20km

Today we head to Burgos, the next major city. I cook scrambled eggs for the group which we have with plain bread. Samuel figures out how to make coffee with the hostel’s moka pot which perfectly rounds up the simple breakfast.

It’s raining when we leave at 8.30am. A drizzle by Singapore standards, but heavier than the previous day. It’s up a hill after leaving the town, and we actively avoid puddles as we go.

Waterproofing

If you go on a winter Camino, it’s worth considering your waterproofing solution. Some do an all encompassing poncho over their body and bag. I opt to waterproof my pack’s contents with a bin liner in the bag, and wear a lightweight rain jacket and rain skirt, which still leaves me quick access to my bag’s exterior pockets.

If you follow my style, just be sure to not tuck your jacket into your skirt, or you’ll start to feel wet in the nether regions, which was what happened to me when the rain started flowing into instead of over my skirt.

We’re yearning for warm coffee, but there’s no cafe open at the first town, Cardeñuela Riopico. The rain does start to lighten and stops after we leave the town. At the next town, Orbaneja Riopico, there’s no cafe open as well, so we soldier on.

After Orbaneja Riopico, we take the southern alternative route to Burgos, which goes through more natural landscapes than the industrial areas on the outskirts. We walk past Burgos Airport to a town right outside the city, Castañares. There we find a restaurant called Restaurante El Descanso, which serves delicious food and coffee for our lunch. Empañadas (meat pastry), tortilla (potato omelette), albóndigas en salsa (meatballs in sauce), callos a la Madrileña (tripe stew), and boquerones en vinagre (fresh anchovies in vinegar).

We enter Burgos via a long city park path along the Arlanzón river. Burgos is a beautiful major city that is strangely much less known by tourists (unlike Madrid and Barcelona). We reach the municipal albergue which has a traditional architectural façade, but is a modern big albergue on the inside.

Once we clean up and settle our laundry, we have some time before dinner to explore Burgos. We check out the beautiful gothic cathedral nearby, then head up the hill to the castle, where there’s nice view of the city in sunset.

We planned to go to the Museum of Human Evolution next, which is about the archaeological findings at Atapuerca. On the way is the arch of San Esteban, one of the gates of the old walled city that ancient pilgrims would have entered through. For fun, we redo our walk into the city through it.

As we pass by a statue at a roundabout before a river, I learn about El Cid, a knight/warlord the city is proud of. Also, I learn from Ingrid why the Spanish we learn is known as Castilian—because this region, Castilla y León, conquered the rest of Spain and made their language the standard.

We were looking forward to a pilgrims discount to the Museum of Human Evolution, but even better, they have free entry this evening. The museum gives deep insights into the archaeological findings at the Sierra de Atapuerca, and is presented in an interesting and understandable way. The caves there preserved different layers of fossils over epochs, including those of the archaic humans homo antecessor. I contemplate the sheer scale of time and how short our time is on earth, or comparatively, how short my time on the Camino is.

For dinner, Ingrid finds a bustling joint called Casa Pancho. The whole meal was standout after standout—the sopa castellana (local Castilian soup with melt-in-your-mouth fatty pork skin), prawns in garlic oil, morcilla de arroz (blood sausage mixed with rice, a regional classic), tigres (“tigers”, stuffed and battered mussels) and leche fritas (fried milk fritters). It totals to be more expensive than usual, but it is a delectable meal with a sample of regional cuisine, and we have no regrets.

21.6km

We wake to a healthy German breakfast of tasty homemade marmalade, ham, egg, bread, and yoghurt, today’s pilgrim fuel. Ingrid leaves together with us, and we walk out of the town at sunrise.

After a dirt path along a highway, we reach Villafranca Montes de Oca, a charming small town. It signals the start of a 12km walk to the next town, San Juan de Ortega—a walk which the app Buen Camino sent a notification to make sure I have enough water. It’s probably more of a summer concern though.

We leave the town and go up a hill along a quiet forest path. It’s a vibrant morning and the moon hangs big in the clear blue sky. I take a break at a shelter while the rest go ahead.

I continue on my own with a pleasant forest walk, sunlight on my left peeking in and out of trees as I go. As I near the top, the forest turns to rows of conifers, their branches swaying in the wind. I recall the line from a song from “Over the Garden Wall”—How the gentle wind, beckons through the leaves, as autumn colours fall.

At the top, I reach a monument, the Monument a los Caídos, dedicated to people who were shot during the Spanish Civil War. It’s a short walk to the mass grave which contains 104 bodies.

There are benches there too, and after paying my respects, I have a small second breakfast with my remaining bread and crema de jamón curado.

It’s a pleasant wide trail through the hilltop forest. I’m still alone, and being solitary in an autumnal forest is tranquil. I’m sometimes accompanied by the twittering of birds. Some puddles in the shade have their surface frozen to ice, the first time I’ve seen this. I have some fun stepping on them and hearing the ice crunch.

The forest ends to open fields, then a bit more to the town. San Juan de Ortega is quiet, with nothing open. At the end of the town, I catch up with Samuel and Ingrid who are ending a picnic at some benches.

There’s some forest, then fields, at one point we pass by some brown cows. After some time, we see Agés, with Atapuerca visible just a bit away. The village is quiet, but we meet a friendly local and his dog. He converses with us (in Spanish with Ingrid, to be exact) and shares about the architecture of the old houses, his life there, and about the Camino.

Atapuerca is known to be the site where fossils of early humans were found. On the way close to the town there is a museum in the brutalist style on this subject, the Centro de Arqueología Experimental (CAREX), which is unfortunately closed for visiting.

We reach Atapuerca at 3pm. It is a quiet town, and there’s only groceries at the shop run by the hostel. The hostel, Plazuela Verde, is really pleasant though—a well designed interior with organic lines and lots of wood. There’s also a kitchen, so we can cook.

The hostel/shop owner talks to Ingrid as we buy ingredients for dinner. He shares that the Camino is older than Christianity—which makes sense, St. James was probably not a bushwhacker, but following paths that already existed. Churches were especially planted in places with pagan presence, similar to how holidays like Christmas were used to replace pagan festivals.

Dinner today is olives to start, a main of self-cooked tuna tomato fusilli, ending with hot chocolate. It’s simple yet satisfying.

23.9km

Fermín wakes us up singing what sounds like a Spanish ballad. He drinks like a king but can still wake up like a farmer. The table is set with a lavish breakfast, including thick Spanish hot chocolate. After breakfast we say our goodbyes, with warm farewell embraces. It is the latest we are leaving a place, at 9am—the hospitality of Grañón is just hard to tear away from. As a we walk away from the church, Fermín chants from the window, “Jeremy de Singapur! Jeremy de Singapur!”, something he joked last night he will do after forgetting where I was from twice.

We walk into sunbathed fields with the moon still in the sky. A gentle wind stirs. I think, Grañón was such a great time but the Camino is teaching me to treasure things that come but to only hold on loosely. To cherish the present but remain open to new things.

We are leaving La Rioja and entering Castilla y León. It gets more windy. At 4°C, it’s perfect walking sweater weather with just a rain jacket for wind. The skies are clear and blue. The first town we get to is quiet; the second too.

We go on paths between rolling fields. Samuel has a fascination with big machines and sometimes leaves us to check them out, which I find amusing. We are accompanied by strong winds that cool us down and also dry the laundry socks hanging from my bag.

Some roads, some highway walking. I think about how company is nice to keep pace with and to feel their presence even when we’re not talking.

It gets to a comfortable 7°C at midday. We walk along a very long straight road heading westward next to a highway.

We stop for lunch at Belorado. For the menú del día, I choose arroz con marisco (rice with seafood), conejo guisado (rabbit stew), and we drink wine from Burgos, which turns out to be really good. For dessert I get goxua, a kind of cake from Basque Country which I end up really liking.

The walk continues on farmland plains. I can see the long path ahead and I just walk, not thinking too much, just enjoying the windy air and surrounding countryside.

We reach our home for the night, Casa Las Almas at the town of Espinosa del Camino. It is a guesthouse and home of a lovely couple, Uli and Sabine, two retired Germans who now live on the Camino with their cats, hosting pilgrims. They greet us in our respective languages (Ingrid had reached earlier and sweetly made sure there was space for the four of us, saying she could sleep on a mattress). Their house is cosy and their story is interesting, and they offer homecooked dinner and a German breakfast as well. I wonder how many people who walk the Camino end up making it their second home.

27.7km

I meet Ingrid, a Catalan girl, in the morning when I eat my breakfast. She tells me she is heading to Grañón, a town 7km beyond Santo Domingo de la Calzada, to a traditional albergue called San Juan Bautista. It’s behind a church, paid by donation, that comes with a shared meal. She strongly recommends going to it as part of the Camino experience. Two French have just come from there, doing the Camino in reverse, and they recommend it too. We decide to aim for Grañón even though we had a long walk yesterday.

We leave to wet pavements on an overcast morning and leave the town by ascending to a misty forest. A light but constant drizzle starts, our first rain on this Camino, and we change into our rainwear.

It’s a boring road today, but you can’t see too far, so you don’t think too much about the distance. The patter of raindrops on my hood is calming.

The town of Azofra is a good respite for indoor warmth, cafés con leche and some snacks.

We walk past tilled fields of maroon earth. The mist in the distant trees look like a Chinese painting.

Some slopes and pathways are muddy. I make a small game of avoiding mud puddles.

Today is like the way to Torres del Río, flat and monotonous, but the rain adds another dimension.

Fog vs mist

You don’t encounter either much in Singapore, so I’ve never known the difference. I’ve learned that essentially, fog is when you can see less than 1km away, and mist is when you can see further than 1km away.

We go past a golf course and share our coincidental mutual disdain for the activity. Nearby, they is a car collision accident at a junction, probably caused by the low visibility of the fog. A lady involved sees us and still wishes us “buen camino”, despite her troubles of the day.

We leave the fog behind to open fields of what Samuel tells me is canola. Cloud cover is light so the fields are pretty. Strong winds start, and I put my damp laundry back on my bag for drying.

As we approach Santo Domingo de la Calzada, the sky turns overcast, although it’s probably more of the strong wind blowing the rain clouds to where we are. I joke to Ji Sung that it is “domingo (Sunday) in Domingo”. We stop for lunch at a restaurant, where I have pochas con almas (beans with clam stew), and chuletillas de cerdero (pork chops). Two of us choose ice cream for dessert and the other two choose coffee, and we realise we can make affogatos for us all.

It is 7km more to Grañón. We follow farm roads. The sky is dark and cloudy with the sun hidden behind, which doesn’t make for good photos, but comfortable walking.

From a dirt path beside a highway, Grañón is visible a few kilometres away, framed by dramatic clouds.

We arrive at 5.20pm, and it starts drizzling as we enter a door from behind a church, up stone steps. We are welcomed by the warmest man in any accommodation so far. Queen is blasting from his portable speaker. Ingrid is already there, and she had kindly informed the host that the four of us will be coming too. He does not give us stamps for our credencial, saying we will find out why later.

It’s a beautiful place, meant to be different from a typical albergue—a donativo run by a volunteer hospitalero. We’re sleeping on padded mats on the floor, but the other facilities are all perfectly setup in-place. And because there is only a few of us, we can double the mats.

What follows is one of the best nights of my life that surprised and delighted me at every turn. If you’re ever walking the Camino, feel free to skip the rest of today’s entry and just know that I strongly recommend this place.

After we freshen up, our host ushers us into the kitchen to cook dinner together, with ingredients that are already there. It is a well-stocked kitchen that even has a hand blender. We decide to make pumpkin soup, Korean-style garlic fried chicken, and Spanish-style fried potatoes with chorizo and eggs. Starting to prep together, we have surprisingly good kitchen chemistry.

We are yearning for alcohol for tonight’s ensuing feast, so our host beckons me out of the albergue, and brings me to the nearby bar to get beers and wine. Before we leave, he proposes we both get a beer at the counter first. I find out his name is Fermín, he’s from Madrid, he walked the Camino in 1999, and he now volunteers to run this place. I am his first ever Singaporean guest.

After cooking up a storm, it is 9pm and we are hungry. One more set of cutlery is laid out so that “in case a pilgrim walks in, he has a place to eat”. Fermín sits us down, and it feels like we are about to say a solemn pre-meal grace. Then Fermín starts hitting the table and clapping in rhythm like “We Will Rock You” and says, here, we do a rap prayer.

ESTE ES EL RAP DE LA BENDICIÓN
BENDICE SEÑOR LA ALIMENTACIÓN
BENDICE A MIS AMIGOS
BENDICE A MIS HERMANOS
BENDICE A TODO AQUEL
QUE TE DE LA MANO
ESTIRA EL BRAZO, RECOGELO
Y CON ESTO QUEDA BENDECIDO TO

THIS IS THE RAP OF BLESSING
BLESS THE LORD FOR THE FOOD
BLESS MY FRIENDS
BLESS MY BROTHERS
BLESS EVERYONE THAT GAVE YOU A HAND
REACH OUT YOUR ARM, AND PICK IT BACK UP
AND WITH THIS WE FINISH THE BLESSING

We tuck in, and everything is really good, done to perfection. The best meal on my Camino thus far. The regional La Rioja wine is also great. Fermín tells us that when we are done, he will bring us into the church by a secret passageway for a special ceremony he does with every group of pilgrims that come here.

He brings us into a balcony at the back of the church. The front chancel is lit, so we can see the altar, but we are mostly in the dark. There are seats and he has lit small candles and placed them at the armrests.

We take our seats. Fermín is holding a larger candle. He says this is the pilgrims candle, and when we hold it, we are to say what’s on our hearts and minds today, in our own language. On the Camino we often don’t have a chance to release what we are thinking, and this is a chance to do so.

I catch some of Fermín’s Spanish but not much. Other than that I don’t understand Catalan, Korean, or Swiss German but I can feel the emotion. When the candle reaches me, I’m teary and feel immense gratefulness.

After the ceremony, Fermín says we are to end with hugs. He reveals the real stamps of the albergue—here, hugs will be the stamps on our heart.

28.7km

I start walking at 7.30am, down straight roads and city parks. It’s a big city, so it’s almost 8.30am when I leave the city limits. The yellow lights of the city turn off as sunset approaches. The skies are cloudy and dusty pink.

Today feels more like a “winter Camino”. There’s fog so you can’t see distant mountains clearly. I walk along a straight grey park path. In the distance on my left there is a murmuration of a flock of birds, and I pause to enjoy the phenomenon.

I reach a lake with ducks, and also spy a wild rabbit in the bushes below the walkway. There’s a carpark entrance here, and feeling the need, it occurs to me that a toilet should be somewhere. I find it soon enough, and enjoy the sweet relief of a WC.

I reconnect with Areum and Ji Sung after the lake. It’s still cold after sunrise today, and I have the sniffles. The winter clothing (puffy, beanie, gloves) remain on.

Along a path parallel to a highway, crosses made out of branches are fixed into a wire fence. Various batches of mountain bikers pass us, a few wishing us “Buen Camino”. It’s a slightly more monotonous path, but it is meditative in this foggy weather.

We go past the ruins of an old hospital for pilgrims as we approach the town of Navarrete. The town is shrouded in fog. We go up a slope to enter the town, and when we look back, we see a figure in the distance that looks like Samuel. We decide to wait as he catches up and joins us.

Cold and hungry, we stop at a place called Cafe Monkey which has various tapas and tostas. Among everything, the crispy pork is great.

The fog gets thicker as we leave the town, with a visibility of about 40 metres. Along a roadside path, a motorcycle convoy goes past, honking and waving at us.

The path splits from the road into some vineyards, continuing the mysterious atmosphere. The guidebook warns of stretches of hot sun today, but it’s transformed into another kind of day thanks to the winter fog. There is a chance to detour to the town of Ventosa, but it’s a long walking day so we stay on the path to save one kilometre of energy.

Gear I’m grateful for: Body Glide

If you walk long enough distances, you’ll realise specific places on your body that you chafe. A bit of friction doesn’t do much daily, but the same repetition over a long time can cause abrasion.

Too Much Information Warning: I chafe between my butt cheeks. But with Body Glide, a balm, it has been fine on the Camino so far, even on long days like today.

At 2.30pm, the sun seems to brighten, but the light is so diffused by the fog present that the scene in front of me feels otherworldly and alien. Everything is bright, but nothing has shadows. I have no shadow.

It is the effect you get when you take a photo at night and overexpose your camera to the brightness levels of a daytime photo. But instead of in a photo, I am seeing it in front of my very eyes.

The fog clears as I approach Nájera, and I see rolling plains all around me, bounded by the blue silhouette of mountains.

At the hostel, we find out that Diego had some issues with his feet and had to stop at Ventana, so it’s back down to the four of us.

20.2km

We all leave the hostel at about the same time at 8.30am. It is a cool 1°C morning.

They all go ahead and I decide to have breakfast by myself at some public stone benches within the town. It is rather empty and I enjoy having breakfast on my own in a quiet town.

I leave the town among golden houses and trees. Up a slope to farmland, Torres del Río is picturesque behind.

Going uphill, I have an elevated view of the environment around me. The surrounding landscape is a mix of autumnal plants and leaves with frost still on them, especially those in the hills’ shadow. I feel privileged that I am able to walk and enjoy all this. My upward steps are accompanied by the rhythmic tinkling of the shell on my bag.

After some vineyards, I come to a nice bench area and have my second breakfast, which includes bread with some crema de jamón york, which I find tastes like luncheon meat. The sun is bright, and I feel so happy right here with my picnic. A thought crosses my mind—why is no one here with me? Of all the people in the world, only I have decided to be right here, at this time, having this nice meal. Everyone else in this world has chosen differently now. Oh, but it would be nice for them to share in such a beautiful moment.

There is some highway walking, and Viana (which is at the halfway point today) reveals itself, looking quite pretty from a distance.

But entering it feels like entering a quiet suburban town. I walk a bit more and reach its medieval centre which is more interesting. A modern bustling bar called El Bordon catches my attention. I’m happy to use the toilet, and order two pintxos plus a café con leche. The coffee is nice but the dishes are only ok.

I see the entrance to some church ruins, Ruinas de San Pedro, and go in to take a look. There’s a nice garden balcony area which gives amazing views of the valley below.

I continue on, towards misty silhouettes of a mountain range beyond the vineyard. As I approach a church, something smells great. I go past the church and behind it see a family having a barbeque, and realise I do miss them. Viana recedes behind me as I walk past more farmland and vineyards.

I approach what looks like a plot of trees in the middle of the fields, which turns out to be like…a micro nature reserve? It’s pretty nice inside with dappled sunlight. At the end of it. I cross an overhead bridge over a highway, and continue on a tree-lined path along the highway, with the occasional sound of fast cars.

It then leads to a long paved road towards Logroño among factories and warehouses, which is the most boring part of the Camino so far.

Logroño looks big, like Pamplona. After crossing a bridge, I arrive at the albergue with Samuel waving from a window, and Guti and Diego opening the door to welcome me.

We are heading out for…lunch? Whatever you call the 4pm meal for walkers. It’s at a place called Café Moderno, which Diego says he always eats at when he’s in Logroño for the Camino. For the menú del día, I get garbanzos (chickpeas) stew, bacalao (cod), tarta con queso (cheesecake, this one with blueberry jam)—I realise Basque cheesecake is still my favourite—alongside bread, wine and beer. We end the meal with cafés con leche.

Guti tells us this is his last stop for now and he is returning to Madrid tomorrow, to our dismay.

I learn that they say “patata” (potato) when taking a photo, as in, “PA-TA-TAA”.

We exit the restaurant and suddenly the city is cold and foggy, like what we expected when we decided to do a winter Camino. We take refuge in a church, which is warm inside.

Back at the albergue, I freshen up, and am about to write, and sleep, when they say they are going out for some tapas. At first I decline, feeling comfortable, but just a minute later I regret it and say I’m coming. The night is young, and it is Guti’s last one with us. I get changed and catch up with them.

What ensues is a delightful night of tapas bar hopping, my first. It’s also dangerous because every tapa is accompanied with a small beer. The town is alive, perhaps because of the holiday, perhaps because it’s a Friday night. I also learn at a later stage that this is Calle Laurel, a famous tapas street.

We start with salchichón (cured sausage), then calamares (squid). Then a standout, a mushroom prawn tapa from a place called Bar Angel which only serves it. We then follow with pulpo a la brasa (grilled octopus) which is great, and end the night with gilda, which I love. The group takes turns to treat each tapa, which is sweet.

What a great bunch of people I’ve met. I will miss Guti.