Day 18 – Castrojeriz to Fromista      (Thursday 23 May)

With a long 17 mile trek ahead of us, it was a very early rise and departure. Given the length of this leg, we’d taken the decision to invest €10 to have our backpacks transported to our next hotel in Fromista. It was with a large degree of trepidation that we bade farewell to the bags in the half light of dawn. Would we ever see them again, or would it prove to be a masterpiece in planning?

We wandered through the quiet streets of Castrojeriz with barely a soul around. All rather serene until 3 pilgrims emerged from an Albergue (Pilgrim hostel) talking noisily without a thought for all the locals they were probably waking. Selfish and thoughtless or just the exuberance of youth?


Worth getting up at 6am for!

Soon we were clear of the village and the steep 400 foot climb up the side of the escarpment loomed large. Behind us the sun was emerging slowly, casting light high up into the broken clouds. Irrespective of another poor night’s sleep, it was liberating to be able to enjoy the wondrous sights the start of a day provide; and of course; to not be carrying 10kg on our backs.

Within 20 minutes we’d ascended up onto the ridge of the escarpment – a sign of increasing fitness. The view back towards Castrojeriz and the sun rising was magnificent – a subtle diffused light bringing out the shades of green, and the shadows of the land.


Smug escarpment conquerors


Such a typical Camino view. Heading from 
village to village, guided by churches

We covered the ground with ease – stopping for coffee and breakfast after 7 miles in the village of Itero de la Vega. Sadly this pitstop brought to a head an issue that had been quietly bugging me. Now I’m all for sensible reduction in unnecessary energy consumption, but the Spanish seriously need to look at the timed lights they have in the Powder Rooms and Cloak Rooms they have across their fine country. Being cast into an absolutely total black out 30 seconds into powdering one’s nose was a fraught experience – waddling like a pregnant duck across one the biggest closets I’d ever been into will not rank in my top 10 travel moments. Sort it out King Felipe VI!

Shortly after the crisis ridden pitstop we took some picture of the poppies and then got chatting with a very amiable Aussie couple as we walked. Before we knew it we were crossing the canal into our final destination, Fromista. Bang! Seventeen miles covered and we barely noticed the last 6 of them. 



Crossing the canal into Fromista

Fromista is a funny old place. Built around the intersection of 2 old roads and the Madrid to Santander railway line, it has the feel of Wild West frontier town. The only significant difference is that it has 3 large and varied churches, each with their mandatory stork’s nest on top of the tower.



An unusually sparse church


Anyone for a shoot-out?

I have to give mention to the owner of the hostal where we are staying. The lovely lady didn’t speak a word of English, but gave us the warmest welcome you could imagine. Before we knew, we’d been given bottles of water, a full run down of which of the 3 churches to visit (in preferential order) and instruction on where to eat.

And best of all, there in the hallway were our backpacks. I simply can’t understand why Cate was anxious at all 😉

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