The road from hell … think I went a little bit bonkers on this one

Itero de la Vena to Villamentero de Campos, 24km 

There is no getting around the fact that today’s walk was a bit of a struggle. 

The high plains continue and I have spent the day on long and impossibly straight dirt roads that seem to stretch on to eternity and beyond (and then a little further, just for good measure). Added to this was an icy cross wind that had my backpack and I hunched in a defensive position most of the day so as not to be spun around in imitation of a teenage mutant ninja turtle dance move. It was so windy I even had to strap my walking poles onto my bag for most of the day, which not only made things harder on my feet, but meant giving up my favourite straight road – training for the world baton twirling championships. Oh well, still plenty of time. 

In any case, by the time I had reached about 15km for the day I was not feeling particularly camino-tastic, but unfortunately albergues are few and far between in this neck of the woods (as is any accommodation for that matter).  

And then I hit the road from hell: 3.4 km of dead straight dirt road with barely a tree or a bit of roadside scrub for any shade. I was tired, my blisters had started shouting at me with every step and I was walking at a snail’s pace.  Usually I walk between 3-6km an hour depending on terrain, weather conditions and general mojo, but that one 3.4km stretch took me almost two hours! 

I had also started talking to myself and think I may have gone a little crazy there for a while.  Just temporarily mind you. Thankfully nobody was around as I think it may have looked from the outside like one of those movie scenes where someone is staggering through the desert, gradually dying of thirst and becoming increasingly delusional (though I was, in fact,well fed and did have a decent load of water on board – but don’t want to spoil a good story now, do I?) 

As I finally hit the end of that stretch and regrouped in the first bit of protected shade I could find, I had two options – contine another 6km on similar roads, or take a little crossroad and walk alongside the main road for the same distance in the hope that the albergue 2km down the road would actually be open. Our little albergue cheat sheet did say it was closed Nov to April, but I was so ready to take a pint on the off-chance. 

The road won and the albergue wasn’t just open, it turned out to be the quirkiest little piece of hippy love in all of Spain.  There were cold beers, plate after plate of amazing olives, hammocks, rocking chairs, donkeys, dogs, ducks, turkeys, geese …  pretty much the entire cast of Old McDonald’s farm roaming wild about the bar. 

More importantly, it included some great company, both local – in the shape of Gerard, one of the customers sitting there enjoying the sunshine while his kids ran about chasing animals in the garden, and Alberto the ever-generous barman – and in terms of the only two other pilgrims I had the pleasure of sharing a room with – the delightful Amelie (who I had first met in Zubiri) and the equally lovely Dominic … who just happened to be a ‘socially qualified doctor’ (ie came from a family of medics) and who very generously set about trying to bring my feet back from the dead. 

Perfect company for a perfect evening – Dominic, Gerard and Amelie

 So after a rough day, it suddenly became happy happy time on the camino – beer, wine, great conversation, more olives than is probably healthy for one day and a fabulous dinner of tortilla and salad taken in front of an open fire.  

Even more special though was when Gerard (who had spent quite a lot of time in the states and was busy bonding with Dominic) invited us back to his house to meet his wife. They are in the midst of renovating three tiny 13th century houses into one amazing home, and as an architect, Gerard is doing most of it himself.  He had just that day finished the big open plan kitchen and dining area and his wife M (argh – cannot for the life of me remember her name) used their impressive new stove to cook us a cake for desert. They were both so lovely and welcoming and genuinely interested in each of us, it definitely has to go down in my books as one of the highlights of the trip so far. Not to mention overhearing M say (in Spanish) to her boisterous eleven year old at about half past ten: ‘You are all too loud. Take your little sister back to the bar to play, but make sure you are home before 11.30pm’ … file that one under things-you-will-never-hear-an-English-speaking-parent-say.