Day 14 - May 21st: Good News
Santibáñez de Valdeiglesias to La Aldea de la Valdoncina: 17.3 miles / 341 total
In Spain, healthcare may be public—but there’s always a private backdoor if you’ve got cash. For €150, I got an off-hours appointment with Dr. Alfredo, a young sports doc who agreed to see me just before dinner. No credit card, no Venmo, no Wise—cash only. No trace.
He prodded my shin, just above the ankle on the medial tibia. I yelped. Why all the black and blue, did you twist it? Nope. Knocked it? Nope. I braced for a repeat of my 2021 third-degree stress fracture diagnosis that ended my run across the US. But he said it might be vascular or muscular—unclear, thanks to the bruising. He needed more tests.
Back in his office, he called a contact at a hospital in León. Just like that, I had a 4:05 p.m. appointment the next day. Cash again, of course. I was to bring the films straight back to him. In the meantime: ice, ibuprofen, compression, and absolutely no running. I pushed him on walking—he reluctantly gave me the green light to keep doing 30 km/day as long as it doesn’t get worse. Just hearing “not likely a stress fracture” felt like a reprieve.
That night we stayed at L’Abilleiru Albergue Rural, a cozy, bohemian auberge with 10 pilgrims, a courtyard, and treehouse charm. For the first time this trip, we dined with the group. The host—an earthy woman with tangled gray hair and gold-rimmed glasses—ran every facet of the place. Dinner was Camino classic: salad, lentils with exactly four meatballs, ice cream tart, and local wine. We shared a table with three French pilgrims who spoke no English, but the conversation flowed as I understood a bit of the French and Christina translated between us for the rest.
Jax was able to join us for dinner and was super well behaved
Next day we had an extra layer of logistics above the usual xx kilometers to run.
First issue: Dr. Alfredo’s fee. Christina’s attempt to withdraw cash after the appointment ended with an ATM eating my Amex. “Out of service.” Perfect.
I hit the trail that morning and reached Hospital de Órbigo, a small town rich in Camino lore. Its crown jewel is the Puente del Paso Honroso—a 13th-century bridge with 19 arches, built along the path of an ancient Roman road linking Astorga to Zaragoza. Along the road on the right was a massive fairground with stands and a jousting arena. The story behind this is that in 1434, a knight named Don Suero de Quiñones set up camp there and challenged every pilgrim to a joust—holding the bridge for a month to prove his honor and love. He broke over 300 lances before declaring victory and continuing on to Santiago. They still reenact it every June with a full medieval festival.
An energetic group of Australians stopped to meet Jax and me. Their leader, a Catholic sister, brings groups to the Camino to unplug and reconnect. This was her 10th pilgrimage. During our conversation, Jax walked up to a woman and started humping her leg. He also tried to hump the barber yesterday while getting my hair cut. I guess he goes both ways… anyone know how to reprogram this embarrassing behavior!?
I found a working ATM in town and—cue rant—got slapped with the usual foreign exchange abuse. 6% fee, another transaction charge, and a brutal 1.22 EUR/USD conversion when the spot rate is 1.12. That’s nearly a 20% hit just to access my own money. Airport exchanges are worse—some hitting 40%. Absolute racket.
Christina doubled back, got the cash, paid the doctor, and stopped at the bank to reclaim the Amex. They had it—but would only release it to me. So she drove 40 km to find me, then brought me back to get the card, then drove again. Somewhere along the way, a rock hit our windshield. Crack. “Merde,” she said. Just another round of the Camino game. Laundry’s at five days and counting, but lodging is secured. Can’t get crazy, do what we can and try to stay ahead of the game.
I'm back on plan—no longer ahead. I hate falling behind, but if I get strong again, I’ll claw it back. 100 km behind? That’s 5 km extra for 20 days. Manageable.
The path has flattened out and now hugs a major highway—hot, exposed, head-down work except for the pretty wild flowers. Just tick the kilometers off.
At 4:05 p.m., we arrived at HM San Francisco Hospital in León. Clean, modern, busy. We took a number. Not in the system. A woman from international clients helped us sort the mix-up—turns out there were two Patricias, ours was in radiology. On the money side, she took my insurance information and then made me sign a promise to pay. The sweat started again and I asked, “how much would the services be if I have to pay?” She responded, “no more than 150 euros.” Phew, can’t imagine what it would have been in the United States!
45 minutes later, I walked out with x-rays and an echogram and crossed the street to Dr. Alfredo.
His verdict:
No vascular damage. No muscle tear. No fracture.
There’s pain, yes—but I’m clear to build back slowly.
Game on.
Dinner, rest, and definitely, a brighter outlook.
Thanks for the support and following along.
Cheers,
David.
