Day 16 and 17: San Juan de Ortega to Burgos, then rest day in Burgos
I figured this would be a big day for me. The last time I was in Burgos, I was driven there by taxi straight to the University Hospital, then spent the next three days on my back in a hostal, with one more hospital trip for good measure. This time, I was walking into Burgos.
The walk out of San Juan de Ortega was like a walk in the Pyrenees. Again we enjoyed the pastoral music of the Camino: cowbells, mooing, roosters calling the morning, which they do all day, by the way. We photographed cows to the right of the path, because we don’t have cows in Canada! haha! Not sure why I’m taking pictures of cows in Spain. Maybe I like their cowbell necklaces, and I’m a jeweller. Anyway…we also saw a cow with large horns close to the path. If it wasn’t a bull, wtf was it? It appeared camera shy, so this paparazzi put down the camera and walked slowly away. I did look over my shoulder several times. Even if it was a cow, I worried about the horns.
The farmers bury grates at each end of their fields, so that the cattle can’t pass over. The length of my foot spans one flat rail to the next, but I have a weird sensation when crossing these things. Am I part cow? I hoped if the horned beast tried to chase me, I could make it to the grate, then I’d stand on the other side and make fun, or take more pictures. But the lazy beast turned away, and went back to his meal of grass. So focussed was I on the horns, that I would have missed the makeshift labyrinth that someone with a lot of time created in the grasses on my left. Circles were pressed down into the long grass, and at the centre sat a rock collection that could have been a fire pit. Amazing the works of rocks pilgrims leave in their wake along the camino. Messages for loved ones, arrows, cairns, and smiling faces.
After Atapuerca, Andrew and I continued up up up hill.The terrain resembled the Canadian Shield. The large rocks bleached by the sun, resembled skulls. Dark spots shaded the recesses in the stone, and it was easy to imagine all kinds of horror stories.We reached a windy plateau, and admired the pueblo below, the sky above, and the multitude of rocks strewn about the grass. Perhaps it was Andrew’s advantage of height that he noticed the pattern in the rocks. We stood on the periphery of a gigantic rock labyrinth. Talk about missing the forest for the trees! 
Someone had fashioned a rocky heart at the opening to the labyrinth, and passing pilgrims placed wildflowers in the heart. Did they notice only the heart, too? Several of us stood on that windy plateau, and only Andrew saw the labyrinth where the rest of us saw blanched rocks. Katy California put down her pack and walked the labyrinth, while the rest of us walked a portion of it. I love labyrinths, but my pillow blisters, swollen ankle, and tender right knee required attention, and I didn’t want to leave my best on that windy plateau when I faced a nasty steep descent ahead.
Down down down we walked. I limped. After a café con leche stop, our small group of four headed to the outskirts of Burgos.Then pride took a shit kicking again.
Katy and Andrew reached Burgos, and wished to avoid the hellish industrial section pilgrims pass (if they miss the green route…which we definitely missed) on the way to the cathedral. Iain wanted to walk. I felt compelled to walk to the cathedral because I didn’t in 2013. So Iain and I limped along an industrial, car dealership wasteland, begging for golden arches instead of yellow arrows. We became dehydrated, frustrated, and lame. When a local Spaniard told us we had only four kilometres, mas o menos, to the cathedral, we considered going on. But after one hundred metres, we reminded each other that distance is never menos, in Spain, it’s always mas.
We boarded the first city bus for the cathedral, and then spent an agonizing game of cat and mouse with Andrew in Burgos, trying to locate him as he tried to locate us. We finally settled in Hostal Lar, in the very room I enjoyed in 2013, and saw José Luis, the very hospitalero we befriended in 2013.
*****
I limped around Burgos during my rest day. If I’d taken the city bus where Andrew and Katy had, I might have had better knees to explore the cathedral, the artisan tents, and the musicians playing in Spanish costumes from a gazebo. But I ouch ouch ouched my way around a magnificent city, past statues featuring decapitations (not sure what that is all about) then thoroughly enjoyed tapas, wine, and a last meal with Sam, our Irish friend. Sam was staying in Burgos a few days before returning to Ireland. Buen Camino, Sam.
The next day, as we prepared to leave Burgos, José Luis reminded us to eat before walking. He told us a saying that he only slightly screwed up, but I’ll leave it with you. It’s both funny, because of the way he put it, and also a very good way to enjoy eating…Spanish style.
“Eat breakfast like a king, lunch like a queen, and dinner like a bugger.” You know what he meant. 
Bon appetit, buggers!
¡Ultreia!
~Penny