Pauline Nevins

If you read my December article in the Auburn Journal, you know my reward for gadding about Madrid in fashionable shoes was three throbbing toes on my right foot. I eventually swaddled the toes in miniature Band-Aids, tugged on my sturdy hiking boots – reluctantly swapping comfort for style – and finished my Madrid tour pain free. Onward to Burgos.

Burgos, a province and a city, is a 90-minute train ride north from Madrid. My son and I, having recovered from jet lag during our four-night stay in a Madrid hotel, arrived at the Burgos Hotel Rice Palacio refreshed. The morning we left Madrid, two Spanish guides would whisk the rest of the group arriving in Madrid that day, directly from the airport to Burgos – the first official stop on the itinerary.

Our Camino group of 20 (18, plus two guides) congregated in the Rice Palacio hotel lobby that first afternoon, prepared for a walking tour of the city center. The senior guide (the team leader), I’ll call her Josephine, along with her younger sister, assigned each of us a wireless receiver with a headset, which Josephine called “whispers.” My son, Dean, and I were unfamiliar with this term and exchanged amused glances. We also swapped smiles when Josephine referred to upcoming stops at village cafes as “coffee routines.”

A quarter-mile walk from the hotel brought us to the city’s historical center and a visit to the famous 13th-century Gothic Cathedral of Saint Mary. An exuberant local guide temporarily took over from Josephine outside the cathedral. We plugged in our “whispers” to hear her animated talk about the history of this magnificent cathedral, and the difference between Gothic and Romanesque architecture. I was relieved there wasn’t a pop quiz following the tour.

After seating the group for dinner in the hotel, Josephine prompted the 13 women and five men to introduce themselves. Most looked to be in their 60s or 70s – two, maybe in their 50s. We hailed from eight states – an eclectic group that remained friendly with each other for the whole two weeks, a minor miracle, according to several of the seasoned travelers.

The Burgos hotel was our base for three days, and the schedule previewed the rest of the trip. After a hotel buffet breakfast, we’d assemble in the lobby, our “whispers” and Camino passports secured in our knapsacks. Josephine led the group to the tour’s luxury motorcoach – the size of a semi and therefore restricted to parking as far from every hotel as possible. We’d sling our hiking poles into the belly of the bus (I’d be very glad I’d brought mine), show off our Spanish with a “buenos dias” to Javier, the driver, and clamber aboard.

After arriving at our destination, Josephine lectured on the historical significance of the area and the length and difficulty of the trails that ranged between a mile and a half, and nine miles, typically rocky and occasionally mountainous. Of the 12 hikes, I reluctantly skipped two. As I’d trudge along at the back of the group, my son walked two steps behind, ready to catch me should I stumble or roll down a hill (never happened!).

Camino trail signs frequently appeared on rocks or wooden posts depicting a golden scallop shell on a brilliant blue background. This iconic Camino symbol memorialized the scallop shells collected near the ocean by the early pilgrims as evidence of their completing the pilgrimage. As a modern-day homage, many modern pilgrims tie the shell of a scallop to the back of their knapsack.

Each hike included a stop at a local café for our “coffee routine,” and 13 women lined up outside a single toilet. On our way out of the café, the owners, all of whom were welcoming, stamped our Camino passports with expressions of seriousness typically reserved for the airport Customs and Border Protection.

These remote village cafes were usually empty before our group arrived, so I was surprised to enter one where every small round table was occupied, and customers stood three deep at the counter. I inched my way to the second row and peered over a shoulder. Behind the counter was the sole waitstaff. As I watched her, into my head popped Peggy Lee’s ’60’s hit, “I’m a Woman.” The lyrics described how a woman could, among other things, “… feed the baby, grease the car and powder my face at the same time …”

Behind this young woman, an espresso machine hissed, and with her left hand she’d shake a pan of eggs, with her right catch the slice of bread that sprung from a toaster, and all the while taking orders and making change. There were smiles on the faces of every waiting patron.

As we traipsed the trails, Josephine sprinkled her educational lectures with legends and stories of miracles. Before leaving the Burgos province, one legend would stay with me.