I heard from a fellow peregrino that there had been two deaths on the Camino last week, between St. Jean Pied de Port and Pamplona, where I was.

There are a few deaths in the Camino every year, but two in one week is somewhat unusual. One man died after all fall, and other from a heart attack. Heart attacks are the most common cause of death on the Camino, I’d read.

I ate my “take-away” breakfast before leaving the albergue. Ham sandwich with mayonnaise in white bread, as you might feed to a young child, and a vending machine croissant in cellophane. I certainly am eating things here that is never eat at home, but you have to take advantage of any food you can get.

The marker near the beginning of today’s trail said 554.6 km to Santiago. Progress since the 790 km sign last week! This number is strangely specific, as I’ve learned that distance signs here are often “approximate.”

I arrived in San Juan de Ortega (“St. John of the Nettles”) around 2:00, and found a decent bocadillo for lunch. There was already a long line of pilgrims waiting for beds at the municipal albergue.

The server at the cafe pointed me to a sign on the bulletin board with taxi information. I downloaded the app it referenced but could not get it to work. In the end I called the number (I don’t like talking on the phone in Spanish) and arranged a taxi.

My hotel was 10 km off the Camino on a major highway. I’m glad I didn’t decide to tack it on to today’s 24 km hike. Almost nobody got a bed in San Juan, so I imagine everyone was scrambling.

Difficult, but not impossible.

The door to the hotel was locked when I arrived. I called the number on the wall and a woman said she would be there in 5 minutes.

Took a walk around town after a shower. There is nothing here. The hospitalera said she could only serve dinner if more than two people made reservations, so I tried to check out the other options.

There’s almost nothing in this drab little town. It seems depressing after so many beautiful medieval villages, but I suppose this is how most locals live.

Across the hall is an American couple, apparently. Both have savage coughs that echo throughout the building. One or the other of them is always coughing, loudly. I hope I’ll be able to sleep, and that I don’t catch whatever they have.

The woman in charge had a change of heart and said she’d cook me dinner. Incongruously, she played Frank Sinatra on a Bluetooth speaker in the dining room. Another couple confirmed for dinner at the last minute, so it was a win-win.

I mentioned that I would need to get a taxi back to the Camino in the morning, but the hospitalera said that I was already on the old Camino route, only 15 km from the Burgos cathedral. She said it was marked along the way like the route in the guidebooks. I checked the map and will give it a try. What could go wrong?