Via Podiensis: Signs of the Times and Moments of Grace

30 September 2023 Thom Pilgrim Reports, Via Podiensis

Great dinner last night on the plaza with Tara and Stefanie. I made the decision to walk a slightly longer day today, adding an extra 6 km to go past Belorado to Tosantos. We shall see if any of our pilgrim cohort join me there.

I woke up stupid early this morning, thanks to a rooster crowing somewhere nearby, and I was up and packed by 6:20 AM. After saying goodbyes to some of the pilgrims packing in the lobby, I was out the door at 6:30 AM onto the well-lit streets of Santo Domingo, full moon shining down upon me, in search of a café for breakfast. Sadly, there were none to be found in town.

It was a chilly enough morning that I was wearing my fleece. Within ten minutes, I was crossing the descendent of the bridge built by Santa Domingo. Parts have been replaced over the centuries, and the current structure basically dates to the 18th and 20th centuries. I suppose there’s a “ship of Theseus” argument to be made that this is in fact Santo Domingo’s bridge.

There’s a tiny little chapel by the start of the bridge built in 1917 to replace the earlier one, destroyed by flash flooding. It was locked, of course, but you could see inside. I prayed for the intentions of the Camino across the bridge.

At this point the Camino descended to its by now normal dirt and gravel road by the side of the highway before heading more into open country. The Camino paralleled, and sometimes crossed, the highway for the rest of the day. This makes perfect sense, as the current highway was of course the original Camino route.

In the moonlight, I walked down the road for a while feeling, rather than clearly seeing, the yawning gaps of fields to either side of the road. The road was not completely even, though, and out of an abundance of caution I took out my flashlight after a while.

Hot tip: if someone passes you while night hiking and you’re wearing a headlamp, maybe don’t turn your face to greet them. If it’s bright enough for you to see the path ahead, it’s bright enough to blind the person you’re looking at.

By about 7:25 AM, I could see the lights from the steeple of the church in the village of Grañon up ahead. The full moon was almost directly above the village, giving the whole scene a mystical air.

Shortly after this, I put the flashlight away. There was now enough light coming from both the east and west that the path was clear.

I arrived in Grañon at about 7:45 AM and had café con leche, orange juice, and a Napoletana in front of me within five minutes. Sitting at the outdoor café in Grañon with a view of the distant mountains, blue and misty against a pink sky, sipping my café con leche, might just have been one of those perfect moments in life.

As I was leaving, I saw many of the pilgrims I knew coming in for breakfast. Most of them are only going to Belorado today, but since my plan was to go 6 km further – and to do it before it was too hot outside – I needed to hustle.

Grañon was just the first in a string of villages today, each no more than a few kilometers past the previous one.

I had hoped to visit the wonderful parish church here, but it was locked. The Camino left town on a concrete road down into the valley. I kept thinking how challenging this would be to walk in the rain. Today, however, there wasn’t a cloud in the sky, and I had already removed my fleece in anticipation of the heat to come

The landscape was hills and farms and dead sunflowers as far as the eye could see. As the Camino once again became a road of dirt, stone, and gravel, I saw three hot air balloons on the horizon. Probably a perfect day for a flight.

About 8:45 in the morning, I left the region of La Rioja and entered into Castilla y León (Province of Burgos). A very large sign told me so. And just in case you somehow missed the big sign, there is a series of smaller signs that say the same thing. They really want you to know where you are.

Meanwhile, the landscape changed not at all.

After passing an unfinished bridge to nowhere and joining a concrete road, the Camino entered the dusty little farming village of Redecilla del Camino at about 9:05 AM. There is a lovely piece of pilgrim art and, just in case you missed it earlier, several signs announcing that you are now in Castilla y León.

Once again the village church was locked.

The Camino shadowed the highway for a while, but just a few kilometers later I came to another farming village, Castildelgado. It was about 9:30 AM. The place smelled like a tire fire, and both the church and a nearby hermitage were locked – but there was a vending machine with orange juice.

After the village, it was next to the freeway for a bit before turning underneath another under-construction bridge to nowhere and then up into farmland, past a haystack the size of a barn, and by 10 AM into the village of Viloria de Rioja, which it should be noted – and many signs here tell me so – is notin the region of La Rioja.

This village, which proudly proclaims itself the birthplace of Santo Domingo de la Calzada, also had a locked church.

This was roughly my halfway point of the day. I was feeling strong and still fairly confident in my decision to do 28 km today.

After the village, there was some roadwalking back down to the highway. The asphalt was hard on my feet, and the hilly terrain around was unremittingly brown. I’m sure it’s quite pretty in the spring, but right now this was not one of the great scenic views of the Camino. I could only see one pilgrim head of me, a distant dot crawling on the road.

When I finally got down to the gravel frontage road, I put up the umbrella.

By about 10:40 AM, I arrived in the freeway town of Villamayor del Río. There are at least three lies in the name of this town. But it has a bar, so I grabbed a café con leche and a bocadillo and called it lunch.

The church was, of course, locked. Sometimes I miss France.

Soon it was back to the gravel frontage road. The sun was absolutely brutal, but the road was flat and straight. I don’t know how I kept up the pace I did, but I was definitely in a groove and moving fast. My tracker insisted I was doing 10 minute kilometers, but I’m pretty sure that wasn’t quite right.

I crossed the highway and entered Belorado at about 11:50 AM.

Not only was the church in Belorado open, it was a blessedly cool inside. A domed structure, ostensibly Gothic with the usual Baroque retablos and side altars, I found it a pleasing and prayerful space. I interrupted the work of the cleaning ladies who are mopping the sanctuary. I think I amused them.

I prayed for the intentions of the Camino here. One thing led to another, and one of the cleaning ladies and I ended up chanting the Paternoster together in Latin before I left.

This was truly a moment of unexpected grace. I had been really down about the fact that I wasn’t able to get into any of the churches in the villages today, and all of that evaporated in this moment. We didn’t speak each other’s language, but in that moment all differences of country, experience, age, gender all fell away and we were simply Catholic. Christians praying together in song the prayer that Jesus taught His disciples to pray.

It was profound, for both of us I think, and she took my hand afterwards and tearfully wished me a “Buen Camino”, and all I could do was to thank her, over and over.

Belorado is a cool and funky little town. There are colourful murals throughout the older part of town and plaques set into the ground commemorating people who have contributed to the Camino over the years.

Each features a hand print, a boot print, and sometimes a signature. Most of these people are of course politicians or philanthropists, but some are writers or artists. I did find one of the plaques that I was specifically looking for.

Once I was out of town, the Camino was back to the usual dirt and gravel road next to the freeway. It eventually pulled further and further from the freeway, and there were even some trees around.

Finally, I reached the village of Tosantos at about 1:10 in the afternoon and was soon ensconced in the most charming quasi-medieval albergue parroquial I’ve ever seen.