Hornillos del Campo

The path out of Burgos is far more pleasant than the one coming in but, even so, the wheat fields soon return like a horrible, horrible dream. Mentally, I know there is a wheat shortage seeing nothing but wheat day after day it is hard to wrap my head around. It does explain the amount of bread that shows up with every meal here.

The high point of the day comes at a nondescript little chapel in a no name town along the trail. It is like so many other tiny chapels in tiny towns that were it not for the group of hikers already stopped there we would have passed by without a thought. Inside though, with Ave Maria playing quietly in the background, an old nun greets each pilgrim, asks their name, and blesses their journey. Efe Bomba (who, unfortunately, missed this stop since it is not on the carmino path) is the most spiritual one in our group but, I have to admit, I think I got a little dust in my eye watching the boys. Over hundreds of miles, it is small moments like these that I know we will all remember.

Our day ends in the village of Hornillos del Camino. We never see anyone in towns like this, no cars on the road, no kids riding bikes, and many of the “buildings” are just the front wall, with nothing but open space behind them. It could be a Hollywood set, like we’re all on the Truman Show (we’re not on the Truman Show, are we?).

This is our first stay in what I consider a real albergue. Efe Bomba and I have a private room but the boys are bunking in a room full of randos and dinner is family style. Social butterfly that I am, I actually enjoy it. The host cooks up a mean paella and we get to know some interesting people, hearing the stories of their journey. Shout out to the family shepherding their three pre-teen daughters. And I thought I did really dumb things.