The Kindness of Strangers
Travel Days 80 – 82
March 18 – 20
Camino Day 14:
Burgos to Hontanas
Daily distance: 31.1
km
Total distance: 317.1
km
In Burgos, I met a man named
Gin. Gin is a freed slave from South
Korea. At least, this is how Gin
describes himself. South Korea, like
many places in the world, is highly competitive. When Gin was in high school, he spent much of
his time studying hard, some days committing 15 hours to schoolwork. His parents and teachers had high expectations
for him to be at the top of his classes, which is difficult given that many
other students also approach their studies with this same tenacity. Only the best students get accepted to
universities, and it was here that Gin realized that he was a slave. Pursuing his bachelor degree, he spent even
more time studying, giving up his personal life to pursue high grades that
would provide him with the best chance to get a good job. When he got a good job, the slavery did not
end. He worked hard to impress his
bosses, producing thankless work for other people. Six months ago, Gin quit his job, flew to
Bulgaria, and started walking towards Santiago de Compostella. Now 4,500 kilometers into his journey, Gin
plans to walk 1,300 more. “I’m free
now! I can do whatever I please.”
 |
| The Cathedral in Burgos as we were leaving town in the morning with Gin. |
A large stretch of plains and
plateaus characterize the few days after Burgos. We walked across a desolate region where the flatlands
stretched to the horizons. Five
kilometers before Hontanas, we crossed the only road in the area; it ran
perpendicular to the dirt-path Camino.
This road reminded Christian of his first Camino: “A few kilometers before
this road, I met a girl who was walking the Camino by herself. She was sitting on the ground crying; the
loneliness of this space got to her. I felt
so bad for her that I told her I would walk with her to Hontanas, and she
agreed. Things were fine until we got to
this road. She wanted to be off of the
Camino so badly that she sat at this road and wanted to wait for a car to come
take her away, anywhere but here. I
spent an hour convincing her to continue.
I thought things were fine again.
But when we got to Hontanas, she broke down crying again, called a taxi,
and left the Camino. I felt so bad for
her, but there was nothing I could do in the end.”
When Christian’s story was
finished, we returned to our customary silence, and the sound of six footsteps
on dirt and gravel came alive again.
Camino Day 15:
Hontanas to Itero de la Vega
Daily distance: 20.3
km
Total distance: 337.4
km
We moved slowly in the
morning. There was no need to
hurry. As the Camino is becoming more
remote, towns are becoming sparser, and today we had two options: walk 20 km or
walk 30 km. After yesterday’s 30, we
chose the former, so there was no need to hurry. At 9:00 AM, packs strapped and layered in
anything that could keep us warm, we stepped out of the albergue’s front door
and were immediately blasted with a frigid headwind. My face contorted like I ate a whole lemon in
one bite. “Okay, that’s it, I’m giving
up today.” Staying an extra night in
Hontanas sounded like a good idea at the time.
But I’d be a fool to trade what needs to be done for cheap fleeting
desires.
We covered the 10 kilometers
from Hontanas to Castrojeriz in two hours.
Our urge to fight the constant headwind was fueled by our desire to stay
warm. We found the first bar in town and
ducked inside to save ourselves from the elements and eat food with real nutritional
value. It has become commonplace in
albergues for the breakfast menu to include only items constructed from
carbohydrates and sucrose. While we were
approaching town, we saw a castle perched on the only hill in the valley. So after the break, I parted ways with
Christian, Markus, and Michael with plans to meet up in Itero de la Vega. I wanted to go up to that castle.
 |
| On our approach to Castrojeriz, we could see the castle perched on top of the hill. |
The winds were stronger on my
ascent. I first attributed this to the
higher elevation, but then the sideways rain started, and I turned my eyes
towards the sky. Dark clouds were moving
quickly, and it was only a matter of moments before the storm hit. I reached the castle gates as it started
sleeting, and found a safe refuge in a narrow stairwell before the sleet
transformed to hail stones. The first
bolt of lightning flashed the across the sky, and thunder rolled for what
seemed like an eternity, the sound bouncing off the steep valley walls carved
into the neighboring plateaus. I
wondered how the others were fairing.
 |
| The view of Castrojeriz from the ascent to the Castle. |
 |
| The view from the Castle during the storm. The castle grounds and fields below have been covered in hail stones. |
I stayed in the castle for an
hour, watching the castle grounds, town rooftops, and surrounding plains slowly
transform to white. Although the
elements had trapped me on this lone hilltop, the show would have been a shame
to miss. The storm started to wane, pulsing
between periods of calm with only light rainfall and periods of hail and rolling
thunder. I didn’t want to be trapped on
the hill all day, so when the next period of calm began, I made a run for the
town. The air was too cold for the hail
on the ground to melt, and mud only made a slight inconvenience during my rapid
decent. Just as I reached the edge of
town, I cursed out loud: “I forgot my walking sticks in the castle!”
Yes, it’s true, they are just
sticks I found on the ground. But I have
become quite attached to them. They are
quite useful and are gaining a personality of their own. Just this morning I had to perform emergency
walking stick repair on the bamboo stick using some duct tape. I couldn’t just abandon them like this! I sought shelter from the elements at a bar,
sipping a coffee to pass the time.
Within another hour, the sun returned, and I made my determined climb
back to the castle.
The mud was more prevalent
this time; I slipped around on the narrow path carved only by feet on the
hillside. Stomping into the castle
grounds, I proudly left my muddy footprints on a floor older than my own
country as I grabbed my walking sticks from their resting place against a wall
designed to keep invaders at bay. And in
classic Indian Jones fashion, this reclamation of my own property prompted a
roll of thunder in the distance and the dawn of another round of sideways
rain.
On my decent, I hid behind my
umbrella, holding it close to my body with the walking sticks propped against
its edges as a crossbeam. My head and
hip provided supports on the other corners.
Hail deflected off the curved surface and stung my right leg that also
fought to keep balance on the hill’s unstable footing. I couldn’t help but laugh; I was having so
much fun!
At the base of the hill, the
storm passed, and I resumed my pilgrimage.
Now three hours behind the others and with ten more kilometers to kill,
I couldn’t waste any more time in town.
I traversed the calm and remote plains through the valley by myself. Visibility had returned, and I had a feeling
of extreme isolation that didn’t bother me to think about. At the edge of the valley, the Camino climbed
steeply back onto a plateau. The change
in terrain was welcomed; climbing is the best way to warm up on a hike. As I crested to the top of the plateau, its
sleek and barren surface permitted the never-ending winds to assault me
immediately. I almost flew backwards. I leaned so far forward I thought I would
fall and kept my legs moving. My
clothing flapped violently. In the
distance, windfarms churned power for the small towns in this remote region of
Spain. Just past the windfarms, the edge
of the plateau plunged to valleys in all directions, and the whole place had a
mythical feeling, like the edge that ended was the edge of the world. There was no horizon visible after this.
 |
| The view from the "edge of the world" on the plateau after ascending the plains surrounding Castrojeriz. |
I reached the end of the
world, and a whole new world opened before me.
The first few steps of my decent relieved the burden of braving the
headwinds, and I found myself back in another valley, this one with gentle
rolling hills covered in a quilt of groomed farmlands colored in different
shades of green. Again, I became aware
of how alone I was, of how free I was. I
sang. I danced. I did a handstand. There was no reason to hold back my desires
to do anything; there were no witnesses to create social awkwardness.
As I entered Itero de la Vega,
I passed a horse resting in the road under the shade of a tree and a donkey
grazing the sparse crabgrass in a homeowner’s plot of land. From the front of a slightly dilapidated
building, Christian and Siegfried waved at me.
They were sitting in plastic chairs, smoking cigarettes, a row of doors
behind them on a long concrete porch. It
reminded me of the barracks in the Marine Corps; the only thing missing was the
30 rack of cheap beer.
Camino Day 16:
Itero de la Vega to Carrión de los Condes
Daily distance: 32.8
km
Total distance: 370.2
km
We woke up to an unexpected
inch of snow covering the ground. The
air was cold on the skin, but the lack of wind, rain, or snowfall made it a
pleasant morning. The frozen crystals on
the ground sparkled in the sunlight as we walked the Camino’s winter
wonderland. My eyes adamantly scanned
the scenery for the first ten kilometers; I wanted to remember as much of this
fleeing moment as possible.
 |
| The donkey is still feeding on crab grass. He's a resilient one. |
 |
| We walked the Camino's winter wonderland. |
It has become routine for us
to stop about every ten kilometers for a break.
This time, in Boadilla del Camino, we became enchanted with a decorated
yard still powdered with snow. By haphazard,
we found an albergue made from a man’s home.
He offered us coffee and homemade cake, which we gladly accepted. During our stay, the world outside
transformed: the snow had all melted.
 |
| We caught up to the donkey. A man is walking the Camino with a donkey cart and his dog. His exhausted dog is taking a break in town. |
Our second break in Población de Campos was brief;
we were anxious to get to our final stop for the day, which we hoped would only
be six more kilometers. Unfortunately,
the albergue in Revenga de Campos was closed.
The whole town looked abandoned.
Christian and I found the albergue’s front door unlocked; a giant metal
key was protruding from the lock. The
door creaked as I pushed it open. “Hola?” There was no answer. I called out again to the silent house. My footsteps were loud against the moaning
wooden floor. I approached the reception
desk, which looked like it was recently used.
The register was opened to a page for January 2nd, bearing
the names, home countries, and passport numbers of the guests from that
day. Next to this book was a credentials
stamp. It looked like the place had been
abandoned for the last two months.
Christian was standing back at
the front door. “Let’s get out of
here.”
Haunted or not, I wanted to
stamp my credentials. To our relief, no
bogyman jumped out at us when we slammed the stamp down. Back in the street, we could tell that Markus
was hurting. “No one is here. We have to go four more kilometers.” Markus said nothing; he just took another
drag of his cigarette, staring off into the distance. The next four kilometers were the hardest of
the day. The north winds were much
stronger now. Walking on the
right-hand-side of the road, the winds threatened to blow us into traffic. I had to walk sideways just to keep balanced. When we arrived in Villalcázar de Sirga, we were
exhausted. My hips hurt from torqueing my
torso forward; my backpack was like a parachute out there.
A search around town netted
only bad news: there was no albergue open here, and our only option was a
grossly overpriced hostel that none of us could afford. Markus lit another cigarette and took a
long drag; he hurt so badly that he could barely walk down the street, much
less an extra six kilometers to Carrion de los Condes. He silently stood up and started
walking.
Then I got an idea: let’s just
hitchhike! Christian was adamant that
his guidebook said “Spaniards never pick up pilgrims as hitchhikers,” but I’m a
gambling man. From my previous
experiences in Florida and California, this road was perfect for hitching:
straight, low speed limit, wide shoulder, one car per minute…the only thing
left to do was stick out our thumbs and smile.
The first car flew by, the
driver shaking his head. “You have to
keep smiling at them, even as they drive by.
I usually give them a wave goodbye.
Goodbye!” I waved at the
driver. “Maybe his backseat is
full.” Fortunately, this didn’t go on
very long; the fifth car stopped by to pick us up. The Spanish couple had a backseat equal to
the widths of our three asses and a trunk equal to the volume of our three
backpacks. We were in business. Six kilometers never flew by so quickly, and
I suddenly remembered the excitement of finding the kindness of strangers on
the side of a road.
Our guardian angels delivered
us to the front door of Saint Mary’s albergue, which is run by a group of nuns
local to the adjacent church. Their
kindness was evident from the moment we entered, and they asked us to join them
in the next room for singing and music.
We doffed our packs and boots and huddled into the warmest room in the
building. Sitting in that room, listening
to the sisters and other pilgrims sing, I couldn’t help but notice how
universal these songs were. Amazing
Grace, We Shall Overcome, none of these songs were about a Christian God. They were about a power that unites people,
moves people, and lives within people.
The daylight was fading, and our stomachs demanded we have dinner soon,
so Sister Elisabeth asked that we stay for one last ritual: the Pilgrim’s
Blessing.
“For the Pilgrim’s Blessing,
we want to give you each a star. Each of
these stars is painted and cut by us here, and has a special meaning for those
who are on the Way. The star is
representative of God’s heart. The rays
of sunshine are the many paths to God, as each of us has to find our own
Way. The closer we get to God, the closer
we come to each other.”
Sister Elisabeth continued
playing her guitar, and the other two sisters went about the room, giving us
each the Pilgrim’s Blessing by touching a cross to our foreheads with their
fingertips. Then we received the star. As we left the room, I could see in the other
pilgrim’s eyes what I’m sure they saw in mine.
We were on the verge of tears. These
women were so kind. And in return, they
wanted only to bear witness to the effects of their kindness towards us.
 |
| The chapel and albergue in Carrion de los Condes. |
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