Nestled in the hillside just before the isolated village of Moratinos, about 69 km from the city Leon on the Northern Meseta (population 59, back in 2018), stand a series of ‘bodegas’. Signs inform passing pilgrims that these structures are not hobbit-holes, they are historic infrastructure that was essential to the wine culture of the region.
The families of Moratinos used the caves, each dug to the required size and equipped with a ventilation shaft, to make and store enough wine for their annual needs.
Today, only a few locals maintain the tradition. Many families have moved to the city, abandoning the caves, carefully dug and maintained by their ancestors. Interpretation signs suggest that bodegas are now used as ‘party structures’, as well as storing cheese and other foodstuffs. They also warn pilgrims about the dangers posed by collapsing caves and ask, ‘Please don’t leave trash or use the bodegas as toilets’.
When we passed Moratinos late morning on a Friday, the posh-looking restaurant was closed, as were the church and the community centre. It took about two minutes to traverse the village. While our hopes sometimes wane a little, we are adaptable and undaunted. Life on the Camino trail teaches you that human needs are simple, few, and shared by all.
And we were forewarned. When we arrived at our lodgings the previous day, our host informed us that the road ahead would take us through a vast and unpopulated open plain, intersecting just a few quiet villages. Moratinos was the second of the two. We are now ‘alert but not alarmed’. With our 10 O’clock coffee (from the previous village) processed and pressing for release, we saunter nonchalantly out of town to scan for signs of essential services.
We need to find a dense cluster of bushes (preferably a few hundred metres from the road) and a dignity-preserving gap in the foot traffic.
No sign of a suitable pilgrim pit-stop for miles.
Then on a side road, and ‘just in time’ we spot the perfect situation.
Then, just as I adopt the squat position, a car turns into the side road. And this was supposed to be an unpopulated wasteland! The car slows to a walking pace, then pulls up adjacent to my white bottom. A highly amused farmer winds down the window to offer his best wishes for our walk, ‘Buen Camino!’
Thankfully, red suits me.
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