San Juan de Ortega was the setting of one of the most memorable events of my first Camino in 1990 though for certain reasons I have very little memory of how the place looked.
I arrived at San Juan de Ortega in late afternoon on a hot August day having walked from Belorado. For most of the afternoon I had been throwing up violently - probably food poisoning though it may have been sunstroke. Two French couples I had shared an albergue with the previous night saw my dreadful state and called the priest - probably with the last rites in the back of their minds
He led me off to his cool dark kitchen and poured me a huge tumbler of neat Spanish gin. "Drink that!" "No food, no water, just gin". I expressed some doubt at the plan and asked the priest to bury me if it proved fatal and then write to tell my wife. "Don't worry about her - she's young, she'll marry again!" So I downed the gin in one gulp. For about 20 seconds I was in agony as my mistreated innards were cauterized. Then a wonderful warm feeling replaced it. The priest led me to a bed where I promptly fell asleep. He came by several times that night to check I was OK. By morning I was miraculously recovered and well enough to walk on to Burgos. I vaguely remember that the old monastery complex was basically a building site - work in progress. I remember very little in detail about the building itself. But the generous welcome and compassion from my fellow pilgrims and especially the parish priest have stayed with me.
I also have to tell about San Juan de Ortega. I hope you enjoy it. It was in January 2015. I also began from Belorado. I remember stopping for lunch, and then the long hill, stopping at a war monument, and then carrying on.
I was conscious that I was behind time in getting to the next village where I would sleep the night. It was important to get there before dark. I had an
anxious feeling. It was like a small cloud on an otherwise cloudless day. If I could mark it 1 to 10, it would be about a 3 – a low intensity sort of feeling.
I carried on, and on and on. It seemed these mountains would go on forever. There were still occasional way markers, which assured me that I was on the right track. The ground was muddy and uneven, ok for daylight but treacherous when the light began to fade. I needed to be careful. Finally it was becoming dark. The
anxious feeling was
now much stronger. It was like a storm that had been brewing all afternoon and which I knew I would be unlikely to escape. On a scale 1 to 10, it would have been a 7. An orange colour turning to red.
Finally, in the darkness I saw faint lights of the monastery town I was heading for. I reached it late at night. Everything was quite and still.
I heard noise coming from one house. I enquired as to where the monastery accommodation was. They told me it was closed for the winter (the monks had left 300 years before!). No accommodation. Four kilometres to the next town. Maybe accommodation there. My anxious feeling was now full blown. A 10 out of 10. I felt weak, helpless, like a baby pleading for help. Incapable of fending for myself anymore. Nowhere to sleep or find shelter. My
anxious feeling was a
red colour, like standing on a railway line frozen, with a train coming directly at me. It was like a storm was going to hit me any moment.
I met a couple who were working on the renovations to the Church / Monastery. It was hard to communicate. I knew no Spanish, and they no English. The could see I was agitated. They mentioned aubergue and hotel. I thought they were saying they were saying they owned a hotel and I could stay with them. In reality they were asking if I must stay in a aubergue, or if I would be prepared to stay in a hotel, where they were staying. I just wanted to get into their car! They agreed to take me. They were staying in a hotel and were happy to take me to that hotel, where I could see if I could stay. I remember thinking in their car "I don't care where we are going - north, south, east, west - I just need to get a bed for the night. We got to the hotel. I could afford it. I didn't asked where I was. Next morning I did enquire, and the Camino track ran past the hotel.
St John de Ortega taught me a lot. Ignatian Spirituality talks of desolation and consolation. My desolation was having no where to stay and almost blaming the world for that 9in my mind, not inactions). Irrational thinking of course. It showed that side of me. Soset on staying there that I could see no options.Quite wrong of course. But then the blessing - a couple helping (that happens so often on the Camino.) So St John de Ortega was a growth experience for me indeed.