Today´s Camino lesson: All the various ways that sending your pack ahead can come back to bite you in the ass.
So after I got off the computer last night, we had a pretty decent dinner...and this guy wandered in and sat at the table next to ours. His name was Ryan, he was American and had been living in Madrid for about five years. We chatted a bit...he wanted to talk a lot about the war and wanted up-to-date-from-home information about the presidential campaign and all my opinions on Bush and his war. Wrong person to ask on all counts, I tried to tell him, but he persisted. In an attempt to throw him off the track, I threw in some questions about his Camino. He´s just started the other day. I mentioned that we´d sent our packs that day and planned to do the same thing tomorrow. His ears perked up...he was in about day 3, when the pain begins. He was in. Even better, he´d make the call. Thank GOD, because his Spanish was sure to be better than mine.
It took till morning, but we got the call through and expected the taxi at 8 to take the bags to Ponferrada, 29k down the mountain. Ryan came and went at 7:30 and left the €7.50 it would cost each of us to close the deal. Off he went. We waited. 8:00 came and went. So did 8:15. As did 8:30. At 8:40, I attempted, in my butchered Spanish, to have a conversation with the bartender who had given Ryan the number. (Please note that my recounting of this conversation is based upon what I believe I said and what I believe he said back. It is entirely possible, however, that at some point, I asked him how many green ostriches live in his bathtub.)
Me: We called a taxi to take our bags. It isn´t here yet. What´s up?
Him: What time was he supposed to be here?
Me: 8 o´clock.
Him: That´s unusual; they´re usually very punctual.
Me: Can you call them? Or help us somehow?
Him: ...
(this may be the ostrich part)
Him: Where did you get the number?
Me: From your book.
So he slings me the number, and it says at the bottom, ¨Se habla Frances.¨ FRENCH. They speak French. I do not speak French. At this point, I start looking around the ragtag group of peregrinos who have straggled in for breakfast. I give up and just call out, ¨Anyone here speak English and Spanish? Or FRENCH??¨ German gal pipes up that there are French people here, and this glorious French angel rises from the table and comes to rescue me. I dash outside for Christa´s phone and we make the call and afterwards, St. Frances assures me that the taxi is on its way. We decide to wait till 9am and take off.
The problem is...we can´t just abandon ship and take the bags because that guy Ryan left his with ours, confident that things would be taken care of. Despite the devil on my left that whispered that you gotta look out for yours and he should´ve waited with us, I knew St. James wouldn´t like it if we left him high and dry. So we were stuck. My other problem was having walked 34k into Astorga and 29k out of it, and that Ponferrada was another 29k away and another big city.... Ick. I wanted to stop in Molinaseca. But I didn´t speak up, so....
9am. I asked the bartender (after scouring Skip´s Spanish-English dictionary for some random verbs I hadn´t studied in 1992) if we could leave the bags and the €30 and go. He said a lot of words in a very reassuring tone of voice with his hand on my arm, and I took that as a yes, and we booked it.
Now. It is quite a feeling to watch some dude whose language you don´t speak drive off in a van containing all your worldly possessions on an entire continent, taking them from a city in which you´ve spent 10 hours, to a town you´ve never been to, with a population of FIVE people. It is an even MORE interesting (read: nauseous) feeling to leave them sitting in a bar ATOP A MOUNTAIN waiting for a taxi that may or may not ever come.
But off we went. It wasn´t long before we were assuaged by the incredibly powerful views of the mountains and the country beyond stretching behind us. Herds of cows, stone walls and facades of long-abandoned houses, a GOAT in the top of the village...it was beautiful. Also, we were to hit the Iron Cross in 45 minutes, so we were excited about that, too. We could see it from far off, on an adjacent mountaintop, its tall wooden post shining in the sunlight against the purple backdrop of some very ominous looking stormclouds behind it. Without our packs, we were practically skipping towards it. The incredible green of the ferns and the little purple bell flowers continued. It was a beautiful walk.
The Iron Cross was as impressive as we expected it to be. It is a foot-high cross at the top of a wooden pole that is probably 20 feet tall, mounted in a huge pile of stones and rocks...and shells, and shoes, and hats, and walking sticks, and all kinds of things that people leave behind there. You´re supposed to bring a rock from home and leave it there, and either infuse it with all your sorrows and broken hearts, or make a wish as you put it down. (Christa planned to make a wish with hers, but in the end, decided to fill it with sorrows and spiked it as hard as she could. lol) The pole itself is covered with photographs, bracelets, watches, messages, flags, everything you could think of.
What should I leave?
Ahem. There is now a photograph of my four-year-old nephew on the pillar of an iron cross on a windswept mountaintop in northern Spain.
On the back it says, ¨Eric Michael Engelen, The love of my life, Born 14 May 2004, Love, Aunt Teenie.¨ =) I got pictures of it there, and one of me pointing to it from the bottom of the rockpile. COOL, huh? =)
There was also a giant sundial there at the site. In the center of the sundial are boxes containing the names of the months. You´re supposed to stand in the box of the month it is and then go through some mathematical manipulations based upon the season, and your shadow serves as the sundial. It was really cool. The math was beyond me, but I guessed it was probably pretty accurate, and we moved on.
Onward. Lots of up-downs and then a killer downhill that seemed to go on forever, but gave us another stunning panorama, this time of what lay ahead rather than what lay behind, which is a different feeling altogether. (Ponferrada was FAR, far in the distance....) It was gorgeous, though, and very windy. (If you go on the Camino, bring a hat that either stays on your head or can be stuffed into a bag...if you don´t it will drive you absolutely out of your mind to try to hang onto it.) As we passed, the mountains beside us seemed to turn their long, solemn faces to watch us go by...they never seemed to move. It was a partly cloudy day, so the different greens on their faces were beautiful, and sometimes we could see a tiny road or a tiny village.
Finally, El Acebo appeared, almost directly below us at an impossible tilt. It was all gray roofs along a tiny little narrow street...very charming. About a million pilgrims were there, especially in this one little restaurant that had done some advertising along the path up on the mountain. They advertised grandes bocadillos...huge sandwiches. They weren´t lying. I got one with hot bacon and cheese and tomatoes again (when I learn how to order something new, I´m stuck with it till I learn another food word) and it was SOOOOO good. They also had a cider that had me not wanting to get up off my barstool. Learning to savor and appreciate food is DEFINITELY one of my Camino lessons...usually, I couldn´t care less what I eat. But here, everything is like manna from heaven.
On the way out of El Acebo, we passed a walnut tree, and Christa ran to pull one down. She started to write on the sidewalk with it and told us that she used to do this all the time as a child because the writing would stay on the sidewalk for weeks. Unfortunately, so do the greenish-brown stains on your fingers, so when she was in school as a little girl, she was branded guilty as soon as the headmaster saw her fingers. Ha ha. So I wrote, on the way out of El Acebo, ¨HI FELIX -CME¨ on the sidewalk!! The boys are a day behind us, and I hope he sees it. =)
We walked on. More downhills, and each time I looked up, either at mountains or valley below, I wanted to take another picture. (I have a million of Skip´s and Christa´s backs.) I headed off in the lead for a while, which is a much different feeling than following behind, and we all drifted apart into iPods and (in Christa´s case) contemplation.
At long last, we reached Molinaseca and I was DONE. It was past 4pm. The bags, however, were 7k ahead in Ponferrada. We had to get there...that was the deal we´d made with ourselves when we´d sent them. But I had trouble brewing...I could feel blisters forming on what felt like EVERY toe on my left foot. (It amazes me how little I´ve been able to get used to this, even after three weeks. I still have muscle sores...I still get blisters...the boots are fine and comfortable now, but the blisters still come...???) I wanted to stay in Molinaseca. It was a gorgeous town, with a beautiful river and an even more beautiful church, and an even MORE beautiful Calle Mejor. It wasn´t that I was too tired to do another 7k...I wasn´t...but I was worried that if I kept on with the blisters forming, I´d be laid up tomorrow completely. Plus, Ponferrada is a decently big city, and the afternoon walks into cities like Burgos and Astorga have been hellacious, whereas the morning walk into Logroño was merely ugly. Ponferrada in the morning sounded a whole lot better than Ponferrada until 6:30pm.
But the bags. THE BAGS. The bags were at the municipal albergue in Ponferrada. Plus, Skip was keen to get there, because he´s sticking to the book. Out of the three of us, he is the only one who has a good reason (really, any reason) to reach Santiago on a certain day. He wants to be there on the 7th, the 10th anniversary of his brother´s death. So he wanted to go on and do whatever stretch the book laid out for us. Molinaseca was one stop before this leg ended.
Plus, I was in a mood because I was frustrated at having allowed myself to cede control of my Camino to someone else. Though the pack send saved a LOT of wear and tear on our joints today with all the steep downhilling, it still put us in a bind to reach Ponferrada. Since I´d wanted to stop in Molinaseca since the night before, and allowed myself to be carried on the Ponferrada current instead of making my own plans, I was mad at myself and trying to figure out which was more important...my own Camino decisions alone (and alone is hard), or give in to friends´ plans (and friends are good). Tough call.
So there was a lot of stony silence and a lot of sitting and staring at each other as we tried to figure out what to do. Christa was stuck in the middle.
Plan A: Skip suggested we could do without our packs tonight, stay here without them, he´d secure them to wait for us in the morning, and we´d just have a tough, showerless, slightly odiferous night. No go. My Compeed and my lotion and my foot care stuff was there, and I was NOT going without a shower.
Plan B: Two German women were catching a taxi to Ponferrada because they were knackered too. But I will NOT get back in a vehicle unless I am losing arterial blood from either aorta or femoral (brachial wounds will be judged on a case-by-case basis).
Plan C: Walk to Ponferrada anyway. And risk the next day´s walk because of burgeoning, crippling toe blisters. Started to try this one, then realized what a stupid idea it was.
Plan D: Christa and I check into an albergue in Molinaseca...Skip goes on to Ponferrada with a €20 and sends our bags back in a cab, the way they went in the first place.
Plan D Modified: Christa rides to Ponferrada with the German gals and brings back our packs, so as to minimize possible FUBARing of Plan D (i.e., wrong albergue, etc.)
Plan D Modified happened. Hug goodbye for Skip...we´re 7k apart so will almost definitely meet up again within a day or two. Christa decided to stay with me (for which I am guiltily grateful). She headed off in a taxi, I got stuck in a conversation with a power plant guy from VA Beach, talking about NASCAR and cross-country Harley riding forEVER. Found my albergue after two false starts and Christa was already there and (insert angels singing) so were the BAGS!!! Shower...bliss. Computer...not working, sent me to the local library, where it is free if you can stand the 90 degree temps inside. My raincoat is finally earning its 3-week, nearly-untouched place in my pack. And we are off to find dinner in this beautiful little town, as I try and figure out what the best course of action is for tonight regarding the bubbles on my toes. One is a bubble on the lower end of the horn that now functions as my little toe...the other one is at the bottom of a ridge forming on the toe next to it.
My feet will be nothing short of mutant by the time this is over. My pedicurist will be horrified. I´ve decided that when he stops rubbing my feet, I´ll hand him a 10 and ask him to keep going...and rinse and repeat until I run out of 10s.
All for now. Library closing and dinner calling. Hope today was amusing for all of you...not so much for me. But as I´ve experienced in travel, you either get a great time or a great story...and sometimes they overlap at least a little.
Skip...if you read this and need to email me, use merlintoes@hotmail.com, not the address on my card...the computer at home is not forwarding. We´ll keep an eye out for you.
(Anyone else is welcome to email too, ha ha.)
Love you all!!!
Thursday, July 31, 2008
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
Astorga to Foncebadón
Well, we´ve been talking about doing it for weeks, and today we finally did it. Sent the packs ahead. Most albergues advertise a service that will transport your rucksack to a destination you plan to reach at the end of the day...usually about 6-8€. Ours today was 9€ apiece to where we wanted to go, and we all had to do it as there was a minimum of 3 bags for the guy to make the run. It was SOOOOO WORTH IT.
We had an incredibly late morning. Skip couldn´t do his post office business till they opened at 8:30, and during his time there, Christa and I were supposed to have a nice long breakfast. But we didn´t know he´d gone, so we stood around, loaded up, and got underfoot of some very testy hospitaleros while we waited around for him. He finally showed up and we made the decision to send the packs. We were still hurting from yesterday´s abysmal trek into Astorga and were facing a 28k day with a good deal of uphill at the end. And it was going to be HOT. So we did it. THANK GOD. I don´t even want to think about what today would have been like otherwise.
As it were, we had a leisurely breakfast and didn´t stroll out of Astorga till nearly 11am. (We were to pay for it later in sweat.) And it was a stroll...no weight on our backs except for our light daypack/hippacks slung over our shoulders. It started out fine, but I have a joint issue in my left leg...don´t even know how to describe it...that had me in agony on a day that should have been easy. I finally asked Christa for a painkiller and was better in a little while.
The walk was pleasant otherwise. It was a bit like Oregon today...scrubby trees and brush beside the road...the tracks alternated between rocky sandy roads and red dirt. The orange-red contrasted beautifully with the blue skies and green trees. And the mountains steadily increased in focus...no longer pale blue backdrops but sharper blue with shades of green as we neared them.
Stops were blessedly short today...they´re wonderful until you have to start going again, and then it gets harder every time. The ice cream stop came before the lunch stop today, ha ha. Nothing really especially noteworthy. Lunch was...managed to get bacon instead of that thick ham stuff...and when it came out, the bacon was hot and the cheese was like Kraft singles and there were even tomatoes on it...wonderful. We found some folks we´ve managed to become friends with in the past few days...big difference in the feel of the Camino now that most faces are unfamiliar.
I felt like an imposter today without my pack. Like a fake pilgrim...like I wasn´t suffering enough. At the beginning, when I first heard about the pack transport, I thought that sounded more like cheating than the bus. Today I had NO moral issues with it.
We left Rabanal del Camino at 4pm...usually way too late to walk because of the heat, and a fine stopping place, but since our bags were all the way at Foncebadón, we didn´t have much choice. On we went. Up. The climb began late in the day.
But it was okay...obviously, since we were all about 20-30 pounds lighter...but it was beautiful shades of green with vibrant purple flowers along the way, some of which looked like little bells hung along stalks. We also had some breathtaking views of the valley behind us and the meseta beyond...we could see for miles and miles. Wind farms up on the crests above us...HUGE white propeller bladed windmills.
We finally reached Foncebadón...population FIVE. Just a little collection of buildings on the top of a windswept mountain. It´s gorgeous and quiet and peaceful and the albergue looks like a newly built mountain lodge. There´s a place to sit where we get the view of the whole valley below us, and Astorga looks a billion miles away. To look at it, it seems we walked 50 miles today instead of just under 20. It´s wonderful and very soothing.
Tomorrow, we´ll get to see the Cruz de Ferro...Iron Cross...important landmark on the Camino. It´s a tall stone pillar with a small iron cross at the top...the cross is only about a foot high. If I´d known about its tradition, I would have brought a stone from home to put at its base. But I didn´t...so I´ll have to come up with something else. We´re 45 minutes from it, and it´s the real crest of this mountain. Then it´s a TON of downhill till we get to the bottom...which can be much harder than uphill, as I´m sure I´ve said before. If we can, we´ll send the packs ahead and try to give our knees and feet a break for another day. If we go all the way to Ponferrada, it´ll be 29k, but Christa and I are thinking of staging a mutiny and stopping in Molinaseca...only 22k and puts us into Ponferrada the next morning, when we can take some time to see the Templar Castle...?
Forgot to put this part in for yesterday...the pasta sauce Skip made in Mazarife will heretofore be referred to as Skip´s Revenge. I don´t know WHAT I did to that boy, but he got me back for it. All. Day. LONG. Sheesh.
All for now. Gotta eat dinner, since the lady is closing down and is getting VERY testy with us for ordering a pilgrim´s menu (three of them) twenty minutes past the closing of dinnertime.
Love you all...talk to you tomorrow.
We had an incredibly late morning. Skip couldn´t do his post office business till they opened at 8:30, and during his time there, Christa and I were supposed to have a nice long breakfast. But we didn´t know he´d gone, so we stood around, loaded up, and got underfoot of some very testy hospitaleros while we waited around for him. He finally showed up and we made the decision to send the packs. We were still hurting from yesterday´s abysmal trek into Astorga and were facing a 28k day with a good deal of uphill at the end. And it was going to be HOT. So we did it. THANK GOD. I don´t even want to think about what today would have been like otherwise.
As it were, we had a leisurely breakfast and didn´t stroll out of Astorga till nearly 11am. (We were to pay for it later in sweat.) And it was a stroll...no weight on our backs except for our light daypack/hippacks slung over our shoulders. It started out fine, but I have a joint issue in my left leg...don´t even know how to describe it...that had me in agony on a day that should have been easy. I finally asked Christa for a painkiller and was better in a little while.
The walk was pleasant otherwise. It was a bit like Oregon today...scrubby trees and brush beside the road...the tracks alternated between rocky sandy roads and red dirt. The orange-red contrasted beautifully with the blue skies and green trees. And the mountains steadily increased in focus...no longer pale blue backdrops but sharper blue with shades of green as we neared them.
Stops were blessedly short today...they´re wonderful until you have to start going again, and then it gets harder every time. The ice cream stop came before the lunch stop today, ha ha. Nothing really especially noteworthy. Lunch was...managed to get bacon instead of that thick ham stuff...and when it came out, the bacon was hot and the cheese was like Kraft singles and there were even tomatoes on it...wonderful. We found some folks we´ve managed to become friends with in the past few days...big difference in the feel of the Camino now that most faces are unfamiliar.
I felt like an imposter today without my pack. Like a fake pilgrim...like I wasn´t suffering enough. At the beginning, when I first heard about the pack transport, I thought that sounded more like cheating than the bus. Today I had NO moral issues with it.
We left Rabanal del Camino at 4pm...usually way too late to walk because of the heat, and a fine stopping place, but since our bags were all the way at Foncebadón, we didn´t have much choice. On we went. Up. The climb began late in the day.
But it was okay...obviously, since we were all about 20-30 pounds lighter...but it was beautiful shades of green with vibrant purple flowers along the way, some of which looked like little bells hung along stalks. We also had some breathtaking views of the valley behind us and the meseta beyond...we could see for miles and miles. Wind farms up on the crests above us...HUGE white propeller bladed windmills.
We finally reached Foncebadón...population FIVE. Just a little collection of buildings on the top of a windswept mountain. It´s gorgeous and quiet and peaceful and the albergue looks like a newly built mountain lodge. There´s a place to sit where we get the view of the whole valley below us, and Astorga looks a billion miles away. To look at it, it seems we walked 50 miles today instead of just under 20. It´s wonderful and very soothing.
Tomorrow, we´ll get to see the Cruz de Ferro...Iron Cross...important landmark on the Camino. It´s a tall stone pillar with a small iron cross at the top...the cross is only about a foot high. If I´d known about its tradition, I would have brought a stone from home to put at its base. But I didn´t...so I´ll have to come up with something else. We´re 45 minutes from it, and it´s the real crest of this mountain. Then it´s a TON of downhill till we get to the bottom...which can be much harder than uphill, as I´m sure I´ve said before. If we can, we´ll send the packs ahead and try to give our knees and feet a break for another day. If we go all the way to Ponferrada, it´ll be 29k, but Christa and I are thinking of staging a mutiny and stopping in Molinaseca...only 22k and puts us into Ponferrada the next morning, when we can take some time to see the Templar Castle...?
Forgot to put this part in for yesterday...the pasta sauce Skip made in Mazarife will heretofore be referred to as Skip´s Revenge. I don´t know WHAT I did to that boy, but he got me back for it. All. Day. LONG. Sheesh.
All for now. Gotta eat dinner, since the lady is closing down and is getting VERY testy with us for ordering a pilgrim´s menu (three of them) twenty minutes past the closing of dinnertime.
Love you all...talk to you tomorrow.
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Villar de Mazarife to Astorga
Gotta make this one uber-quick because I´m getting someone else´s leftover 13 minutes and then they´re going to lock me down.
I know I say this almost every day, but WHAT a day. Last night, I went to sleep on the deck...had the thickest wool blanket over me and it felt like camping with a mattress...cold face, incredibly warm under the blanket...kept tucking it under me as fingers of cold crept in here and there. It was very nice. Below me, in the dining area, a very competent guitar player from I-don´t-know-where was ROCKING the American classic rock canon with an equally talented American girl singing along...it was awesome. Proud Mary, We Can Work It Out, all of ´em. Nice.
Woke up before Skip today and wasn´t about to wake him up...because he would´ve made me GET up. As it was, it was ten till 7 when he finally poked me. Ha ha haaaa...got my sleep in. =) We were on the road by 7:30 and hit HARD a 6k, ramrod straight asphault road. Busted a total of 9k in under two hours before I stopped for tea, and was there a full fifteen minutes before Skip rolled in for his morning cerveza. The first run of the day is always the easiest...if I could get him to cool his heels before we started, I could go a long way without stopping. Each time we stop, it´s harder to start again, and by afternoon, it´s damn near impossible.
We hit Hospital de Órbigo for lunch. Someone posted a few days ago, advising me to skip from León to Hospital because it was by the road and noisy and boring. Not so. Whoever it was took the alternate route by the highway. We go through the fields when there´s a choice between the two. As Skip said the other day, ¨I didn´t come here to walk beside a highway.¨ Today´s scenery was breathtaking...beautiful green fields, pale blue mountains in the distance, farmhouses, John Deere tractors...very, very nice. Occasionally the yellow streak of a faroff sunflower field. Gorgeous.
Hospital de Órbigo is a nice little town, with a beautiful, long bridge with 20 arches. The translated legend to go with it in the guidebook makes NO sense...perhaps I have a future taking translations and making them into sensible English...so I´ll have to research it when I get home.
After Hospital, a lot of up and rolling hills. Our midafternoon ice cream stop, with 11k to go, was almost impossible to start again from. But we had to do it. Soon after it (it has an impossibly long name...I think Sanitibañar de Valdeiglesias?) there was a shrine-like setup and had an outfitted peregrino statue and a table and lots of rock formations done by pilgrims. There was an awesome passage on the table, laminated and left there, by Eckhart Tolle and I felt compelled to stop and copy the whole thing down...which got me 20 minutes behind Skip and worried him so much he came back looking for me, till four Italians who had passed me told him I was okay.
The remaining road was nice and scenic, but hot and difficult, too. We made it to the cross at San Toribio and had a panorama of the Astorga valley and the mountains we´re heading into tomorrow. It was beautiful...but again, we had 29k behind us and 5 to go. The last hour and a half almost did us both in. At one point I started hollering at arrows again that led us far wide of the cathedral where I knew the albergue to be, so I usurped them and followed my nose and we made it here.
We split up...he had to hunt a mailbox where he´d mailed himself something, and I went wandering through the cathedral and the museum. The museums were disappointing (perhaps I was just tired) but the cathedral inside was impressive...very, VERY tall with beautiful stonework.
I am SO SICK of crucifixes. Baby Jesus, Dead Jesus, Baby Jesus, dead Jesus. SICK OF IT!!!
So we had dinner at this fancy.looking restaurant with a peregrino menu. We were nearly snoozing into our plates, we were so knackered. Exhausted beyond all movement. We finished, and we were just sipping our beers, and all of a sudden, Skip goes, ¨OH. MY. GODDDDDD....¨ I look up.
CHRISTA!!!
She jumped the train and came to find us. Hated being alone. So she´s here now. Skip was beside himself. I was overjoyed. So now we are three again. We´re thrilled. She was still shaking from excitement and relief ten minutes after she arrived. I thought I didn´t have enough energy to blog tonight but knew I had to after her reappearance.
Two minutes left. Let me say this. I am DONE with 30k days. No more. We did 34 today...almost 22 miles. It´s too much. Too painful, too costly, too short-tempered at the end of the day. NO MORE. Santiago in about 9 days. Time is getting short now and I´m dragging my feet...I don´t want it to end.
Must post. Out of time. Love you all. MORE COMMENTS!!!
I know I say this almost every day, but WHAT a day. Last night, I went to sleep on the deck...had the thickest wool blanket over me and it felt like camping with a mattress...cold face, incredibly warm under the blanket...kept tucking it under me as fingers of cold crept in here and there. It was very nice. Below me, in the dining area, a very competent guitar player from I-don´t-know-where was ROCKING the American classic rock canon with an equally talented American girl singing along...it was awesome. Proud Mary, We Can Work It Out, all of ´em. Nice.
Woke up before Skip today and wasn´t about to wake him up...because he would´ve made me GET up. As it was, it was ten till 7 when he finally poked me. Ha ha haaaa...got my sleep in. =) We were on the road by 7:30 and hit HARD a 6k, ramrod straight asphault road. Busted a total of 9k in under two hours before I stopped for tea, and was there a full fifteen minutes before Skip rolled in for his morning cerveza. The first run of the day is always the easiest...if I could get him to cool his heels before we started, I could go a long way without stopping. Each time we stop, it´s harder to start again, and by afternoon, it´s damn near impossible.
We hit Hospital de Órbigo for lunch. Someone posted a few days ago, advising me to skip from León to Hospital because it was by the road and noisy and boring. Not so. Whoever it was took the alternate route by the highway. We go through the fields when there´s a choice between the two. As Skip said the other day, ¨I didn´t come here to walk beside a highway.¨ Today´s scenery was breathtaking...beautiful green fields, pale blue mountains in the distance, farmhouses, John Deere tractors...very, very nice. Occasionally the yellow streak of a faroff sunflower field. Gorgeous.
Hospital de Órbigo is a nice little town, with a beautiful, long bridge with 20 arches. The translated legend to go with it in the guidebook makes NO sense...perhaps I have a future taking translations and making them into sensible English...so I´ll have to research it when I get home.
After Hospital, a lot of up and rolling hills. Our midafternoon ice cream stop, with 11k to go, was almost impossible to start again from. But we had to do it. Soon after it (it has an impossibly long name...I think Sanitibañar de Valdeiglesias?) there was a shrine-like setup and had an outfitted peregrino statue and a table and lots of rock formations done by pilgrims. There was an awesome passage on the table, laminated and left there, by Eckhart Tolle and I felt compelled to stop and copy the whole thing down...which got me 20 minutes behind Skip and worried him so much he came back looking for me, till four Italians who had passed me told him I was okay.
The remaining road was nice and scenic, but hot and difficult, too. We made it to the cross at San Toribio and had a panorama of the Astorga valley and the mountains we´re heading into tomorrow. It was beautiful...but again, we had 29k behind us and 5 to go. The last hour and a half almost did us both in. At one point I started hollering at arrows again that led us far wide of the cathedral where I knew the albergue to be, so I usurped them and followed my nose and we made it here.
We split up...he had to hunt a mailbox where he´d mailed himself something, and I went wandering through the cathedral and the museum. The museums were disappointing (perhaps I was just tired) but the cathedral inside was impressive...very, VERY tall with beautiful stonework.
I am SO SICK of crucifixes. Baby Jesus, Dead Jesus, Baby Jesus, dead Jesus. SICK OF IT!!!
So we had dinner at this fancy.looking restaurant with a peregrino menu. We were nearly snoozing into our plates, we were so knackered. Exhausted beyond all movement. We finished, and we were just sipping our beers, and all of a sudden, Skip goes, ¨OH. MY. GODDDDDD....¨ I look up.
CHRISTA!!!
She jumped the train and came to find us. Hated being alone. So she´s here now. Skip was beside himself. I was overjoyed. So now we are three again. We´re thrilled. She was still shaking from excitement and relief ten minutes after she arrived. I thought I didn´t have enough energy to blog tonight but knew I had to after her reappearance.
Two minutes left. Let me say this. I am DONE with 30k days. No more. We did 34 today...almost 22 miles. It´s too much. Too painful, too costly, too short-tempered at the end of the day. NO MORE. Santiago in about 9 days. Time is getting short now and I´m dragging my feet...I don´t want it to end.
Must post. Out of time. Love you all. MORE COMMENTS!!!
Monday, July 28, 2008
León to Villar de Mazarife
Well, we did it. I´m tainted. The stink of tire rubber is on me. Sigh.
It was pretty tough to get on that bus, I´m tellin´ you. After I posted, I went back to the bar...because what else was there to do...and we sat some more. And we watched the pilgrims roll in. I felt so guilty not to walk yesterday...but apparently everyone else takes a day off, and even if mine was forced, I guess I needed it too. We started seeing familiar faces. Gunnar showed up, and later, Al, and Christa too!!! It was wonderful to see Al and Christa again because it had been a while...since Burgos!! They had stories of Estelle, and she finally got there too, which amazed us all...she´s indomitable.
We had a couple new people...this French girl Charlotte from Normandy...in my head, she´s Joan of Arc. She was this little waiflike creature with hair sticking up all over her head...she looked about 12 but was 28...tiny little thing. She was crazy. Her Spanish was better than her English, so most of our conversation was a hodgepodge of both. She managed to communicate to me that she´d been doing shots that morning at 7am. She went to the nuns where we stayed last night and bargained to sleep outside in the garden for free. Then she decided she wanted to make crepes for dinner. We told her it´s Sunday, the stores are closed. She said no problemo. She went off into town and came back with a sack full of ingredients. Turned out she went begging at doors until someone gave her milk, flour, eggs...everything. Hysterical.
There was this guy Matt from Dundee, Scotland. I sat by him and tried to get him to talk because I love Scottish accents so much and hadn´t heard one in forever. Wouldn´t you know, I get a shy quiet one. ;) He was lovely, though...I finally did get him to talk some. I was lovin´ it.
The bus came half an hour late, and suddenly, it was a flurry of activity. Hugs, yelling, a few tears, pictures, throwing bags into the luggage compartment, the driver hollering at us to hurry, Christa not wanting to let go of us, Al telling me ¨Enjoy your life...use all the time that you have,¨ in his thick German accent...and when we finally made it to the bus door, the driver shut the door right on me, like he was going to drive off without us. Jackass. Skip was furious. But we wrestled our way on and watched through the back window as our friends disappeared behind us.
So the fellowship is broken....
Isn´t that what they say in Lord of the Rings when everyone parts ways?
Sigh. Swear to God...after 18 days without wheels, tracks, or wings, I got a little motion sickness on the bus, to go with my heartsickness at watching four days´ walking swallowed up by the diesel engine of the bus. HUGE fields of sunflowers on the way. Message from Felix tonight on Facebook...at least we know they´re only a day behind. I´m tempted to park myself somewhere at a cafe and wait until they show.
But anyway, we got to León and managed to locate the albergue with the nuns, like John said to do. John said there was a lovely pilgrim´s blessing. Unfortunately, by the time we got there, it was 9:15 with a 9:30 door closing time, and we´d had no dinner and had passed a BK five minutes before we arrived. We looked at each other and knew in a heartbeat...it had to be done. We both vowed that neither of us do this at home, but a Whopper just sounded too good. So we had a choice...pilgrim´s blessing by Benedictine nuns, or Whopper. Hate to say it, but the Whopper won. And here´s a tip...the Spanish get the Whopper meal right. ;)
This albergue was different in that the men and women were separated into different dorms. Felt strange not to have guys in the room that I knew, especially Skip. He´s usually in the bed next to mine or below mine or across the room from mine, but there. It helps because we get each other moving in the morning. This time, I was on my own and I have no alarm, so it´s a matter of wake up or don´t wake up.
Tip: I have not yet needed my sleeping mat, but three or four nights now, I´ve longed for a pillow, as sometimes there are none.
We left the albergue this morning at 7:30, heading for the Cathedral of León. Byron, if your sci-fi-fantasy radar went off last night at 11pm, it was because I saw the most awesome pewter King Arthur´s Knights of the Round Table set in a shop window, complete with BOMB Round Table. Sigh.
The Cathedral was not anywhere near as impressive as the one in Burgos. It was open in the center all the way through, not a maze like the one in Burgos. But the stained glass was beautiful, as were the choir stalls and the marblework on the rostrums.
I wanted to see the cloister walk in the Basilica of St. Isadoro, too, and the Camino went right by it. We hit the gift shop and found out there was a tour...in Spanish. So in we went. It looked pretty...and had a library filled with HUGE AWESOME 1200 YEAR OLD LEATHERBOUND BOOKS...maybe the coolest thing I´ve seen so far. I couldn´t tear myself away, they were beautiful.
The cloister walk was cool, but Burgos was better. We got lots of good pictures.
Out of León. Took forEVER. Felt good to be walking again after 44 hours. León dragged on forever and ever...we hit a supermarket and got tomatoes and bread and cream cheese and ham and salami for lunch...Philly makes any bocadillo AWESOME.
The rest of the day was uneventful...other than the fact that we´re once again walking through natural landscape, which is wonderful. We had some beautiful views today, and we can see the mountains in the distance. We have a few ahead of us...day after tomorrow is a lot of up and the following is a lot of down.
We made it to Villar de Mazarife and picked the Albergue de Jesús. With a pirate ship in the yard. And a pool. Which it was once again too cool for me to jump into, but Skip went for it. It´s pretty nice here in this one...the surrounding area looks like Texas. A whole lotta nothin´.
We went hunting a supermarket in town and took the longest route possible. I´ve found out that trying to teach an Australian to speak Spanish is a lot like that episode of Friends when Phoebe tries to teach Joey French. You just have to see it. I´ve determined their mouths are not capable of making some sounds, and that´s just the way it is. Either that, or Skip is REALLY special. ;) We decided to cook (read: SKIP decided to cook; most of us know how proficient I am in a kitchen) and words can´t describe his attempts to ask for fresh parsley. We collected another hodgepodge of whatchagot and ended up with a GORGEOUS sauce to go with the pasta I nabbed in Agés when someone left it behind. That boy is a master.
Skip told me we´re shooting for a 6am start tomorrow. I told him everything about that sentence was fine with me except for the pronoun. 6AM??? We have 31k to go tomorrow to Astorga...either that or we wuss out and stop at 18k somewhere else (I don´t have my book on me). We´ll see. He´s going to call the boys tomorrow and find out what we can do to meet up...which we decided was cheating unless they contacted us, and since I just got a message from Felix, we´re good to go.
All for now. This guy has been waiting ages to get online, so I need to wrap it up and go to bed. By the way...tonight´s bed is a mattress on a second-story, outside deck. I´m kinda excited. As long as I can find a spare wool blanket somewhere....
Love you all.
It was pretty tough to get on that bus, I´m tellin´ you. After I posted, I went back to the bar...because what else was there to do...and we sat some more. And we watched the pilgrims roll in. I felt so guilty not to walk yesterday...but apparently everyone else takes a day off, and even if mine was forced, I guess I needed it too. We started seeing familiar faces. Gunnar showed up, and later, Al, and Christa too!!! It was wonderful to see Al and Christa again because it had been a while...since Burgos!! They had stories of Estelle, and she finally got there too, which amazed us all...she´s indomitable.
We had a couple new people...this French girl Charlotte from Normandy...in my head, she´s Joan of Arc. She was this little waiflike creature with hair sticking up all over her head...she looked about 12 but was 28...tiny little thing. She was crazy. Her Spanish was better than her English, so most of our conversation was a hodgepodge of both. She managed to communicate to me that she´d been doing shots that morning at 7am. She went to the nuns where we stayed last night and bargained to sleep outside in the garden for free. Then she decided she wanted to make crepes for dinner. We told her it´s Sunday, the stores are closed. She said no problemo. She went off into town and came back with a sack full of ingredients. Turned out she went begging at doors until someone gave her milk, flour, eggs...everything. Hysterical.
There was this guy Matt from Dundee, Scotland. I sat by him and tried to get him to talk because I love Scottish accents so much and hadn´t heard one in forever. Wouldn´t you know, I get a shy quiet one. ;) He was lovely, though...I finally did get him to talk some. I was lovin´ it.
The bus came half an hour late, and suddenly, it was a flurry of activity. Hugs, yelling, a few tears, pictures, throwing bags into the luggage compartment, the driver hollering at us to hurry, Christa not wanting to let go of us, Al telling me ¨Enjoy your life...use all the time that you have,¨ in his thick German accent...and when we finally made it to the bus door, the driver shut the door right on me, like he was going to drive off without us. Jackass. Skip was furious. But we wrestled our way on and watched through the back window as our friends disappeared behind us.
So the fellowship is broken....
Isn´t that what they say in Lord of the Rings when everyone parts ways?
Sigh. Swear to God...after 18 days without wheels, tracks, or wings, I got a little motion sickness on the bus, to go with my heartsickness at watching four days´ walking swallowed up by the diesel engine of the bus. HUGE fields of sunflowers on the way. Message from Felix tonight on Facebook...at least we know they´re only a day behind. I´m tempted to park myself somewhere at a cafe and wait until they show.
But anyway, we got to León and managed to locate the albergue with the nuns, like John said to do. John said there was a lovely pilgrim´s blessing. Unfortunately, by the time we got there, it was 9:15 with a 9:30 door closing time, and we´d had no dinner and had passed a BK five minutes before we arrived. We looked at each other and knew in a heartbeat...it had to be done. We both vowed that neither of us do this at home, but a Whopper just sounded too good. So we had a choice...pilgrim´s blessing by Benedictine nuns, or Whopper. Hate to say it, but the Whopper won. And here´s a tip...the Spanish get the Whopper meal right. ;)
This albergue was different in that the men and women were separated into different dorms. Felt strange not to have guys in the room that I knew, especially Skip. He´s usually in the bed next to mine or below mine or across the room from mine, but there. It helps because we get each other moving in the morning. This time, I was on my own and I have no alarm, so it´s a matter of wake up or don´t wake up.
Tip: I have not yet needed my sleeping mat, but three or four nights now, I´ve longed for a pillow, as sometimes there are none.
We left the albergue this morning at 7:30, heading for the Cathedral of León. Byron, if your sci-fi-fantasy radar went off last night at 11pm, it was because I saw the most awesome pewter King Arthur´s Knights of the Round Table set in a shop window, complete with BOMB Round Table. Sigh.
The Cathedral was not anywhere near as impressive as the one in Burgos. It was open in the center all the way through, not a maze like the one in Burgos. But the stained glass was beautiful, as were the choir stalls and the marblework on the rostrums.
I wanted to see the cloister walk in the Basilica of St. Isadoro, too, and the Camino went right by it. We hit the gift shop and found out there was a tour...in Spanish. So in we went. It looked pretty...and had a library filled with HUGE AWESOME 1200 YEAR OLD LEATHERBOUND BOOKS...maybe the coolest thing I´ve seen so far. I couldn´t tear myself away, they were beautiful.
The cloister walk was cool, but Burgos was better. We got lots of good pictures.
Out of León. Took forEVER. Felt good to be walking again after 44 hours. León dragged on forever and ever...we hit a supermarket and got tomatoes and bread and cream cheese and ham and salami for lunch...Philly makes any bocadillo AWESOME.
The rest of the day was uneventful...other than the fact that we´re once again walking through natural landscape, which is wonderful. We had some beautiful views today, and we can see the mountains in the distance. We have a few ahead of us...day after tomorrow is a lot of up and the following is a lot of down.
We made it to Villar de Mazarife and picked the Albergue de Jesús. With a pirate ship in the yard. And a pool. Which it was once again too cool for me to jump into, but Skip went for it. It´s pretty nice here in this one...the surrounding area looks like Texas. A whole lotta nothin´.
We went hunting a supermarket in town and took the longest route possible. I´ve found out that trying to teach an Australian to speak Spanish is a lot like that episode of Friends when Phoebe tries to teach Joey French. You just have to see it. I´ve determined their mouths are not capable of making some sounds, and that´s just the way it is. Either that, or Skip is REALLY special. ;) We decided to cook (read: SKIP decided to cook; most of us know how proficient I am in a kitchen) and words can´t describe his attempts to ask for fresh parsley. We collected another hodgepodge of whatchagot and ended up with a GORGEOUS sauce to go with the pasta I nabbed in Agés when someone left it behind. That boy is a master.
Skip told me we´re shooting for a 6am start tomorrow. I told him everything about that sentence was fine with me except for the pronoun. 6AM??? We have 31k to go tomorrow to Astorga...either that or we wuss out and stop at 18k somewhere else (I don´t have my book on me). We´ll see. He´s going to call the boys tomorrow and find out what we can do to meet up...which we decided was cheating unless they contacted us, and since I just got a message from Felix, we´re good to go.
All for now. This guy has been waiting ages to get online, so I need to wrap it up and go to bed. By the way...tonight´s bed is a mattress on a second-story, outside deck. I´m kinda excited. As long as I can find a spare wool blanket somewhere....
Love you all.
Sunday, July 27, 2008
Carrión...Carry on...carrion....
Just a quick one. Still in Carrión. STILL in Carrión. STIIIIIIIILL in Carrión.
Killin´ me.
Yesterday, Skip gently suggested that the universe did this as an attempt to give me a lesson in patience. I gently suggested back to him, in my sweetest way, of course, how such lessons are generally received...historically speaking. You can imagine.
Stop laughing.
Anyway, yeah, we´re still here. It´s 3pm. I´m taking a break from the endless parade of beers on the table (all but one of them Skip´s, thank you very much...). The nuns have allowed us to leave our bags here all day while we endure this interminable wait for the bus. We´re still at the Bar España. And every time the bar man comes out, he just laughs when he sees me. Our attempts at communication have been many, frustrating, semi-successful, and tedious, but at least we´re getting some laughs out of it. I think he knows how frustrating it is for me to be sitting and doing nothing for an entire day after seventeen days filled with walking.
And it IS. I´ve been good, though. We went and had tea and coffee this morning after I got yelled at (not really) by a nun coming up to turn over the dorm rooms. She was quite surprised to find us still there, as everyone was supposed to leave by 8. By the time I got up at 7:30, only the Sicilians were left in the room, so I got a shower, mainly because I was nervous that I WOULD be yelled at. But there was no rousing Skip, so after I got back from the shower, she came in and got just a bit stern with us till I explained what our arrangement had been from last night.
So we packed up, left the bags, and headed out into the Sunday ghost town of Carrión. The only places open were the café/bars and the souvenir shops. So we stopped for coffee. The cafés where you get coffee and breakfast in the morning are also bars, so this morning we were treated to a group of people whom we assume were still drinking from the night before. They were roaring drunk. One of them had a black t-shirt with rubber breasts on the front. Good Lord. We finally vacated our tables after they stumbled out, went to the next one down the street, kept roaring and drinking and singing and bothering old men on the sidewalk. Sunday morning, mind you.
We went on walkabout...through the part of town we saw yesterday and the park beyond. There is a river (Yens the German went swimming in it yesterday) and a beautiful park and a rose garden. Nice to stop and smell the roses literally if we´re forced to do it symbolically. Back to the square...patch of sunlight in the grass where we sat for an hour or more, me reading interesting bits of the guidebook while Skip dozed in the sunshine and tried to rid himself of his rather vibrant case of raccoon eyes.
I went for a sandwich at Bar España and by the time I got out (with about 8 crawdads that the barman just decided to throw in for free), Skip had decided it was beer-thirty. So we sat, same place as yesterday, and he tried to explain to me how to eat crawdads. That was interesting. Not long after, we collected Gunna, who had arrived by bus that morning and said Al and Christa were with him in Frómista the night before and would be along shortly. (You were right, John...everyone who came out of Frómista was eaten alive by bedbugs. Regular infestation. Be forewarned, all ye future Camino walkers.) So we sat. And waited. And drank. And waited. And told stories. And shared photos. And waited.
Al showed up. Overjoyed to see him...not long after, the same with Christa. She had been hoping to catch us and is very sad that we´ll be leaving on the bus tonight. I suggested she come with us, but she´s just checked in here with the nuns, so I suppose this is it.
We´ve worked it out (which, of course, means very little on the Camino) that if we follow the book from León starting tomorrow, we´ll make it to Santiago on the 7th. Skip wants to bus from there to Frómista and come back for the Santiago mass on Sunday the 10th. (Correct me if my date - day of the week lineup is wrong...I have no idea.) Then I still have four days. I think the money situation is fine...so who knows what we´ll do. I just hope we find the boys somewhere, as we´ve found everyone else so far.
Bit of Camino life I keep forgetting to throw in...sometimes in the bunk rooms, the smell of BenGay and mentholated muscle rub can absolutely bowl you over. The air is absolutely permeated with it.
Had to buy a huge bottle of shampoo yesterday because I´m out and they don´t sell small ones. Sigh.
Keep seeing souvenirs and wanting them, but I´m sure there isn´t a thing we´re seeing now that we won´t find in Santiago as well.
Did I mention I sewed Skip´s busted camera bag back together again yesterday? Anyone counting how many times I´ve taken a needle to this boy and his gear? THREE!!! Sigh. Boys.
All for now. Bus in 4 hours. Wish us luck finding a place tonight....
Will probably not write till tomorrow night. Love you all.
Killin´ me.
Yesterday, Skip gently suggested that the universe did this as an attempt to give me a lesson in patience. I gently suggested back to him, in my sweetest way, of course, how such lessons are generally received...historically speaking. You can imagine.
Stop laughing.
Anyway, yeah, we´re still here. It´s 3pm. I´m taking a break from the endless parade of beers on the table (all but one of them Skip´s, thank you very much...). The nuns have allowed us to leave our bags here all day while we endure this interminable wait for the bus. We´re still at the Bar España. And every time the bar man comes out, he just laughs when he sees me. Our attempts at communication have been many, frustrating, semi-successful, and tedious, but at least we´re getting some laughs out of it. I think he knows how frustrating it is for me to be sitting and doing nothing for an entire day after seventeen days filled with walking.
And it IS. I´ve been good, though. We went and had tea and coffee this morning after I got yelled at (not really) by a nun coming up to turn over the dorm rooms. She was quite surprised to find us still there, as everyone was supposed to leave by 8. By the time I got up at 7:30, only the Sicilians were left in the room, so I got a shower, mainly because I was nervous that I WOULD be yelled at. But there was no rousing Skip, so after I got back from the shower, she came in and got just a bit stern with us till I explained what our arrangement had been from last night.
So we packed up, left the bags, and headed out into the Sunday ghost town of Carrión. The only places open were the café/bars and the souvenir shops. So we stopped for coffee. The cafés where you get coffee and breakfast in the morning are also bars, so this morning we were treated to a group of people whom we assume were still drinking from the night before. They were roaring drunk. One of them had a black t-shirt with rubber breasts on the front. Good Lord. We finally vacated our tables after they stumbled out, went to the next one down the street, kept roaring and drinking and singing and bothering old men on the sidewalk. Sunday morning, mind you.
We went on walkabout...through the part of town we saw yesterday and the park beyond. There is a river (Yens the German went swimming in it yesterday) and a beautiful park and a rose garden. Nice to stop and smell the roses literally if we´re forced to do it symbolically. Back to the square...patch of sunlight in the grass where we sat for an hour or more, me reading interesting bits of the guidebook while Skip dozed in the sunshine and tried to rid himself of his rather vibrant case of raccoon eyes.
I went for a sandwich at Bar España and by the time I got out (with about 8 crawdads that the barman just decided to throw in for free), Skip had decided it was beer-thirty. So we sat, same place as yesterday, and he tried to explain to me how to eat crawdads. That was interesting. Not long after, we collected Gunna, who had arrived by bus that morning and said Al and Christa were with him in Frómista the night before and would be along shortly. (You were right, John...everyone who came out of Frómista was eaten alive by bedbugs. Regular infestation. Be forewarned, all ye future Camino walkers.) So we sat. And waited. And drank. And waited. And told stories. And shared photos. And waited.
Al showed up. Overjoyed to see him...not long after, the same with Christa. She had been hoping to catch us and is very sad that we´ll be leaving on the bus tonight. I suggested she come with us, but she´s just checked in here with the nuns, so I suppose this is it.
We´ve worked it out (which, of course, means very little on the Camino) that if we follow the book from León starting tomorrow, we´ll make it to Santiago on the 7th. Skip wants to bus from there to Frómista and come back for the Santiago mass on Sunday the 10th. (Correct me if my date - day of the week lineup is wrong...I have no idea.) Then I still have four days. I think the money situation is fine...so who knows what we´ll do. I just hope we find the boys somewhere, as we´ve found everyone else so far.
Bit of Camino life I keep forgetting to throw in...sometimes in the bunk rooms, the smell of BenGay and mentholated muscle rub can absolutely bowl you over. The air is absolutely permeated with it.
Had to buy a huge bottle of shampoo yesterday because I´m out and they don´t sell small ones. Sigh.
Keep seeing souvenirs and wanting them, but I´m sure there isn´t a thing we´re seeing now that we won´t find in Santiago as well.
Did I mention I sewed Skip´s busted camera bag back together again yesterday? Anyone counting how many times I´ve taken a needle to this boy and his gear? THREE!!! Sigh. Boys.
All for now. Bus in 4 hours. Wish us luck finding a place tonight....
Will probably not write till tomorrow night. Love you all.
Saturday, July 26, 2008
Boadilla to Carrión de los Condes
Yes, we´re in Carrión. And that´s exactly what we are today and tomorrow...carrion. We´re stuck here till tomorrow night. If we´d arrived on any other day but a Saturday, we would be in Terradilla de los Templarios, looking at a Templar castle and maybe even catching the boys (it seems EVERYONE on the Camino has seen them but us). But it´s Saturday, and tomorrow is Sunday, and like every day from 2pm to 5pm, life grinds to a halt in Spain on the weekends. It´s a very enviable and relaxing custom, but maddening as well when it doesn´t match up with your plans, or if you´re an American and are used to 24-7 everything. Sigh. Nothing for it but to wait. God knows what my mind will chew on if I have nowhere to walk, and it´s going to be hard enough to get on that bus tomorrow after SEVENTEEN days of straight walking. We´re at mile marker 420 from Santiago at the moment, and tomorrow, since the only bus is a 7pm to León, we´ll jump 95km at once. Not the plan, but as we said many times tonight in our English-French dinner conversation, c´est la vie.
The walk today. It was gorgeous out of Boadilla. The sunlight was falling just right when we hit the fork in the road and chose to walk along the 18th century canal. It was such still water, but still travelling along with us through the reeds. In my mind, I walked beside donkeys braying and clopping along, protesting against the weight of the barges they pulled from both sides of the canal. It was an iPod morning for both of us, and Loreena McKennitt was perfect for the setting. Skip and I agreed that we see no sign of this horrid monotonous meseta we keep hearing about. Granted...we´ll skip most of the hardest days tomorrow, but still, these three days we charged into it have been gorgeous.
We got to Frómista...the church there was near the top of my list. We walked across a dam when we got there...part of the 17th century canal and moving water 14 vertical meters. It was quite a shot, standing on this tiny little bridge across the top, with the water exploding below us and pouring off of four or five shelves before it went back to its placid, sluggish pace at the bottom. It was still misty and sunlight fell in rays through the treetops. One part we loved was that, near the top, hundreds of little streams of water were bursting through the brickwork...Skip and I agreed that in our countries, that would be a major concern and the engineers would be brought right back at once.
The church was great, though we found two wrong ones before we found the one I was looking for. (By the way, Skip had a beer WITH BREAKFAST. 9:30 AM. Sigh. Can´t take him anywhere.) The church looked like a small castle, Romanesque (like all of them here, in every single little town, no matter how small), and lined along the eaves with hundreds of little stone carvings of animals and people and symbols...one of the things that makes this one so interesting is that it has both Christian and pagan themes. I got lots of pictures that I want to blow up when I get home. I was hoping to stall us in Frómista till 10, when the church was supposed to open, but at about ten till, I went back to where the Spice Girls were having breakfast across the street and they said he´d gone just a moment before because he thought I´d left him. So, no inside, no stamp. Sigh. Oh well. Like my Aunt Carolyn says, it just means I´ll have to come back another time.
The rest of the day was largely unnoteworthy, except for one thing. One of Skip´s top-of-the-list experiences he wanted from the Camino was to walk through a field of sunflowers fully open, and today he got his wish. We´ve passed several such fields, but they´re always spotted with just a few open blooms, and this one was full on...an absolute riot of yellow and green. I took his cameras and he waded in, hip deep, into the huge, bobbing, yellow heads and spread his arms, grinning like a little kid. I got some great shots, some from standing atop a stone irrigation trough next to the field (I´m so glad I got some photo savvy somewhere earlier in my life...he´s quite the photog and I´m glad he´s so confident in my ability to take pictures that are framed well and turn out the way he wants). We switched and he got some great ones of me, too...then, giggling like kids, we took pictures of each other taking pictures of each other. It was intoxicating. I got one of a tall, tall sunflower against the blue sky, and another of one that wasn´t open yet but was like a green sunburst waiting to pop open. What a beautiful experience. Ten years from now, the email...¨Skip...remember that sunflower field?¨ lol.
The rest of the day was slow. We walked fast, but lingered long everywhere (like in the sunflowers), so we were just coming to Carrión at 4pm. The last two stretches were tough, but we ¨smashed ´em,¨ as he says. We did a 6km bit in 55 minutes. Arrrgh.... =)
Carrión is nice, but frustrating as hell, as I´ve already said. Skip was afraid I was gonna blow my top. I was back and forth between the information booth, the barman who sells the bus tickets, and an old man on the street for what felt like FOREVER, trying to figure out why there was no timetable, and why the (non)information booth didn´t match up with the barman. It was MADDENING!! We were hoping like I said yesterday to just make two little hops and still do a day´s walking each time...but now we´re going to be spinning our wheels, Camino roadkill, till 7pm tomorrow!! We´ll get in late to León, see the cathedral in the morning, and walk right out, and hopefully have a place to stay in between.
Speaking of places to stay, I´ve found another beautiful albergue for the top of the Camino list. We´re staying with the Benedictine sisters in the church in Carrión. The name escapes me now...there are apparently three church hostels, so I´ll have to put it up tomorrow. But they are lovely, lovely people. True Esprit du Chemin. Habits and everything. They brought in little children for a big singalong before the mass...then had a mass...then had a FEAST with about 30 people. Skip and I were able to catch Hank, Mimi, and Jocelyn cooking dinner in time for us to go to the market, get two chicken legs, and get back in time to join them...we brought wine and chocolates and pineapple and cherries for dessert. It was a wonderful dinner, somewhat complicated since Mimi speaks no English and Skip and I speak no French, so Jocelyn and Hank translated all throughout.
Mimi story: She has pajamas that consist of a shirt and shorts...the shirt says really big, ¨RICH FAMOUS SEXY.¨ What it really says is, ¨If you want to sleep with me, you must be RICH, you must be FAMOUS, and you must be SEXY.¨ And till yesterday, Mimi had no idea what it said. She is 62 and is a very spunky little French lady with an awesome sense of humor, and so that story was just perfect for her. =) She says those pajamas sell really well in France but not in the States.
Jocelyn story: Jocelyn is 53...not 58, like I said under her picture. Mon Dieu. I was so embarrassed!!! Sorry, Jocelyn!!!
With our hop, we´ll lose Hank and Mimi and Jocelyn for good. Very sad. They´ve been with me the whole way.
The nuns have let me stay up past curfew to write this blog, since I snuck my euro into the computer machine before they could tell me it was time to go to bed. Easier to get forgiveness than permission. But it´s winding down, so I better go. GOD what am I gonna do with myself tomorrow.... Skip´s threatening to tie me up somewhere so I don´t drive him crazy. There´s a river, apparently...maybe we´ll go for a swim.
Sunday night, León, and Monday, Villar de Mazarife. In case anyone on the Camino is reading.
PS - My brother is AWESOME!!! JUST PASSED HIS MASTER ELECTRICIAN´S TEST!! GO MIKE!! =)=)=)
The walk today. It was gorgeous out of Boadilla. The sunlight was falling just right when we hit the fork in the road and chose to walk along the 18th century canal. It was such still water, but still travelling along with us through the reeds. In my mind, I walked beside donkeys braying and clopping along, protesting against the weight of the barges they pulled from both sides of the canal. It was an iPod morning for both of us, and Loreena McKennitt was perfect for the setting. Skip and I agreed that we see no sign of this horrid monotonous meseta we keep hearing about. Granted...we´ll skip most of the hardest days tomorrow, but still, these three days we charged into it have been gorgeous.
We got to Frómista...the church there was near the top of my list. We walked across a dam when we got there...part of the 17th century canal and moving water 14 vertical meters. It was quite a shot, standing on this tiny little bridge across the top, with the water exploding below us and pouring off of four or five shelves before it went back to its placid, sluggish pace at the bottom. It was still misty and sunlight fell in rays through the treetops. One part we loved was that, near the top, hundreds of little streams of water were bursting through the brickwork...Skip and I agreed that in our countries, that would be a major concern and the engineers would be brought right back at once.
The church was great, though we found two wrong ones before we found the one I was looking for. (By the way, Skip had a beer WITH BREAKFAST. 9:30 AM. Sigh. Can´t take him anywhere.) The church looked like a small castle, Romanesque (like all of them here, in every single little town, no matter how small), and lined along the eaves with hundreds of little stone carvings of animals and people and symbols...one of the things that makes this one so interesting is that it has both Christian and pagan themes. I got lots of pictures that I want to blow up when I get home. I was hoping to stall us in Frómista till 10, when the church was supposed to open, but at about ten till, I went back to where the Spice Girls were having breakfast across the street and they said he´d gone just a moment before because he thought I´d left him. So, no inside, no stamp. Sigh. Oh well. Like my Aunt Carolyn says, it just means I´ll have to come back another time.
The rest of the day was largely unnoteworthy, except for one thing. One of Skip´s top-of-the-list experiences he wanted from the Camino was to walk through a field of sunflowers fully open, and today he got his wish. We´ve passed several such fields, but they´re always spotted with just a few open blooms, and this one was full on...an absolute riot of yellow and green. I took his cameras and he waded in, hip deep, into the huge, bobbing, yellow heads and spread his arms, grinning like a little kid. I got some great shots, some from standing atop a stone irrigation trough next to the field (I´m so glad I got some photo savvy somewhere earlier in my life...he´s quite the photog and I´m glad he´s so confident in my ability to take pictures that are framed well and turn out the way he wants). We switched and he got some great ones of me, too...then, giggling like kids, we took pictures of each other taking pictures of each other. It was intoxicating. I got one of a tall, tall sunflower against the blue sky, and another of one that wasn´t open yet but was like a green sunburst waiting to pop open. What a beautiful experience. Ten years from now, the email...¨Skip...remember that sunflower field?¨ lol.
The rest of the day was slow. We walked fast, but lingered long everywhere (like in the sunflowers), so we were just coming to Carrión at 4pm. The last two stretches were tough, but we ¨smashed ´em,¨ as he says. We did a 6km bit in 55 minutes. Arrrgh.... =)
Carrión is nice, but frustrating as hell, as I´ve already said. Skip was afraid I was gonna blow my top. I was back and forth between the information booth, the barman who sells the bus tickets, and an old man on the street for what felt like FOREVER, trying to figure out why there was no timetable, and why the (non)information booth didn´t match up with the barman. It was MADDENING!! We were hoping like I said yesterday to just make two little hops and still do a day´s walking each time...but now we´re going to be spinning our wheels, Camino roadkill, till 7pm tomorrow!! We´ll get in late to León, see the cathedral in the morning, and walk right out, and hopefully have a place to stay in between.
Speaking of places to stay, I´ve found another beautiful albergue for the top of the Camino list. We´re staying with the Benedictine sisters in the church in Carrión. The name escapes me now...there are apparently three church hostels, so I´ll have to put it up tomorrow. But they are lovely, lovely people. True Esprit du Chemin. Habits and everything. They brought in little children for a big singalong before the mass...then had a mass...then had a FEAST with about 30 people. Skip and I were able to catch Hank, Mimi, and Jocelyn cooking dinner in time for us to go to the market, get two chicken legs, and get back in time to join them...we brought wine and chocolates and pineapple and cherries for dessert. It was a wonderful dinner, somewhat complicated since Mimi speaks no English and Skip and I speak no French, so Jocelyn and Hank translated all throughout.
Mimi story: She has pajamas that consist of a shirt and shorts...the shirt says really big, ¨RICH FAMOUS SEXY.¨ What it really says is, ¨If you want to sleep with me, you must be RICH, you must be FAMOUS, and you must be SEXY.¨ And till yesterday, Mimi had no idea what it said. She is 62 and is a very spunky little French lady with an awesome sense of humor, and so that story was just perfect for her. =) She says those pajamas sell really well in France but not in the States.
Jocelyn story: Jocelyn is 53...not 58, like I said under her picture. Mon Dieu. I was so embarrassed!!! Sorry, Jocelyn!!!
With our hop, we´ll lose Hank and Mimi and Jocelyn for good. Very sad. They´ve been with me the whole way.
The nuns have let me stay up past curfew to write this blog, since I snuck my euro into the computer machine before they could tell me it was time to go to bed. Easier to get forgiveness than permission. But it´s winding down, so I better go. GOD what am I gonna do with myself tomorrow.... Skip´s threatening to tie me up somewhere so I don´t drive him crazy. There´s a river, apparently...maybe we´ll go for a swim.
Sunday night, León, and Monday, Villar de Mazarife. In case anyone on the Camino is reading.
PS - My brother is AWESOME!!! JUST PASSED HIS MASTER ELECTRICIAN´S TEST!! GO MIKE!! =)=)=)
Friday, July 25, 2008
Castrojeriz to Boadilla del Camino
Short post today because I'm on the slowest internet connection ever created and I'm not even sure this will save.
I'm in Boadilla...one stop before Fromista. Did I mention I smashed the 30k barrier yesterday? Full on 32k...finally hit my 20 mile mark. Longest day I've done. But I paid for it today. My right knee came back with a vengeance by the end of the day and we decided to stop here, even though we only did 20k today.
We. Yeah, still with Skip. I decided, and later told him and he concurred, that I did my part in striking out alone and trying to leave the group behind and face the Camino alone, and the Camino's response was, nearly immediately, to toss us back together. So together we are, and together we'll stay.
We're formulating a game plan. Tomorrow, I'll break my streak of 16 (?) days without transport. We're hoping to get as far as Carrion de los Condes, and then hop a bus for either 18 or 28k, depending on what we can do. Time to quit messing around...we have somewhere to be around the 8th or 9th of August and we need to make some serious time. We've rationalized it...we'll walk a full day tomorrow, 25k, then skip ahead about a day's worth, as that stretch contains 18k without civilization. Then we'll walk another day, perhaps a day and a half, and blow the next 50k into Leon. We talked it over, and neither of us like the idea of skipping huge chunks of the meseta, but to skip across it like a stone, never missing that much...and missing either chunks with no civilization or bits that follow right beside the road anyway...as Skip puts it, "it's gotta be done."
Anyway. Back to business. Big winding steep hill out of Castrojeriz today, which we SMASHED...then killer, straight-arrow downslope on the other side. Then lots more meseta, but it was nice. It wasn't just wheat this time...we finally found some corn, and then closer on to Itero, even some spinach and a few other crops. We didn't stop much...an old man was selling coffee for donations on the side of the road about an hour and a half in, but other than that and a quick stop for a baguette to go with his tomato and ham he had for lunch...off we went. We did the whole 20k in 5 hours. HELL YEAH!!
Noteworthy things along the way...we are now in Palencia, out of Castilla y Leon (I think). Or in a new part of it. We passed, right before the border, a beautiful little chapel/hostel called San Nicolas which was staffed by the most wonderfully kind people. The lady inside said she'd seen more Americans this year than ever before...thank God they're staying away from me. (The CCM group jumped from Burgos the other day to the end of the line to make Santiago by today.) (Not that I don't love my countrymen, but I'm not here to see them, thank you very much....) Anyway...since today is St. James' Day, they had coffee and tea waiting outside for us there as well (or maybe they do that every day, but still, today is special). St. James Day is a national holiday, and when it falls on a Sunday it's called a Holy Year and the Camino explodes with pilgrims. Definitely want to try staying in San Nicolas if I do this again...it's tiny and basic and quaint but beautiful and peaceful and definitely a place where the Esprit du Chemin (Spirit of the Camino) resides.
Boadilla. The best albergue so far. From the outside, it looks like a condemned building. Inside, it's an oasis. Fairway lawns with giant stone planters overflowing with petunias and geraniums and snapdragons (!!!)...small swimming pool...LAUNDRY!!! Oh, God, EVERYTHING I own is now clean and sun-dried. It's like heaven. Good dinner...patio sitting area with thick grapevines strung overhead and creeping up the walls...beautiful wrought iron statue of two pilgrims, one standing over his friend who is checking something on his foot...one iron shoe off...someone put a bandaid on the foot. I have pictures, it's gorgeous. The people are SOOOOO nice. And we got here at noon, so we've had the whole afternoon to lounge around in the sunshine and be lazy and it's been WONderful.
The weather has been perfect. Bright sun, cool mornings, cool breeze, and even though it's a solid and strong headwind, it's refreshing, and it could be 20 degrees hotter and miserable. Thank you, St. James!!!
The Spice Girls are here too. So are Mimi and Jocelyn. Hank is ahead, I assume, and the German boys were with Malek yesterday and are supposedly about 20k ahead by now. If we catch that bus tomorrow afternoon, we might catch up to them. But the bus schedule is still a mystery and apparently there's an issue with Saturday or Sunday service...like with everything else in Spain. Apparently, there's a bar in Carrion that will have information for us. It's a 25k day tomorrow, and the light day today and lots of rest this afternoon will hopefully have my knee feeling all right again.
Cannot TELL you how exciting it is to have clean clothes. Skip and I want to throw them on the lawn and roll around in them. It's joy.
Lost Kate. Thought she'd be here...was determined to make it to the pool but no sign of her. Every time we hit a pool, it's a bit too cold (or, in Belorado, WAY too cold) to swim. Dammit.
By the way, for those of you who are wondering, Skip's ankle is fine...today was his first day walking after four days off...he's still slugging antibiotics and slathering his ankle in betadine, but the swelling is coming down and he was pretty much in full form today, to watch him. He certainly didn't seem to be babying it. So I think he'll be okay. It's still hideous, by the way. Ha ha.
For some reason, can't get to my Hotmail from this computer. Have a message from Dad and one from Byron and can't get either, which of course is no reason not to send more. MIKE...help a girl out. Send some love.
Tomorrow, hopefully we'll get 25k walked and 45 or so actually travelled. Will update, of course, as soon as I can. I've missed several days lately...trust me, it's not because I'm blowing it off. Service seems spotty on the meseta.
Love you all!!!
I'm in Boadilla...one stop before Fromista. Did I mention I smashed the 30k barrier yesterday? Full on 32k...finally hit my 20 mile mark. Longest day I've done. But I paid for it today. My right knee came back with a vengeance by the end of the day and we decided to stop here, even though we only did 20k today.
We. Yeah, still with Skip. I decided, and later told him and he concurred, that I did my part in striking out alone and trying to leave the group behind and face the Camino alone, and the Camino's response was, nearly immediately, to toss us back together. So together we are, and together we'll stay.
We're formulating a game plan. Tomorrow, I'll break my streak of 16 (?) days without transport. We're hoping to get as far as Carrion de los Condes, and then hop a bus for either 18 or 28k, depending on what we can do. Time to quit messing around...we have somewhere to be around the 8th or 9th of August and we need to make some serious time. We've rationalized it...we'll walk a full day tomorrow, 25k, then skip ahead about a day's worth, as that stretch contains 18k without civilization. Then we'll walk another day, perhaps a day and a half, and blow the next 50k into Leon. We talked it over, and neither of us like the idea of skipping huge chunks of the meseta, but to skip across it like a stone, never missing that much...and missing either chunks with no civilization or bits that follow right beside the road anyway...as Skip puts it, "it's gotta be done."
Anyway. Back to business. Big winding steep hill out of Castrojeriz today, which we SMASHED...then killer, straight-arrow downslope on the other side. Then lots more meseta, but it was nice. It wasn't just wheat this time...we finally found some corn, and then closer on to Itero, even some spinach and a few other crops. We didn't stop much...an old man was selling coffee for donations on the side of the road about an hour and a half in, but other than that and a quick stop for a baguette to go with his tomato and ham he had for lunch...off we went. We did the whole 20k in 5 hours. HELL YEAH!!
Noteworthy things along the way...we are now in Palencia, out of Castilla y Leon (I think). Or in a new part of it. We passed, right before the border, a beautiful little chapel/hostel called San Nicolas which was staffed by the most wonderfully kind people. The lady inside said she'd seen more Americans this year than ever before...thank God they're staying away from me. (The CCM group jumped from Burgos the other day to the end of the line to make Santiago by today.) (Not that I don't love my countrymen, but I'm not here to see them, thank you very much....) Anyway...since today is St. James' Day, they had coffee and tea waiting outside for us there as well (or maybe they do that every day, but still, today is special). St. James Day is a national holiday, and when it falls on a Sunday it's called a Holy Year and the Camino explodes with pilgrims. Definitely want to try staying in San Nicolas if I do this again...it's tiny and basic and quaint but beautiful and peaceful and definitely a place where the Esprit du Chemin (Spirit of the Camino) resides.
Boadilla. The best albergue so far. From the outside, it looks like a condemned building. Inside, it's an oasis. Fairway lawns with giant stone planters overflowing with petunias and geraniums and snapdragons (!!!)...small swimming pool...LAUNDRY!!! Oh, God, EVERYTHING I own is now clean and sun-dried. It's like heaven. Good dinner...patio sitting area with thick grapevines strung overhead and creeping up the walls...beautiful wrought iron statue of two pilgrims, one standing over his friend who is checking something on his foot...one iron shoe off...someone put a bandaid on the foot. I have pictures, it's gorgeous. The people are SOOOOO nice. And we got here at noon, so we've had the whole afternoon to lounge around in the sunshine and be lazy and it's been WONderful.
The weather has been perfect. Bright sun, cool mornings, cool breeze, and even though it's a solid and strong headwind, it's refreshing, and it could be 20 degrees hotter and miserable. Thank you, St. James!!!
The Spice Girls are here too. So are Mimi and Jocelyn. Hank is ahead, I assume, and the German boys were with Malek yesterday and are supposedly about 20k ahead by now. If we catch that bus tomorrow afternoon, we might catch up to them. But the bus schedule is still a mystery and apparently there's an issue with Saturday or Sunday service...like with everything else in Spain. Apparently, there's a bar in Carrion that will have information for us. It's a 25k day tomorrow, and the light day today and lots of rest this afternoon will hopefully have my knee feeling all right again.
Cannot TELL you how exciting it is to have clean clothes. Skip and I want to throw them on the lawn and roll around in them. It's joy.
Lost Kate. Thought she'd be here...was determined to make it to the pool but no sign of her. Every time we hit a pool, it's a bit too cold (or, in Belorado, WAY too cold) to swim. Dammit.
By the way, for those of you who are wondering, Skip's ankle is fine...today was his first day walking after four days off...he's still slugging antibiotics and slathering his ankle in betadine, but the swelling is coming down and he was pretty much in full form today, to watch him. He certainly didn't seem to be babying it. So I think he'll be okay. It's still hideous, by the way. Ha ha.
For some reason, can't get to my Hotmail from this computer. Have a message from Dad and one from Byron and can't get either, which of course is no reason not to send more. MIKE...help a girl out. Send some love.
Tomorrow, hopefully we'll get 25k walked and 45 or so actually travelled. Will update, of course, as soon as I can. I've missed several days lately...trust me, it's not because I'm blowing it off. Service seems spotty on the meseta.
Love you all!!!
Thursday, July 24, 2008
Burgos to Tardajos to Castrojeriz
When I left you, I was headed to the Cathedral of Burgos. It was as majestic inside as I expected it to be. Surprises included the tomb of El Cid, whose statue I found after getting directions from two people on the street. I headed in that direction, then lost the trail, and asked two little old ladies in a traffic roundabout. I pulled out a postcard showing the monument and asked, ¿Donde esta este? Wonderingly, this 90-something little old lady pointed right behind me. There it was. I friggin´ missed it and was standing right under it. I blame my hat. lol
After that, the Cathedral. The best part was the cloister walk. It was a square enclosing a garden, one floor up, and was playing haunting monk-like ethereal music throughout, with soft gongs and little bell sounds, and you could almost feel the monks sweeping by you in their long, brown, whispering roads. It was roped off at one point, to keep people moving in a procession through the cathedral, but I cheated and ducked under and walked the hallways four or five times. Had to force myself to leave. Very meditative, very addictive...I could´ve paced through those hallways all day. There was a postcard in the gift shop that showed them, so I kind of get to take them with me, but I wish there was a place like that near home where I could go to think. It was beautiful.
From my journal yesterday, written in the cloister: ¨Cathedrals like this make me miss my mother. I want her to be here so she can tell me how to look at the art and the architecture, to read the codes they use, to show me what the untrained eye will miss, help me look between the places I´m looking and see wonders hidden in plain sight.¨ Mom...we need to start planning a trip to Italy.
Also from my journal: Ï wish Catholics would focus more on Jesus´ life work, rather than just his infancy and his crucifixion. I really get tired of bloody miserable martyrs writhing in agony and repeated images of the mortification of Christ. There was so much more to his life than an immaculate conception and a grisly death.¨
After the cathedral, I had lunch, hit a touristy-Camino shop where I bought yet another amulet-type necklace (a triskela this time, intuition and constant change), and saw Kevin from Boston (from several days ago in Los Arcos) sitting where we had drinks the day before. I headed over to say hi, and told him I was heading out, despite the fact that it was 4pm, hot as Jeezus, and probably pretty stupid. He agreed. But Burgos was so expensive, I couldn´t handle another day there, and there were apparently two towns within 10k, so off I went. The cathedral bells struck 4 as I left the old city behind me and headed out. Alone.
From my journal: ¨Well, I found solitude, and the first thing I found in solitude was stupidity. The dangerous kind. The kind borne of stubbornness, and ignorance of common sense (as in, ignoring it, not lacking it). The kind that dashes your spirits and makes loneliness almost impossible to bear.
If you spend all day in Burgos on a computer, then hunting El Cid, then wandering the halls of a cathedral, and it´s 4pm, and upwards of 90 degrees, STAY PUT. Especially if you´re alone, whether or not you have water and an extra bocadillo (sandwich) in your pack. At least use the bathroom before you go, so you don´t get desperate on the way as the Camino swings wide of the first town....CENSORED. ;)
The heat was intense. It was bearable in the shade of the trees leading out of the old town of Burgos, but even the lady I asked for directions on the side of the street said it was too hot to walk. The locals know. But I was full of headstrong recklessness and felt like pushing the boundaries, so I went on.
Once out of the old city, more construction and a very unfriendly gravel road that curved away from Villabilla and the promise of a bathroom. More dumptrucks. More dust. More wheat. Every time I saw a Camino sign, I missed my friends, especially happy-go-lucky Felix and his incessant chatter and references to stupid American comedy films. Felix. What a good name for him. Only a few hours on my own, and I was lonely.
So, like usual, I tried to fill the emptiness with activity. Maybe that´s why I headed out at such an inopportune hour. Walk. It won´t be that bad. You have water, you´ve eaten plenty and have an extra sandwich. Just go. Besides, where are you going to stay if you don´t? You have to get to another albergue. Two, maybe three towns ahead. It´ll be fine.
It wasn´t. The towns didn´t come. I passed one, and the road threatened to rise over a hill and God only knew what lay beyond. I didn´t have it in me. When I stopped, and then started again, my muscles went to water. My mouth was gummy, though I was drinking every time I thought about water. The sun was relentless. My head said I could go on, but my body was rebelling and I knew it.
Through an underpass tunnel ahead, I could hear men shouting, angry. I drew my knife...actually drew my knife...and tried to hold it concealed, blade point pricking my forearm, reassuring in its sharpness. The men, three of them, fell silent as I passed, and then shouted again, but a quick glance revealed they were only addressing each other. It was my first moment of fear on the Camino...probably having more to do with being suddenly alone than any real menace. They were just workmen, agitated over something that had nothing to do with me. As I left the tunnel, one of the men got into a van. As he passed me, he seemed to slow, and he looked at me, but drove on. I put my knife back in my pocket.
An hour had passed, maybe more. Three blessings suddenly converged to form a miracle, and thus, my salvation. First, the road ahead suddenly turned under another overpass, this one high...twin roads leading into tunnels into a hillside, and provided shade next to a tree-lined river. Second, a handmade cardboard sign advertised the next albergue only a scant 3km away. Third, the purple sky behind me formed softly rumbling thunderheads that finally overtook the sun and dropped the temperature to a bearable 80 or so. I thought for a moment about stopping beneath the bridges to wait for rain, but since I had only 3km to go and no idea how long the rain would go on if it did come, decided to walk on.
The road started to look more promising. From a gravel road to an asphalt motorway. To my left, in the distance, gray curtains of rain fell from heaven to earth in sweeping sheets. They looked far away.
I was hoping I´d made it three towns away, to Rabé de las Calzadas, but it was only two, to Tardajos.
As I entered the town, the wind picked up something fierce. Huge gusts of wind blew eddies of dust across the road. The bars I could see ahead, earmarked for emergency shelter, were suddenly alive with people scurrying to retract canopies and take down umbrellas in the sudden storm. Old men begrudgingly got to their feet and hurried stiffly from their park benches. The arrows began to conflict as the rain began to fall in scant, fat drops. I was in no mood to sort out Camino arrows from albergue arrows. I found a hustle I didn´t know I had, and as the windstorm intensified and the purple sky got closer and the dust made it harder to see, the need to find the most direct route to shelter became more urgent.
¨Albergue?¨ I cried to passersby, dispensing with my usual painstaking politeness. The usual stream of unintelligible chatter came back to me, and I forgot about picking through for recognizable patterns of sounds and simply followed hand signals. There it was. A line of people on the scant front porch, ducked behind clotheslines and watching the dust blow across the streets. Among them, a boy whose face I recognized, but no one I´d spoken to...I don´t think he spoke English. A child of about 3. A pregnant woman. Two iron-haired hippie-looking folks, with kind faces, beckoning me in urgently.
The man was pure granola...tall, thin, sandals, glasses, long hair falling in eyes that sloped downward to meet his broad smile curving upward. He spoke to me in manageable speed, and as I entered the tiny foyer, I tried to understand if he was telling me they still had beds or were full...and when he said ¨Bienvenidos,¨ I nearly wept with relief.
He was so, so kind. He explained the rules to me, invited me to a meeting at 7:30 where pilgrims could talk about their Caminos, told me they were a donativo and had no kitchen. The shower stalls were even with the floor and you were asked to mop after your shower to soak up the excess. Breakfast at 6:30am. He carried my pack up to my room (a blessing in itself...hospitaleros, take note) and we came back down for the stamp and the credential dance. He spoke so comfortingly, so welcomingly. It had been such a miserable trek...two hours had felt like two weeks...my nerves were raw and I felt destitute and deserted...no familiar faces for the first night since St. Jean. I just wanted to crawl into a corner away from everyone.
But I coped. I know, I have the tendency to be a bit dramatic...but this is tough stuff. There´s a lot of Camino to go, and the meseta is not the easiest part, and to do it alone is tougher.
To add insult to injury, my towel is full of burrs. Certainly no washing machine here...this is bare as bare bones gets. But it´s warm and comfortable and these are good, good people.¨
I went to the bar and wrote for some two hours or so. In the middle of it, the bartender gave me a funny grin, took the half beer I had in front of me and tapped his chest. He poured it out, washed the glass, and refilled it to the top. I smiled gratefully at him and tried to say ¨I guess I need to drink faster.¨ He just smiled again and stamped my passport.
Back to the albergue, ate my bocadillo, and went up to my room. Two older men in there with me. We didn´t speak at all. I crawled into bed at 9:45. It was still light out. Some time later, the men went to bed and it was dark. I slept like a stone.
This morning, I woke up several times, and each time, it seems that one of the men had just come back from the shower, and may not have been totally naked, but it seemed that way to me in my half-sleep. I tried to get up early and ended up hopping down from my bunk just before the hospitalero came to make sure we were all up. Quick shower, pack up, head outside for tea and some beautiful crispy little donuts, and attempts at conversation through a girl who spoke fluent Spanish and very good English. The hospitaleros were from Madrid and I tried to tell them my mother has a friend there, and that she was very worried about me until her friend reassured her I´d be fine. They thought that was amusing. I wrote a note in the albergue book thanking Fernando for his kindness, and headed out at 7:15.
The Camino was different today. The meseta is, indeed, softly undulating wheat fields that stretch on to the horizon in all directions, and at times, the sky was beautiful, with its wispy cirrus clouds and impossible blues. The temperature this morning was like summer in Tahoe...crisp and cold, much colder in the shade than in the sun. The mornings are always cold, but a fleece is too much within ten minutes and I´m stopping to stuff it in my bag (though, in fact, I´ve gotten quite adept at taking it off around my backpack without breaking my stride...a feat that amazed Felix the other day when I also was able to put it back on without stopping...ha ha).
But alone...all the winds are headwinds. All the rocks reach up to trip you. Your muscles get tired sooner, and the pain of your feet goes to the forefront of your mind. Your pack is heavier and your hat won´t stay on, forcing you to carry it. You walk constantly in your own shadow, which takes the sunlight away from the rocks of the path and makes it harder for you to judge where to step. It takes longer between towns. The Camino is no longer a game...no longer a quick daily segment from beginning (breakfast with friends, grousing over whoever takes longest to be ready) to end (beers and companionship before bedtime), but an endless plain of nothingness, Santiago impossibly far away. It is a very intimidating place today.
But I charged on. Hornillos del Camino was a nice little hamlet, tucked into a valley. The road dropped suddenly from in front of me, and the valley ahead, and the road apparently climbing up the other side had me feeling like Mr. Potato Head in Toy Story 2, when he sees all the bags in the airport and loses all his stuff out his back trapdoor. But the man in the first store in Hornillos gave me an apple, a diet Coke, a bag of peanuts, and a good sized bocadillo for 5.80...which was beautiful.
Onward. More wheat fields. Life of Pi on the iPod for a while, till I felt guilty, like I should be thinking deep searching thoughts about my life and not escaping or mooning over lost Camino friends. More wheat fields. MORE wheat fields. Gradually they changed into something else...barley, perhaps? Definitely not corn, like the book said. No other walkers. NO other walkers. Only bicyclists today. I think many pilgrims skip the meseta (actually, I know they do, which makes me feel a bit like a badass and lifts my spirits momentarily). Lots of cyclists. They holler ¨Hola!¨ or ¨Buen Camino¨ as they speed by, and inside, I laugh as I think about Skip, who would curse viciously at the cyclists when they blew by us, wishing them flat tires and seats that fall off at inopportune times.
San Bol. San Bol has an interesting story. It is now nothing but a lone albergue in the middle of endless wheat fields. It was a hamlet but was deserted in 1503 by its inhabitants, my book says ¨for unknown reasons,¨ but I believe it was probably plague. It´s worth a quick detour to look around. No electricity, no running water...campground and spring in the grove below. I say hello to the hospitalero and ask for a stamp. When he gives it to me, it is in red, and is the Masonic symbol...the square and compass. I ask him why, but he doesn´t know...he just started there recently. He asks me what the Masons are, and with his limited English (he is German), I am hard put to explain it. I tell him they are vaguely related to the Templars, and he nods. I move on.
Hontanas. I sit on a bench next to yet another German, an older man. After a long silence, I ask him where he has come from today. He looks at me for a minute. ¨I sleep in the bed below you.¨ I am an idiot yet again. I try to explain that I was miserable last night and didn´t want to interact with anyone, even look at anyone.
A chipper looking girl with bleach blonde hair comes out of nowhere, offering us a piece of a baguette she has. We both refuse. She is Kate, from Southampton, and we instantly fall to talking about the Titanic...the first English conversation I´ve had since yesterday morning.
Suddely, Mimi and Jocelyn emerge from a bar!! They´re staying in Hontanas tonight, but it´s only noon, and I want to go far today. I update them on whoever I can, as best I can, and tell them their pictures are on my blog. Mimi laughs like a schoolgirl when Jocelyn translates that I put up her picture with her grass hat.
(Sidenote: the bar I´m in right this moment has a bloodhound and a tabby cat in it. The Rescuers, anyone?)
Kate asks how far I´m going; I tell her Castrojeriz. 10km from here, 22 behind me. She muses over that for a moment, and I invite her to walk with me. She says yes. Off we go.
Kate is British, reminds me of Jen Partridge, is of a completely unreadable age, and prattles away unceasingly as we walk, all in this chirpy, singsong British accent, and it is incessant and it is beautiful. After my miserable evening the day before and my miserable morning missing the crowd and flinging myself into solitude, I feel I´ve earned pleasant company. She is a true free spirit, and I really enjoy walking with her.
We go 6km of rather more pleasant meseta, with random groves of trees and a path that cuts into a hillside...it´s a bit less monotonous. Her chatter keeps my mind off my feet. We make it to San Antón before we know it.
She has done the Camino before, but only to Astorga, and says that San Antón is beautiful. I am intrigued by the story of animal blessings each January, the mystical cure of St. Anthony´s disease (result of wheat parasites nonexistent in Spain, which led to the belief that pilgrims were ¨cured¨ of a disease they simply had no more exposure to at this point) and the fact that it´s a ruined monastery. And it is truly beautiful. Some walls are standing, the ceiling is open to the sky, there are tiny little figures in alcoves in the walls. The albergue is in the ruins...a tarp standing as the only wall between the sleeping area and the outside. The kitchen is still set for breakfast (at noon) and little dishes of yellow pellets here and there hold innumerable dead flies.
The hospitaleros are not welcoming at all. They stamp our passports begrudgingly. We go across the courtyard to sit on a bench away; my German bedfellow shows up a few minutes later. Kate expresses a bad feeling, and suddenly, my eyes fall on something strange.
Above the kitchen, on a high wall, there is a string hanging from the top down to the roof below, stopping a few inches above the roof. There is a pigeon hanging from the string. By its neck. It is dead. It swings back and forth in the breeze.
I call attention to it...everyone is shocked. Kate goes to ask why it´s there. They don´t know. It appeared, they say, some three days ago, both pigeon and string. They believe the pigeon got entangled by mistake. They seem unconcerned.
Kate, who had thought of staying there, and I suddenly agreed that this was an ominous sign and gave us the creeps. Combined with the standoffishness of the staff, we decided to leave right away. We headed out. Thankfully, Castrojeriz was almost immediately in view.
It is a long, long town, wrapping around the side of a hillside topped with the ruins of a small castle. It´s very charming looking. It takes us a long time to find the albergue, and when we check in, about 600 dreadlocked Germans (okay, 7) push their way in front of us, causing a great deal of ado about a small dog that is not allowed inside and has bandaged feet and keeps trying to creep into the foyer. There is no washing machine...damn, I´m out of socks. There is no internet, but we passed a place here and there along the way.
I go back to an albergue we passed up because of a high price...wandered looking for the hospitalero and ran into HANK!! He is there. We spoke briefly. He tells me the German boys are some 15k on from here. =( I was happy to see him, but got the feeling I needed to distance myself from familiarity...this is my next stage of the Camino. I use the computer for only a few minutes before it crashes.
I go find Kate. She is having a bottle of wine...an entire bottle of wine...in the bar across from our albergue. We have a wonderful conversation that lasts for hours...literature, America, England, movies, teaching, the stages of the Camino, signs, our reasons for being here...everything. She is delightful. She was a hospitalera in San Bol for the previous week, has chopped off all her hair to avoid male attention, and is heading to Thailand in December to see what will find her there. We talk a lot about travel vs. family. She is 35. The kid thing comes up and we understand each other.
As she talks, I glance out the window of the bar, and who is passing by....
SKIP!!!!!!
I cannot help myself, I explode out the doors and tackle him, and he tackles back, laughing his head off and giving me the ¨Of all the gin joints¨ line. I demand he join us for a beer...he checks into our albergue...I go back in to Kate and try to explain my dismay over seeing him.
I am THRILLED to see Skip...but I just got primed for this alone thing this morning. Now, here he is. No coordination, just appeared. Doesn´t that mean the Camino threw us back together, and I should follow that? I tell Kate I feel like I need to stay away from him tomorrow, to continue alone. She asks if I´m Catholic. That makes me laugh. I said no, just a Marine´s kid. She says, ¨Ah, that´s why you´re so obsessed with making life tough for yourself....¨
So...we finish drinking, and I head here for this café, where the internet is a bit cheaper than the first place, trying to concentrate while Hank talks at the next table with a woman with very painstaking English and who has NO awareness of her vocal volume. I keep waiting for this cat to get a beer. The smoke is making my eyes hurt. And I think I´m finally caught up.
I did tell Skip I felt torn by his appearance...that I was thrilled to have a friendly face after the last day or two, but that I felt like my crucible had just begun and I needed to let it sink in. He reminded me that we can walk for hours with no speaking at all, and that it´s no big deal. But it does change things. Today was hard, but it was priming. Trial by endless wheatfields.
I dunno. Someone here has perfume that is absolutely cloying and making my head hurt. Off to bed. We´ll see what happens tomorrow....
After that, the Cathedral. The best part was the cloister walk. It was a square enclosing a garden, one floor up, and was playing haunting monk-like ethereal music throughout, with soft gongs and little bell sounds, and you could almost feel the monks sweeping by you in their long, brown, whispering roads. It was roped off at one point, to keep people moving in a procession through the cathedral, but I cheated and ducked under and walked the hallways four or five times. Had to force myself to leave. Very meditative, very addictive...I could´ve paced through those hallways all day. There was a postcard in the gift shop that showed them, so I kind of get to take them with me, but I wish there was a place like that near home where I could go to think. It was beautiful.
From my journal yesterday, written in the cloister: ¨Cathedrals like this make me miss my mother. I want her to be here so she can tell me how to look at the art and the architecture, to read the codes they use, to show me what the untrained eye will miss, help me look between the places I´m looking and see wonders hidden in plain sight.¨ Mom...we need to start planning a trip to Italy.
Also from my journal: Ï wish Catholics would focus more on Jesus´ life work, rather than just his infancy and his crucifixion. I really get tired of bloody miserable martyrs writhing in agony and repeated images of the mortification of Christ. There was so much more to his life than an immaculate conception and a grisly death.¨
After the cathedral, I had lunch, hit a touristy-Camino shop where I bought yet another amulet-type necklace (a triskela this time, intuition and constant change), and saw Kevin from Boston (from several days ago in Los Arcos) sitting where we had drinks the day before. I headed over to say hi, and told him I was heading out, despite the fact that it was 4pm, hot as Jeezus, and probably pretty stupid. He agreed. But Burgos was so expensive, I couldn´t handle another day there, and there were apparently two towns within 10k, so off I went. The cathedral bells struck 4 as I left the old city behind me and headed out. Alone.
From my journal: ¨Well, I found solitude, and the first thing I found in solitude was stupidity. The dangerous kind. The kind borne of stubbornness, and ignorance of common sense (as in, ignoring it, not lacking it). The kind that dashes your spirits and makes loneliness almost impossible to bear.
If you spend all day in Burgos on a computer, then hunting El Cid, then wandering the halls of a cathedral, and it´s 4pm, and upwards of 90 degrees, STAY PUT. Especially if you´re alone, whether or not you have water and an extra bocadillo (sandwich) in your pack. At least use the bathroom before you go, so you don´t get desperate on the way as the Camino swings wide of the first town....CENSORED. ;)
The heat was intense. It was bearable in the shade of the trees leading out of the old town of Burgos, but even the lady I asked for directions on the side of the street said it was too hot to walk. The locals know. But I was full of headstrong recklessness and felt like pushing the boundaries, so I went on.
Once out of the old city, more construction and a very unfriendly gravel road that curved away from Villabilla and the promise of a bathroom. More dumptrucks. More dust. More wheat. Every time I saw a Camino sign, I missed my friends, especially happy-go-lucky Felix and his incessant chatter and references to stupid American comedy films. Felix. What a good name for him. Only a few hours on my own, and I was lonely.
So, like usual, I tried to fill the emptiness with activity. Maybe that´s why I headed out at such an inopportune hour. Walk. It won´t be that bad. You have water, you´ve eaten plenty and have an extra sandwich. Just go. Besides, where are you going to stay if you don´t? You have to get to another albergue. Two, maybe three towns ahead. It´ll be fine.
It wasn´t. The towns didn´t come. I passed one, and the road threatened to rise over a hill and God only knew what lay beyond. I didn´t have it in me. When I stopped, and then started again, my muscles went to water. My mouth was gummy, though I was drinking every time I thought about water. The sun was relentless. My head said I could go on, but my body was rebelling and I knew it.
Through an underpass tunnel ahead, I could hear men shouting, angry. I drew my knife...actually drew my knife...and tried to hold it concealed, blade point pricking my forearm, reassuring in its sharpness. The men, three of them, fell silent as I passed, and then shouted again, but a quick glance revealed they were only addressing each other. It was my first moment of fear on the Camino...probably having more to do with being suddenly alone than any real menace. They were just workmen, agitated over something that had nothing to do with me. As I left the tunnel, one of the men got into a van. As he passed me, he seemed to slow, and he looked at me, but drove on. I put my knife back in my pocket.
An hour had passed, maybe more. Three blessings suddenly converged to form a miracle, and thus, my salvation. First, the road ahead suddenly turned under another overpass, this one high...twin roads leading into tunnels into a hillside, and provided shade next to a tree-lined river. Second, a handmade cardboard sign advertised the next albergue only a scant 3km away. Third, the purple sky behind me formed softly rumbling thunderheads that finally overtook the sun and dropped the temperature to a bearable 80 or so. I thought for a moment about stopping beneath the bridges to wait for rain, but since I had only 3km to go and no idea how long the rain would go on if it did come, decided to walk on.
The road started to look more promising. From a gravel road to an asphalt motorway. To my left, in the distance, gray curtains of rain fell from heaven to earth in sweeping sheets. They looked far away.
I was hoping I´d made it three towns away, to Rabé de las Calzadas, but it was only two, to Tardajos.
As I entered the town, the wind picked up something fierce. Huge gusts of wind blew eddies of dust across the road. The bars I could see ahead, earmarked for emergency shelter, were suddenly alive with people scurrying to retract canopies and take down umbrellas in the sudden storm. Old men begrudgingly got to their feet and hurried stiffly from their park benches. The arrows began to conflict as the rain began to fall in scant, fat drops. I was in no mood to sort out Camino arrows from albergue arrows. I found a hustle I didn´t know I had, and as the windstorm intensified and the purple sky got closer and the dust made it harder to see, the need to find the most direct route to shelter became more urgent.
¨Albergue?¨ I cried to passersby, dispensing with my usual painstaking politeness. The usual stream of unintelligible chatter came back to me, and I forgot about picking through for recognizable patterns of sounds and simply followed hand signals. There it was. A line of people on the scant front porch, ducked behind clotheslines and watching the dust blow across the streets. Among them, a boy whose face I recognized, but no one I´d spoken to...I don´t think he spoke English. A child of about 3. A pregnant woman. Two iron-haired hippie-looking folks, with kind faces, beckoning me in urgently.
The man was pure granola...tall, thin, sandals, glasses, long hair falling in eyes that sloped downward to meet his broad smile curving upward. He spoke to me in manageable speed, and as I entered the tiny foyer, I tried to understand if he was telling me they still had beds or were full...and when he said ¨Bienvenidos,¨ I nearly wept with relief.
He was so, so kind. He explained the rules to me, invited me to a meeting at 7:30 where pilgrims could talk about their Caminos, told me they were a donativo and had no kitchen. The shower stalls were even with the floor and you were asked to mop after your shower to soak up the excess. Breakfast at 6:30am. He carried my pack up to my room (a blessing in itself...hospitaleros, take note) and we came back down for the stamp and the credential dance. He spoke so comfortingly, so welcomingly. It had been such a miserable trek...two hours had felt like two weeks...my nerves were raw and I felt destitute and deserted...no familiar faces for the first night since St. Jean. I just wanted to crawl into a corner away from everyone.
But I coped. I know, I have the tendency to be a bit dramatic...but this is tough stuff. There´s a lot of Camino to go, and the meseta is not the easiest part, and to do it alone is tougher.
To add insult to injury, my towel is full of burrs. Certainly no washing machine here...this is bare as bare bones gets. But it´s warm and comfortable and these are good, good people.¨
I went to the bar and wrote for some two hours or so. In the middle of it, the bartender gave me a funny grin, took the half beer I had in front of me and tapped his chest. He poured it out, washed the glass, and refilled it to the top. I smiled gratefully at him and tried to say ¨I guess I need to drink faster.¨ He just smiled again and stamped my passport.
Back to the albergue, ate my bocadillo, and went up to my room. Two older men in there with me. We didn´t speak at all. I crawled into bed at 9:45. It was still light out. Some time later, the men went to bed and it was dark. I slept like a stone.
This morning, I woke up several times, and each time, it seems that one of the men had just come back from the shower, and may not have been totally naked, but it seemed that way to me in my half-sleep. I tried to get up early and ended up hopping down from my bunk just before the hospitalero came to make sure we were all up. Quick shower, pack up, head outside for tea and some beautiful crispy little donuts, and attempts at conversation through a girl who spoke fluent Spanish and very good English. The hospitaleros were from Madrid and I tried to tell them my mother has a friend there, and that she was very worried about me until her friend reassured her I´d be fine. They thought that was amusing. I wrote a note in the albergue book thanking Fernando for his kindness, and headed out at 7:15.
The Camino was different today. The meseta is, indeed, softly undulating wheat fields that stretch on to the horizon in all directions, and at times, the sky was beautiful, with its wispy cirrus clouds and impossible blues. The temperature this morning was like summer in Tahoe...crisp and cold, much colder in the shade than in the sun. The mornings are always cold, but a fleece is too much within ten minutes and I´m stopping to stuff it in my bag (though, in fact, I´ve gotten quite adept at taking it off around my backpack without breaking my stride...a feat that amazed Felix the other day when I also was able to put it back on without stopping...ha ha).
But alone...all the winds are headwinds. All the rocks reach up to trip you. Your muscles get tired sooner, and the pain of your feet goes to the forefront of your mind. Your pack is heavier and your hat won´t stay on, forcing you to carry it. You walk constantly in your own shadow, which takes the sunlight away from the rocks of the path and makes it harder for you to judge where to step. It takes longer between towns. The Camino is no longer a game...no longer a quick daily segment from beginning (breakfast with friends, grousing over whoever takes longest to be ready) to end (beers and companionship before bedtime), but an endless plain of nothingness, Santiago impossibly far away. It is a very intimidating place today.
But I charged on. Hornillos del Camino was a nice little hamlet, tucked into a valley. The road dropped suddenly from in front of me, and the valley ahead, and the road apparently climbing up the other side had me feeling like Mr. Potato Head in Toy Story 2, when he sees all the bags in the airport and loses all his stuff out his back trapdoor. But the man in the first store in Hornillos gave me an apple, a diet Coke, a bag of peanuts, and a good sized bocadillo for 5.80...which was beautiful.
Onward. More wheat fields. Life of Pi on the iPod for a while, till I felt guilty, like I should be thinking deep searching thoughts about my life and not escaping or mooning over lost Camino friends. More wheat fields. MORE wheat fields. Gradually they changed into something else...barley, perhaps? Definitely not corn, like the book said. No other walkers. NO other walkers. Only bicyclists today. I think many pilgrims skip the meseta (actually, I know they do, which makes me feel a bit like a badass and lifts my spirits momentarily). Lots of cyclists. They holler ¨Hola!¨ or ¨Buen Camino¨ as they speed by, and inside, I laugh as I think about Skip, who would curse viciously at the cyclists when they blew by us, wishing them flat tires and seats that fall off at inopportune times.
San Bol. San Bol has an interesting story. It is now nothing but a lone albergue in the middle of endless wheat fields. It was a hamlet but was deserted in 1503 by its inhabitants, my book says ¨for unknown reasons,¨ but I believe it was probably plague. It´s worth a quick detour to look around. No electricity, no running water...campground and spring in the grove below. I say hello to the hospitalero and ask for a stamp. When he gives it to me, it is in red, and is the Masonic symbol...the square and compass. I ask him why, but he doesn´t know...he just started there recently. He asks me what the Masons are, and with his limited English (he is German), I am hard put to explain it. I tell him they are vaguely related to the Templars, and he nods. I move on.
Hontanas. I sit on a bench next to yet another German, an older man. After a long silence, I ask him where he has come from today. He looks at me for a minute. ¨I sleep in the bed below you.¨ I am an idiot yet again. I try to explain that I was miserable last night and didn´t want to interact with anyone, even look at anyone.
A chipper looking girl with bleach blonde hair comes out of nowhere, offering us a piece of a baguette she has. We both refuse. She is Kate, from Southampton, and we instantly fall to talking about the Titanic...the first English conversation I´ve had since yesterday morning.
Suddely, Mimi and Jocelyn emerge from a bar!! They´re staying in Hontanas tonight, but it´s only noon, and I want to go far today. I update them on whoever I can, as best I can, and tell them their pictures are on my blog. Mimi laughs like a schoolgirl when Jocelyn translates that I put up her picture with her grass hat.
(Sidenote: the bar I´m in right this moment has a bloodhound and a tabby cat in it. The Rescuers, anyone?)
Kate asks how far I´m going; I tell her Castrojeriz. 10km from here, 22 behind me. She muses over that for a moment, and I invite her to walk with me. She says yes. Off we go.
Kate is British, reminds me of Jen Partridge, is of a completely unreadable age, and prattles away unceasingly as we walk, all in this chirpy, singsong British accent, and it is incessant and it is beautiful. After my miserable evening the day before and my miserable morning missing the crowd and flinging myself into solitude, I feel I´ve earned pleasant company. She is a true free spirit, and I really enjoy walking with her.
We go 6km of rather more pleasant meseta, with random groves of trees and a path that cuts into a hillside...it´s a bit less monotonous. Her chatter keeps my mind off my feet. We make it to San Antón before we know it.
She has done the Camino before, but only to Astorga, and says that San Antón is beautiful. I am intrigued by the story of animal blessings each January, the mystical cure of St. Anthony´s disease (result of wheat parasites nonexistent in Spain, which led to the belief that pilgrims were ¨cured¨ of a disease they simply had no more exposure to at this point) and the fact that it´s a ruined monastery. And it is truly beautiful. Some walls are standing, the ceiling is open to the sky, there are tiny little figures in alcoves in the walls. The albergue is in the ruins...a tarp standing as the only wall between the sleeping area and the outside. The kitchen is still set for breakfast (at noon) and little dishes of yellow pellets here and there hold innumerable dead flies.
The hospitaleros are not welcoming at all. They stamp our passports begrudgingly. We go across the courtyard to sit on a bench away; my German bedfellow shows up a few minutes later. Kate expresses a bad feeling, and suddenly, my eyes fall on something strange.
Above the kitchen, on a high wall, there is a string hanging from the top down to the roof below, stopping a few inches above the roof. There is a pigeon hanging from the string. By its neck. It is dead. It swings back and forth in the breeze.
I call attention to it...everyone is shocked. Kate goes to ask why it´s there. They don´t know. It appeared, they say, some three days ago, both pigeon and string. They believe the pigeon got entangled by mistake. They seem unconcerned.
Kate, who had thought of staying there, and I suddenly agreed that this was an ominous sign and gave us the creeps. Combined with the standoffishness of the staff, we decided to leave right away. We headed out. Thankfully, Castrojeriz was almost immediately in view.
It is a long, long town, wrapping around the side of a hillside topped with the ruins of a small castle. It´s very charming looking. It takes us a long time to find the albergue, and when we check in, about 600 dreadlocked Germans (okay, 7) push their way in front of us, causing a great deal of ado about a small dog that is not allowed inside and has bandaged feet and keeps trying to creep into the foyer. There is no washing machine...damn, I´m out of socks. There is no internet, but we passed a place here and there along the way.
I go back to an albergue we passed up because of a high price...wandered looking for the hospitalero and ran into HANK!! He is there. We spoke briefly. He tells me the German boys are some 15k on from here. =( I was happy to see him, but got the feeling I needed to distance myself from familiarity...this is my next stage of the Camino. I use the computer for only a few minutes before it crashes.
I go find Kate. She is having a bottle of wine...an entire bottle of wine...in the bar across from our albergue. We have a wonderful conversation that lasts for hours...literature, America, England, movies, teaching, the stages of the Camino, signs, our reasons for being here...everything. She is delightful. She was a hospitalera in San Bol for the previous week, has chopped off all her hair to avoid male attention, and is heading to Thailand in December to see what will find her there. We talk a lot about travel vs. family. She is 35. The kid thing comes up and we understand each other.
As she talks, I glance out the window of the bar, and who is passing by....
SKIP!!!!!!
I cannot help myself, I explode out the doors and tackle him, and he tackles back, laughing his head off and giving me the ¨Of all the gin joints¨ line. I demand he join us for a beer...he checks into our albergue...I go back in to Kate and try to explain my dismay over seeing him.
I am THRILLED to see Skip...but I just got primed for this alone thing this morning. Now, here he is. No coordination, just appeared. Doesn´t that mean the Camino threw us back together, and I should follow that? I tell Kate I feel like I need to stay away from him tomorrow, to continue alone. She asks if I´m Catholic. That makes me laugh. I said no, just a Marine´s kid. She says, ¨Ah, that´s why you´re so obsessed with making life tough for yourself....¨
So...we finish drinking, and I head here for this café, where the internet is a bit cheaper than the first place, trying to concentrate while Hank talks at the next table with a woman with very painstaking English and who has NO awareness of her vocal volume. I keep waiting for this cat to get a beer. The smoke is making my eyes hurt. And I think I´m finally caught up.
I did tell Skip I felt torn by his appearance...that I was thrilled to have a friendly face after the last day or two, but that I felt like my crucible had just begun and I needed to let it sink in. He reminded me that we can walk for hours with no speaking at all, and that it´s no big deal. But it does change things. Today was hard, but it was priming. Trial by endless wheatfields.
I dunno. Someone here has perfume that is absolutely cloying and making my head hurt. Off to bed. We´ll see what happens tomorrow....
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
The Camino - The Pyrenees to Burgos
Beginning my Camino. This is in St. Jean, right outside the hostel.
I don´t know if you can tell, but this is STEEP AS HELL.
View from the top of the world.
This is Mimi and Jocelyn...Mimi is French and Jocelyn is from Quebec. They are 62 and 58 and are lovely. Mimi is the one with the grass hat she made herself. They saved me on the Pyrenees when I was trying to keep up with Hank and they said, ¨Slow down! He´s too fast for you.¨
Yeah. I´m a badass.
This is Hank (Karel, the Belgian) and Christa from Austria at the Fontaine de Rolánd on the Pyrenees.
Michael from Idaho, and Florian (Kasey Kahne) in Arres.
Felix and ¨our puppy¨ outside Arres.
This is at 9am on a Sunday morning in Pamplona. THESE people know how to party. This was taken about 20 minutes after the bull running.
Like any good American, I got a picture of this guy, who had just gotten somewhat mauled by the bulls.
Me and the sculptures in the Alto del Perdon above Pamplona.
The indomitable, the illustrious, the irrepressible Skip (Aussie, Aussie Ausbourne, Skip Norris, Brad Ball of Perth). =) And Michael from Idaho.
These seldom seem accurate, but they´re nice to see....
I´ve just used all my strength to push a needle through the leather of Skip´s heel, trying to pop a blister. The ones I popped were NOT the one that got infected, by the way....
My German boys and Skip. =)
Performing first aid on Skip´s broken pack strap.
Our puppy!! Isn´t she tiny??
Pilgrims spend a lot of time doing this. Skip and Felix.
¨So an Australian, and Austrian, and an American walk into a bar....¨ This is me, Christa, and Skip pointing out our homes on a map in a bar in Villamayor.
Kasey Kahne, Christa, Felix, me, Skip, and the Pamplonan king in Villamayor.
The monks heading out of Villamayor. The awesome shot I got of them in front of the building didn´t download, for some reason, so I´ll have to post it another time.
Al...the devil himself. =)
Skip, Kasey Kahne, and Felix (the German boys) as we sat and had a beer by the river in Nájera.
Me. =)
German boys doing what they do best. Kasey Kahne and Felix.
The Camino stretching into the distance behind me.
View from the bell tower at the church in Santo Domingo de la Calzada.
A mother-daughter team from Poland. How ´bout it, Mom?? =) This was the communal dinner in the church tower in Grañón.
Nico and Maelle, the French couple.
The Hungarian buccanneer.
Francois from Quebec and Federico from Florence. Federico is always happy, always laughing, always kissing your cheek...every bit the Italian.
This is pretty gross but I had to put Skip´s ankle in here....
Atop the Montes de Oca, heading up out of Villafranca.
Hiking...this was yesterday heading out of Atapuerca.
Yesterday in old-city Burgos.
These are the yellow arrows we follow. They show up on trees, rocks, buildings...they are our lifeline.
In the cities, the yellow arrows give way to these, which line the walkways along the Camino.
This was a welcome sight yesterday in Atapuerca, though I´m still 5k from its accurate point.Well, that´s all for now, I suppose. This is the Camino up to this point. I´ve been in this café for 3 hours now...time to see this cathedral and get the hell outta Dodge. Stay tuned for yesterday´s report below.
Love you all and hope you enjoyed the pictures. =)
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