From Belorado to San Juan de Ortega

 

 

 

 

Today’s route along the Jacobean way does not present any significant difficulties, and the distance I will cover is exactly in line with the daily average.

Despite expecting an easy itinerary, I set off quite early, leaving the hostel in Belorado at 6:30.

For today’s stage, it is particularly recommended to start early to avoid arriving too late at the destination, San Juan de Ortega.

This village is tiny, and the only accommodation available for pilgrims is the sixty beds offered by the hostel inside a monastery. The spaces fill up quickly, and the alternatives are a couple of hotels—less charming and much more expensive than the usual standards of The Way—or continuing to the next town.

 

As I leave Belorado, Rocco and Dante are still with me, continuing to form our fixed trio, at least at the start and end of each stage.

 

Given the early departure time, we don’t manage to eat anything, and once again, we postpone breakfast until we reach the first town.

The morning temperature is quite low, as usual, although a bit milder compared to yesterday.

From a weather perspective, the day looks promising: last night’s heavy clouds have vanished, and this morning we’re walking under a nearly clear sky.

 

The exit from Belorado is marked by crossing the El Canto Romanesque stone bridge, which spans the Río Tirón.

Initially, we walk close to the paved road; soon, however, the dirt path we follow veers away, and we rediscover the pleasure of walking through bucolic landscapes, passing through beautiful green fields still cultivated with cereals.

 

After just over an hour of walking, we have completed the first five kilometers of today’s stage and have arrived in Tosantos. Unfortunately, our hopes of enjoying a good breakfast are dashed, as the only bar in town is still closed.

The inability to eat only intensifies our hunger, but the only solution to replenish our energy with coffee, carbohydrates, and sugars is to keep walking and move forward.

Fortunately, the next town is less than two kilometers away.

Upon reaching Villambistia, we find an open bar and can finally enjoy something warm and energizing to help us continue.

 

With our hunger satisfied, we resume walking, crossing more rural landscapes with low hills that stretch as far as the eye can see; the dominant colors are the green and yellow of the fields and the blue of the sky.

 

Just past the small village of Espinosa del Camino, I come across the Campana de Pepe, a tiny hostel with just ten beds, built and run by Pepe himself. He’s a former paratrooper with a round, friendly face framed by a thick white beard.

Pepe warmly welcomes pilgrims, chatting and cooking his specialties: “tortilla de morcilla burgos,” paella, and much more.

I can’t comment on the quality of these dishes, though, as I only stopped for a few minutes without tasting anything.

 

Around ten o’clock, I pass through Villafranca Montes de Oca, which in the Middle Ages was an important stop for pilgrims.

Here, ancient travelers would spend one or more nights before facing the stretch through the Montes de Oca that leads to San Juan de Ortega—a route that was once plagued by hungry wolves and murderous bandits.

It is precisely in Villafranca Montes de Oca that the flat section of today’s stage ends, and, like pilgrims of the past, we begin the ascent to the highest point of the route.

The incline is quite challenging, as we climb 200 meters in altitude over just three kilometers.

Luckily, today, apart from the effort of the climb, the situation is no longer as perilous as it was in the past.

 

The landscape changes, and the path leads us through a forest of “Pyrenean” oaks.

It’s worth noting that, despite the scientific name, these trees are rarely seen in the Pyrenees.

 

During the climb, I meet Anna, the lively French lady who, inexplicably, always seems to be ahead of me even after I’ve passed her.

Despite carrying her backpack slightly askew, Anna always moves with a steady and quick pace.

We pass the Fuente de Mojapan together, a rest area along the ascent where one can take a break and catch their breath. However, both of us decide not to stop, preferring to keep our rhythm uninterrupted.

 

After a good half-hour of walking, I reach 1,160 meters above sea level—the Alto de la Pedraja, the fourth-highest point on the entire French Way.

 

A little further along, I come across a monument commemorating 300 men executed at the start of the Spanish Civil War in 1936, who died defending their political ideals and freedom.

It was at this very site, between 2010 and 2011, that mass graves containing the remains of these victims were discovered.

 

Contrary to what one might expect, reaching this point doesn’t mean the effort is over. From here, the path quickly descends about 100 meters in altitude, only to immediately climb back up by the same amount; the section forms a large “V” shape that I can see entirely from above before tackling it.

 

After completing the steep ups and downs and regaining altitude, the path soon becomes wide and flat, bordered by dense forests.

Around noon, I reach an open-air rest area equipped with benches and tables made from tree trunks.

The spot is run by a young woman who offers a wide variety of food and drinks. Using the “donativo” system, you take what you want and leave a donation afterward.

 

I grab a delicious meat “empanada.” Meanwhile, Rocco and Dante catch up, and we prepare a feast, sharing the supplies we’re carrying. After all, it’s the perfect time for a midday snack!

Two Korean girls, whom we meet for the first time, join us. We quickly become friends and even take a group photo as a keepsake.

 

Even though the sun is shining and it feels pleasant, I prefer not to linger too long. If I stop for too long, it becomes harder to start again, and I also want to avoid arriving late at my destination and risking not finding a bed at the monastery-hostel.

So, I leave my friends, who remain behind to continue feasting and chatting, and set off along the wide dirt track—so wide it almost feels like a highway through the forest.

The sun is strong, so a hat and scarf are necessary to protect my neck from potential sunburn.

Now and then, a passing cloud provides some relief by softening the intensity of the sun’s rays.

I am at about 1,130 meters in altitude, while San Juan de Ortega lies at 1,000 meters. With just over five kilometers left, the remainder of the route will be a gentle downhill walk.

 

A few hundred meters from the destination, a dark cloud forms directly above me, dropping big raindrops.

I wait a moment before preparing for the rain, hoping it will stop, and meanwhile, I quicken my pace.

Unfortunately, the drizzle shows no sign of easing; in fact, it seems to intensify.

So I put down my backpack, take out the small umbrella I carry for light showers, put my backpack back on, and continue walking. As per Murphy’s Law, the rain stops as soon as I’m ready for it.

I grumble a little but feel relieved at the same time because I have now reached the end of this eleventh day on The Way.

 

The clock reads 13:30 as I arrive at the monastery in San Juan de Ortega.

I am the thirtieth arrival today, so I am easily assigned one of the sixty beds available at the hostel. Those who arrive later, after the beds are full, will have no choice but to continue walking.

The next village is Atapuerca, about six kilometers away—or roughly an hour and a half of walking.

 

I pay 10 Euros for the hostel accommodation and another 9 Euros for dinner, which will be served in the monastery itself this evening.

 

After showering and doing my laundry, I go for a walk to explore the area.

The village consists only of the monastery and four houses, with a total population of seventeen people.

As a result, the only thing left to visit is the church.

 

San Juan de Ortega is one of the most significant places along the entire Way of Saint James.

The saint after whom the village is named collaborated with Saint Dominic to assist pilgrims in crossing this challenging section of The Way.

He settled here, creating a small monastic community, and was buried here after his death in 1163.

The monastic complex, built in Romanesque and Gothic styles, was completed between the 12th and 13th centuries, following plans conceived by Juan de Ortega himself.

The interior of the church has three naves. Upon entering, one immediately notices a Gothic canopy featuring several carved scenes depicting the life and miracles of the saint.

In the right apse, there is a simple tomb containing the mortal remains of San Juan de Ortega.

A Romanesque capital depicting the Annunciation is illuminated for just a few minutes by a ray of sunlight during the sunset of the equinox days.

Unfortunately, it is not possible to visit the chapel dedicated to Saint Nicholas of Bari as it is currently closed.

This building, which contains additional artistic and architectural treasures, is the oldest part of the monastery.

San Juan de Ortega had the chapel built as an offering of thanks to Saint Nicholas for surviving a shipwreck during his return journey from the Holy Land.

 

Once I have finished visiting the small church and taken a brief walk around the monastery, the onset of persistent rain leaves me with no choice but to take the opportunity to lie down and rest on my bunk.

 

At six o’clock, I return to the church to attend the pilgrim’s mass.

The service is quite crowded and lasts just half an hour; immediately afterward, we all go to dinner.

 

Tonight’s menu features the famous garlic soup, which was traditionally prepared by the old parish priest Don José Mari, who passed away several years ago.

Nowadays, a group of volunteers manages the monastery and welcomes the pilgrims.

While the soup was reasonably enjoyable, the rest of the meal—pasta with an unidentifiable sauce, pork loin, salad, and chips—was not well-received by anyone at the table.

From my perspective, I can confidently say that this was the worst dinner of the entire Way.

It probably would have been better to have a “bocadillo” or a “plato combinado” at Bar Marcela, the only eatery in the village, located right next to the monastery.

 

After dinner, I stay for a while to chat with some fellow pilgrims, then head to bed at half-past nine.

© Aldo Lardizzone 2020

CREATIVE COMMONS