Full moon on the Meseta

A month ago, shivering in the snow, waiting for my dogs to do their “business,” I looked up and watched the full moon over Staunton. I remember thinking, “my next full moon will be in Spain!”

I barely saw it two mornings ago from an Albergue window, so I splurged on a room to myself so that I was able to get up at 5:30 am to catch the moon.

No one was on the streets of the village of Castrojeriz, not even the roosters.  My trekking poles set rhythm and I stepped across the  highway to a dirt road that wound its way up 200 meters or so (roughly 656 feet). The moon played tag behind the high clouds, as I panted up the hill.

 

 When I crested the hill, and stepped gingerly down the dangerous pavement; covered in slippery gravel, (smart move road engineers) the moon had beat me to the other side. With the rising sun now at my back and the pale moon approaching the horizon, I had good company.

Full moons have always drawn me: pulling  me from my house in Alaska to ski in the blue lit mushing tracks, or to watch it ride the horizon on a long summer’s night. I watch for the moon and wonder how many generations have drawn peace from her visits. 

 

 Today was a study in “the best laid plans…” From Boadilla, it was 3 km to Fromista, where it looked like there was a train station. I need to jump ahead to Leon to stay on track. So I hoist that pack on my back for the 3 km.  it was okay, but no further. I brought it with me to get on the train. I went to the train station, but it was a north/south track: no passage to Leon. Here I am at 9:30 (VERY late by pilgrim standards) and no train. “Oh, no troubles!”  The locals tell me, there is a bus at the main plaza. I scramble to the main plaza, only to learn that the bus comes once a week, and it was yesterday. 

I now have to either stay in a town at 10:00 am or make it 20 km to the next town. I can’t haul that wretched pack 20 km, especially after already hauling it 5 km (running back and forth).  I have to use Jacobtran, but all the albergues are closed up until 2 pm. I see a hotel, maybe Jacobtran picks up there! I go in, see a nicely dressed gentleman, supposing him to be the hotel host, I ask: “Donde ste e Jacobtran?” 

He replies, “I key” (sorry about Spanish spelling), which means “here.”

I look around to see if there are any packs. Looking confused at him, he points to himself, and says “I key.”

He was the Jacobtran guy. I had caught him just in time! He took my 6 Euros and loaded my pack onboard and took off.  Just made it. 

But…..I had junky socks on because I was going to ride somewhere, and my poor feet were treated to horrid conditions today. I waked 20 km, resting as best I could. I’m now on Carrion, at the nuns Albergue, awaiting to eat at 7pm.  

If I had good socks, it would have been a perfect day on the Camino: flat, mostly cloudy, and straight as an arrow through waving grains of spring wheat. Tomorrow, the busy city of Leon…as I must skip ahead 4 days.

  I found my favorite statue on the hike today!  

  

Darn! Missed this Albergue with “con-for table” beds! 

About neverlost4good

Free-lance writer. I am able to work with chaos and organize it into function.
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