Yesterday, when I arrived at my destination for the day, I realised it was the same place where, in 2016, on my first Camino, my first foot had a tough time. I thought I would reach here in a few days, but since I’m walking more kilometres per day, I ended up here three days earlier. It squeezed my heart a little, as I had only walked 50 km, pain-free, but the memories took me back to 2016, when I felt a sharp pain in my Achilles tendon just before the hostel. “Great, and today you’ve walked a half-hundred,” I thought to myself. But since I felt great, I tried to push the injury from 2016 out of my mind. I also realised I had been mistaken; I thought I had walked 450 kilometres with my injured legs, but it turned out to be 544 km. Now I know just how far my stubbornness can take me. I gave myself a mental high five.
When I got up in the morning, I was a little worried that I’d have sore legs and blisters, but none of that happened. I did, however, forget that a climb awaited me in the morning, and so I felt a little sorry for myself. When my legs are still cold in the morning, a slope is more suffering than enjoyment. So, once again, I was gasping for air, whining like a child forced to climb a hill. The climb dragged on for about four kilometres, and all I could think about were the struggles I had endured six years ago. The path was full of stones and rocks, so even healthy feet suffer. I remember in 2016, I cried from the pain on this stage, and even a snail would have been faster than me. I suffered so much that Henry offered to carry my backpack, which that year weighed 11 kilograms. But I was too proud to accept. "What I’ve cooked, I must eat," I said. When Tina, Henry, and I arrived at our destination that day, we ran out of gas for cooking, so we had to spend the day eating uncooked soup and a small can of tuna since there was no store or restaurant in the village. To hang ourselves. It's a good thing we didn't have a rope.
Back to the present. I’d be lying if I said that after yesterday’s 50-kilometer feat, I didn’t feel any pain while walking. Every now and then, a jolt of electricity would run through my calf, constantly reminding me to take smaller steps if I couldn’t walk slowly. That evening, we decided to head to Burgos, a larger city 37.5 km away from our current location. On Strava, the distance was shorter, as I had forgotten to start the app in the morning due to the shock therapy of the climb. Since Marco was the fastest, he had trouble with his skin and couldn’t walk in the sun too long, so he reached the destination first and reserved us beds at the hostel. Andrea, Antonio, and I took a more leisurely approach.
The last 10 kilometres split into two routes, and we could choose between walking in the shade on a rocky path or taking the paved road in the sun with no shade. I chose the latter, as the stones were terrible for my feet, and given yesterday's 50 kilometres, it seemed like the smarter choice. When we arrived at the hostel, it was routine: shower, make the bed, wash and hang up clothes to dry overnight. Then, I went to the store to get yogurt and bread for breakfast tomorrow. Andrea came with me.
Right in front of the hostel was a lovely bar next to the cathedral, so we decided to have two small beers to start. Andrea, of course, also had his fifth breakfast, not a snack or lunch, but his fifth breakfast. After finishing, he asked me when it would be time for lunch. You must love these Italians. If you walk with them, they’ll make sure you’re never hungry. Gentlemen in the truest sense. I told him we’d go to the store first and then see. When we got to the store, we got thirsty. We bought four cans of beer, and only later, in the park where we drank them, did we realise they were 7.5% alcohol. The alcohol hit us quickly and got the party started in front of the hostel. Meanwhile, we admired some Armani clothes in a shop window, imagining we’d wear them the day we arrive in Santiago, where there would be a five-kilometre red carpet just for us to the cathedral—if you believe in fairies, that is.
Andrea also took a moment by the church to channel Elvis Presley with "Suspicious Minds." That’s how the Camino is: when you let go and go with the flow, no one looks at you strangely, as they might in the middle of Ljubljana. Here, it’s more likely that someone will join you in your fun. In front of the hostel, we met Connor from Canada, a photographer for Lonely Planet and something of a legend in his own right. We convinced him to join us the next day in Hontanas, even though his feet were in bad shape. Hontanas is a small village, but my favourite, as it has such a wonderful energy, and the people there are simply fantastic. The village is mainly inhabited by elderly people, and their kindness is overwhelming.
