I have fond memories of Azofra, that’s where I was thinking of heading to today; a derelict village seemingly empty but charming. I stayed there in 2016, and as much of this Camino is, it’s a chance to revisit places that I remember.
A lot of the walk today is alongside the highway, not passing through many towns unless you feel like taking the detour through Sotes, or Ventosa. I didn’t.
There’s Dario too with his signature turquoise towel hanging from his backpack. I met him last night at the Begoña y Antonio’s cafe in Navarrete. He was walking with MaryAnne from Canada for a few days. He’s a ‘media guy’ – photography and video production based near Milan. Dario’s a bit serious and always seems to have something on his mind. He walks at a good pace, faster than me but stops often, I’ve no idea what he’s doing. We pass by each other 3 or 4 times today.
Cereal crops and vineyards fill the space between Navarete and Najera. I stopped in Najera at Cafe-Bar La Luna (again a revisit) for a coffee and tortilla. Here I bumped into Jim and Bobbi. I first met Jim in St Jean Pied de Port where we enjoyed a chat and a coffee together. One of the nicest things about walking the Camino is the constant crisscrossing with people met in other places. Jim’s a 70-something retired marine with plenty of stories. Very warm and chilled out but struggling with a crook knee.
Bobbi, I thought, was Jim’s travelling buddy – turns out they just crossed paths for a day or so. Bobbi, trying to find himself, divorced and looking for love. 5 kms with him was about enough but these moments add texture to the day.
Najera turns out to be a bit of a dud, other friends suggest that it’s pretty cooked as a drug haven. The people were odd and the town lacked ‘warmth’; it did feel like one of those big-city outer suburbs best left alone.
Climbing the hill and leaving Najera, there are more vineyards and cereal crops, it’s dry and nothing here looks particularly fertile, nevertheless, the well-manicured vineyards are thriving.
Walking these dusty tracks I half expect tumbleweeds to blow across the path – the path that brings us to the same derelict vibe and the weird charm I remember of Azofra. Entering the town feels like entering the set of a Western movie. I feel Azofra is hiding some dark secret, eyes behind curtains ever watchful.
Around 1:30 pm, I arrived at the big municipal that stands monolithic in the landscape, settled into the two-bunk room (all rooms are the same – very flash!), and then took a walk around the small village. Dogs barking, and no one was around except for a kid playing soccer against the walls of a handball court. Further on, a playground, a bit out of town in a paddock, odd.
At the pilgrim’s meal at Cafe Sevilla, I sat with Jim and Bobbi who had arrived in Azofra later in the afternoon, a few others at the table made for an enjoyable night. At the bar were a few of the local farmers enjoying a drink after a long day in the dry fields.
Another day done and dusted.