It was supposed to be the anniversary camino, twenty years since I first set out on the road to Santiago, when I planned to walk that path again. I’d had a milestone birthday a few months before I did the first camino, and I’d celebrated another milestone shortly before I was due to undertake this one. I was planning to mirror the route I first walked as a novice pilgrim back in 2004. The bags were packed, the flights were booked, and then things took a turn that meant I had to cancel. Camino 6, the third Frances, was not to be. Not this year anyway. Or at least not in full.
And if I was to be truly honest, I wasn’t really that put out. A slight strain following from a recent operation prompted my doctor to advise against the camino this year. And why was I doing it? Because 20 years had passed since the first? Because I had recently turned 50? Did I really want to go this year, or did I just feel compelled? It really felt like the latter. I’m a big fan of numbers, dates, anniversaries, so when all the numbers aligned I thought it was my duty to put on my boots and backpack and hike my way across Spain once again. But something felt off. I didn’t sense the call of the camino like I had in previous times. I wasn’t going for the right reasons. So when medical necessity required me to withdraw, I felt a certain relief. Doing something because you have to is not the same as doing something because you want to or need to, and the camino was far too special and experience to be reduced to an act of compulsion. But the flights were still booked, so I’d go to Spain in any case.
20 years ago I had little idea of how the camino would change my life. It helped me form habits of fitness and healthy living that ensured the ageing process wouldn’t be too challenging, it brought me many beautiful places across the Iberian peninsula that I would never have otherwise seen, it brought me back from some very dark places inside myself, and most importantly it introduced me to a wide array of wonderful people, some of whom became my family on the camino, and others who became like my family in real life. Each camino was a unique and life defining experience. The bad days on the way were often the most rewarding. When energy levels were low, or the rains arrived in biblical proportions, or the dark nights of the soul overshadowed the beauty of the surroundings, those were the days I had to dig deep to find the strength and tenacity to carry on. And I always managed to find that resilience. And the Universe always provided me with things I needed too whenever I needed them.
2024 was not to be the 20th anniversary camino as I’d planned, but Spain is always an inviting country, with good weather, tonnes of history, a multitude of culture, nice people and decent food. After a short stay in Barcelona, a city I’d called home for a few months in 2000, I headed to Burgos, one of the big cities on the Camino Frances. My main reason for visit Burgos was to go and see the reconstructed Sad Hill Cemetery, the setting for the epic shootout in the classic western The Good, the Bad and the Ugly. Getting to that spot was a camino in itself. Not having a car, the only way to reach it was to take a bus at 7AM to a tiny little village called Barbadillo del Mercado, and then walk 10 KM from there to the main site, and back, but for a lifelong movie buff like myself it was a transcendent experience, and an item to tick off the bucket list.
Back at the hostel I was staying at in Burgos later that evening, all the talk among the other guests was of the camino. New friendships are easily forged within the circle of pilgrims and chatting becomes effortless. Conversations often revolve around energy and fitness levels, injuries, blisters, the weather, before segueing into more profound topics like the purpose of ones journey and the state of one’s life. Though I wasn’t on the camino that day, the others in my dorm quickly invited me into their circle, and my prior history on the way afforded me a similar level of respect as they had for each other. I enjoyed hearing their tales of where they’d been, what they’d endured, and their hopes for the rest of their journey and beyond. In a very short space of time, I’d been reabsorbed into the camino orbit, and it felt absolutely great to be back.
20 years ago I had little idea of how the camino would change my life. It helped me form habits of fitness and healthy living that ensured the ageing process wouldn’t be too challenging, it brought me many beautiful places across the Iberian peninsula that I would never have otherwise seen, it brought me back from some very dark places inside myself, and most importantly it introduced me to a wide array of wonderful people, some of whom became my family on the camino, and others who became like my family in real life. Each camino was a unique and life defining experience. The bad days on the way were often the most rewarding. When energy levels were low, or the rains arrived in biblical proportions, or the dark nights of the soul overshadowed the beauty of the surroundings, those were the days I had to dig deep to find the strength and tenacity to carry on. And I always managed to find that resilience. And the Universe always provided me with things I needed too.
The next day was a free day, so the camino beckoned. I remembered from my two previous instances of the Frances that the walk from Burgos brought you out of the city, into a charming little village and then onto the edge of the Meseta, the flat open plan that covers much of central Spain. From my memory it was just a short walk out of Burgos, and the village I recalled was just a short stroll beyond that. I headed out at 8:30, and planned to walk until around 10:30 after which I’d walk back. I wanted to catch a view of the sweeping vistas of the Meseta, with its furrowed fields, terracotta earth, towering windmills and beautiful emptiness.
In 2004, the camino was just being rediscovered. Martin Sheen’s film was still more than half a decade away, as were other books and documentaries which popularised the route with people all over the world. It was still a relatively undiscovered jewel, though word of mouth was starting to grow. Albergues were frequent and comfortable, local restaurants served up good food, and the pathway was well marked to prevent people from getting lost. By the next time I walked it, in 2013, the forces of commercialisation had upgraded the facilities somewhat. There were more places to stay, to eat, more services to transport your bags, and the path seemed a bit better maintained and serviced. But the spirit of the camino still remained, along with the beauty of the Spanish landscape and the charm of its people. And the pilgrims remained the same. They were the same assortment of varied, interesting, diverse characters, all with their own unique wisdom and reasons for walking that way.
The Meseta was a stretch of the Camino that ran from the cities of Burgos to just beyond Leon, about 200 KM in total. It was a portion that many derided as flat, uninspiring and boring, and some even advised me to take a bus and skip it altogether. That would have been a serious mistake. I was inspired by the Meseta, where crimson sunrises greet the pilgrim over flat plains carved up by canals, fields of sunflowers smile at you as you wander past, friendly dogs greet you as you amble through sleepy adobe villages, and the vast expansive sky above is so close you could reach up tear off a piece of cloud. Little villages like Hontanas, Boadillo, Carrion de los Condes, Ledigos, Terradillo de los Templarios and Calzadilla de los Hermanillos were tiny little jewels where I spent some of my best times with my newfound friends in 2004 and 2013. The Mesata was where I managed to find the centre of the universe in the middle of nowhere.
Setting out from Burgos that morning brought back the flood of memories and feelings I’d encountered when starting all those other days on the camino; early morning breakfasts, words of encouragement with your fellow travellers, rustling of bags as people packed up their belonging, checking the weather forecast in the hope that the Gods would be kind, and preparing for the alternative in case they wouldn’t, then putting on all your equipment and heading out into the unknown. It was a little different for me that day. I wasn’t carrying a backpack. I had no walking poles. I would be returning to the same place that evening. Today was unlike any other day for me on the camino. There would be no full camino in 2024, just a cameo. Today was a day where I was catching up with an old friend.