Alexandra is much better but not up to walking and I’m anxious to walk so we came up with a plan. We got a taxi from our hotel in Burgos and I was dropped off in Tardajos to walk and she would go on to Hornillos to get a room and rest. It was a good plan since the rooms filled quickly and late comers had to taxi to the next town.
I wanted to see the church in Tardajos because St Therese of Avila, a heroine of mine, took communion there. I’m now walking in the footsteps of the great Spanish mystics St Therese and John of the Cross.
I was happy to be on the trail again. The sky was again cloudless and deep purple blue. The waving wheat was deep green and the path was bright white. I’m now on the high plain called the Meseta and this is what I imagine Spain to look like. I have many days on this flat plain.
I heard singing in this tiny stone church. I stood in the door and was motioned to come sit. After the singing was the Rosary. The simple church was in stark contrast to the cathedral but I prefer the comfortable and inviting over the austentatious.
Along the trail I come across theses memorials to pilgrims who die on their quest. It is a harsh reminder that this isn’t easy and we are taking a risk. But fortunately most of the risk is sore knees and blisters.
I watched as my fellow pilgrims hobble into town so ready for a rest and refreshment but cheery because we all came to walk by choice and feel privilege to have the opportunity.
Alexandra slept in our minuscule room so I hung out in the town square by the church with my fellow pilgrims. This town has yet another chicken miracle memorialize by the rooster on top if the water fountain. Apparently Napoleon’s soldiers stole and killed all of the chickens and hid them in their drums while the town was at Mass. When confronted the soldiers denied their crime but at that moment a rooster came back to life and crowed inside the drum revealing the deception. Love these Spanish chickens.