A mystical morning, on the path from little Ages to Burgos. The full moon was strong enough to cut through the gauzy morning haze.
No headlamp was needed, though Deny from Quebec and I walked right past the turn, both of us talking, neither of us looking for the yellow arrows in the woozy dawn light.
Plenty of Camino walkers behind us to shout us back on the straight and narrow.
As in many a Spanish town, you pay the exit penalty: a steep uphill climb.
This one was different. Rows and ruts and ridges of rock kept the toes dancing and the walking poles spiking. A misstep is a calamity here.
Perhaps it was the witch’s brew of moonlight, fog, and first rays of sunlight but I began to imagine this road paved with the ribs and spines and limbs and skulls of ancient warriors,
I could picture them reaching up to snatch my ankles.
Weird, I know.
Indulge me. Last night, I slept in a bunk-room with hackers, wheezers, farters, dream narrators and tossers and turners.
As the fog lifted, in nature and my head, a magnificent landscape revealed itself, the earth was alike a bowl, carved by an ancient meteor. Small villages were nestled among the farmlands and orchards.
There is a fork in the road with a starkly clear choice to make. To the right is a slog through industrial parks and city streets. To the left is calm farmland that metamorphoses into the most beautiful river park.
Pretty clear choice.
I’m in Burgos now and we’ve caught glimpses of its magnificent cathedral and ancient walled city.
Many Camino pilgrims linger to wine and dine and explore the city’s ancient secrets. I’ll be one of them.
An extra day in Burgos.
