Tiny San Juan de Ortega Packs a Punch

Left the room in the albergue early after a fitful night listening to sounds you never want to hear. The earplugs are definitely my friends.  Walked 5k to Tosantos for a cafe stop, where we met yet another Ozzie, Cathy, who asked if I was American or Canadian. When I replied American, she said, "Thank God, the Canadians hate when I ask if they are American."  I don't know how I was so quick on my feet before coffee but I said, "Are you from Australia or New Zealand?" when she replied that she was from Australia, I said "Thank God, the Kiwis hate when I ask if they are from Australia."  (Because they do I've learned) A little international humor.  This would be Cathy's second attempt at the Camino, the first one thwarted by infected blisters.

On the climb up and over the "Montes de Oca", some pretty little mountains where robbers used to lie in wait for unsuspecting pilgrims in ancient times,  we were nearly run off the narrow tree lined road by a car going really fast. It felt as if it was purposeful.  This was the second time we would feel less than appreciated on the Camino. I guess the negative energy of old prevailed for us on this section.  I do have to say that these incidences are rare in comparison to the many welcoming and positive people and experiences we have been having so far.

After being overtaken by a large group of school children, obviously on a Camino field trip we stopped to have a lunch on the trail with our kiwi friends John and Debbie, of salami, cheese, fruit and those delicious olives, and dark chocolate.  We met up later at little San Juan de Ortega, which was nothing more than a church and monestary, and small cafe.  We opted to stay here for the night instead of slogging ahead another 5k to Ages.  We were glad we did.

We checked into this little place only to realize later that it was the priest doing all the honors, changing from his running shorts into his robes in time to conduct mass and then back into shorts later to continue to help the tired pilgrims checking in for the night.

The Germans were filming a documentary which we got to be a part of! Then after sitting around drinking wine and comparing blisters we all went to the pilgrims mass in the iglesia (church) and tears spilled down my cheeks while listening and sort of understanding the padres heartfelt blessing. We were surprised and delighted to learn that we would also be a witness to a phenomenon that only happens twice a year on the spring and autumnal equinoxes.  At a certain time the sun hits a hole in one of the stained glass windows and the beam of light travels across the wall to illuminate the virgin mother in two places in its trajectory across the beautiful sculptures and paintings in the church.

John skipped the dinner which turned out to be for Shannon, Cathy and I, whatever was left of the combo plate. He got to go on the monastery tour instead with translations by our Spanish friends we have been waving and smiling at for the last week or so.

The three of us girls wrapped the leftover bread in napkins to save for tomorrow's lunch, stashing it in pockets, and we took Shannon's dinner of scrambled eggs and cheese back to an appreciative John, in a sandwich wrapped in the paper tablecloth. We giggled that we seriously feel like real pilgrims taking all that is offered however meager.

The night spent in the cavernous monastery was sort of like sleeping in a barn with the stucco peeling off the walls, God knows what creeping along the walls and floors, but at the same time, the energy was oddly comforting and welcoming. Tomorrow, on to Burgos, the second largest city on the Camino, and a welcome two night respite.