Ventosa to Burgos with sore feet

Ventosa/Na'jera/Azofra

Sept 13. 18 km, 11.2 miles

It is the love/hate relationship I have with hiking boots that keeps me amused during parts of the day. The boots are solid, waterproof and build to take a beating. My feet have become accustomed to wearing flip-flops...slippahs. Moving from slippahs to rugged hiking boots has taken its toll. Every time we pass a mid sized town, I wonder if I should ship the boots home and get some hiking shoes. I think the worst is over, in terms of crossing mountains. But my boots are becoming broken in and provide great support.  ....'it's a thin line...between love and hate...' Sing along, if you wish. I go for the Chrisy Hynde version.

We left Ventosa when the rest of the beautiful Albergue San Saturnina was heading out, around 6:30 AM. I enjoy walking away from the albergue in the dark, quiet of the village morning. I doubt the residents appreciate the over exuberant pilgrims, as they laugh and talk loudly while heading out of the village. John and input our 'silencers' on our bastiones so we can exit without disturbing our host village. Because there were so many leaving at the same time, I was a bit grumpy and we hung back, hoping to catch my reflection time. The anti anxiety med helped. Gee, at home I would have just hit on Bud. Bud however didn't join me on this trip, as he isn't welcomed in European countries. 

We stopped in the village of Na'jera for a cup,of coffee con leche and out breakfast tortilla. As we came into the village, we learned of the tremendous fight between Roland (of Charlemagne fame) from Spain and the giant Farragut It's a tremendous tale, reminiscent of David and Goliath. There is a little hut, that served as the Moor lookout, that was one of the final places of the fight. As Farragut squished Roland with his 400 kilo body (he really was a giant), Roland was able to pull his dagger out and stab the giant, thereby freeing all of the local people.  Other legends say Roland threw a stone to slay the giant. Either way, it's just another part of this amazingly beautidul land. 

 The the guard hut. 

We continue to see miles and miles of vineyards.

This evening has gotten me riled up, as my dad would say. 

The list is long and involved. Nutshell summary:

*Pilgrims not being pilgrims - more like loud tourists. These are not people walking, trusting in The Lord. They are rushing to the next Albergue. They do not see the centuries of history. It scares me.

*Community members at home asking the board to secure their homes in the event of looting in the aftermath of the lava covering hwy 130. They forget the community is nothing but a road association. They do not seem concerned at all about the families and business that are truly going to be displaced. It seems to be ,'ME. ME. ME.'

*Lack of priests in villages, so there is no mass. Sure, I'm Lutheran, but really want to go to service and commune with God in his house.

Just now, our albergue hostess knocked on our room. There is an old woman with dementia missing. The weather is rainy and her regular care provider didn't show up today and she got confused. Now, the entire village is out looking for her. I hope they find her...the town members are very worried.

----

Th woman was found. The town rejoiced. The pilgrims smiled. All is well in Azofra. 

Azofra/Santo Domingo de la Calzada/Granon

Sept 14. 24 km. 15 miles

Deeply bruised feet for me. Morton's neuroma on John. We passed some incredible places today. Santo Domingo de la Calzada is a beautiful church village where we stopped for some salad. The common folk lore has it that a pilgrim family stayed the night there and a local girl was attracted by the son. When he spurned her advances, she put a silver chalice in his sack, then accused him of theft. The local sheriff hung him. Days later the family learned that their son was still alive, so the returned to Santo Domingo and sure enough, their son was still hanging, but very much alive. The family told the sheriff, who was eating his dinner of chicken. The sheriff said the boy was as alive as the chicken on his plate. At that moment, the cooked chicken came to life and began flapping about. The sheriff immediately cut the boy down and sent the family on their way. To this day, there are always two chickens in the church, as a reminder.

Little sites like this are all along the Camino. Crosses, stacked,rocks, rememberances. It's an amazing way. 

Finding our small Albergue outside Granon was an obstical we didn't need, all in a thunderstorms with plenty of rain. The local people said there was no Peregrino albergue outside of town. But we had reservations and a map. 2 km outside of Granon, we came upon an old, refurbished monastery. That was our place. On lovely grounds, a beautiful building has been made into a family get away-but not for pilgrims. We had reservations made by a woman at our albergue in Azofra. Evidently, the town people don't know that a select few people find out about this place. There was only one other pilgrim there. We had a BATHTUB in our room. I was into that, as soon as I cleaned it.

The bruises on the top of my feet are large, broken vessel types. The Morton's Neuroma on both of John's feet is excruciating. After some wine and sleep, we have decided its time for different shoes. To do this, we must be in a city big enough to have shoe and sporting goods stores. That will be Burgos. 62 km away on the highway. 70km away on El Camino. After soul and sole searching, we have decided to take the bus to Burgos and buy some different shoes. The love hate relationship with the boots will be over when they get put in a shipping box to be returned home.

Granon to Burgos

Sept 15. 69 km. via bus. 

We aren't happy about getting on the bus, but it is necessary. Drat. Darned body is rebelling. 

As we zip by on the highway, we see our fellow pilgrims walking. The path in the region of Castilla that we have just come into, stays near and crosses the highway many times. It's uplifting to seethe, also a by depressing. But our path is set. New shoes. To Burgos we go, via bus. 

Our landing spot for the night was the lovely hostel Las. Three beds,two pilgrims and a private bathroom. We stood amazed at the beauty of the gothic cathedral that dominates the square. Unfortunately, we arrived ten minutes late for the last tour of the day. Burgos is an ancient city, home of El Sid, who helps save Spain from the Moors, and dozens of other famous figures who helped define the history and the religion of Spain. 

We hopped onto the Hipodas free bus to the sporting good  store, Decathlon. We ended up purchasing matching Keens. After a few hours, I'm questioning the wisdom of using these shoes, but they are what I must use, as we mailed our boots back to Hawaii after getting the Keens. As I wrote, 'Pahoa, HI 96778' on the box, I wondered if the post office will be there when we return!  

I haven't a clue what the story is behind these two jolly folks, but just felt the need to give them a hug. 

We dined at Cerbeceria Morati on some amazing food. Just off of Plaza Mayor, we had an amazing salad, shrimp and calamari with a delightful sauce made from the ink. I told John it was a good thing that we didn't have the camera, or I'd made a fool of myself taking pictures of my food. And the wine went down well. Truly the best meal we've had thus far. Enough about food. We met up with pilgrims we shared a pension with in Pamplona. They are doing well, he taking the bus still and she shipping her pack daily, so she makes good time.

For tomorrow, we break in our shoes.