September 16, 2018

• Route: Hontanas to Fromista
• Distance: 33.9 kilometers (21.02 miles)

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This morning was one rough start. I thought I might end up throwing down with a German woman at the bar before 7 am…

But, let me back up a bit. Last night, when I checked into the albergue, the proprietor gave me a voucher for breakfast. Some albergues offer meals, others don’t. In this case, the albergue was above a bar and restaurant. Pilgrims could purchase lunch and dinner from the restaurant’s menu like any other patron, and their breakfast (juice or coffee with a pastry) was included in the price of the stay.

Each pilgrim staying overnight at the albergue received a paper voucher for their breakfast and was told it would be available between 6am and 7am. You merely needed to present the voucher when you ordered.

When I wandered downstairs with my backpack packed and my voucher in hand around 6:20 am, the place was already packed. When it comes to breakfast, this bar was the only game in town. So not only were the pilgrims from the albergue trying to redeem their breakfast vouchers, but pilgrims from other nearby albergues were also trying to buy breakfast too.

The crowd swarming around the bar was at least three people deep when I arrived. It looked like a packed club on Friday night, with everyone trying to grab the attention of one of the three baristas behind the bar making coffee. I stood toward the back of the scrum for about ten minutes hoping the chaos would die down as people got their food and dispersed.

Unfortunately, it seemed that for every pilgrim served, another person walked in the door. The crowd wasn’t getting any smaller. So, I dove in behind a taller guy and slowly eased my way forward each time someone in front of me departed. After waiting patiently for another 20 minutes, I was finally cozied up to the bar and ready to exchange my voucher for a coffee and croissant.

German angst

When the barista closest to me came over, I placed my order and handed her the breakfast voucher. And that’s when the shouting started. I stood there in shock, as an older German woman on the opposite side of the bar started yelling at the barista. First in German, then in English. She was hollering that it wasn’t my turn yet. The barista ignored this woman, which only set her off even more. She went on a diatribe about how her friend had been waiting more than 5 minutes, and people were cutting in line.

The whole scene was absurd. Although I don’t know how long her friend was waiting, I’d been in line on that side of the bar for much, much longer that 5 minutes. I didn’t just shove my way to the front. I’d waited patiently behind others. Moreover, I was completely on the other end of the bar. How could I have possibly cut in front of her friend who was standing 15 feet away near one of the other baristas?

As the tirade continued, my barista just rolled her eyes and politely asked if she could help them first and get them on their way. I said I didn’t care, as long as I still got my coffee and she didn’t forget about me. So off she went to rectify the situation. But, that didn’t stop the German woman. She continued to holler – now shifting the focus of her diatribe toward me. She attempted to berate me shouting over the heads of the dozen or so people between us, and she was getting nastier by the moment.

This was something I certainly wasn’t expecting on the Camino. Whether people were out here for a religious pilgrimage or a cultural experience, there’s an expectation that they’ll behave in a certain manner. And that doesn’t include yelling in a bar over whose turn it is to get served coffee at 6:40 in the morning. It wasn’t like they were going to run out of food. And so what if they did? There would be more in the next town. It wasn’t worth losing your mind (and manners) over.

I patiently waited while the barista got to work. But, it was getting embarrassing to be the subject of this woman’s ire. Finally, a guy behind me came to the rescue and told her to “quiet down and get on with it.” With that admonition, she simply harrumphed and stepped outside.

What an ordeal!! I certainly didn’t expect that type of encounter this morning. When I grabbed my pack and set out a half hour later, the two German women were still sitting outside at one of the tables leisurely smoking and sipping their coffees. So clearly their haste to get food had nothing to do with their desire to get the day’s walking started. The whole encounter was simply preposterous!

Open Air

After that explosive start to my morning, I hoped the rest of the day would be mundane and calm. This leg of the journey still had several surprises in store for me though. The best one came as I walked through the ruins of the San Antón monastery near the town of Castrorejiz.

I don’t tend to spend time studying the route like some of the other pilgrims, so I had no idea I’d encounter this architectural delight. As I approached San Antón, I discovered the route passed right under the arches of the medieval church’s portico. The immense walls stretched upward, while the top was completely open to the skies above. This made the ruins feel grander somehow – as if the structure merged with its natural surroundings.

Whatever tension and stress I’d felt from this morning’s uncomfortable confrontation at the bar seemed to melt away as I stared upward in awe. The intricacies of the architecture drew me in and I took dozens of photos from different angles. As I stood there admiring the building, several flocks of birds flew over its vacant spaces. Before too long, I felt waves of gratitude and peacefulness wash over me while I stood there taking it all in. I am living my dream on this hike, and I’m determined not to let anyone else’s toxic attitude bring my experience down.

After my departure from the ruins, I spent the day walking through more fields on my way to the summit of Alto de Mostelares. From the top of the mountain peak, the sweeping views of the meseta went on for miles. I could make out while white windmill turbines in the far distance, and I was stuck in my head all daydreaming about my journey while the quiet swept around me.

One more province complete

As I neared the town of Fromista, I was pretty excited. Each day out here on the Camino, I’ve used the Wise Pilgrim App. The app breaks the entire 500-mile route down into the six Spanish provinces you walk through. Thus, you simply click on your current province in the app, and it brings up the data about that section of the route, the nearby accommodations, the elevation profile, etc.

This compartmentalization by province was designed to filter out all the extra information you don’t need at the moment. But it also serves the dual-purpose of allowing you to see the progress you’ve made. As you finish one province and enter the next, you get to swap to a completely different section of the app.

Any thru-hiker who’s ever relied on the Guthook App to navigate a long trail in the US will vouch for the tremendous joy that come with completing a chunk of trail. It doesn’t matter how long the section happens to be. You feel a sense of momentum as you tangibly progress through the different sections of the app.

So as I approached Fromista, I celebrated completing my third Spanish province. I’d begun this journey when I crossed the border into Spain and entered Navarre province. From there I walked to the Rioja province (aka wine region). And now, I’d just completed the Burgos province. I was approximately half way to Santiago!! Woohoo!

Aqua-blazing?

Entering a new province wasn’t the only thing that made the route to Fromista interesting. This short section of the Camino follows a series of canals for several miles. That means there’s the opportunity to aqua-blaze!

For those unfamiliar with this term, “aqua-blazing” refers to a section of a long trail where you can float or paddle on a nearby river rather than hiking on the main route. For example, some Appalachian Trail thru-hikers choose to aqua-blaze Shenandoah National Park. Instead of walking the 100+ miles from Waynesboro to Front Royal, Virginia – these hikers rent a raft and paddle down the Shenandoah River that parallels the west side of the park instead.

I didn’t take advantage of Fromista’s aqua-blazing opportunity this time around. I’m too much or a purist who wants to walk the entire Camino. Nonetheless, it was nice to see that pilgrims could opt to float instead of walking on a hot afternoon – and at a discounted price no less! The normal price for the boat is 5 Euros, while the pilgrim rate is just 2 Euros.

Cats & Frozen Food

Once in town, I made my way to one of the smaller albergues to get cleaned up and relax. Although the indoor accommodations weren’t much different that most places I’d stayed thus far, this albergue had a terrific inner courtyard filled with soft grass. There was a covered patio with chairs and tables to relax upon, and even several domesticated cats lounging in the yard.

I sat there lounging in the late afternoon sun petting the cats and talking with my fellow pilgrims about their day. One of my favorite activities is listening to people describe where they live and what it’s like there. Most people are proud of where they make their home – whether it’s the history of the place, that special cafe they love, or the people they choose to call friends. Watching them light up as they talk about the home they cherish makes me want to travel even more.

Our conversation was so enjoyable, we decided to continue through dinner. Unfortunately the food wasn’t as good as the company. We wandered around Fromista expecting a variety of restaurants. It’s one of the towns that most guidebooks – including Brierly’s guide – recommended as an overnight stopping point. And while it might be one of the larger towns during this stretch of the Camino, the meager handful of restaurants in town all seemed to share the same menu.

One of the nuggets I discovered pretty early on into the Camino is that a lot of the restaurants catering to pilgrims serve pre-packaged frozen meals instead local food cooked in-house. These restaurants are easy to identify by the the billboards placed in front of their entrance depicting large pictures of the food they serve. While this particular advertising technique makes some sense (many pilgrims along the route who speak very little Spanish) you soon realize the EXACT same signs are being used in every town you walk through.

I asked about this weird signage phenomena, and learned these tourist-driven restaurants get their food signs from the same company that delivers their prepackaged frozen meals. So, if you’re ordering off the menu at one of these inexpensive restaurants, you can pretty much guarantee you’ll be served some mediocre microwaved TV dinner-style food. Cheap and easy, but definitely not authentic Spanish cuisine.

Sadly, Fromista was filled with these tourist traps and not much more. My companions didn’t seem to mind the limited choices, but I just wasn’t in the mood for a “paella Lean Cuisine.” So we settled on Italian food instead, and I ordered a cheese pizza that I’m 100% sure came from the frozen stock in the back. This wasn’t a legitimate Italian restaurant, and there probably wasn’t a wood fired oven within 300 kilometers. But, at least I could choke it down. And I’d just have to accept that my wine would be the only thing authentically Spanish tonight.