Day 14: Atapuera to Burgos

I strolled out of Atapuera up a mountain and looked back over a Savannah of oak, plains, and ravines. How much more to the human story must be hidden in the caves here? There are hundreds of scientists working here and in the research labs in Burgos on the fossils found here and around Spain. I couldn't wait to get to Burgos to see the Museum of Human Evolution! I think I was half-jogging! Science!

Monument to our Neolithic and Paleolithic ancestors in Atapuera.

Pilgrims walking through the Atapuera plain at dawn.

Over a million years of human history in the caves below. 

The Castilian Serengeti continuously occupied by human species for 1 million years

Over the low hills we hiked, the Germans out in front, followed by the speedy Japanese, the French men striding along, the Danes, then me - toddling this way and that to take pictures of this ancient Serengeti-like landscape. Underneath it all were the caves - hundreds of miles of galleries, sinkholes, and karst shafts- filled with sediments that contain pure ancestry and the fossils of plants and animals we ate, tamed, harvested, and gathered. I imagined mammoths, giant bears, wild horses, and wolves. Then up over the ridge and - bam! There's religion, again!

Wait... where's my science? 

Spain is religion. You can't escape it. It holds the relics and legends of more saints that anywhere I can think of. Loyola the Basque. Teresa the Castilian. Juan of the forests. Every town has it's saint and it's own special dancers to honor them with enormous floats, costumes, songs - multiple holy days and festivals. I think Spain was Catholic before Catholicism was ever a thing. Symbolism, ritual, ceremony, the stuff of fantastic stories and wild legend. Santiago himself is mostly legend. There's no evidence he was actually ever in Spain but the stories of the paths of stars, beheaded apostles, faithful companions, and the ever-present scallop shell is laid out along this path like a continuous lines of ribbon stitched to the land. People believe, and have been walking The Way since the 800s to atone for their sins, mark their passage through life, and plead for mercy at the foot of Saint Jacque. The Frenchmen up ahead had a catchy pirate song about Captain Jacque the Saint of Stars that kept drifting back until the sun finally rose.

Rosie the one-armed T-Rex was found near here. So here is her monument.

I walked through a few tiny towns with their massive churches and thick-walled bell towers. Bells clanged the hours, quarter hour, half hour, quarter of. Bells don't ring in Spain. They clang, bang, crash, gong. They don't play pretty tunes or chime at all. They holler and shout. Heavy, metallic, meaning business.

Burgos! 

Finally I came into the city through an industrial area that was mostly rubble. This is Spain too. Rubble piles of Roman occupation, mud-brick peasant walls, stone, cement, twisted metal of wars and economic distress. I was followed by two Camino dogs, who hoped I would give them food. But I knew better than to feed them, lest I have two dogs to follow me to Santiago! Once in the modern part of the city I looked for the police department. I wanted to get a stamp for Pat, in his memory. Two miles later I found it. The Chief was very glad to see me. "Not many pilgrims come off the Camino so far for this stamp!" I told him about my friend, killed in the line of duty this past February. The department chief has walked the Camino three times from SJPP and he knew about honor walks. He made quite the ceremony of getting the official stamp!

A stamp from the Chief if Police, Burgos. For Pat.

I had to get directions back to the Camino and everyone I asked was so kind. The old people, especially, were so happy to help a pilgrim. With their help, I walked through the old city gates and up the hill to the municipal albergue. I was exhausted and done after 15+2 miles. I stood in line for check in, dreaming of a shower. There was the Welshman, Mike Peterson, just ahead of me. Happy reunion!

City Gate to Old Burgos!

Welcome home for tonight!

Four-bunk cabin.  150 beds in this city albergue!

Cafeteria, laundry, library down below.

View of the Cathedral from the municipal deck!

Day 13: Villafranca Monte Oca to Atapuerca

Today's section included ten miles of forest hiking through the frightening wilds of the Oca Mountains! Well, they were frightening for pilgrims passing through in the Middle Ages. Gangs of robbers hid out here - and worse - making the full day trek treacherously scary. Songs were written about the Oca. Death songs. But not today. Just the birds!

Oca Mountains.

I walked mostly in a long string of solo women hikers through the defense woods. I could hear the clack m of hiking poles far behind me and now and then glimpse a backpack ahead of me. Then out of the woods came Louie from Belgium, fresh from his morning "break."

Fern and oak.

Louie began his hike in Belgium almost two months ago. He wears a felt woodsman cap with a felt scallop shell sewn to the upturned brim. His round glasses and grey beard give him the look of Sean Connery in Name of the Rose. I told him this and he cracked up. He's a retired agricultural professor so we have a lot to talk about.

On and on, up and up, through the Oca hills.

We came into the town of San Juan de Ortega and stopped to have a snack. I peeked inside the Iglesia San Juan de Ortega and was blown away. Because of the Jubilee Year of Mercy, the Holy Door was standing open do I walked through it, then back out to wave Louie inside, then back through again. A nicely dressed docent gave me a hard stare. Oops. No extra holies for me!

The Holy Door is open.

Saint John de Ortega is in this simple stone coffin.

The fancy death cask is strictly ornamental.

There are so many legends surrounding San Juan but the one that everyone is paying attention to is his ship's sinking in a Mediterranean crossing returning from Jerusalem pilgrimage. As the ship of hundreds of pilgrims began to take on water in a fierce storm, San Juan prayed to San Nicolas of Greece, asking for salvation. The pilgrims survived the terrible sinking, washing up on shore barely alive. San Juan was so thankful that he travelled to this place, the most dangerous crossing on land for pilgrims to Santiago, with the intent of making a road through the frightening forest and employing guardians, warrior monks of the Holy Orders - Knights - to escort up to 18,000 pilgrims a year to his hospital here. I knelt to pray to the good saint and a women in a head scarf knelt next to me. She prayed in Arabic! When I finished I waited for her at the Holy Door. She spoke great English and explained she was a professor of Islamic Studies in Madrid. She prayed to San Juan for those crossing the Mediterranean this year, fleeing war. I kinda cried a little. She hoisted her pack like the rest of us, and continued on her way.

Meet your ancestors!

I was lost in thought for miles then looked up and saw the sign to Atapuera! The greatest paleolithic sites in Europe are in these hills and I was straining to see where the digs were. I wasn't disappointed! Paleo scientists from all over the world are working this landscapes, which has yielded 90% of all human fossils discovered in Europe! Woohoo!

Standing stones mark a paleolithic village site.

The town is tiny. Only two albergue and they were sure to fill up fast. A very handsome Japanese hiker jogged up beside me and that I was very fast and would beat everyone into town. I said no, that I just enjoy starting very early in the morning. But we were the first! We hiked to the top of the hill, over looking a broad wetland and could see the enclosed building in the distance that has been erected over the most important dig site. And there, in sight if the Atapuera digs was an albergue built into an barn ( circa 1650!) so of course we had to check-in!

La Hutte Barn Albergue 

By 1pm it was full! 

Day 12: Belorado to Villafranca Monte de Oca

I walked through cave country imagining tens of thousands of years of human occupation, scanning the cliffs for openings that would make a good home, a church, a retreat, a trap. I was not disappointed! I only did seven miles today, partly to spend those precious morning hours birding along river banks and woods, and partly to just take in this great landscape of rock, field, and hill.

Cave country! 

Most pilgrims respect another's preference for solitude, but today I met the one, a fellow American, who didn't quite get the idea that the Camino is a deeply personal experience. Sure, early Catholics went in their search for relics and collected indulgences, and modern pilgrims can check boxes off as they encounter religious sites of significance (travel companies will give the check-off list). But for most pilgrims I met, the experience of the Camino is to enjoy this rugged country with its reds, and browns, and greens - it's unbelievabley kind people who greet you with their handsome smiles. But this particular pilgrim from America wasn't buying it. "Nobody speaks American here." And so began my one hour of penance...

Rock shelters and a Hermitage.  

She was my age, accompanying her 25 year-old daughter to "protect her from Mexicans." I thought I was hearing things. Her daughter, plugged into her iPod was oblivious to the conversation. She didn't think it wise that a young girl travel alone in a foreign country. Never mind the hundreds of women who do the Camino alone each year. She talked about being concerned because a woman from Arizona was killed here last year. "Yes, on average 17 people die on the Camino each year, " I said helpfully. " My god what a violent place!" she said.

I check another stork nest for my tally - up to 32.

I explained that last year's murder was an anomaly, that this kind of crime was really quite rare. Most people are hit by trucks and cars crossing busy roads or have heart attacks or strokes due to the excursion. "Well," she said, " I didn't know that. No one tells you anything. They can't speak American. " I tried looking for birds, walking painfully slowly, hoping she would want to catch up with her daughter. But....no.

Cliff-built church.

"This place is pretty empty, don't you think? Wouldn't it be a good idea to deport all those illegals here where they understand the language? It's a Mexican country, right?" I wanted to run and hide. Was she serious? Meanwhile the beautiful cliffs and ornate cave churches passed by, unnoticed by this woman, even as I tried to point them out. I offered her my binoculars. She looked up through her head net and squinted into the sun. I suggested she enjoy the landscape. " Human evolution is an incredible story," I said, maybe too enthusiastically. "Oh no! That's what Common Core wants to teach our kids!" I was done. I started limping. Totally faking it.

Gothic churches mark every town.

I had to ask. "Do you have a reason for doing the Camino, besides protecting your daughter from Mexicans?" She gave it some thought. A huge, massive gothic church came into view and she pointed at it. "Jesus!" I wasn't sure if that was her answer. By now my fake limp had become worthy of a Hollywood movie stunt. I hobbled to the church where there was a bench. I collapsed on to it and said "Oh, this tendonitis!" She looked at me, then ahead to her oblivious plugged-in daughter now a good half mile ahead. "Jesus and Donald Trump will make America great again." She left me fake-groaning on the bench and fast walked to catch up. I ducked inside the church and asked God for forgiveness . Then I went back to birding, blissfully alone all the way to Villafranca Monte Oca.

So here are my thoughts for today:

All of the Americans I've met so far on this hike have been intelligent, aware of Spain's complicated history, and very excited to meet and be with people from all over the world. When we visit another country, even if we can't speak the language, we learn something valuable about each other's cultures, values, and hopes for the future. The lady I met today was, like the murder of a pilgrim last year, an anomaly. She carried all of her fears and biases heavily on her frame like an extra 60 pound pack. This weight is unnecessary and most painful. I prayed that she and her daughter might shed some of their ignorance and open their eyes and ears to this incredible experience.

The Camino pilgrim experience is meant to be highly personal -some like to say spiritual, others say religious. The top three questions when meeting someone new ( this can mean a dozen times a day) are:

What is your name?
Where are you from?
Why are you doing the Camino?

I haven't heard anyone say they are doing it to gain access to heaven, or to see relics of saints, or to do penance - though there is one young man walking with a social worker from Norway who was given the Camino as his alternate prison term. What I have heard a lot of is to find themselves again, as if they've become lost. I can relate.

The Camino is not easy. It is not a fixed trek from point A to point B everyday. You have to make decisions and prepare. Sometimes the way is brutally long. Sometimes you run out of water. The next town might be deserted when you thought you might find a place to eat or sleep. There are hard days of hiking steep ups and downs, long boring days of dust and sun, or mud and rain. There is no tour guide to take you to your hotel and seat you at the restaurant. You don't understand the menu and you find your stomach rebels at certain foods.

Spain is a country that can barely contain itself. There are the fiercely independent autonomous regions. There are four official languages. There are as many ways to say Hello, Good Day, as there are innumerable dialects and you will always pick the wrong one. But here's what the Camino teaches you, stumbling, shuffling, aching pilgrim: the Spanish people love you for trying, and happily answer with a smile as big as the sky "Buen Camino!" They invite you into their homes (casa rural) and offer their kitchens to cook a dinner. They don't care if you are German, Italian, Brazilian, Canadian, Danish, Irish, Scottish, or Hungarian. They really don't give a rat's behind if you think your country is the greatest or the most powerful. They want you to rest from your hard day, come sit and read, relax. Stay today and if you like, tomorrow. But don't wear out your welcome. Keep going.

The Camino is not about Santiago de Compostela at the end. It's a powerful stop along the way, yes. But it's about the continuation of this journey beyond the Cathedral and the Pilgrims Mass and the mighty, smoke- belching incense burner that flies high over your head. This is how God wants us to be - in and of the world, to love it now, here, the hard parts especially. The Camino is a metaphor for our journey here on Earth. A journey from hiding in caves from packs of wolves and running through gangs of thieves-  to realizing, as I hope lady in her head net does, that we are all in this together.   What better way to walk the path of life than in kindness and humility for all we are given every day.

Day. 11: Santo Domingo to Belorado

Santo Domingo offered this pilgrim a wonderful experience of a kind, unhurried city. A shout from a Brit friend on a balcony three stories up alerted me to the Corregidor Hotel, a famous backpackers hotel right on the narrow street to the church. I couldn't resist the idea of my own bathroom, fresh towels, and private room! For 30 euro!

Crossing Rio Oja out of Santo Domingo.   

After a luxurious bath in a tub where I actually could stretch completely out inside, I went out for homemade pasta and a beer. Outdoor cafes are everywhere and I enjoyed the time watching elders stroll arm-in-arm, parents walking their children home from school, and fellow pilgrims laughing over stories of the day.

Restored to life in Santo Domingo!  

You can look up the legend of the chickens of Santo Domingo yourself, but the tradition of regenerative kindness is real in this city. It is true for all of the Camino for me. The power of a kind word, the offer to carry a heavy pack up three flights of stairs, a free Coca-Cola passed across tables at a cafe to a tired pilgrim - this is my experience on the Camino. Boundless kindness and hospitality. There is no fear of the stranger. There are, quite simply, no strangers. All are family.

Endless wheat.    

The next morning I hiked across the Rio Oja back into the tablelands of wheat and bright fields of snow pea. I passed through the last of La Rojia into the next autonomous region of Castillo Y Leon. Like the Basque Country there is a new language to learn (Spain has four official languages!) I had to consult my Google Translation app to learn Catalan for Good Morning ( Bon Dia!) and Thank You (Gracies).

Welcome to Castille y Leon!

The terraced hills show more exposed rock and I notice hints of caves and canyons. This is getting exciting now. I'm coming into country that I've read a lot about - where our own ancient human origins are even now being discovered. The tablelands and their endless fields of wheat begin to show their roots.

Catalan color and mud and stone architecture.  

I caught up with some of my original Camino family from SJPP!  Bob, Marie, and Claire from Vermont made for excellent hiking partners all the way to our night's rest in the cliff-town of Belorado. We met a Camino dog who stole our hearts with his clever game of catch.

Camino dog!   

Belorado is a stunning town. It dates to Roman times, BC, yet it is vibrant, magical, happy, and full of fun. You can go to YouTube to find some of the traditional dances held here. The church and Hermitage are built into the cliffs, and caves - some used by early hominids tens of thousands of years ago - are easily hiked up to.

Storks nest on the bell tower of the cliff-built church.  

Hermitage from 11th century. 

Cave country! 

Medieval castle ruins - Moors and Christians battled here. 

Gilded retablo of the church. 

Belorado plaza with grafted sycamore arbor.

Now I'm coming into country I really want to slow down for. The area has been declared a UNESCO World Heritage Site for its spectacular paleolithic and paleontology digs. I'll take the next few days a little slower, reading the landscape more closely as I approach Burgos. I love geology, archeology, and paleontology, and I'm a great reader of human evolutionary science. Between the great birding and ancient landscape, I plan to take it all in before my rest day in the city and a visit to the Museum of Human Evolution in a few days!

My thoughts for the day:
Many pilgrims report that after the pain of the first hundred miles, they begin to talk to things like animals, trees, rocks, and clouds. I always talk to these things when I hike. It's nice to know I'm not alone! I said Buenos Dias to a sheep today. She had a bell around her neck and her shepherd with his very big dog waited politely at the crest of a hill for our conversation to end. She looked into my eyes and seemed to say "How nice of you to stop, pilgrim!" She gave her bell a shake. The shepherd waved to me, I waved back, and the sheep ambled back to her flock.

I know of a pilgrim far ahead of me, maybe finished by now, who has been talking to trees.  "I can hear their conversation in the wind, " he wrote on his FB page.  Only his non-hiking friends left teasing comments, but his Camino friends responded with agreement.

"Wait for me," said St. Francis on his pilgrimage, " I must go preach to my sisters, the birds." For me, it is the birds each morning who sing up the sun. "I've never heard birds like this before, " said a hiking friend today.

Day 10: Najera to Santo Domingo

After the twenty mile trek yesterday into the red cliff town of Najera, I feeling a bit slow and ouchy today. Trying to avoid a shin splint, I took it slower and gawked at the red rock formations, the red grapevine soil, and the red hills.

Wet from last night's thunderstorms, the red clay soil colors the air.

Fourteen miles to the city of Santo Domingo. There were new people among those pilgrims who had travelled a long way together. I learned that Najera is a drop-in point for some package deal companies that pre-attange everything for a five to ten day walk. Three older Italian men passed me at a fast clip, all dressed the same, same hats, same packs, poles, jackets. They hadn't quite figured out the cadence of the hiking poles and they tripped a lot.  They were a package deal, my hiking friend from Milano explained.

White wagtail.

Town limit marker, 13th century.

Red everything.

We crossed valley and hill terrain, rolling along until second breakfast at Azorfa when I realized I hadn't had first breakfast! I was so hungry! The people in these small rural towns operate small bars that turn into breakfast cafes for pilgrims 

and many order a beer along with their egg and potatoes. 

Coming into Santo Domingo I remembered I had laundry hanging off my pack that included underwear. Hmm. I stopped to put it away and a pilgrim passed me and said "Nice undies!" I looked up and saw it was a Camino friend from way back in Zubiri when my first outbreak of blisters happened in a downpour. We laughed about our shuffle, limp, and gait. We walked into the old city together, hobbling and laughing.

For those of you following this blog day by day, thanks for reading.  I'm writing this on a small 7" tablet and haven't quite figured out how to manage font size and corrections. Sorry for inconsistent type. I plan to add more photos when I get home, and will update posts from my journal notes. At the end if the day I've been really too tired to do each day justice, and I hope you will check back over the summer for more!

Wifi access is everywhere except for the most remote rural ghost owns, and there are lot of them. I haven't come to an albergue or pension, however, that doesn't have wifi or a public square hotspot. I've had no need to even turn on my phone.

One note to those reading who have concerns for our safety or are fearful of foreigners - I have never felt safer,except in my home mountains of Pennsylvania. Crime is extremely low. There are no guns, except for those used by hunters. People here do not understand the American obsession with gun rights, and they are equally appalled at the level of violence we consider normal in the U.S.
I often wonder as I hike along, how our society could learn from the cultures who walk and host the Camino experience.

There are many American students walking this month. Some from Texas A & M and others from Ole Miss. I've had the pleasure of walking with them as they string out in small groups for each days hike. To a person, including faculty, these American hikers are grateful for the kindnesses shown by the people along The Way. One student, Luke, mentioned to me that he thought it was a good idea to offer this trip as a semester abroad experience if for no other reason, than to "get rid of our arrogance." I agree 100%.