Awoke early as usual and was glad that my leg felt a bit better,

though still very tender. Actually it hurt a lot and I wasn't at

all sure that I could continue. Nevertheless, I got my gear

together and headed up to the cathedral to say my fairwells to it

and have one last look. I felt a special fondness for it and

enjoyed making photographs of some of the exterior details. I was

becoming more and more uncertain about going on today because of

my leg. Although I could limp around I was in fear of it suddenly

going into a spasm as it did yesterday and preventing me from

walking. I wouldn't want that to happen out on the camino in the

middle of nowhere. Had an extra cafe or two before finally

deciding to head out. Leaving Leon was easier said than done since

I was off the marked trail and had to thread my way through town.

Basically, I just decided to follow a group of pilgrims who looked

like they knew where they were going. Just before leaving the area

of the cathedral I ran into Win, the Hollander who directed me

when I first entered Leon. We talked for a while and she said that

she was concerned about having no rain gear and was debating about

buying some or not. Being a tender-foot myself, I really couldn't

advise her with any authority, but suggested that she needn't

stress out too much over it. I told her that I was carrying a

simple vinyl parka. I had the feeling she was just as apprehensive

as I was about leaving the comfort of a big city. She asked me to

pick up a message for her at Hospital de Orbigo which was about a

days walk further on. We parted company, I on my way out of town,

and she off to buy a slicker. After gazing at one of Antonio

Gaudi's buildings I walked on past the Real Basilica de San

Isadore toward the Hostal de San Marcos on the River Bernesga

which I had to cross. I must say that my infirmed condition and

concern prevented me from appreciating any of these remarkable

buildings. Essentially, I was concentrating on putting one foot in

front of the other and simply carrying on without getting run over

by a car. Avoiding vehicles was no small accomplishment, I might

add, especially crossing the Plaza de San Marcos, which was huge

and drivers offered no special leniency to crippled pilgrims who

were trying to get across and not staying within the proper

walkways. I did manage to make it, of course, and felt less and

less confident the closer I got to the outskirts of Leon proper.

At noon I limped into Virgen del Camino, 7 km out of Leon. As I

entered the town, fighter jets flew low in their approach to a

nearby airfield jarring any pilgrim out of romantic fantasies

about walking the ancient road. If that didn't do it, the spector

of the Sanctuary of the Virgen del Camino certainly would. Despite

the 13 huge bronze statues adorning the front of the building,

this specimen of modern architecture is a far cry from any of the

ancient cathedrals I encountered so far, and pales in comparison

to the Gothic wonder of the cathedral in Leon. It stands as a

shrine to the shepherd Alvar Simon to whom the Virgen appeared and

instructed to build a shrine around 1514. I have no idea what

became of the original shrine, but the event sparked the spread of

the cult of the Virgen del Camino which spread rapidly. I

immediately entered what seemed to be the only bar which was

across the street from the Shrine. I was the only customer and

ordered a cafe solo from the man behind the counter who had a

distinctly sour disposition. Having encountered the full spectrum

of bartenders from gracious and hospitable to grumpy pilgrim

haters, I drank my cafe undaunted by his hostility. I looked over

the postcards and was considering purchasing one until I noticed

the outrageous price which matched the high price of the cafe solo.

At this point something very interesting occurred. After leaving

the bar and crossing a highway to get back on el camino, I came to

a place where the paved road, my map, and the pilgrim yellow

arrows all indicated going straight, while a sharp left hand turn

would take me across a field on an alternate route. Painted on the

road were instructions indicating that the way to Villar de

Marzarife was to the left. At the refugio in Leon I had picked up

a little pamphlet giving directions to Villar de Marzarife and had

heard rumors of there being an art museum and talented artist

living there. So here I was faced with a choice: go straight for

the direct traditional shorter route, or turn left for the

alternate route and include the museum and artist. Another element

thrown into the decision was the fact that I was about to embark

on a trek across the stark Leonese plain, the prospects of which

did not seem appealing. I considered my choice for a moment,

checked the status of my right shin which was throbbing as I stood

looking at my map and walked straight ahead. There was little

contest between the two choices actually. My poor condition

mandated the straight on path.

Portion of pamphlet I picked up in Leon.

After walking a short way, the paved road I was on turned slightly

left and I continued following the yellow arrows. After about half

an hour I came to delightful little town situated in a gully,

beautiful old houses and a fountain in the small square. As was

not unusual I saw not a single soul stirring. It was another

Spanish ghost town of the sort I have become so used to. I stopped

to rest on a shady bench by a house and drank a sip of water. Just

then I heard someone coming along the road and when I looked up I

was surprised to see Win, the woman I had spoken to as I left

Leon. We greeted each other and after splashing a bit of water on

our faces at the fountain started off. Even though the temperature

was about 82 degrees fahrenheit, the sun was very hot in a

cloudless sky and I put on some sunscreen lotion just before

leaving the pleasant little town. As we walked it became evident

from our conversation that we were heading for Villar de Mazarife

and I indicated my surprise. I told her of my decision to forego

the artist and museum and she wondered about my ability to follow

instructions which were all over the road. I told her that I saw

the signs clearly and deliberately walked straight where she says

she turned left. It was disconcerting, but somewhere along the way

I must have missed a yellow arrow and taken the wrong path.

As we walked, Win told me about herself. Back in Holland she quit

her job as a legal secretary and shaved her head just before

starting her pilgrimage. She told me that if she concentrated on

her heart she could produce ecstatic states and that she worked

with a shrink and a Chinese master who was able to produce

ecstatic states also, but that she didn't get along with either of

them. She talked of having met illuminated people.

"How did you know they were illuminated?" I asked.

"Because they smiled a lot."

Clearly Win wasn't telling me everything. I had to carefully

consider her assessment of pilgrims as a group being

"not quite a full shilling,"

and after applying the test to myself, I decided she was correct.

At 7:00 we arrived in Villar de Mazarife feeling hot, tired, and

dusty. There were signs directing us to the museum which turned

out to be a small private house containing the work of the artist

who lived there. For some reason I declined a visit down the

stairs to this private museum and waited outside while Win entered

and had her credentials stamped. Maybe it was the entrance fee

that put me off, or the fact that I was here by mistake, I really

don't know why I decided to pass on the artist. When she came out

we trudged up the road to the refugio which was a short distance

away. This was a simple yet typical two story house in a row of

houses on the street. Inside there was no kitchen or shower, but

it had a lovely courtyard with a balcony on the upper level

overlooking it. There were only a few people there including

Philip, a Canadian, and his American companion Jennifer who I met

up with off and on at various refugios. After settling in and

selecting a bed on the floor upstairs, I walked into the center of

town to the Super Spar grocery store and bought cheese, wine and

assorted fruit. I stopped at the bakery for bread on the way back

and felt prepared for the next day's walk. There were so few

people at the refugio that I actually had a small room to myself.

I shared the food and wine I bought with Win, Philip and anyone

else who was interested and talked a bit with Philip while Win was

off a separate small table in the courtyard writing.

Courtyard of the refugio in Villar de Mazarife.

After retiring that evening, I woke around midnight to use the

lavatory which was downstairs in the courtyard. Afterwards I

stepped out into the middle of the courtyard where I could see the

sky and when I looked up I saw the milky way for the first time on

my pilgrimage. This was a big moment for me since the milky way is

associated with the Compostela (field of stars) of Santiago de

Compostela. As I looked up at the clearly visible and glorious

galaxy I thought of the idea that it mirrors el camino here on

earth and of my destination still far to the west.

Villar de Mazarife.