I’ve just completed the Camino de Madrid. (OK, flight delays cost me Madrid-Tres Cantos, so technically the walk was Tres Cantos to Sahagún. Someday I’ll fill in that gap. I only had the spring break week to make the pilgrimage, so it was a whirlwind affair, but I loved it, and found myself frequently wondering what had taken me so long to follow this Camino. It was certainly a joy, though, to get to experience it for the first time now.
I’m a planner and a detail-minded person, but even still, my walking in recent years—mostly guidebook-oriented or leading high schoolers—has been so consumed with tracking specifics that I decided to come into this almost entirely blind. Given the limited accommodation options this time of year, and the need to go a certain daily distance plus the desire to not go far beyond that, I established a daily schedule. Sometimes, when wifi was available at day’s end, I checked whether a store would be in my next day’s final destination, or a kitchen at the albergue. Otherwise, though, I took everything as it came. I just walked and walked, unbothered.
It’s difficult to exaggerate my good fortune. Never once did it rain. Only a single day was even overcast. The temperature never broke 20/70. I always had sufficient fuel to proceed without hunger. I didn’t encounter a single pilgrim—a loss in many regards, but the solitude served my purposes for this walk. The greatest suffering I endured was a few days where the first café con leche didn’t come until 25-30km in, but that only served to make the remainder of the walk fly past.
The first day’s walk, from Tres Cantos to Manzanares El Real, while pilgrim-free, was filled with Madrileños enjoying a sunny spring Saturday. Packs of bicyclists sped past, returning (I suspect) to the capital. Families picnicked. Small groups of children walked with patient leaders. I saw bunnies bounding back and forth and storks swooping overhead. The church in Colmenar Viejo proved to be a rarity on this walk—open and even with a sello available—and I arrived just as a walking group surged in. After a stony descent, I enjoyed the sparkling lake beneath Manzanares and the majestic castle above it. The first of many to come.
While I had avoided reading much about the route, I knew two things about my second day. First, it would lead me to Segovia, which I once visited 20 years ago, and that was thrilling enough. Second, it included practically all of the noteworthy elevation gain and loss of the entire Camino de Madrid. That was exhilarating. Coming off my first sleep following a trans-Atlantic flight, and grappling with the time conversion in the wake of that morning’s conclusion of Spain’s daylight savings period, I was renewed if a little groggy, and not fully prepared for darkness to reign until nearly 8am. The route to Cercedilla was pleasant walking on the fringe of foothills, boulders all around, and even included a mid-stage opportunity for coffee and tortilla. The bartender asked me if I had come to ski, complete with a “swoosh-swoosh” gesture. My confusion was only resolved in Cercedilla, when I discovered a museum of skiing.
I confess that, several kilometers from town, I was mildly disappointed. The route followed a minor road, climbing steadily into the mountains, and while the scenery was lovely, and I reckoned that my jet-lagged body should be grateful for the least strenuous gain of 500m of elevation possible, I was saddened to think that the full extent of this lone mountainous stretch would be road-bound. However, the route quickly disabused me of such notions, veering onto a rocky footpath climbing ever higher. At one point, I reached a wide stone bridge, jarring for its man-made imposition on this rugged terrain, and a reminder that today’s nature trail was yesterday’s highway. Not long after, I finally crested the top, and while I wasn’t rewarded with a memorable vista, I was still satisfied. The descent, first through the trees and then later offering a splendid view of the green valley below, was a delight, and easy walking to boot.
Segovia on a Sunday afternoon was a stunning contrast to the quiet march through the mountains, filled with crowds and even marching bands. I remembered the aqueduct as a defining feature, but even still I wasn’t prepared for that dramatic encounter in the town center. The albergue is further down the Camino, so I decided to stay in a hotel in the central plaza, across from the cathedral. Room prices in March are awesome.
On my third day, I braced for flat, agricultural monotony, but encountered nothing of the sort. First, in March, everything is a luminous, rich, spectacular green. The land sparkles, it teems with life. And in this stretch from Segovia, while certainly not mountainous, neither is the land flat. It rolls languidly away from the city. And on the way, it is interrupted by pine groves, through which run sandy trails. I had never seen the harvesting of pine resin in the fashion done here, with lines hacked into the base of the trunk at different points and buckets positioned below. A mid-day stopping point, Santa María la Real de Nieva, stunned me, as the cloisters are on par with any I’ve ever seen—the sculpted capitals are on par with Moissac’s. I was so happy to be walking through such beautiful country that when I arrived in Nava de la Asunción, my anticipated destination, my body told me I was not yet done. I bought some snacks at Lupa, a supermarket handily situated on the route, plopped down in the parking lot to dispose of them, and then pushed onto Coca.
I laughed out loud when I arrived. To be clear, I believed there was an albergue there, but I didn’t know for sure—such was my limited preparation. I travel with a burner smartphone, but it only works on wifi, so I was just optimistic things would work out. I didn’t know what was waiting for me in Coca. As it turns out, a spectacular, dramatic castle was waiting, with elegant stonework lining its crenellations. If I had passed through early the next morning, following the Camino around the village, would I have even noticed? Instead, I had to scrape my jaw off the ground and—eventually—march onward in search of accommodation. I found my way to the biblioteca, where the very helpful librarian confirmed there was an albergue, provided me with a map to reach it, and also directed me to a place where I could retrieve the keys. Alone in the albergue that night, preparing dinner in the kitchen, I marveled at the good fortune that had brought me there. I marveled, too, at how this Camino offered another reminder of what my body is capable of, for at this point, three days in, I had already completed what would be the two longest and hardest stages of this short walk, and I felt healthy and content.
That was a good thing, because day four began with 24km of nearly-uninhabited country en route to Alcazarén. After a quick coffee, I headed over to the grocery store for a quick visit that became a long one. It was “by your own lunch day” at the preschool, so a pack of adorable tots were determinedly (and adorably) counting out their centimos at the counter, while a line of local adults waited behind, cheering them on. I had to join them, of course. Once finished, I flopped down behind the ruined Iglesia de San Pedro, took off my shoes, and started working my way through a four-pack of yogurt. Between cartons #2 and #3, I applied a bandaid to a problematic pinky toe that was showing early signs of chafing. As I did so, a woman walked by and wished me good appetite and successful medical care. I might not have seen any pilgrims, but locals were consistent cheerful enough to see me.
Another long, open stretch remained, en route to Valdestillas—a long road that thinks it’s a town. That’s unfair, but it was still a prolonged bit of exposed walking to my hotel for the night on the far, far side. The amazing thing, though, was that a Spaniard approached me later that night for directions in town, and I was able to provide them. And they were even accurate!
Day five opened up with the least pleasant stretch of walking to that point, on a track alongside a rural highway to Puente Duero, and then a good bit of pavement onward to Simancas. It’s worth noting that I was impressed time and again by just how much of the Camino de Madrid is offroad. It might be the highest percentage of any Camino I’ve done. While that wasn’t true this morning, that was offset by the fact that I was able to get coffee 9km in and then 6km later. Plus, each of the first two towns had impressive medieval bridges, and the latter even had a castle.
There was a rhythm to this day. Puente Duero was low and tucked away. Simancas towered above. Once beyond that town, the emerald carpet rippled forth around me, but in the distance I could see the steeple that promised Ciguñuela. But then Wamba was like Puente Duero, hidden out of site until just before arrival. Climbing back out, I saw a lump in the distances. Was it a rock pile 500m ahead, or a hill town 5km further? I couldn’t say. And is that difference a matter of distance or time? Regardless, I pushed on. I had been warned at the bar in Valdestillas that the final ascent to Peñaflor was a doozy. I didn’t realize there was a false ascent before the real one, but the latter was as promised. It’s a shame that the albergue is closed in Peñaflor, as that’s a lovely old village, but at least the grocery remains open, and there’s an impressive assortment of stuff tucked away in there! And, the silver lining is that this pushed me—and likely many other pilgrims—onto Castromonte, and they have a marvelous albergue, complete with a free washing machine, well-equipped kitchen, and even accessible wifi from the municipal swimming pool across the street. The butcher’s shop, while closed in the afternoon, will reopen for pilgrims and has a small selection of groceries. The town even features the “Museum of Imaginary Rocks,” which I enjoyed.
My penultimate day’s major surprise was Medina de Rioseco. I wasn’t ready for such a big town—the biggest on the route aside from Segovia. A hole-in-the-wall churrería was my first stop. Then it was onto a café to wash down the chocolate with coffee, and if the bartender threw in a couple of cream puffs for good measure, who was I to say no? Keep your eyes peeled and you’ll see a life-size crocodile hanging from a house on Calle Mayor, and then you may see something even more surprising—an open church. Staying in Medina would have been a joy, but leaving it was also exciting, as this next stretch follows the Canal de Castilla, which brought back fond memories of the walk into Frómista. In Cuenca de Campos and Villalón de Campos I really enjoyed the many overhanging rooms (enclosed balconies?) perched above the sidewalk on old wooden pillars.
This final march was a mostly somnambulant affair, with the lone coffee stop landing just 5km before Sahagún. The last couple days of the Camino de Madrid mostly flatten out, with agricultural land dominating the landscape in all directions. It’s not as interesting or varied as what precedes it. Even so, I was excited to discover that I was in Ponce de León’s birthplace in Santervás de Campos. Given how many people have found the fountain of youth on the Camino, it makes Ponce’s pursuit seem as ironic as it was futile. I was also thrilled to add another beauty of a castle to the trip in Grajal de Campos—a handsome town with a wonderfully situated albergue.
In my final approach to Sahagún, I realized it had been nearly a decade since I was last here. At that time, my student group was suffering from “the plague”—an intense gastrointestinal event that had caused more than 24 hours of projectile vomiting. Most were thus awaiting transport on this day, while I walked onward with the healthy ones. (My co-leader was among the infected; between purges, she politely asked me to kill her.) Even though I was holding up, I could feel the sickness at work within, vying for control—as though angels and demons were battling it out, except the stakes were higher.
Today, though, such agonies were far in the past. For at the moment when many pilgrims reach their midpoint, I arrived at my ending. And now I finish this in Valladolid, where I’m spending the night before continuing onto Madrid tomorrow, and then home.
Anyway, I loved the walk. Couldn’t have asked for a better spring break.
