We’re back at the Santa Fe albergue we we stayed last time we were passing this way. It was here that I suffered extensive bruising to my lower torso from Dorothy’s kicks under the table as she tried in vain to rein me in from upsetting a lovely young Italian medical student whose knowledge of church history increased quite a bit during the course of our conversation (at least I hope so). It resulted in us leaving the albergue early the next morning before jumping onto a bus to Bilbao before grabbing a quick flight home. Guests at a party to which we’d not been invited (Sigh).

We’ve showered, our dirty clothes are being washed and subsequently dried while I take the opportunity to bring us up to date with today’s 24km jaunt.

We started a little later than usual after taking advantage of the opportunity of a light breakfast.

In an earlier post I mentioned the young possibly schizophrenic lad that we’d encountered on the final climb into Grañón. The concerned Spanish chap who joined us appeared at breakfast this morning so I took the opportunity of photographing him. He’s the chap who looks like he’s stepped out of a Goya painting.

He’s ‘drifted’ along the Camino, covering the same distance as us each day so we tend to meet and smile at each other at least twice a day. From his limited English and my pretty much non existent Spanish, I’ve concluded that he’s a really decent guy; it’s always a pleasure to exchange salutations with him.

Immediately outside the albergue was this sign.

A typical scene first thing in the morning, looking back to the albergue

The path wound up into a small forested area

which surprisingly went on for close to 12km, broadening out into a motorway sized gash through the trees.

Immediately before the last image, we came across Monte de la Pedraja, a memorial to over a hundred young men and women found in a mass grave having been massacred by Franco’s fascists in 1936 (https://elpais.com/elpais/2016/08/31/inenglish/1472638944_315923.html). It’s a sombre reminder of how easily populist frenzy can turn to violence.

The path dropped precipitously and rose again as quickly.

A middle aged chap overtook us on his fully laden mountain bike on the ascent. I bowed and doffed my cap as he passed with respect clearly written on my face. He didn’t disappoint and made it to the top. I was dead impressed.

One sees the occasional message written in stones on the path. This one appears to say Buen Camino.

Some absent entrepreneur has made fruit and drinks available ‘donativo’. Last time we we here a lady offered us fruit juice and bananas.

At 12km from Villafranca after a steady two and a half hours of walking we arrived in the small village of San Juan de Ortega. It has a couple of albergues and two really good bars, in the first of which we had an excellent ham and eggs. We also had the opportunity to chat at length to a young Hungarian gynaecologist who was making her way to Santiago. Accompanying her on occasion was a young french anthropologist who’d spent quite some time in India. This Camino has turned out be as eclectic as always. Today we’ve chatted to Brazilians, French, Italians, Hungarians, Spanish and a Scottish lady of 72 who used to be a midwife, has campervaned her way around Australia and New Zealand for months at a time with a friend only a couple of years ago. I’ve really enjoyed myself.

Here’s an image looking back to San Juan

The route out of San Juan took us through a small forest

before cresting the hill near these fine oak trees

before descending to Atapuerca.

It’s a village famous for the archaeological finds there (https://whc.unesco.org/en/list/989/).

I’ve had a long-standing but too-lazy-to-do-so intention of spending at least a few hours there but have never been motivated enough to stop. There’s always the urge to get going and to climb over the mountain next door on the way to Burgos. Maybe one day.

We passed yet another field of dying sunflowers

before heading over a small bridge

and along the road

passing these two entertaining hens

and into a bar for lunch in Atapuerca.

The climb out of Atapuerca was fairly strenuous but relatively short. We were given a choice of route with explicit instructions from a large notice board to take the right hand route which everyone took. So we took the other and promptly found ourselves wandering around a typical Spanish hillside

with lots of small trees, pebbles and paths.

Thanks to maps.me and some beneficent Dutch pilgrims who have provided GPX tracks for all of the Caminos we quickly found our way through fields of the most gorgeous purple flowers called according to my amazing Chinese app, Merendera from the genus ‘Men in a Boat’, also called

and arrived to a spot where if you blow up the image you can the outskirts of Burgos, some 14km away.

In amongst the pebbles on the descent we found this interesting creature.

The last couple of km were through a valley bordered by huge corn fields, now harvested.

The latest Camino marker has us down to only

Almost spitting distance of Santiago.

Here’s probably my last sunflowers image.

I shall miss them.

The albergue is fine, our clothes have been washed and dried whilst I’ve been writing this and it’s dinner in 90 minutes, this time in silence. I’ve promised Dorothy.

To finish, here’s an image highlighting all that the Camino doesn’t really stand for.

Buen Camino