In León I stayed in a university residence just three minutes walk from the cathedral. I shared a room with Alan, an American, who has developed a stress fracture in his lower leg and also has a swollen foot. He is unable to walk. He had been lying on his bed for several days, dejected and listless. I tried to help him make a plan, but without success, as he is simply not receptive.
This morning he gets up at 4.30 am, showers and shaves, fills his backpack, and then goes back to bed. Old pilgrim habits die hard! Before I leave, I ask him what he intends to do today. He has no idea. We shake hands, wish one another “Buen Camino”, he puts on his pack and walks out the door. Sadly, I won’t see him again.
I am in the saddle by 8 am, feeling strong after a day’s rest, but also reflecting how tenuous our best laid plans can be. I put on a second layer for the first time since leaving Le Puy, as it is a cool 12 degrees. It takes 45 minutes to reach the city limit, by which time the second layer is off. There is a modern church here with sculptures by Subirachs, the sculptor of the Sagrada Familia in Barcelona.
I am soon on the Paramò. The word means desert, but the area is now well irrigated and fertile. The road is flat and straight; I make fast progress.
After 32 km I reach the Orbigo river, crossed by a medieval bridge with 20 arches. I walk over the bridge, take eight photos for a Japanese walker, a German tells me about the shooting stars a few nights ago, I have a tea at the local albergue, spot storks on the church tower, and head for Astorga.
I’ve done 51 km by 11.30 am when I arrive in the central square of Astorga, between the cathedral and the episcopal palace.
The palace was designed by Antonio Gaudì and built between 1889 and 1893. From the outside it resembles a medieval castle. The interior, however, is heart-stopping: the elements of space, light, colour and materials are beautifully integrated. I immediately feel that I have entered an architectural masterpiece.
I visit the cathedral as well. It is a cavernous space, filled with huge gilded baroque altarpieces. One of them features a sculpture of St James, but here as a pilgrim, the gentle St James, as opposed to the slayer of Moors. He holds his staff, his water bottle, and wears his scallop shell. I approve.
I order a salad for lunch – I am living on fresh vegetables and bread – and decide to continue to Rabanal. The temperature is now a pleasant 26 degrees with a gentle cooling easterly breeze – perfect riding conditions. Twenty more kilometres into the foothills of the Montes de León mean I can start the steepest section of the climb tomorrow morning while fresh. I leave Astorga at 3 pm.
At Rabanal the English organisation, the Confraternity of St James, established a hostel in 1985. It brought life to an abandoned village, which is now flourishing. I arrive in time for a proper English afternoon tea with muffins and am warmly welcomed by Ursula, Neil and Betty who are from Ireland and will manage the hostel for 16 days. It is a peaceful place in a beautiful village. There are just six of us staying here tonight, so we all get to know one another.
Above the door to the dormitory there is a swallow nest, with a single fledgling paused on the edge, summoning the courage to fly. His siblings have been practising all day and return late in the evening. The next morning they are all gone.
I attend Vespers in the little village church sung in Gregorian chant. The pilgrims are blessed by one of the four monks who live here. I think back to the start of the day, wonder what Alan is doing, and feel already blessed.
Over my evening salad I talk to Sarah about Trump’s America – she is working in Germany and has no intention of returning to her home country. She tells me that she feels embarrassed by the man; I sympathise.
We get the dishes done, it is time for bed. Goodnight.
