One Year Ago: Rain, Blood Sausage, and Wine
(from my journal)
Iglesia San Juan de Ortega
11 April 4:20PM
Felt much better after a good sleep and three boxes of orange juice. We left Belorado in good form and breakfasted in Tosantos. It was a sunny, if breezy, walk through the countryside we’ve come to expect – brilliant green farm fields in bowl-shaped valleys.
Belorado
Ermita de Nuestra Señora de Pena, built into the cliffside
Villambistia
What remains of the once great Monasterio San Felices de Oca
We lunched in a picturesque truck stop in Villafranca Montes de Oca. It was chilly but still sunny, and we ate outside. Easily some of the best food I’ve had in Spain so far, and stupid cheap.
Based on a hat and certificate on the walls, the owner in his youth was a member of the Guarda Civil. The portrait of Franco on the wall was also a pretty big hint of the owner’s allegiance.
Great food!
Mia at Villafranca de Montes de Oca
Mementos of Days Passed at Villafranca de Montes de Oca
As we made the steep climb up the Montes de Orca, the wind picked up noticeably. The forest we entered was eerie – all the trees still black and bare, awaiting their spring colours. A note on my map says:
In medieval times, dense forest, wolves, and bandits made this one of the most difficult stretches of the Camino.
I could well believe it. Instead of wolves and bandits, we got wind and rain. And what rain! It poured upon us, and when the wind kicked up, it was like rubber-bands shot into your skin. Eamon had predictably gotten far ahead of Viola and myself, so the two of us struggled on down the forest road in the deluge as best we could. It was cold and miserable, but we certainly made good time.
Monumentos de los Caidos, a memorial to the victims of the Spanish Civil war
Upon arriving in San Juan de Ortega, we all settled into the only albergue, which has the only bar on one side, and the Romanesque beauty of the Iglesia San Juan on the other. After a hot chocolate in the bar, I came to the church, where now I sit, writing in the pew in front of the saint’s tomb.
The Hamlet of San Juan de Ortega
Tomb of San Juan de Ortega
I can see my breath, but it’s worth it to be in the quiet here. I will pray a while, light a candle in thanksgiving, and rejoin the raucous crowd of pilgrims in the bar anon.
San Juan de Ortega
Evening
We learned today the the winds we fought on the 9th coming into Santo Domingo were clocked at 45kph. Patrick was right.
No wifi, no internet. Many soldiers, though. We think they might be on exercises. Saw several trucks at lunch, too.
Wonderful dinner with a table full of Germans, an old Englishman named George, and Eamon and Viola. Met Radek from Poland, who is travelling with two Canadians, David and Lana.
Blood sausage out of this world – our investigations to date indicate that the food throughout this region is the best in Spain – and more bottles of wine than could be counted.
Dingsbums.
First Meetings: Radek on the left, David and Lana on the right
All the photos: Day 10.