Boadilla to Carrion de los Condes

18 Sep; Day 16. As we did most mornings, we were up and leaving Boadilla in the dark. We walked along the canal watching the sky lighten as the sun began to rise. Walking by the water we found a boat landing, wondering where the boat was as that seemed like a good way to pilgrim down the river. We wandered on, following the canal to Fromista where we found breakfast, about 5km. Walking to breakfast has now become a habit, one we all seem to find works for our systems. Just before the town we found the boat tied up at another landing, just before the lochs. I found myself thinking of a canal holiday in a long boat. That could be a thing sometime in the future. The canal we followed was from the 18th century, for the transportation of crops as well as providing power to turn the corn mills. Many pilgrims had stayed in Fromista the night before and had already departed, so after breakfast we followed on.

At the end of the next town we had a choice of paths, one going via the main road and the other taking a more scenic route. We had left Brenda attending to a chap with a shin splint. With both of my travel companions suffering from shin splints, they had become experts at taping them, so we made an executive decision to take the slightly longer more scenic route, texting her to follow. As the fastest walker among us we knew she would catch up before we stopped for lunch. Following the dusty road, we eventually came to a turn across a bridge. A man in a van was handing out pieces of tomato. Tomatoes here are huge so half a tomato is a good snack. He had no English and rattled on in Spanish. His named was Pepe and he was doing service for the pilgrims by offering food from his garden. After a moment of wondering how clean his hands might be, I took the offering gratefully and enjoyed the sweet taste of the sun in the juices.

From there we meandered along the river to where the track met the road and stopped for lunch before trudging another 5-6km to Carrion de los Condes. A 25km day, we were ready to kick the shoes off, shower and die on our beds. We had decided not to go anywhere that night, though we usually looked for a pilgrims mass to finish our day. The owner of the hostel very kindly gave us the information on what was where in Carrion. As we discovered the church was across the street and they were having a guitar concert, we decided to go. So happy we did, the guitar was lovely, followed by mass and a wonderful blessing by the nuns which felt very special.

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I live and work in a beautiful place with a river and beach and the wild west coast. Having grown up without a TV, as a family we read a lot. This lead to me writing a lot which in turn lead to a habit of writing poetry to make sense of my world. My grandmother painted. Lovely oils and water colours which she encouraged me to try. For many years I did very little, life was not conducive to creativity until came a time when life turned on its head and suddenly I found expression in creativity with the Intentional Creativity method taught by Shiloh Sophia McCloud in her Color of Women training. So here I am, writer, artist, ritual maker showing my offerings to the world.

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