fixed us wonderful scrambled eggs and washed the dishes in the cocina honesta. Within a mile or so we had a 1.5 kilometer ascent up a 12% grade, back onto the meseta in the pink morning light; as we sweated I first ripped off my scarf, then rolled up my sleeves, then unbuttoned my outer shirt, then depacked at the top and shoved the extra layers into Maurice’s pack.

Out ahead of us we could see the pilgrim stream winding to infinity across the golden meseta. Why are we doing this, I wondered again; no revelation came. The packs are more comfortable than they were at the start, or at least less painful, but the stony paths are so hard.

Another long but gentler incline led to a concrete patio with shaded picnic tables overlooking fields where a farmer was spreading manure; across the path at the ancient Fuente del Piojo pouring out of a modern wall an entrepreneur was selling refreshments. We ate a snack of plantain, pear and cookies and chatted with a Swiss woman who approved of Maurice’s Swiss army knife.

Soon we came to an albergue situated in the tiny Romanesque former ermita of San Nicolas; in spite of it being without electricity, when I saw the long candlelit table set up in the nave I wished we could have stayed there.

Not the best picture of the San Nicolas albergue; a pack of German walkers was hot on our heels and came barging in before I could carefully frame a shot

We crossed the river from the province of Burgos into Palencia.

In tiny Itero de la Vega we followed signs to the Tachu Bar, which seemed to be in love with Che Guevara, but we got a coke and a delicious plate of bacon and eggs for 4€. Then it was back to the road and an 8.5-kilometer hike across the rolling umber fields of the shadow-poor meseta in bright sun, though the temperature probably wasn’t over 60. The last few kilometers I chatted with Michelle whose son is in warrant officer training on the way to his dream of being a Blackhawk pilot.

At 1:25 we arrived at our albergue, En el Camino, in Boadilla. In our long room we had two of the eighteen bunks, with another six beds up a wooden ladder in a loft overhead.

There were two showers, two toilets and four sinks for all of us in an adjoining unisex bathroom. In the pleasant tile-floored parlor sat another pretend piano. Outside the beautiful sunny garden was grassy and spacious with colorful wall art along the path in, clotheslines under a huge fig tree, a little pool, a rock garden around a pilgrim sculpture and, around the corner at the end, an old apple tree intertwined with grapevines over a patio outside the cafe / office / dining room. The church steeple next door loomed high above everything. It was a beautiful afternoon in a delightful space and pilgrims were relaxing everywhere.

We wanted to get our chores done and chill, but first Maurice had a blister that needed tending to. He kept saying he shouldn’t have it because he’d already walked for more than two weeks in the same shoes but there it was on the bottom of his left foot behind his toes, with a hot spot burning in the same place on his right foot. Tom, a French-Canadian pilgrim from the next bunk, with his headlamp on for illumination, instructed Maurice on proper blister procedure with needle and thread. And no wonder my heel was hurting so much again today–I had developed another blister around the remains of the old one.

French-Canadian Tom finishing the operation

After I rested and Maurice painted we made ourselves get up and look at the church next door under renovation.

14th-century baptismal font

We were fortunate to get into the albergue’s 7:00 sitting for dinner: two incredibly delicious soups (chickpea and the local sopa de ajo [garlic]), then meatballs or chicken and salad, with all the bread and wine we wanted, followed by ice cream on a stick. Sitting next to Maurice were George and Cherry, country musicians and quilters from New York state; across from us was an Irish-Australian couple (who had moved to Oz thirty years ago because he was never going to get ahead working in Ireland); on my left was a Basque man who answered my questions: there are several games that come under the heading of pelota, all played in a fronton; “jai alai” is neither the wall nor the game but Basque for “happy fest;” and let it be clearly known that he is Basque before he is Spanish.

I was sitting in bed flossing when I asked Tom about the German musician I’d heard was around; maybe Will would know of him. He’s right in the parlor, Tom said, and he’s a humble man; go talk to him. So I slipped my skirt back on and went to introduce myself. He was Tom also, no longer playing drums but composing for big German bands. He was a gentle man and we talked about music and religion. He thought that music and all of life should be about giving and receiving love; even heavy metal music does that, and I should give it a try. He had no more use for the church because of present and past abuses; for example, how could the Vatican spend 50,000€ on a bishop’s robe when people are suffering? He listened thoughtfully to my questions but his pantheistic ideas and the late hour made it hard for me to respond. I told him I would pray for him to know the One behind creation.