Mélide to Pedrouzo

Please don´t expect this blog to make linear sense like the others might, because today is all scattered up in my head and I doubt it´s going to be very coherent. But it´s the last night before Santiago, so maybe that´s how it´s supposed to be.

Well, we survived the gym floor. My nail-biter last night was wondering if the school door would still be open when we made it back there at 11pm, and it was. And though there were only about a dozen people in there, they were LOUD. For a LONG TIME. Christa lent me some earplugs...I rolled out my mattress and pulled out my (BEAUTIFUL NEW black and teal) sleeping bag and tried to go to sleep. The mattress worked very well (Go Thermarest people, and John for recommending them). The loud folks finally went to sleep (oh, did I mention they decided to SMOKE in the gym?? Yay.) and so did we. It was much better than the cot in Ligonde, I must say.

Up early (well, for us). We headed back to the albergue to pick up Julia...the German teenager who was crying by the roadside before we reached Triacastela. The plan we´d made last night was that her mom (who has a totally screwed up foot for some reason...not blisters, something else) was going to take a taxi to the next stop 35km away, and Julia would walk with us. Christa´s and my rucksacks would go in the taxi with Regina. She would get us all hotel rooms, either two doubles or a quad, provided they didn´t cost us more than €20 apiece (last night in the gym was free, of course). Good plan. She has our stuff, we have her daughter. Ha ha. Turns out Julia is a pretty good fencer (Sarah, are you reading?). And QUITE a talker. Ha ha.

So off we went, and our mochillas (rucksacks) stayed behind. FINALLY, a day without the packs, and all parts working properly. No leg issues today, and the boots felt like a dream for the first 20km. No new notes in the scenery...rolling hills, stone fences, cows, a few horses, rabbits (!!!) and some GORGEOUS flowers. We walked through some pretty pricey house neighborhoods on the way today, and several of them had mind-blowing flower gardens and high grape arbors (which I am totally in love with. I plan to start growing my grape arbors and ivy house-coverings immediately upon return. Landlord, take note).

Today´s major catastrophe: my camera quit. TWO DAYS before Santiago, and the camera goes kaput. I was livid. It wasn´t just NOT working...it was HALF working SOME of the time. I can deal with working, I can deal with NOT working...but don´t give me this maybe-I-will-maybe-I-won´t crap, because that just drives me batty. Okay. We´ve got a town coming up. Arzúa has 8000 people. There will be a camera shop. The last thing I want to do is buy a new digital camera IN EUROPE TWO DAYS before I finish the Camino, but dammit, I did not walk 800km to NOT get a picture of Santiago.

So we walked on. I was far ahead of Christa and Julia (because I was fuming about my camera, and as many of you know, I am not fit for human company when I am fuming...stop laughing, Mom, Dan, Maria, and Joe). I ran into Wim and stopped for coffee and an eclair, and when Christa and Julia showed up, we headed into town. There was this huge market going on...lots of clothes and belts and things. LOTS of people. I saw at least five different skirts, tops, and dresses that would have been perfect Santiago outfits. But we pressed on...walked right through, which is good (if you buy it, you have to carry it, and we´re not QUITE there yet, and to top it off, we had no packs). Hit one camera shop. Large Samoan looking fellow, found out he spoke English after I spent three or four minutes doing terrible things to the Spanish language. He could fix cameras, but didn´t have time at the moment. Pointed me somewhere else. Found that place. Didn´t fix cameras, but had plenty. They ranged from disposables for €8 to digitals for €345. GASP. What to do, what to do.... Danced in indecision for 10 minutes between the disposables and the €21 film cameras (wasn´t touching the digitals) and walked out with 2 disposables. So I was suddenly roadkill...a technological saucer critter. More fuming.

Got back on the path and we all split up and walked alone to re-center. Me to become human again, Christa to shake off the city and noise and people, and Julia...dunno about Julia. I wound up walking with Julia while Christa recovered, and she talked A LOT. It was fun, though...she has very good English and we talked about Harry Potter and Titanic and school and all kinds of things.

We stopped in a place called Calle after about 20km (which seemed to melt under us) and they were playing the Olympic opening ceremonies!! They were wonderful. We must have stayed an hour and a half. I´m so glad we got to see them. I knew today was 8/8/08 and I was hoping we´d see something.

What killed me was that just before Calle, we hit a marker stone that said 29.5. TWENTY-NINE POINT FIVE. Christa and I hit marker stone 765 back in the Pyrenees and now we were under THIRTY. No wonder the boys did the last 117 in one go. The farther you get, the smaller the numbers get, and you want to go forever, and at that moment, I thought we could do it all today. No matter that we´d done over twenty at that point...another thirty seemed like NOTHING. Pick up the packs in Pedruozo and just book it. Hit Santiago by nightfall. Blew my mind.

But like always, the cider and the patatas fritas and the sitting did us in, and we started getting slow again. More picturesque towns, and vóila, my camera started working again. GRRRRRRRRRRRR. I have to push up on the battery and in on the card, but the sucker friggin´ works again. So be it. A quote comes to mind...Oscar Wilde? ¨I have had a great many worries in life, and most of them never happened.¨ Someone correct me...who said that?

By the time I hit Santa Irene, far ahead of the others, my feet were going to crap again. I got REALLY slow. There was no way in HELL I had another 20k in the tank. All day, we´d had partly cloudy skies, and by afternoon we were hot for the first time since Portomarín. No sign of rain today (of course, because I had Dad´s magic raincoat with me). So it got pretty hot, and I was pretty tired, and I just kept thinking about how nice it would be to have a bed for the first time in three nights, and a nice refreshing shower...it drove me onward. Nice thought.

I was passing a beautiful hotel B&B and this guy José came running out to flag me down. He and Veronica were inside...the lovely young couple from Barcelona who were with us in Ruitelán. We hadn´t seen them since Portomarín. Their English is about as limited as my Spanish, so our conversations are a hodgepodge of English, Spanish, Spanglish, and Gesture. But it´s always fun. So I chatted with them for a few minutes and we pushed on.

Not long after, right about the time that my dogs were REALLY barkin´, we hit Pedrouzo and found Regina. There was a lot of conversation in German and Christa started looking a bit grave. Finally, she translated for me. No beds. No room in the albergue (no surprise), and NO HOTEL ROOMS. Regina had waited till 11 to take the taxi from Mélide and though the taxi took her to several hotels, nothing was available. Since she was injured, the albergue had offered her a massage bed to sleep on, and Julia could sleep on the floor. But she couldn´t get us beds because she didn´t have our credentials with her (of course...we didn´t think about that, and because of the stamps on the way, I wouldn´t have wanted to give mine up anyway, and besides, we were expecting a hotel room).

SO. Options? Another gym.

So we are in a gym again. A sports hall this time. The gym is huge.

AND FILLED WITH PEOPLE.

We have room, of course...but I´m talking 200 people in this gym. Now stop. Close your eyes and imagine the smell of 200 pilgrims, their shoes, their socks, their bodies, and a hot, enclosed gym.

Pleasant, right?

HAH.

But this is the Camino. We survived last night, and I am fine with the gym. Last night went fine, I have my mat and my sleeping bag (as long as no one´s stolen them when we get back, HA HA), and earplugs, and we had another brisk Arctic shower, and we found a restaurant to gorge ourselves into a food coma in. And I still have some Tylenol PM. And who cares anyway, tomorrow is SANTIAGO!!!!!

Can´t believe a week ago, I paid a thousand dollars in rent, and for four nights I´ve been sleeping in garages and gyms. Ha ha.



Okay. Some Camino notes. Snapshots of the pilgrim´s life.

Churches have NOTHING on pharmacies. When you are a pilgrim, you absolutely DO NOT pass the neon green cross sign outside a pharmacy without at least LOOKING in. Pharmacies are magical places, where miracles happen, and the shelves are stocked with lovely things like Compeed and baby wipes and foot creams and things that make pain go away. Pharmacists are angels. If the neon green cross sign is NOT lit, you stand outside, looking longingly through the window at all the potions and magic things inside, or stare at the signs in the window, trying to determine when the doors will open again and the magic will recommence. Hitting a pharmacy in the late afternoon, when feet hurt the most, and it´s siesta time, is TORMENT. Neon green plus sign. Take notes. Forget the churches. Visit every pharmacy.

Similar joy and ecstasy occur in supermarkets, especially in the shampoo aisle, though this is more tormentous than the pharmacy because the things in the markets are usually too big to carry. We linger long in the shampoo aisles, gazing at Garnier Fructis and Herbal Essences and Dove. Giant bottles of lotion throw us into fits. We stand and sigh and dream of home, where (at least for me) a huge shower awaits with GIANT bottles of shampoo and CONDITIONER and HAIR PRODUCTS and LOTS AND LOTS of hot water and PRIVACY. It´s a beautiful dream. And then we leave.

Sports stores. Hiking boots in the window, hiking clothes, walking sticks, socks. Christa and I stand outside and look in, crying out ¨OOH!! THINGS! THINGS! WE WANT THEM ALL!!¨ We sound kind of like the seagulls in Finding Nemo. Like the shampoo and lotion in the market, we stare longingly, sigh, look sadly at each other, and trudge on.

CHILDREN. Grrrrrrrrr. I visited my friend Trinity before I left. She has two small boys, 1 and 2, and wants to walk the Camino BAD. She was wondering how old her boys have to be before they can go. I SAY SIXTEEN. Not a DAY less. I can´t quite make you understand how it feels to come off of 35km like we did today, and sit in the hot sun outside the albergue with the COMPLETO sign in the window, and watch 8 children under the age of 13 burst happily out of the albergue. But it´s something like murder. Today on the Camino, there was a family with a stroller and a four-year-old. I love my nephew, and I want him to have wonderful experiences, but the Camino is serious business to those of us who have been walking for a month. We don´t walk for 30 days to get to an albergue and see a bed taken up by a 6-year-old, or some obnoxious teenager who has no concept of what this pilgrimage really means. This may sound harsh, and I´m sorry. But I don´t think it´s fair that the available beds in an albergue can be decimated by a family with three or four children who started 40km ago and are ¨just out for a cheap walking holiday,¨ as Christa put it. It really sucks for us, and it doesn´t seem right. I´m not saying they should be sleeping in a gym like us, but we´re doing this thing for REAL, and the least we ask for is a bed. Kids don´t get this. We do. It´s been almost 800km. Give us the beds. Go to a hotel room with your family. Or wait until they´re old enough to appreciate this walk. Leave the albergues to the pilgrims.

Like I said, that may be harsh, but until you´ve walked 800km in my boots, please don´t judge me.

What else...bottles of water. I´ve said this before, but they´re like gold. We snatch them up in the stores, the 1.5 liter bottles, and pour them into our Camelbacks and it´s like ambrosia of the gods. When the waiters carry them to other tables, we can´t take our eyes off them. We stare at them covetously.

New blisters can happen even on day 29. Christa has one. And her grape continues to breed and weep and bleed. She´s been wearing my red sandal shoes for three days, and has decided that the most important question you can ask when you meet someone and are thinking of making a friend is ¨What size shoe do you wear?¨ The cold rainy days we´ve had lately, she calls ¨red sofa days,¨ and I know exactly what she means, and my red shoes have had to be her red sofas. She is very happy with them. She promises I will get them BACK. Ha ha. Lucky for me, my boots are great now (just like you said, Mike and Drew)...at least for the first 25km.

It´s really hard to sit here in this café, knowing that Santiago lies glittering just 21km from here. That´s about FIFTEEN MILES. If we were men, we would´ve charged and gone for it. But we´re women, and we absorb the Camino (and life) in a different way. We are not our German boys. We love them, but thankfully, we are women and we will wait for tomorrow.

Julia has called. Her mom has gone to the hospital and can she walk with us to Santiago tomorrow? Hmmm. We started this thing together, and honestly, we want to finish it together. Peacefully. In the way we walk, together or separate, but mostly silent. Meditatively. Christa and I walk well together. We don´t mind Julia, but tomorrow cannot be endless prattle and the clatter of her two long walking sticks hitting the ground with every step. Tomorrow is big. We want our bubble. But we can´t say no, and Christa went to talk to her and will tell her that tomorrow will be mostly silent, introspective, and very important to us. I´m sure she will understand, and we hope she doesn´t feel bad in the process. We will take her, but it´s still our Camino, each of us...and one thing you learn on this trip is to claim the right to walk your Camino your way. You also learn to allow other people to walk their Camino in their way. Politeness will not steal this from us on the last day.

We´ve talked some about what we think it will be like tomorrow. I have a picture in my head of cresting a hill on a cobblestone street, with the cathedral lying below us, spires stretching to the side, and my pack is on the ground behind me, and my stick is to the side, and I am on my knees, arms raised. It´s pretty dramatic. But in fact, we decided we have no idea what it will be like. It might be, like my dad suggested, totally anticlimactic. Or it might be very emotional. We don´t know.

But one thing is clear. Santiago is a very different thing from the Camino. The Camino is itself. The journey truly has been the destination, as we reminded ourselves the other night in Ligonde. The arrival in Santiago truly has no bearing on what the Camino has meant to us, or the things we´ve learned on it. Likewise, its end has no bearing on the lessons we´ve learned...they will not end simply because the Camino has. I feel strongly that my Camino will go on for months...that in moments of stress or peace or simplicity, I´ll be back on this road and thinking of things in a different way.

In the beginning, I thought that Santiago was the goal. The picture on the right of this blog says the view of the spires is the goal. It´s not. The goal has been accomplished. (The goal, actually, was accomplished on Day Two when Day One did not read: Day One, Camino over, broken ankle. Coming home.) The walk has been a life-changing experience. I have made friends for life in Vienna, Australia, Germany, and several other places. I´ve managed to digest and swallow fears I´ve been chewing on for months...YEARS. I don´t have all the answers, but I´ve learned a lot about myself. I´ve walked nearly 800 kilometers. I´ve been under extreme physical, mental, and emotional stress every day for 29 days now (add financial stress in these last days, ha ha). But there was never any question in my mind that I could handle it...I simply wanted to DO IT. I don´t regret a second of the time I´ve spent in cafés and bars writing these blogs, either...the idea that I´ve inspired people or made people proud or given people glimpses of what their own impending Caminos may hold for them has given my walk a purpose beyond the challenge it held for me myself.

Even my body...I know I see me every day and probably can´t tell, but it seems to me that my body has not changed a bit. I didn´t need it to, I´m fine with my body, but I¨m amazed that I can walk 15-20 miles a day for a month and see such little change. But even that has been a revelation. Maintenance from here on out...no more bothering with trying to get back to my high school weight (which was only a 15lb difference anyway). CLEARLY, if I can come off this month the same size I started it, my body wants to be THIS SIZE and no smaller. So that is laid to rest as well.

All these things have NOTHING WHATSOEVER to do with Santiago or anything that happens tomorrow. It will be a great capstone, a feeling of completion, a dessert for the feast...but like most feasts, I am full long before dessert comes, and a taste is all I can handle. Santiago is a rich chocolate mousse, nothing more. The sustenance has lasted for 30 days, and I have never been so healthy and strong.

People told me this at the beginning, but of course, I had to find out for myself. I will be back here one day, and it will be a totally different experience. I will walk only as far as I want, the parts I want, and stay where I feel it pulling me, no matter how far I´ve gone that day. Next time, there will truly be no destination. The journey will truly be the destination, so much more so than it was this time.

At the beginning of this trip, I was amazed by people who did the Camino multiple times. HOW on EARTH could you do this AGAIN, once you know how hard it is??? All that kept me going the first week, ESPECIALLY the first day, was the ignorance of the path ahead, the constant self-delusion that this hill was the last, that tomorrow would be an easy day, that the pack would get lighter.

But that is such a small part of this experience. The evenings, the views, the sunsets, the brisk early morning air, the forest paths in dappled shade, the old men walking the cows to the fields, the dogs sleeping in the shade, the bottomless bottles of wine, the laughter, the soaring cathedral ceilings, the cloister walks, the simple country churches, the view of a spire on a hillside after a long walk without a building, the views from the mountaintops, the monuments to the pilgrimage, a bronze statue of a pilgrim leaning into the wind, my nephew´s picture on the pillar of an iron cross, the goats grazing in the vegetation grown up through a building that´s been standing for 600 years or more, the kindness of the hospitaleros, the joy of a cold footbath, the ecstasy of mentholated foot cream, the sweat coating your skin as you climb a mountain, the cool breeze like a breath from God, the world falling away below you as you descend into a mountain village, the tangy bubbles of a cold cider, a mouthful of bread, the turning of a hawk´s tail as it soars.

THIS is the Camino, and it is a drug, and there is no kicking the habit.


I´ve seen a good bit of the world in my 30 years. For a lot of it, I was just a teenager, too absorbed in myself and a teenager´s problems to really open my eyes and look around. I understand now why many of my fellow pilgrims are older than I am, rather than college kids...it takes some maturity to really appreciate this. I feel so fortunate, not just to have this experience, but to feel as though I grasp at least some of what it has to offer.

It´s been an amazing trip.

I can hardly believe it´s almost over. Santiago, and Finisterre, and Madrid, and home. I´m ready to be home. But this will be one of those experiences I´ll come back to in my mind for years to come. Wow.

Probably better end this for now. Again, for the hundredth time, thanks for reading, and for your comments, and for your emails. The support has meant so much. I wish you could all be here.

merlintoes@hotmail.com

(Think happy hotel thoughts for me for tomorrow...pray I´ll have a real bed!!!)