tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2691484344310980222024-03-05T04:24:51.955-08:00Seek The MuseA Journal of A JourneyUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger11125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-269148434431098022.post-74111334688872380372018-06-04T23:25:00.000-07:002019-04-29T23:12:20.590-07:00Winging It<span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I mentioned last post that, following my wonderful two weeks in the Pilgrim Office in Santiago, I was feeling a little restless and itching to stretch my legs again. But what to do with 8 free days, and all of Spain to explore? Too many options! </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255 , 255 , 255 , 0); font-family: "arial";">Last year’s post-Camino transition was rough. It’s kind of embarrassing to admit that I was actually homesick for the Camino after I left last year, but I was, and it seemed to get worse, not better, as the months went by. It went deeper than just being sad about having a really nice, long vacation come to a close. The Camino can be kind of a silent earthquake in your soul, shaking things up, rather like a house with hidden cracks in the foundation — it may look fine on the outside, but things haven’t settled back into place quite the same way. </span><br />
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">So I wanted to do things differently this year and ease the transition somehow. Volunteering for two weeks was an awesome way to give back, and I loved every minute. Now it was time for the last phase before heading back to San Francisco. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">All during my Camino and the volunteer gig, I knew I had this free week in Spain at the end of my journey, but I hadn’t given much thought to what I might do, other than visit the Gaudí landmarks in Barcelona just before my flight home. I needed to do some research. But there was no wifi at the Pilgrim Office or at the convent which housed our</span><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> volunteer apartment. </span><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">(The nuns who lived at the convent were of the Order of Poor Clares; modern conveniences like internet — kinda not their thing. In fact, though our very plain and modest apartment was clean and had a fully functioning bathroom and kitchen, I noticed that the nightstand next to my bed contained... a chamber pot. I can only speculate why, since my room was right next to the bathroom.)</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";"><img alt="" id="id_6bec_8d9f_e475_a4c8" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvJw90u06-wq7qyDYYJ22nU8dYFC2uxeOWwTc0kV_EGUO-nr3eGbSNCJ8nEpkTc7obJnk-noNTLVrlJn3w2MP2UKQb_eoviHHG5H4G5_oMDM3T1qUa6qR2Wp7VtzrKNwkhJxCTfB580rA/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" style="height: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /><br />
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span style="font-family: "arial";">Anyway, the lack of wifi both at “work” and at “home” meant my internet research was limited to short stretches at cafés during dinner or breakfast — IF that café had wifi.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I kept meaning to do my trip research homework, but homework is boring, and besides, I kept running into old Camino pals, and making new ones from my work in the Pilgrim Office. </span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I’d be walking down the street after work, and I’d see a pilgrim whose <i>compostela</i> I had completed. So of course I had to high-five and congratulate them again, and this would result in a conversation that would turn into <i>tapas</i> or dinner. There went my research time. (This is one of those double-edged sword things about Camino life — it can be </span><i style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">very</i><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> social.) </span></span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span style="font-family: "arial";">And so I managed to make it all the way to the end of my two-week volunteer gig with absolutely no coherent plan for where to go next for my final week in Spain. I wasn’t worried — I always figure something out. But for starters, I needed to a place to sleep that night. And with the clock running out on my time in Spain, it was definitely time for my plans to get specific. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">So that Monday morning, Bernd and </span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I reluctantly made our way to the Pilgrim Office, dropped off our apartment keys and said a quick, tearful goodbye. I hoisted on my backpack, suddenly anxious to put Santiago into my rear-view mirror (BIG change from last year, when I’d cried like a baby for hours on the train leaving Santiago).</span></span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span style="font-family: "arial";">I made my way up the steep, cobbled streets to the center of town one last time, enjoying the familiar, comfortable weight of my backpack, quickly re-acclimating to the change in my center of gravity. It felt so <i>normal</i> to wear my fully loaded pack after a two-week break, I couldn’t help but smile. It was like sliding into a favorite pair of well-worn jeans. I am so intimately familiar with every zipper, buckle, strap, loop, and compartment of this backpack, it's practically an extension of my body, and I had missed it. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Also, a backpack on my back means a new horizon awaits, and few things make my restless spirit happier than a change of scenery. It’s not even so much where I go... I just like to keep moving.</span><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">So I headed to </span></span><span style="font-family: "arial";">Café Paradiso</span><span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">, a place that had both good wifi and good food, and ordered a favorite Spanish snack — </span><i style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">chocolate con churros</i><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">, which, not to put too fine a point on it, is a slice of heaven. T</span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">he fresh, delicious</span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </span><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">hot chocolate is so thick it’s practically a fondue, which is the whole idea, because it’s served alongside a plate of piping hot, sugar-encrusted, crisp-on-the-outside but melty-tender-on-the-inside mini-churros </span><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">made fresh to order. Taking care not to burn yourself, you hold off as long as possible to let the churros cool at least a tiny bit, then you dip a fresh churro into the thick and creamy (but somehow still liquid-y) hot chocolate, and, assuming sweets are your thing, time stops ever so briefly and you experience a moment of nirvana. The older I get, the less sweets are my thing, but I make an exception for Spanish </span><i style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">chocolate con churros</i><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">... </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Where was I? Oh yes, making a travel plan for my last week in Spain<i>. </i></span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Now</span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> fully pumped on sugar, I </span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">proceeded, at last, to</span><i style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </i><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">consider my options. </span></span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span style="font-family: "arial";">I had 8 days before my flight out of Barcelona on 5 June. First priority was to walk more of the Camino, second priority was to get myself closer to Barcelona, all the way on the opposite (east) side of Spain from Santiago, although the thought of spending several days in busy Barcelona sounded both exhausting and expensive. </span></span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span style="font-family: "arial";">So after consulting several Camino maps on my little iPhone screen, and doing some quick calculations, I decided to walk a few stages of the Camino del Norte, along the northern coast of Spain, starting in San Sebastián and heading west to Bilbao. </span></span><span style="font-family: "arial";">I’d heard that the ocean views on the Camino del Norte were spectacular. </span><span style="background-color: rgba(255 , 255 , 255 , 0); font-family: "arial";">The fact that the del Norte goes right through Bilbao (with its spectacular Frank Gehry-designed Guggenheim Museum) made this decision easy. And because Bilbao is one of Spain’s bigger cities, it would be easy to get a direct train from there to Barcelona</span><span style="background-color: rgba(255 , 255 , 255 , 0); font-family: "arial";">. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">So — a mini-Camino, plus a little culture/sightseeing. Perfect. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">San Sebastián to Bilbao is 125km — definitely a challenge to do in four days — but hey, I had just done 100km from Santiago to Finisterre in <u>three</u> days... I'm in the best shape of my life, <i>and</i> I'd recently proven I can walk 45km in one day if necessary. So I figured if I doubled up a couple of stages on the del Norte, no problemo! </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">My proposed 125km mini-Camino along the Camino del Norte (green line) from San Sebastián to Bilbao is in the red bracket:<br /><img alt="" id="id_9e26_7bc0_4560_2e98" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-HijRw5ZHvpMiDYtCuFmvM3Wt3xvrpV8wMhliY-flm6beDtVfQ9mM7MtxiMTd2rrNomDnvYS8xdL191RPd_BhGWqUe7Q3lR0b76ldL25dlCap7KCV-lE0imCRUHxaPRm3F56vSLpsb8w/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" style="height: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /><br /><br />Turns out this was wildly optimistic, given the altitude gains on the Camino del Norte. Also, the Camino gods, who apparently know my lifelong preference for clouds and rain, decided to, um, continue blessing me with a few more rainy days, so the trails were super muddy, and I was forced to go much more slowly than I would have liked. To stay on schedule, I ended up having to take a bus part of the way to Bilbao, but I still had a fantastic, final three days of Camino walking. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">Here are some highlights:</span></div>
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<b><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span style="font-family: "arial";">San Sebastián</span></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><u>Monday, 28 May</u>: At 6pm, after unexpectedly seeing Bernd one last time and joining him for a mid-afternoon lunch (and a second tearful farewell), I boarded a bus in Santiago which carried me across northern Spain to arrive in </span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">San Sebastián about 13 hours later. </span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">The long bus ride was comfortable, if a little noisy at times due to a few passengers yapping or playing music on their cell phones all night (NOT using their headphones!!), but I managed to doze a bit en route.</span></span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span style="font-family: "arial";">San Sebastián is my new favorite city in all of Spain. It is located on the Bay of Biscay, just 10 miles from the French border, not far from where the north-facing coast of Spain intersects with the west-facing coast of France. It is an absolutely beautiful, vibrant seaside city (pop. 187,000), with a gorgeous beach and bay. A popular vacation destination for Spaniards, it is famous for hosting an annual international film festival, and also for its award-winning cuisine. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">The sun was not yet up when I got off the bus. The plan was to spend this day enjoying San Sebastián, get a good night’s sleep (which I had <i>not</i> had on the bus), and start my mini-Camino the next morning. </span></span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span style="font-family: "arial";">I decided to head to the beach and watch the sun rise over the bay. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";"><img alt="" id="id_f286_2e2f_978c_77c1" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPw8V1U8x5KBnqsdG5hKdogLY_AuyebTCE9bq-1myG7eH_Aa-25ckJm-FXHSNxNJlBwEC_p2R9X0Wg-jga8d3w_XVYXTza9mK3H0NI2EJ30kTtAq_XLzXwPZW_2O191bbRdL83em8DQMU/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" style="height: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span style="font-family: "arial";">I walked through the beautiful old town in the predawn light, and made my way down to the sea, walking along the promenade above beautiful La Concha Beach for a couple of </span></span><span style="background-color: rgba(255 , 255 , 255 , 0); font-family: "arial";">miles, all the way out to the point on the far side of the bay. I stopped at a little café for breakfast (<i>café con leche</i> and a croissant) while watching the sky lighten and the tide slowly roll out. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";"><img alt="" id="id_a4b7_b23a_99c6_2871" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidm3_c2LidbEThGlvE_Kb6Q2cYmSrArC7Hd3RK3A5HVBGY-XNdQK2F08OVrG7g4p5F7tS0sUPoBhwBFNbMwBDZNJGkLfXfCPzvt2z_cPRcJR-eGDhBddxvuDUAXM2RQ4-DN7rUiXTBxtw/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" style="height: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /><br /><br />I was fascinated by this perpendicular geography just above the beach:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";"><img alt="" id="id_2387_92f4_45cc_4d41" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_HyCuPQXc2ll0ETlBvfp8mBwIuGv99ME8aV6BUci5lC8S1b-E22MoRfLveMAkkTFge3c0pU2B0Y0a2Io8qt7uYFHyw8HX1Ngym2IZFSffsMBVxgVCCDt9BZRAaexhCRCoHq5tByu_JmE/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" style="height: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /><br /><br /><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I was very curious to know more about the tectonic events that caused this vertical formation</span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">. Like the rings of a tree, each layer of the earth’s crust made so visible here represented X number of years in the earth’s history. But what was X? I was dying to know, and wished, not for the first time, that I had studied some geology in college.</span></span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span style="font-family: "arial";">I found out later that these abruptly vertical folds in the earth’s crust are very common all along the northern coast of Spain — here are more examples that I saw later along the Camino del Norte. They are evidence of the Iberian Plate’s collision with Europe 40 million years ago (give or take). </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";"><img alt="" id="id_db5a_74aa_7ad3_b1d4" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyFNxp65bPz1fIzvlfFzbIuGCL8gYt6hCNi-fmFP5jU0EwrF0B9okH1-66025KP7udaRVE-YK3FTpjxpk7mssDBXB_wXWXA0KNHQ0XZiIoC0iyf_SDWWK7A0EBssgqWYuxVpFjr7UrSA0/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" style="height: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0);"><br /></span><img alt="" id="id_2d70_a609_22ba_bd69" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDW6CUWRHc3WnP6efca9fxvMtX4-tVT3F7Mga_G4z9QiZ9csXybFawPkePqt1rT2ro83Z6jovChPAwVXJSh6iohA1EkCfaSFsGBd9wiOOJ-n4YSBmECzMNe1P1A7CZ4tLc3owZlT0verc/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" style="height: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /><br /><img alt="" id="id_4448_c684_fd3c_6baa" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixTbOZ0KCe1OXoxkpdXoq8OJPxLmBucRFY0cyZdN6e4syn0HyJpMUc2rvval6OLlIY3U6zrl4gArjy8HcMAEZ24_5p8GmEg8_vVbq9ueqNasrdNoZmM6TQjxLNsfiSVasGLwEqwnHeizY/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" style="height: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /><br /><br /><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">As the sun rose higher over the beach, I decided to take a nice long walk in the gentle wavewash. Because San Sebastián is a protected bay, the waves are tiny — the bay looks more like a lake. I took off my shoes and socks, reveling in the feel of the warm salt water and fine, hard-packed sand on my Camino-callused feet.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";"><img alt="" id="id_2a7f_d7b6_e241_184d" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBo3Y5zJUkO3_6Vkfxd5XgZpGiD8M-kr30MLr_hRuAh9DJYk_irT_JuqTok59k7yr9GMvfHzoGko2otKGnjLf88RatPjg05QbD0V1VHyEByomdG9YXo89eviyiXtf7paP5Suul6uCkVJI/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" style="height: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">Very, very slowly, as if walking in a dream (thanks to sleep deprivation from the overnight bus ride), I made my way along the luxuriously long beach, all the way to the opposite end of the bay, pausing to collect, admire, then toss unusual rocks and shells. I took a brief nap on the sand, and lazily watched people, dogs, and seabirds drifting by. It felt fantastic to give myself a day of complete and total relaxation and leisure — no work, no Camino destination, other than the pillow waiting for me at that night's hostel. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">Later, at the other end of the beach, as I dried off my feet, I was surprised to see that the past few hours of immersion in sand and salt water had given me a natural pedicure, softening and scrubbing away most of my Camino calluses. A lovely gift from Mother Nature for my hard-working feet.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";"><img alt="" id="id_f994_3a16_cbc7_26e9" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV5H2Oa1RmaauEZoTad689SycdQNNFlEfgHU2_cR8rj6_2-J1EllAh0VshQPsyzTLPSoU01TLZYBUh3pPTBxNXH_qbw3T0NsNnEvo1-Q0zfRj4GAwymj03HKA52zfvZotmEF6TrEhrN1M/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" style="height: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">I strolled through the picturesque old town, then made my way to the hostel, where I took another nap. Later, I strolled back to the old town in the gentle rain to <span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">treat myself to a nice dinner of <i>chuletillas de cordero</i> — small lamb chops — delicious! (yes indeed: Mary had a little lamb...) (<i>groannn</i>) On the way back, it was still raining, but the </span>horizon was clear enough to show the setting sun over the bay. Beautiful!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";"><img alt="" id="id_8b5f_c4e8_af27_208d" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfacZuPOWbd9677NN4IInM3Qy5FADKlixqk525olyPzVsxY09zQukCof_3Om0B9KomJKU2hHvDUViFtYIob6rO-AhBWRGmchQutYdTEHCt0z4V2B9_k8aDAI4fGZEX7LLlbD3d9r41zDE/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" style="height: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /><br /><br /><b>To Zumaia</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";"><u>Wednesday, 30 May</u>: After an excellent night’s sleep, I got up early, found the Camino trail and bid a reluctant <i>adiós</i> to beautiful San Sebastián. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">It felt great to be walking the Camino again at last, after a break of 2.5 weeks. But it was also a little odd, knowing that any pilgrims I met here would be on the very first day or two of their Camino. I would not be meeting any familiar faces this time.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">Despite clouds and some light rain all morning, the coastal trail was just as gorgeous as I’d heard it would be. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";"><img alt="" id="id_4a5a_4266_7333_3ce5" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBlmNaJPjnVwhDZ-Kr8kA52JnFUgA-9qiyszalJVfI-O0OxHnRNgH-hxTQ_3r9trQ6DC2_fZFiGCai3z8wVislAr3fDjUt1apR6cWSJ5Y3alVFGsm5QtaI0g6PAItgrE-646Iy44iKiB0/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" style="height: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /><br /><br /><img alt="" id="id_8f4d_d6e_972b_b685" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihQr0sfLHvATcw0jna2C20mxBXhD8Ek06hvU98Os5Zmkhsqzh0FwVLE8i4cSSvg-lij_NL6jRFCXUFDAmKpBmuo9-3k9wRPNOcRdEiQwUip3Rn4-qdgP76CTLupufRyYT8HRsCAMzclmU/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" style="height: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /><br /><br />And there were the familiar unattended Camino angel rest stops — this one had a sign specifically asking us NOT to leave any money. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";"><img alt="" id="id_cbf9_a4a7_113e_8e0b" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-fPH5fS-c_gU/Wydj6NYvTmI/AAAAAAAAB5U/zBnnIGD4BkIyLNqKOT95j2sarlJ6DbklQCHMYCw/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" style="height: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /><br /><br /><img alt="" id="id_3892_199c_4ed4_e3f0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXqTzC0ZxJEqFMitJv0rHtA4fGht02gZghcHTLbevmahaV2a8ixWH_zQNuZw_9nZIFnTAk_Sr23pZt-6RxoSRjLYwFO-Y0QT4PL_eJHg99hRJ54WBuaJZUzRH1PPz4MYzfu8kyi-PNcVw/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" style="height: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">Approaching the town of Zarautz from the east...<br /><img alt="" id="id_a375_adce_8e02_a837" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-Kn8grIq4QSw/Wydj523Y_iI/AAAAAAAAB5Q/DO5Dr6B5QJQZ9n1V9fwvdeNKlzpbZinPACHMYCw/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" style="height: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /><br /><br />An hour or so later...looking back at Zarautz from the west end of the beach.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";"><img alt="" id="id_d32b_97a8_48b6_ac78" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-4HL1C-h1l3U/Wydj6kC-oVI/AAAAAAAAB5c/KuSDw_2RGUwXu008-lBC2NxDbHRu2Dn-ACHMYCw/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" style="height: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /><br /><br />The Camino then followed a wide, fenced promenade along the water’s edge for several miles between the beach towns of Zarautz and Getaria.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";"><img alt="" id="id_6044_d260_503b_5136" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwkUV2e9KSqkqeb90A7mD6ti1gFNy9BgYBGS2j-NXxhSlOexRM5eWcciAB0OTWRE5Wwpy3K_hhc61vVdg_GcNmv70F6YNlFd4TSDmqZlXp9M0bgykcaoNjiaM3secQ07qHZ-b999eDjLw/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" style="height: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /><br />After Getaria, the trail wound up and down through forests and hillside pastures. I encountered cows, sheep, horses, goats, and lots of by-now-familiar Camino mud. Unfortunately, I wasn’t as well prepared to deal with mud as I had been earlier on my Camino. I had ditched my trusty but worn-out Keens back in Santiago, and I had only my lightweight, super-spongy Hoka trainers, whose fine mesh uppers are exactly the wrong type of footgear for trekking in mud. I tried to navigate carefully to keep my feet and socks dry, but it wasn’t easy. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">Naturally, the best approach to navigating Camino mud is to look for the most stable footing possible. That means either rock-hopping or trying to stay on whatever narrow strips of vegetation you can find along the sides of the trail, or going off the trail entirely if that's an option. Failing that, I tried to step in pre-existing footprints, rather than virgin mud squish. </span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">In all cases, my walking poles absolutely saved my butt and kept me from </span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">falling many, many times. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><u>A word about walking poles</u>: If anyone tells you that walking poles are unnecessary or too much of a hassle to pack/carry on the Camino, I implore you: do not listen to them. Walking poles not only provide stability and leverage on uneven, slippery, and/or steep terrain, they also: (1) help reduce strain on your knees and back from the added weight of your pack — up to 25% by some estimates; (2) provide a gentle upper-body workout and keep your hands from swelling (a common problem with all-day backpacking); and (3)</span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"> can serve as defensive weapons in case of unwanted attention from unfriendly dogs or wildlife. I was skeptical about bringing them last year, didn’t want the extra weight and hassle — but my <a href="http://packjournal.com/Coyote" target="_blank">adventurous nephew Rob</a>, a very experienced outdoorsman who is currently hiking the Pacific Crest Trail, talked me into it. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">So anyway, on this particular stretch, which seemed to go on for a quarter of a mile but was probably much less, the squishy, slippery trail was bordered by barbed wire on one side and a dense thicket of thorn bushes on the other. No vegetation to walk on, and no rocks. I had no choice but to slog directly through endless ankle-deep mud in my very porous trainers. Yuck! It was very slow going.</span></span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span style="font-family: "arial";">Mud-whomping aside, it was lovely to stroll through the wet farmland and forests,where the only sound was the rain on the leaves, the occasional ringing of a cowbell on an animal’s neck, and the flapping of my rain poncho in the wind. </span></span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span style="font-family: "arial";">As I passed through hilly pastures and wooded forests, I had to open and close a number of livestock gates. It seems a lot of the Camino del Norte passes through private property. I had already seen several docile cows, horses, goats, and sheep grazing peacefully alongside the Camino -- thrilling stuff for a city girl. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">I’d noted that most animals seemed to seek shelter under trees when it was raining, but not this guy. He seemed unfazed by the rain, so I rewarded him with one of my apples. </span></div>
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<img alt="" id="id_7b8b_761a_c6a1_1c03" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqlMfVzM2Trjg8Jb7SIcpmBNAa489OJv8gOYrbFgkJjaRIvK3f68EO8OGXremqEx1QJ1QTqa_Nvhfw4wmAYz8g9sGnoXMoENvRfzM1mlw17zB5JeVZtTyRJ0eegZpU56IIucMilU65LBs/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" style="height: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">Later, I saw more delightful cows. I don’t know what it is about cows, but they just fascinate me. Something about their large calm eyes, big snouts, goofy perpendicular Shrek-like ears, adorable forehead mops, <i>cow</i>licks, square boxy bone structure, and general slow-mo, peaceful demeanor as they make that lazy circular chewing motion with their jaw... I can’t help but grin every time I see one. It never gets old.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">Cows from all over Spain....</span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><img alt="" id="id_4144_73f5_bbef_8841" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCeZJ97uM3wPy2SBJueWmd2MUtL-qars_S_sb4nlUDMV9HH6ipRgcyeFTd7XssB6a1GpCh4PuAnk8z_e7m3Z5hTnoJztIZHwHKcsdBm-ThHBKB81kV3ZWtookuq5AMFzMJGGuuUv9j-_U/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" style="height: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /><br /><br /><img alt="" id="id_3bf_a277_ebba_32e9" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-Ro_DPtPrAOE/Wydj_JMh-DI/AAAAAAAAB6A/wxTq4B6Rc8M2R8RDpyZ3ZAH5xgxdCAQgACHMYCw/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" style="height: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /><br /><br /><img alt="" id="id_f37b_3f55_23e2_a3ea" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikO-3wKK65X9IME2cm5TmRh8lOjk8C0wf3YRO_rFRQLIrmOAr-nJC8BjUC1KgPMtjoUC5otatHMhLITJFLDyZplX1gy8yJYwVMUhhgM9xxIwoR20Sjd7jNKH-MdD8PhV_Q6Q4WxzwLDqo/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" style="height: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /><br /><br /><img alt="" id="id_4c1_45e3_1b64_8ef0" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-ULV4Dp3-2r4/WydkACI7_FI/AAAAAAAAB6M/095wPIKxVWgVlQs9oMjr55kzXBs8QVOtgCHMYCw/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" style="height: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">I had no unpleasant encounters with animals on this Camino. It helped that almost all of them were on the other side of some kind of fence. The few times I encountered farm animals directly on the trail, they were calm and non-threatening, fairly oblivious to the many pilgrims on the trail, and usually accompanied by a farmer who was herd</span><span style="font-family: "arial";">ing them to or fro.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">But on this wet muddy day outside of Zumaia, shortly after passing through a livestock gate, I spotted a donkey about 20 feet away. Directly on the trail in front of me. When we made eye contact, we both just ... stopped. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">I scanned my memory for any information about donkeys. Hm... they're stubborn, right? I pictured a cartoon donkey kicking up its hind legs and hee-hawing. Uh-oh. But what about <i>real</i> donkeys? I drew a total blank. And of course, there was no wifi out here in the woods.</span><span style="font-family: "arial";"> I thought for the hundredth time how ignorant, citified, and Wikipedia-reliant I've become. I was on my own. </span></div>
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<img alt="" id="id_585_c84c_b73_5a30" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-v6M6UMnfTvM/WydkAscuIQI/AAAAAAAAB6Q/paUN0xPpLGs40Xqdgs04R_gfLQkqg1d3gCHMYCw/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" style="height: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /><br />
<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span style="font-family: "arial";">This guy had a harness on his snout, so clearly he must be tame — and surely his owner had set him loose here knowing full well that many pilgrims pass by every day. Or was it just wishful thinking on my part to assume it had to be safe? Nervously, I noticed a second donkey just off the trail, also not moving, but seemingly less interested in me than the first one. They were kind of cute, actually. But shit... I was on <span style="font-style: italic;">their</span> turf, and none of us was budging. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span><img alt="" id="id_699f_56b1_33ca_4a1f" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVBuv5Qh-t30MUP4eosYJqeyogejjWU2ZCbFFhRCwr5iC6dv7cccjYO-ICkE4u4z8lUOq-o5xTTQD-ts_1Vv9oCZOft3E07FlAS9d6TRVtNllytNMZ4AkU-T-K0ko6JAv4etc8yDwnQK4/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" style="height: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">So I just stood there looking at them for several minutes, waiting for them to make a move, and vice versa.</span></span><span style="background-color: rgba(255 , 255 , 255 , 0); font-family: "arial";"> </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255 , 255 , 255 , 0); font-family: "arial";">No one moved. </span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span style="font-family: "arial";">(It occurred to me that I was playing chicken with a couple of donkeys.)</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Knowing that animals are probably way more attuned to vibrations than I am, I figured they were picking up on my fear. So I tried to focus on staying calm and sending them love</span>. (Mixed results there.) </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">They didn’t seem to mind when I slowly pulled out my phone and snapped a couple of pictures. But still, none of us moved.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">The wind picked up, and I heard a cowbell in the distance. Otherwise, all was silent except for </span><span style="font-family: "arial";">my (fairly calm) breathing. I felt a little frustrated -- I was supposed to be making good time, and it looked like I wasn’t going to make 40km that day anyway because the mud had slowed me down considerably. And now these damn donkeys!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">Finally I decided someone needed</span><span style="font-family: "arial";"> to be the proverbial adult in the room, and it might as well be me. (It’s really not hubris to recall I'm at the top of the food chain, it’s just fact.) Reluctantly, I took one step forward. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">The lead donkey blinked, as if considering, but stayed still. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">I took a few more slow steps forward, then stopped. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">The donkey took a few slow steps forward, then stopped. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">OK, so now we’re playing Simon Says. What the hell, maybe it’ll work. I began walking very slowly and very carefully towards them. And they did the same! </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">W</span><span style="font-family: "arial";">e slowly closed the gap, and then passed each other uneventfully — though we were definitely giving each other hard side-eye (which I guess is the only way it works for them, given the position of their eye sockets on the sides of their long skulls...)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">Afterwards I kind of felt like an idiot. Of <i>course</i> it was safe. I think they were just shy, and I was maybe blocking the way to their favorite blackberry bush or something. </span><span style="font-family: "arial";">Still... no denying I was relieved to see their rear-ends moving away from me in my rear-view mirror. (I'm sure they felt the same.) </span></div>
<img alt="" id="id_bdaa_a18d_d6ef_9146" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJFMaufRfREhKMQJ07ZLH4LenN-aVCzZ6TFFrEpbchfdupzvAJCEoXJqjoY-gpT-SOUVQbgeOHjR8dujmPYk-HyEaKBHvdW36LhOc5pkIZCxzo1PMfZ_W5tjr4geCjlKTS7p9WFt773wA/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" style="height: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">That night I slept in a rare private room in a modest convent hostel (5€) in Zumaia. The elderly Spanish <i>hospitalero</i>, Juanjo, told me he had walked 12 caminos all over Spain, pointing out each of the routes on a large map of Spain tacked above his desk. </span><span style="font-family: "arial";">I asked if he had a favorite route. He shrugged and said that would be like choosing your favorite child — all were different, and special in their own way. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">In this exchange with Juanjo, I realized that after almost 10 weeks in northern Spain, I was finally getting better at both understanding and pronouncing the fluid, slippery tones of the local dialects (Castilian and Galician Spanish), which sound v</span><span style="font-family: "arial";">ery different from the Latin American</span><span style="font-family: "arial";"> Spanish I learned in the US. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";"><b>Ermita Calvario and Deba</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";"><u>Thursday, 31 May</u>: I left the Zumaia hostel around 7am and made my way up, up, uphill in a light rain on gravel side roads and hard-packed trails (no mud!), enjoying the beautiful views of farmland, animals, and ocean. Breakfast on the go consisted of two absolutely amazing, nectar-of-the-gods-perfect apricots. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">I<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> saw almost no sun on the Camino del Norte, but even with the clouds and rain, the views along these coastal mountains were gorgeous.</span></span></div>
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<img alt="" id="id_e0f2_b091_8687_9a64" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9PB3rwXa3ZbTW8MElriYOPpDjmTYm_sgZcYrc6qPSwwlMiSB-aS_utNekF2CC1T_lAoGuX5vfSKRIsZFOa60NdAv91KGIWBuuGWRPQi4LnTrKglHXXJgfsj8BIqbAD90kwEoZ72jPeic/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" style="height: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">My plan was to push all the way to Markina this day, a distance of 36km — with a lot of up & down, including a very challenging section with a 1000-foot ascent in 1.5 miles, slated for late afternoon. It would be pretty tough going, especially in the mud and rain. Also, the guidebook warned that there would be no cafés, markets, or hostels during the last 20km, so it was do or die (so to speak).</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">If I made it to Markina today, then I'd have two days to complete the 54km push to Bilbao before catching a 5-hour train to Barcelona on Sunday morning. A tight itinerary for sure, but doable.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">Or so I thought. A classic rookie hiker mistake is to assume that all kilometers are more or less created equal — which they most definitely are not. Although most of the Camino trail is in good shape, rain and mud can change the picture quite dramatically. The Camino taught me to pay much closer attention both to weather forecasts and to guidebooks, particularly altitude maps. I'd gotten pretty good at mentally converting kilometers to miles, but less so converting meters to feet — math, sadly, has just never been my thing — so the altitude maps were a bit fuzzier in my brain. Sometimes, in reviewing maps, it didn't really register how much altitude I'd be gaining (probably a good thing, in retrospect).</span><span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">So on this Thursday, I made it 12km to the sweet coastal town of Deba by lunchtime, after descending a very steep old Roman road into the town center, where I enjoyed a glorious <i>tortilla</i> (Spanish omelette) at an outdoor table on the main square. <i>Tortillas</i> are so much tastier in this northeast/central part of Spain than they were in Galicia. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">My guidebook said Deba was the last town with a hostel between here and Markina (20km away), but some Spanish pilgrims told me that the next town had a hostel — 5km away, the little hilltop village of Ermita Calvario — and that’s where they were planning to spend the night.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">The trail out of Deba was steep, very muddy, and very slow going. The rain had stopped, but the trail was a mucky mess. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">I saw a baby donkey right by the side of the Camino. He looked like an oversized stuffed animal. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">I sloppily made it up the steep hill to Ermita Calvario by around 3pm, feeling pretty tired. At a snail’s pace, picking my way delicately through the mud, and with the most challenging part of the day still ahead of me, I probably wouldn't make it to Markina before 8 or even 9pm, and meanwhile there would be nowhere to stop en route. Not a good plan, given that I was already feeling pretty much done for the day. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">I knew tomorrow's forecast also called for rain, and the thought of making a very steep ascent in the mud & rain suddenly just didn't sound like that much fun.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">I decided then & there to scrap my plan to walk all the way to Bilbao. I'd spend the night in Ermita Calvario, then backtrack downhill to Deba in the morning and get a bus to Bilbao. Although I recognized the wisdom of this plan, I still I felt the familiar twinge of pilgrim guilt about taking the bus (it totally feels like cheating).</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">Ermita Calvario consists of 3 or 4 farmhouses, the hostel, an Italian restaurant, and the abandoned monastery that had given the area its name (<i>ermita</i> = hermitage) — all situated on a beautiful hilltop with commanding views of the coastline and rolling green hills as far as the eye can see — reminding me of the area around Hearst Castle in central California.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">The communal hostel dinner that evening wonderful — the food was grown and sourced locally, and cooked by the hostel owners, a young husband and wife. Succulent roast chicken, served with a fresh and uncharacteristically (for Spain) veggie-laden green salad, and garlicky roasted potatoes, followed by a delicious custard made with sheep’s milk and honey.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";"><b>My Last Day On The Camino</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">In the morning I made my way down the muddy hill to Deba in a fraction of the time it had taken me to walk uphill the previous afternoon. I greeted several puzzled pilgrims along the way (the Camino goes west, and I was going the "wrong" direction</span><span style="font-family: "arial";"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial";">—</span><span style="font-family: "arial";"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial";">east). </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">Arriving back in Deba, it was only 11am. I went to the beach and watched the seagulls for awhile to pass the time before my train to Bilbao. Finally I telescoped my walking sticks for the last time, and put them in my pack — there would be no further need for them. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">This time, my Camino was truly, officially over.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">But I still had a few more days to explore urban Spain (Bilbao and Barcelona) before reluctantly bidding adios to this beautiful country...</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">[To be continued]</span></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-269148434431098022.post-38697394498587110952018-06-03T15:54:00.001-07:002018-06-10T13:44:55.336-07:00Voluntario<div dir="auto" data-removefontsize="true" data-originalcomputedfontsize="16"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font face="Arial">So my adventure in Spain is almost over. Since I last updated you, I completed my two-week volunteer assignment in Santiago, then spontaneously decided to walk a small part of a different Camino route for a few more days. It turns out that as long as I have my feet planted on the Iberian peninsula, they seem to be magically drawn to the nearest Camino path. </font></span></div><div dir="auto" data-removefontsize="true" data-originalcomputedfontsize="16"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font face="Arial"><br></font></span></div><div dir="auto" data-removefontsize="true" data-originalcomputedfontsize="16"><font face="Arial"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">It’s logical to wonder: After 6 weeks of non-stop walking, living out of a backpack, sleeping & showering in shared public hostels, and wearing the same 2 rumpled outfits that seem to remain faintly stinky</span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> no matter how many times she hand washes them, hasn’t this <i>peregrina</i> had enough of the damn Camino, and isn’t she eager to get back to the familiar comforts of regular life? No and no! I love Camino life. And while I absolutely loved volunteering — more on that in a sec — after sitting on my butt for two weeks in the Pilgrim Office, I was restless as hell and more than ready to get outside and walk again. I had 8 free days till my flight home, and all of Spain at my feet to explore ... I was a bit overwhelmed by all the possibilities. Too many options. </span></font></div><div dir="auto" data-removefontsize="true" data-originalcomputedfontsize="16"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font face="Arial"><br></font></span></div><div dir="auto" data-removefontsize="true" data-originalcomputedfontsize="16"><font face="Arial"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I didn’t much feel like doing standard sightseeing. All I really wanted was to get back out on the Camino. To keep moving, to feel the crunch of the trail under my feet again, and to enjoy the beautiful Spanish countryside. To see more cows, sheep, birds, mountains. To watch the sky slowly change color </span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">over the course of a day. To enjoy the quiet peace of the trail after spending two weeks in the bustle of touristy Santiago and the nonstop flood of pilgrims. To settle my busy mind back into the beauty and simplicity of the familiar and beloved Camino routine, and reflect once more what a blessing and a gift these 10 weeks have been.</span></font></div><div dir="auto" data-removefontsize="true" data-originalcomputedfontsize="16"><font face="Arial"><img id="id_3512_19c_b518_ae1" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9HB3U8nhb44nxSkLg5YDpfxtaERCu7oRnbHQBy5ElpXd5QoOSOB9xA7TOUQjRXg7ieNErGa2T2EX8IB6jD_wqzO4dfC4A-8-QIyKdYliQDcasbyO9Q_d3zGwXJsrU-wsOqsTdK0NLnC8/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br><img id="id_68e0_a0c_eccc_5fc9" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP93zxjEgpk39e81LHLtqbCg9B9wJ8BNilz_YYm1Kl5rwMMw8hUGgv1cemsl-yGj-M7qlI-oe_YO4APIenHqmlkQIdkd3R7lK3rtq0MTMUleMvApg_v229ceX65wBe9Gc4vjvn4P1oemY/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 391px; height: auto;"><br><br></font></div><div dir="auto" data-removefontsize="true" data-originalcomputedfontsize="16"><font face="Arial"><img id="id_9efc_bd78_d57e_4724" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIlstqKIckGCqtKcwEpDaaUudLe1NVehCzZ59wZik2exmtTqnyQTWWIRsPS48BJrSNT0Ae3MYNfwON9U0-iA3ehCt-0fyB0tsGTTbW1GlJZI51Pg-JrfIEEOSliHXNrfYlELtAaPwtHrM/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br><img id="id_b94b_b484_25a7_ec9c" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-k3U9g4wT1rA/WxRxerbI92I/AAAAAAAAB14/ppUB3FpNgJUgIGwRdhM8uHAJMF-pjXf6wCHMYCw/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></font></div><div dir="auto" data-removefontsize="true" data-originalcomputedfontsize="16"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font face="Arial">So I decided to do a mini-Camino from San Sebastián to Bilbao on the Camino del Norte before heading back to Barcelona for my flight home.</font></span></div><div dir="auto" data-removefontsize="true" data-originalcomputedfontsize="16"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font face="Arial"><br></font></span></div><div dir="auto" data-removefontsize="true" data-originalcomputedfontsize="16"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font face="Arial">After turning over the free apartment keys to the lovely folks at the Pilgrim Office, I had a tearful farewell lunch with my friendly fellow volunteer pal, Bernd from Germany, then got on a train to San Sebastián. It’s on the northern coast of Spain, along the Bay of Biscay just 10 miles from the French border — almost but not quite all the way back to St. Jean Pied-de-Port, where I had started my Camino on 31 March, nine weeks earlier. </font></span></div><div dir="auto" data-removefontsize="true" data-originalcomputedfontsize="16"><font face="Arial"><img id="id_7bcb_d50f_7103_d66d" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj08RaBNN7cv7GBRnY1MmV9T_sDbp109XMzE2Owc1aZw-qn1eJ0ulPSwwX3pKeVYpzhTYYK5OVsCOvThzPfAHk_mQmpkOV5V72Fa6tBw-BP3YTip9Vv9gg4vg7i3s2CjJQ_TVt5dZjHeYo/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"></font></div><div dir="auto" data-removefontsize="true" data-originalcomputedfontsize="16"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); font-family: Arial;"><br></span></div><div dir="auto" data-removefontsize="true" data-originalcomputedfontsize="16"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); font-family: Arial;">But I’m getting ahead of myself again. (Argh, so much to tell you.) First, let me tell you about the volunteer gig. </span></div><div dir="auto" data-removefontsize="true" data-originalcomputedfontsize="16"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font face="Arial"><br></font></span></div><div dir="auto" data-removefontsize="true" data-originalcomputedfontsize="16"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><font face="Arial">I feel compelled here to issue another warning that this is a very long post.</font></span></div><div dir="auto" data-removefontsize="true" data-originalcomputedfontsize="16"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font face="Arial"><br></font></span></div><div dir="auto" data-removefontsize="true" data-originalcomputedfontsize="16"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font face="Arial">OK, you’ve been warned. </font></span></div><div dir="auto" data-removefontsize="true" data-originalcomputedfontsize="16"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font face="Arial"><br></font></span></div><div dir="auto" data-removefontsize="true" data-originalcomputedfontsize="16"><font face="Arial"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">There’s still </span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">time to bail out. </span></font></div><div dir="auto" data-removefontsize="true" data-originalcomputedfontsize="16"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font face="Arial"><br></font></span></div><div dir="auto" data-removefontsize="true" data-originalcomputedfontsize="16"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font face="Arial">Still with me? OK, here we go. </font></span></div><div dir="auto" data-removefontsize="true" data-originalcomputedfontsize="16"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font face="Arial"><br></font></span></div><div dir="auto" data-removefontsize="true" data-originalcomputedfontsize="16"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><b><font face="Arial">Why Volunteer?</font></b></span></div><div dir="auto" data-removefontsize="true" data-originalcomputedfontsize="16"><font face="Arial"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">After my wonderful 2017 Camino, I was haunted by a desire to return. I’m not the only pilgrim who’s come down with a severe case of Camino-itis — far from it. It’s hard to describe to someone who hasn’t done the Camino — it is so much more than a long hike/walking retreat in the countryside. As I’ve tried to convey in this blog, the Camino Francés seems to have a unique magic. Several repeat pilgrims told me that the Francés is their favorite of all the Caminos (there are several Camino routes all over Spain and Europe) — not so much because of the scenery, but because “there’s just something special about the Francés.” It seems</span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> to serve as an ad hoc spiritual community. (Or, as one cynical pilgrim put it, “group therapy for the over-50 set going through life transitions.” That’s a fair assessment.) So once I made the decision to go back, I knew I wanted also to </span><i style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">give</i><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> back to this very special place, to somehow facilitate the experience for other pilgrims. </span></font></div><div dir="auto" data-removefontsize="true" data-originalcomputedfontsize="16"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font face="Arial"><br></font></span></div><div dir="auto" data-removefontsize="true" data-originalcomputedfontsize="16"><font face="Arial"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">There are lots of ways to volunteer on the Camino. You have to complete a weekend volunteer training (I did mine in February in Marin County with APOC — American Pilgrims on the Camino),</span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> commit to a 2-week block of time, and get yourself to Spain on your own nickel. In return, each volunteer gets a free private room in a shared apartment. And a priceless experience.</span></font></div><div dir="auto" data-removefontsize="true" data-originalcomputedfontsize="16"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font face="Arial"><br></font></span></div><div dir="auto" data-removefontsize="true" data-originalcomputedfontsize="16"><font face="Arial"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Most volunteers become <i>hospitaleros</i> — running an <i>albergue</i> with another volunteer (or team of volunteers, depending on the size of the hostel). This can be grueling — 18-hour days every day for two weeks with no break, and full responsibility for cleaning, stocking, and operating an <i>albergue</i> that you may never have even visited before. The </span><i style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">hospitaleros </i><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">provide welcome, support, and clean, warm, quiet, smooth-running accommodations for anywhere from 16-100 tired, dirty, hungry, and sometimes cranky & demanding pilgrims. In <i>albergues</i> that provide meals, the </span><i style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">hospitaleros</i><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> also plan, shop for, prepare, and clean up after dinner and/or breakfast. It’s challenging work, but by all accounts, incredibly satisfying. </span></font></div><div dir="auto" data-removefontsize="true" data-originalcomputedfontsize="16"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font face="Arial"><br></font></span></div><div dir="auto" data-removefontsize="true" data-originalcomputedfontsize="16"><font face="Arial"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Me — I know my strengths. Although I’m not much of a cook, I’m a team player who loves to be of service, and I can pitch in in the kitchen. But where I really shine is in office work, which for better or worse I’ve been doing nonstop since I was 17. So I was immediately drawn to the idea of working in the Pilgrim Office. N</span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">ot everyone knows their way around Microsoft Office like I do, types 100wpm, <i>and</i> is a seasoned calligrapher. So filling out <i>compostelas</i> and doing data entry? That felt like a natural </span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">fit for me, and frankly, more fun than the seemingly endless work of the hardworking <i>albergue</i> <i>hospitalero</i>. (I salute them!)</span></font></div><div dir="auto" data-removefontsize="true" data-originalcomputedfontsize="16"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><b><font face="Arial"><br></font></b></span></div><div dir="auto" data-removefontsize="true" data-originalcomputedfontsize="16"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font face="Arial"><b>What Is A Compostela?</b> </font></span></div><div dir="auto" data-removefontsize="true" data-originalcomputedfontsize="16"><font face="Arial"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">The traditional, religious goal of making a pilgrimage to the Cathedral in Santiago is to receive the blessing of the Apostle St. James, whose remains are allegedly buried beneath the Cathedral altar in a silver reliquary. </span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">On the Camino de Santiago this blessing takes the form of a </span><i data-removefontsize="true" data-originalcomputedfontsize="16" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">compostela</i><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">, a certificate in Latin conferring the blessing and showing the pilgrim’s name and date of arrival.</span></font></div><div dir="auto" data-removefontsize="true" data-originalcomputedfontsize="16"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font face="Arial"><br></font></span></div><div dir="auto" data-removefontsize="true" data-originalcomputedfontsize="16"><font face="Arial"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">For centuries, pilgrims arriving in Santiago would go directly to the Cathedral to view and pray before St. James’ remains, and to receive their <i>compostelas</i>. (I read somewhere that some pilgrims used to do the last few miles of the journey on their knees. And I thought walking 27 miles in one day was a challenge!) Due to the recent dramatic increase in the Camino’s popularity among both the faithful </span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">and the atheists — in large part because of the globally popular 2010 Martin Sheen movie “The Way” </span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">— Santiago now welcomes about 300,000 pilgrims annually, and the number keeps growing. So a few years ago the Cathedral opened a shiny new </span><i style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Oficina del Peregrino </i><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">(Pilgrim Office)</span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> a kilometer or so away to more efficiently process the </span><i style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">compostelas, </i><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">rather t</span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">han ha</span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">ving the long pilgrim queues block access to the Cathedral. </span></font></div><div dir="auto"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font face="Arial"><br></font></span></div><div dir="auto"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font face="Arial">And so, the Pilgrim Office is where I had the great honor and privilege of volunteeering for two weeks after completing my 2018 trek. </font></span></div><div dir="auto"><font face="Arial"><br></font></div><div dir="auto"><font face="Arial"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">The Pilgrim Office is open 7 days a week from 8am-8pm and welcomes 1,500-1,700 pilgrims a day this time of year (3,000-4,000 a day in the peak summer months). Waiting in the notoriously long queue is part of the Camino adventure. The long, long line of sweaty, dusty pilgrims winds down the main hallway and out into the central courtyard of the Pilgrim Office. The Santiago pilgrim line makes the line at the DMV look like a Sunday stroll in the park. </span></font></div><div dir="auto"><font face="Arial"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><br></span></font></div><div dir="auto"><font face="Arial"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">Unlike the DMV, however, the line at the Pilgrim Office is frequently a scene of joyful reunion — the finish line, as it were — and most pilgrims don’t seem to mind the standard one to three </span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">hour wait, as they rediscover acquaintances, compare notes, and/or reflect on the journey they’ve just completed. For some, though, it’s just annoying and frustrating. That day they’ve just walked 25 km or so, then waited in this long line, and they just want to go take a shower, get a <i>cerveza</i> and some <i>pulpo</i> (octopus, a specialty of the region). But for the most part, the pilgrims in the long line are pretty patient. The Camino teaches patience. </span></font></div><div dir="auto"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><font face="Arial"><br></font></span></div><div dir="auto"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><font face="Arial">Here’s a small section of a much, much longer line of pilgrims waiting to receive their <i>compostelas</i>:</font></span></div><div dir="auto"><font face="Arial"><img id="id_829f_906f_bc16_de41" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqo0oA4pRr6KtpqPJE4nL4XlJ1hCSMKrKTUqgWiJpGdyZUDhtsGeonymTSRV_aZU7qH5PHFcEO24hW-Fev7VXP5gVtYVvHh8ZHMkwRTQEXku39p2Vh-yvlfUS_rqPvvtNZNqkuI1XTdQI/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br></font></div><div dir="auto" data-removefontsize="true" data-originalcomputedfontsize="16"><font face="Arial"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">The Pilgrim Office has a regular staff of about 10. I was one of four volunteers this time. Heinz and Bernd are retirees from Germany who spoke some English, and Pepe is a Spaniard and spoke no English whatsoever. </span></font></div><div dir="auto" data-removefontsize="true" data-originalcomputedfontsize="16"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font face="Arial">. </font></span></div><div dir="auto" data-removefontsize="true" data-originalcomputedfontsize="16"><font face="Arial"><img id="id_598_4145_26e5_e4c5" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnLKlodf4y36QQtMPTgs-kQHKJdd_JvaJHrZQaNhkIeGSY1RP_QEGTNstPgxuM4zFsaGmUw1oOzV4pk8lhnFaDJ3GrLy-AMfnaBiGv4mnhgah510nRn05lmwcVkShC_BOP6A3mxM2Il2I/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I think perhaps Pepe (L) lives on the Camino. I asked him how many Caminos he had done, and he said he had no idea, but that he has probably walked over 50,000 kilometers on all the Caminos in Spain. When he is not walking the Camino, he is volunteering as a <i>hospitalero</i> somewhere. </span></font></div><div dir="auto" data-removefontsize="true" data-originalcomputedfontsize="16"><font face="Arial"><br></font></div><div dir="auto" data-removefontsize="true" data-originalcomputedfontsize="16"><font face="Arial">Heinz (far right) was very aloof and seemed to dislike everyone and everything. I tried to connect with him, but <span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">never could figure out why he had signed up for the gig. When he spoke (rarely) it was only to complain. He refused the free housing that was provided, opting instead to pay for a hotel for two weeks, would not wear a volunteer t-shirt, and got angry with pilgrims who did not understand either German or his limited English. I tried to have compassion — clearly Heinz has had a difficult go of it this life — but I had limited patience when he was rude with pilgrims for no good reason. </span><br></font></div><font face="Arial"><img id="id_cf7c_8065_a29a_2b92" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqRVvrcRvdMJkPPPPTnz3EadLOLiONQfaC-g_Gd_RR-3SV8AJhqgfaJ8I3ACV8yg9ifgxFDtXT_aViEIKESoYrn9RVu3aqtYuY0v9Kb0IwYJY4Wf9DYnpFwmQct0RfItLKxWorto4uqVE/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br></font><div dir="auto" data-removefontsize="true" data-originalcomputedfontsize="16"><font face="Arial"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Thank god for Bernd from Cologne, who was my buddy for two weeks. </span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Bernd has done 12 Caminos. </span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">He spoke fairly good English and taught me a little German. We dubbed ourselves the “Dream Team” because we worked so well together. He’d jump in and help translate when I had trouble communicating with German pilgrims, and I’d help him out when he got stuck with English- or Spanish-speaking pilgrims. We shared jokes, groceries, some nice meals, and enjoyed wandering around Santiago after our volunteer shift. We were only required to volunteer for five hours a day, but we enjoyed it so much that we tended to stick around much longer. Sometimes I ended up working 10 or 11 hours a day with only a short break or two. It was such joyful work, the time just flew by. </span></font></div><div dir="auto" data-removefontsize="true" data-originalcomputedfontsize="16"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font face="Arial"><br></font></span></div><div dir="auto" data-removefontsize="true" data-originalcomputedfontsize="16"><font face="Arial"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">In order to receive a <i data-removefontsize="true" data-originalcomputedfontsize="16">compostela</i>, all pilgrims must provide proof that they have walked, biked, or ridden a horse a minimum of 100km into the city of Santiago. Proof takes the form of a credential, a sort of passport booklet issued at the beginning of your Camino. At every hostel, church, bar, and/or fruit stand along the Camino, you can get your credential stamped and dated. You’re supposed to get at least one stamp per day to show where and when you made your pilgrimage. </span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">There’s no time limit. Many pilgrims </span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">complete their Caminos one or two weeks at a time over the course of several years. </span></font></div><div dir="auto" data-removefontsize="true" data-originalcomputedfontsize="16"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font face="Arial"><br></font></span></div><div dir="auto" data-removefontsize="true" data-originalcomputedfontsize="16"><font face="Arial"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Once you reach Santiago, you show your stamped credential to the worker at the Pilgrim Office, who verifies that you covered at least the last 100km, and they will complete your </span><i data-removefontsize="true" data-originalcomputedfontsize="16" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">compostela </i><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">with your name in Latin. Meanwhile, for statistical purposes, you fill out a form with your age, nationality, occupation, the point of origin of your Camino, and the reason for your pilgrimage (religious, spiritual, and/or tourist).</span></font></div><div dir="auto" data-removefontsize="true" data-originalcomputedfontsize="16"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font face="Arial"><br></font></span></div><div dir="auto" data-removefontsize="true" data-originalcomputedfontsize="16"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font face="Arial">So that was my job for two weeks: Welcome and congratulate the happy & weary pilgrim who’s finally come to the end of their long journey, check for the minimum 100km, verify their credential, put in the final stamp, look up their name in Latin, hand-write it on whichever <i>compostela </i>they request (religious or non-religious), and enter their data into Cathedral database. Next!</font></span></div><div><font face="Arial"><br></font></div><div><font face="Arial">Here’s a visual (part of my pilgrim credential showing the stamps I received along the way):</font></div><div><font face="Arial"><img id="id_55b1_914a_9272_9196" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-eGj79K5E-D8/WxPEmyexuoI/AAAAAAAAB1M/kic6_pEsOUo-xakl3LAQBHc6tacWnQSdQCHMYCw/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br></font></div><div><font face="Arial">All along the Camino, hostel workers also check your credential to confirm that you are actually making the Camino pilgrimage, as opposed to merely making a random stop on your holiday in Spain to get a cheap place to sleep. Historically, the whole idea behind the <i>albergue</i> or pilgrim hostel was to provide a safe (and in those days, free) haven for long-suffering, weary pilgrims who’d been on the road for many months or years on their way to & from Santiago. All the hostels of old were run by the local churches, and many still are. Everywhere along the Camino there are ruins of ancient pilgrim hostels, and pilgrim cemeteries as well — a reminder of how incredibly arduous this journey used to be, before the advent of better hiking gear as well as the plentiful modern hostels, bars, cafes, markets, and pharmacies that you can now find all along the Camino. </font></div><div><font face="Arial"><br></font></div><div><font face="Arial">I’ll pause here to share a story about...</font></div><div><font face="Arial"><br></font></div><div><font face="Arial"><b>Why Credentials Matter</b> </font></div><div><font face="Arial">On the morning of the freak snowstorm near O Cebreiro, April 30, I’d awakened to an unexpectedly snowy and beautiful Christmas card setting. I wasn’t worried about trekking — the snow was falling lightly and prettily, rather than aggressively trying to obfuscate the path. But it was very cold, and I was way behind on keeping this blog updated. So I decided then and there to take a rest day. <i>Albergues</i> only let you stay one night, unless you are injured, so I decided I’d stop in the next town, which happened to be the very charming hilltop town of O Cebreiro, just a short, though steep, 4km up the hill. </font></div><div><font face="Arial"><br></font></div><div><font face="Arial">I envisioned parking myself next to a window at a café or hostel, preferably one with a toasty fire, where I’d spend the day writing and watching the snow fall while sipping hot tea and dining on <i>caldo gallego</i> (Galician vegetable soup), <i>tortillas</i> (<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Spanish omelet) </span>or <i>napolitanas </i>(chocolate croissants) — or what the heck, maybe all three. The more I thought of this plan, the more I liked it. (It reminded me of Ben’s after-school daycare program which, whenever it rained, would have what they called Cozy Yum-Yum Day, where the kids got hot chocolate and marshmallows and would sit around on a big pile of pillows & blankets reading stories.)</font></div><div><font face="Arial"><br></font></div><div><font face="Arial">Here’s a picture of me that morning. I’m smiling because (a) the snow is pretty and unthreatening, and (b) I’m already envisioning my plan to walk a short day and watch the pretty snow from a warm, toasty window seat! </font></div><div><font face="Arial"><img id="id_9ae3_4341_1eb5_c328" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0j4xsJBR6v8GCHraJ_iaq85X48h4TTYvNutkSU2y3XtuvldkRQdPq9SyDfnuDaRmkuTbPcC4fy1gQQD3WURPwDfbMGqSHeSxgJjMIill9120lhu_akDigqUObFtZX48cRYnYsdD-vwRg/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br></font></div><div><font face="Arial">So I made it 4km up the hill to O Cebreiro in about an hour. This is where I saw the Spanish TV news crew filming and interviewing pilgrims because this unusual snowstorm was so late in the season. </font></div><font face="Arial"><br></font><div><font face="Arial"><img id="id_3111_7a0_d458_8454" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEdTxzVWJdUg1ykO7nbcCoxef2n-5vi8saRw3i8scZel4ORClhB4SrJ3uv2YvN6I4Hs2WqhLqxXEJQflqoP5qjT08r0UtrWat4qUE7DpXeJIBBJmJui9bLNSdM81bqQJehOqU9YbNwbUM/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br>It was just after 10am — perfect, I’m super early so finding a room should be a snap! But my smile soon fades as I learn, one by one, that all the <i>pensiones</i> and private hostels are already full with advance reservations. (I usually don’t make advance reservations because I like to be spontaneous.) Hm. Not to worry, there’s always the cheap municipal hostel (6€), which according to my guidebook has 150 beds, and doesn’t take reservations — it’s first-come, first-served. It opens at 1pm so no big deal, I’ll wait it out in a café and put my Cozy Yum-Yum Day plan into action. </font></div><div><font face="Arial"><br></font></div><div><font face="Arial">I find a cute little basement café. No window and no fire, and it’s colder in the stone basement than I’d like, because the proprietor insists on keeping the door open to attract customers. I’m pretty damp so I get kind of chilled, but I order my hot tea and make the best of it. And happily begin writing. </font></div><div><font face="Arial"><img id="id_49f4_d767_b88d_f380" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhFtPjfL-Cn9IFEe7uKj7bzy4DUx8dIAIgZFmZuhXimTcRB1kEUW8Kx2TJU4IRUgtZh8Ljoqm2025Rp9lsYdA26zkrDODk_Yk7o9djU65qe_oXQcDRxdhR6Fv_CEUi9Wf9jyGdriZP6j8/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br>Around 12:30 I pay the bill, bundle up, and make my way up to the municipal hostel at the top of the hill. There’s a handful of French pilgrims there already who have arrived from towns farther back on the Camino. (They’ve been walking through the snow while i’ve been holed up in the cafe.) It’s still snowing lightly, and very cold. I’m well dressed but it’s too cold to stand still (plus I’ve been sitting on my butt all morning) so to keep my blood moving, I decide to trot up & down the steep steps near the hostel several times. Recalling that 95% of the French pilgrims I’ve met do not speak any English, I ask them in my embarrassingly weak French to save my place in line (basically, <i>Voulez-vous, uh... mon...</i>. [energetically pointing to my feet and pantomime stepping away]... <i>dans la queue</i>...?). They get it, I think/hope, and only seem to judge me a tiny bit). I motor up & down the steps for about 15 minutes. It feels great </font><span style="font-family: Arial;">to move.</span></div><div><font face="Arial"><br></font></div><div><font face="Arial">Finally the hostel door swings open at 1pm sharp. I pull out my passport, credential, 6€, and wait my turn. The <i>hospitalera</i> takes one look at my credential, then looks at me coldly, shaking her head, and says You only walked 4km today. Her clipped tone immediately puts me on the defensive. Yes, I say, but... She cuts me off. You cannot stay here. We reserve the beds for pilgrims who walk a full day. You only walked from the last town, so we cannot give you a bed. Next! </font></div><div><font face="Arial"><br></font></div><div><font face="Arial">I’m kind of shocked. I’ve never heard this rule, and it’s not even listed as one of the rules posted on the wall, which I’d had plenty of time to read while waiting outside in the cold. I fumble around... It’s amazing how I go so easily to guilt. (She’s right! I don’t deserve a rest day!) I try again, feeling lame. But it’s snowing, I say, and... She’s having none of it. (I realize after I speak that the fact that it’s still snowing only makes her point stronger. Those who have been out in the snow longer should get first priority.) Waving me away, she says, You can come back at 6pm and see if there are any beds left. Next! </font></div><div><font face="Arial"><br></font></div><div><font face="Arial">Well, now I’m in a pickle. I can’t run the risk of waiting all day and not getting a bed — if none are available, then I’ll have to hike to the next town late on a snowy evening and hope that it, too, isn’t already full. No thank you. What is this arbitrary minimum kilometer rule? Aren’t pilgrims allowed rest days? So, defeated, and kind of angry, I leave. </font></div><div><font face="Arial"><br></font></div><div><font face="Arial">I ended up walking another 20km down a long hill in the beautiful (and thankfully still only gently) falling snow, arriving around 7pm in Triacastela, well below the snow line. Halfway there I stopped for a late lunch in a very cozy café where I partially dried out near a huge roaring fire, and got my delicious <i>caldo gallego, </i>tea<i>, </i>and hot bread<i>. </i>And later, even though 7pm is a very late hostel arrival time, in Triacastela I found a very nice hostel that also had a toasty fire, and ended up having dinner with my fun pilgrim pals Ed, Kelly, and Siggi. So it all worked out just fine (other than effectively delaying my blog update again, but you are a patient lot, and I appreciate it.)</font></div><div><font face="Arial"><br></font></div><div><font face="Arial">The point of the story is: Pilgrim credentials are not pretty souvenir booklets you fill with stamps just for fun. On the Camino, your kilometer count matters! </font></div><div><font face="Arial"><br></font></div><div><font face="Arial">OK, now let’s go...</font></div><div><font face="Arial"><br></font></div><div><b><font face="Arial">Back To The Pilgrim Office</font></b></div><div><font face="Arial">As a volunteer, I had to play bad cop with pilgrims a few times, and I did not enjoy it. I’m sort of hardwired to be a people pleaser. </font></div><div><font face="Arial"><br></font></div><div><font face="Arial">One morning a friendly, elderly Irishman comes to my station. I greet him in the usual manner (“Welcome & congratulations! How was your Camino?”) and we chat briefly. He tells me it was his first Camino, and how much he enjoyed the walk from St. Jean Pied-de-Port, which I know is 800km, so I congratulate him again, then ask for his credential. I see that it has the by-now-familiar first stamp from St. Jean, given when you first pick up your credential at the start of the Camino, but otherwise his credential is completely empty. I unfold it all the way and check both sides, but it is as pristine, white, and unmarked as the snow on the O Cebreiro hilltop that one morning. (see pic of my credential above for what an end-of-Camino credential is supposed to look like.)</font></div><div><font face="Arial"><br></font></div><div><font face="Arial">As kindly as possible, I say, “Hm... didn’t you get any stamps?” He firmly and proudly says No, as if collecting the stamps is a silly child’s game and he’s clearly above all that, and wants me to know it. His smile disappears as I politely explain that unfortunately, we can’t issue him a <i>compostela</i> without proof that he walked the final 100km to Santiago. Cathedral rules. He doesn’t want to hear this, of course, especially after having waited in that long line for 90 minutes. He protests loudly, and thrusts the backs of his hands in front of my face. Look at my hands! This, THIS, is proof that I walked all the way! Indeed, his hands are peeling badly from multiple sunburns and possibly blisters, so it’s clear that he thinks using sunscreen is yet another rule that doesn’t apply to him.</font></div><div><font face="Arial"><br></font></div><div><font face="Arial">Fortunately two Pilgrim Office regulars seated near me both jump right in. (They’ve seen & heard it all and have no problem playing hardball with pilgrims.) They explain the rules more forcefully, as his anger visibly rises. </font></div><div><font face="Arial"><br></font></div><div><font face="Arial">(It’s very surprising — there’s no way this man walked the Camino for over 30 days without seeing how the credential routine goes. Each and every time you register at a hostel you are asked for both your credential and your ID. So he must have been actively withholding his credential, for some reason. Maybe he thought having the point-of-origin stamp was sufficient.)</font></div><div><font face="Arial"><br></font></div><div><font face="Arial">By now lots of people are watching us. The angry Irishman finally realizes he’s not getting a <i>compostela. </i>He haughtily shoves his empty credential across the counter at me, turns, and stalks out. </font></div><div><font face="Arial"><br></font></div><div><font face="Arial">I turn to the Pilgrim Office workers and we all shrug. “<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I’ve never seen that happen before,” says the one who’s </span>been working here for four years. </font></div><div><font face="Arial"><br></font></div><div><font face="Arial"><b>Pilgrim Snapshots</b> </font></div><div><font face="Arial">From the very first moment, I loved working in the Pilgrim Office. It was so much fun to be the agent of welcome and to represent the Cathedral at this very special moment in a pilgrim’s Camino. For many, obviously, it is a hugely symbolic religious and/or spiritual milestone. For others, it’s the celebration of completing a physical challenge. Either way, it takes courage, strength, and stamina to make this long journey, and completing it can bring up a lot of emotion for people. </font></div><div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font face="Arial"><br></font></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font face="Arial">As volunteers, we were told that, despite the ever-present long line, we should focus on creating a warm and welcoming experience for the pilgrims, rather than feeling pressured to process their <i>compostelas</i> quickly. We were told to respect the fact that this can be an emotional moment for some pilgrims, and to take whatever time was needed to hold the space for them, and that it was OK to dispense hugs freely, if appropriate. </font></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font face="Arial"><br></font></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font face="Arial">I have spent my entire working life trying to work as quickly and efficiently as possible, keeping all emotion out of the workplace, so this was music to my ears. </font></span></div></div><div><font face="Arial"><br></font></div><div><font face="Arial">It was so incredibly inspiring to witness first-hand, not just as statistics on a page, the number of people well into their 60s, 70s, and 80s who had completed a Camino. In fact, easily the majority of pilgrims I met were retirees. This makes sense considering the time commitment involved in doing a Camino; retirees naturally have more free time. But it was still amazing to see how many seniors were willing to take on and complete this challenge. </font></div><div><font face="Arial"><br></font></div><div><font face="Arial">It was an incredible honor to complete a <i>compostela</i> for Robert from California, age 84, who had just finished his first Camino along with his son, and had gotten his first tattoo to commemorate it (a classic Camino scallop shell with the red sword of St. James). He was only too happy to show me his tattoo when I asked:</font></div><div><font face="Arial"><img id="id_6cb6_99e8_704_bbeb" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5Ag7rj1YMuEpFwAvA03XKI-_cluwZUQVAbIStd04_2KPQA3z7O0rjnSuUejDaDlzYEoLs25qge27YxTypLk5RUkpY3O0-TuQnscS0gB4xoGXROiA_dfslUfCpH7iSs2W6upGD254IVUg/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br></font></div><div><font face="Arial">I completed <i>compostelas</i> for several pilgrims who had walked in memory of a loved one who had passed away. In those cases, we inscribed a special notation in Latin on the bottom of their <i>compostela: Vicarie pro: </i>(In memory of:) with the loved one’s name. It was a tremendous honor to do this simple but powerful small ritual for people, and it never failed to get the waterworks going for both of us. </font></div><div><font face="Arial"><br></font></div><div><font face="Arial">I’ll never forget James King, Sr., a delightful Scot who walked his entire Camino in a bright red kilt and a t-shirt bearing a photograph of his son James King, Jr., who had gone to bed perfectly healthy one night but never woke up.The autopsy provided no clue as to cause of death; James Sr. was told his son had simply stopped breathing — the adult equivalent of SIDS (sudden infant death syndrome).</font></div><div><font face="Arial"><img id="id_5fca_4cd7_6136_26c6" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbW0H4stp-tEto4TPBJxwXZmi3b2TXrS2ElcB-4BmK0udiRBfigD5oVQ0Xfm6fxJlFnTsqlSbF9smGO5TSqwoKv_NosGL6niSowiTcVAqZlGyzKIsH8ReRyHDr171MSXZhaHLPQBbw5Cs/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br></font></div><div><font face="Arial">I completed <i>compostelas</i> for people who were celebrating surviving cancer. For people of all ages who were celebrating milestone birthdays. For couples like these two happy lovebirds, who had gotten engaged on the Camino (I made sure we included her new ring in the picture):</font></div><div><font face="Arial"><img id="id_4102_e50_e405_b54b" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdoLYkODCttafdn-_02PCQKPo6mMU4aI17Y3F6GQfm6C5vvSBfU6HAnL22rYKAC1ZC11zrTnrVcUGgE33qGUqnmJWVVOdebNesgcCoP3tf-0pIe89uO22dF2a9iL_4AUFcWY86_qVfYJI/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br>And this wonderful couple, Yves and Genevieve from France, who pretended not to mind when I butchered their language, because they spoke no English at all and we had to get by with my extremely limited French. Unlike most Spaniards and French, who tended to ignore my requests to please speak more slowly so I could understand them better, Yves and Genevieve graciously slowed down and were very patient with me as I got the necessary information to complete their <i>compostelas</i>. They were celebrating 40 years of marriage, but totally acted like newlyweds, kissing and hugging and cracking each other up with inside jokes. (I have never, ever seen a couple more obviously enjoying the hell out of each other.) With my limited vocabulary and a ton of hand gestures, I tried to tell them how much they restored my faith in true love. </font></div><div><font face="Arial"><img id="id_fd39_d45e_e1f8_f275" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLwKbie2gqLunw-LSM1e_xa4Awgtrs3DFKk5R5jRHdVP5oYh4NT2V4PjWId49CbVfMZ8dGkvg2dKlq2tWG3I8dj5xrsDh9uK1G0AhDV4gC8ql7hUi6SMLScJgAZH1EwwonwMRnEURGNLo/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br>Camino magic: One day a woman walked up to my station who looked vaguely familiar. Margarett is from Portland, Oregon, so when I told her my only kid had graduated from Reed last year, she informed me she was walking because she had just retired from Reed! I didn’t recall ever meeting her, but I must have seen her on campus or something. Turned out she remembered Ben (and Ben remembered her after I sent this picture). We were all blown away by this chance encounter. About 1,600 pilgrims come through the office every day this time of year, and there are about 8 or 10 of us working behind the counter at any given time. What are the odds she’d end up at my station? </font></div><div><font face="Arial"><img id="id_8b39_e67e_dd0d_ea2f" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzUtznN_Pt-qxj7B0iOJl20Aypzeaqtg9KRwpiNw4dYYKQPbq-5vWLjmkzZxQErPtFlub8ZwPUis5Q8btmn7XoNoA9OhKj7J2UaaKma_B3e_UlrSBGy_00rkdzXLgUIVrw8QEIsMbiC-U/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br> </font></div><div><font face="Arial">Then there was Petra from The Netherlands who had ridden her bike all the way from Amsterdam — about 2,500km in three stages over three years (there are Camino routes all over Europe). She had diligently taped together several credential booklets and proudly showed them all to me. I was so honored to be the one to place the final stamp on each credential. She was so excited to receive her <i>compostela</i> that she was bouncing up and down, laughing and crying at the same time. I loved sharing this moment with her.</font></div><div><font face="Arial"><img id="id_d88f_89c6_44b_f600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgtnljvvywZSrd7-uXvYTB7Us3gxKU2PvE7WuTGqTZasXx9RxurqtySAQBJ8cqTM46LU7L7i4aVgcGb8MXXKygl0bNqt_FedN1CX2NUzX_ipmAN5_CWdOau2PeeL3unao3nxAg3QsVma8/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br>This young man from Colombia came to my station and told me he had a problem. He said his Camino had been profound and he felt like a different person. He asked if it was OK to use a different name on his <i>compostela</i>. I told him that whatever he told me his name was, that’s what we’d put on the <i>compostela</i>. He said Well, that’s the problem. I want to change my name, but I haven’t chosen one yet. I just know I can’t use my current name. It’s the same as my father’s and... he was horrible to my mother, and he left us when I was little. I said, Well, do you have any ideas at all? Any names you’ve been floating around? He paused. This is silly... but... I really love my sister’s cat. His name is Lorenzo. But I can’t name myself after my sister’s cat! Why the hell not? I said. Pets are awesome and represent unconditional love. And besides, you kind of look like a Lorenzo to me. (I meant it. He did.) </font></div><div><font face="Arial"><br></font></div><div><font face="Arial">Then I said Hey, what the heck — how about Santiago for your last name, since this is where you’re changing it? He loved the idea and started to cry. </font></div><div><font face="Arial"><br></font></div><div><font face="Arial">And so I completed a <i>compostela</i>/birth certificate for Lorenzo Santiago. <br><br></font></div><div><font face="Arial"><img id="id_12b7_38f2_779_35b4" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWStXiwl6x4Ir9fQ4tGQkN1SQFRS_1fS-3pBn3jPHoLu7TsFGOtWltLb0A33pxxrK1cm8Ti2WhJtnu4o2caZusfEBz1BddugaIn7x6K5JGFa2HikidFdH_d_ocskz9OxfKwuHFyGZL3Ag/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br>Best job I’ve ever had. </font></div><div><font face="Arial"><br></font></div><div><font face="Arial">I’ll tell you more about my final week in Spain, my mini-Camino, in another post. </font></div><div><br></div> Unknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-269148434431098022.post-47571396455483125822018-05-19T04:23:00.001-07:002018-06-10T13:08:00.125-07:00Made it to the End of the World<font face="Arial">Sorry, blog fans, for the long silence. It has been a very exciting and all-consuming few weeks. </font><div><font face="Arial"><br></font></div><div><font face="Arial">On Friday, May 11, I completed my 2018 Camino, once again safely and with no blisters and no injuries other than a minor knee tweak (which thankfully resolved after one rest day). I am now back in Santiago, volunteering at the Pilgrim Office for two weeks.</font></div><div><font face="Arial"><br></font></div><div><font face="Arial">I walked 600 miles in 42 days. On a cold, wet, and snowy March 31 I left St. Jean Pied-de-Port, France, crossed the Pyrenees and headed west across northern Spain, averaging 18 miles a day, to reach the Atlantic Ocean at Finisterre, Spain, on a cold and rainy May 11. </font></div><div><font face="Arial"><br></font></div><div><font face="Arial">The sun burst through the clouds during the last hour of my walk, which felt almost ridiculously symbolic.</font></div><div><font face="Arial"><img id="id_6bba_7112_a839_bd01" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicrl9Blq9ccNP2z-nzVR3VaxFDlvRwArs_o1VTlLA34FHA4SspH4oLuJjiAYwYYKJOWHfDBMCfd_eoqeaK_OGqPeFVNesZ_wcgDo1vdg6G01_mfd_H4BDpR89nJQIOwjTKDU10yAYc69I/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">That’s the short version. I’ll backtrack and try to sum up the magic of the past few weeks, but if you’re the type who just wants to know how the story ends, you can stop reading here knowing that I made it safely all the way across Spain. On foot. Carrying all my belongings on my back every step of those 600 miles, up & down through three mountain ranges, a wide plateau, two snowstorms, and a LOT of rain & mud. The Camino is a well-groomed, well-marked, and well-supported trail with fairly frequent opportunities for rest & refreshment, and there’s always a warm clean place to stay each night, so it’s not like I was truly roughing it as one would on, say, the Pacific Crest Trail. But still, making it all that way on my own strength & determination is a pretty empowering feeling. </span></font></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font face="Arial"><br></font></span></div><div><font face="Arial"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">So...yeah. Where to begin? One reason I’ve delayed writing is that </span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I have no idea how to sum up this amazing experience. And I’ve been too busy enjoying it to take the time to document it.</span></font></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font face="Arial"><br></font></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><font face="Arial">(Just a head’s up: This is a ridiculously long post, strictly for those who enjoy the ride. Or you can just skim the pictures!)</font></span></div><div><div dir="auto"><font face="Arial"><br></font></div><div dir="auto"><b><font face="Arial">From Astorga to Santiago</font></b></div><div dir="auto"><font face="Arial">The last time I updated you, I was heading into the Cantabrian Mountains outside of Astorga. This marked my entry into the upper northwest region of Spain known as Galicia, which is one of my favorite parts of the Camino. Because of its location along the Atlantic coast, Galicia historically was settled by Celtic tribes, so you see a lot of symbols you might expect to see in Ireland — Celtic knots, witches, etc. The food is different too — less paella, more <i>pulpo</i> (octopus) and shellfish. Galician Spanish (<i>Galego</i>) is quite different, too — a sibling of Portuguese, with O and Os for El and Los, x’s where we might expect j’s, and so on. Also, happily, in Galicia there’s lots of Tarta de Santiago, a delicious almond cake with powdered sugar sprinkled on top outlining the shape of the sword of St. James, another famous symbol of the Camino.</font></div><div dir="auto"><font face="Arial"><img id="id_e46c_2933_f85_3659" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-fhgqC-K2Phk/Wv7djKTqRXI/AAAAAAAABvQ/8Z7kGZBMl-8Gl-xE4XpAHnv-sRuVWfaNgCHMYCw/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br></font></div><div dir="auto"><font face="Arial">Galicia is also the coolest and rainiest part of Spain, and the mountains feature forests with beautiful, lush forests of pine, eucalyptus, and other trees I couldn’t identify. All the rain during this exceptionally wet Spanish spring has resulted in some pretty spectacular wildflower blooms. After the flat and somewhat featureless <i>meseta</i> (plateau), it was absolutely delightful to be in the mountains again. The uphill ascents are, for the most part, fairly gradual in Galicia, so not overly strenuous, and the scenery along the mountain trail is truly spectacular. There was so much more snow on the surrounding mountains than last year, although the trail itself was snow-free (aside from the freaky snowstorm at O Cebreiro described in my last post). </font></div><div dir="auto"><font face="Arial"><br></font></div><div dir="auto"><font face="Arial">More than once, I and my fellow pilgrims felt inspired to spin around with arms outstretched, Julie Andrews-style, and bellow (un-self-consciously and at full volume) “The Hills Are Alive With The Sound of Music.” Yes, it was that spectacular — and also, by this point, late in the Camino, most pilgrims are feeling pretty relaxed, confident, wide open, and free as birds, so randomly bursting into song is considered normal and even welcome behavior. (More or less. The French and the Koreans tend to observe this behavior warily.) Everyone I met seemed humbled and grateful to be able to experience the grandeur of these mountain vistas. There were many pilgrims with whom I could not converse, because of the language barrier, but all it took was a gesture towards the scenery, a smile, and a look in the eye, and we knew we were all feeling the same awe and gratitude. My only frustration was that I could not fully capture the grandeur of the scenery on my camera. </font></div><div dir="auto"><font face="Arial"><img id="id_779d_38ce_b1a7_b924" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbWMAhvlQ8PTTEXkwcfcq5Y3vdDxHrR5yzf1LzkEb4_YSUhvNu61E9-FRADKX2TTV4J8UdOEytyrYfRmoPXQEyoxpbOHjC8WZsaOazMbkO2PLh44TAUOFZd8D12HXhQpjRCcjZ5_tbTvo/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"></font></div><div dir="auto"><font face="Arial"><br></font></div><div dir="auto"><font face="Arial"><i>Somebody</i> was about to burst into song here. Can you blame her?</font></div><div dir="auto"><font face="Arial"><img id="id_acab_e6e4_539a_539b" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-cWXUOXqjJpU/Wv6uZ7ZS9OI/AAAAAAAABtg/gg5FtkMo8MQWPWwsSKJkzE_4y9aQy-JZgCHMYCw/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 390px; height: auto;"><br><img id="id_fdd6_8163_96a6_dcd4" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZhohZoiXoOuwgOdWwjDSDx8QMA8JGXydz2m0K6c1WmFhyphenhyphenrrq_os26NPfhCUZjR-2-0y0qENEdLidW6cvVLRdYLSZV7PF1AS57vO8Q7JRUcrbEmk2sUyFQl570fiOZCVo5qfk9LrX5khM/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><img id="id_523c_5a9f_b57_c3d4" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjviJ1d6kJMTRmOcTumsPThLpfAlCXi4LM1P1m0EA9Te5-UAWYAtImchGQ77r40du8FGGQDpA96-wqJCMHnbUg6Y_qvgoNvE9H7PuY4HH1EJL72K9eZoxTcJUVqGp5hE39cRv6B2miSwk/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br></font></div><div dir="auto"><font face="Arial">All along the Camino in Galicia I kept seeing these fist-sized pods....</font></div><div dir="auto"><font face="Arial"><img id="id_b334_8299_2bc3_353b" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglgm9rb_L_1gYl2RRfPzyqiF_5dSwRIQqqGRrK_mvcbnkA2X3eHp5JjSq_u8FKYyQ6xXI4jNXqQCben6qCx1uPZO6ytQKmMx240SoPbH7D1wZG8DrVfCBEelUSd4fMDJOrWtzhWzmaI0Q/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br>...which pop open into this. No idea what they’re called, but they are pretty cool.<br><img id="id_be1c_eac5_afd1_9c68" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvggc4RlmihrOPEBdhH2Mfq6pCLtH6a7mCeb3UnnoI4CSterygpelyQvgdfRRuPDP6d3uUBJeELcaSgb197Gn62g_2n4vXXTM87D5d3_jaafFfu13MFPqIwfSMKXiQMh_wGsnv2lneLh4/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br></font></div><div dir="auto"><font face="Arial">Buttercups everywhere! Picture doesn’t do them justice, they are so golden yellow it almost hurts your eyes.<br><img id="id_3c07_6eef_7eb1_7df" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivpPcmly94dfF1xyawuzGDjei1Y5IoLLcwHsJ4g8pizTk1H6e9Qb7RSSzT6gZfuHwbbPcWsKhMVW-bCgSZjy92iTGiBFnolku6XUVUdSMFlhRhc8A0qURThJ5xGk70tzT2KlCSAQj20AQ/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><img id="id_7bc4_59a8_9a47_62a3" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_6-CbQHSiHOYgznc9HkIF19Yo7HIGQtcuniCRT_FaHetjiRWUbojpThH7QntkBnmrz9j057WW50TMlxEcE_ef5tkqPinemfzidwnfz76_hyrWyJv6nyn3SuiWrRjSev2KrBGstfDTSfQ/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 339px; height: auto;"><br><img id="id_fbce_c773_4c5c_4bed" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoEaT2S-gmBb-lOEMR4cv7hTThwOknyKI8iGl1tPXFEHR40CByj5Jltx3zs-76KK6KoG-mfx1UmNJCg-1pknegThb2AH2TKfiSNbxLRS66ltTygCfCWcn9jh_w7wtcQFNjlmab2vcPO7I/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><img id="id_d0e8_929f_be90_1c5c" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSlQEMOcM9Vq_aFgWKmozPJ2qfYIEjkK2xb_yJ7gqEq4MTmnxPI9UIfaIa0NVmZbWYJNaGCymSzHaDjeqAeTHWaMoOoo6cTKYJjr7gimrO2XDAuYUCukBBBn2icMFFK1iPIQDdbh3itjY/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><img id="id_bc2d_1965_6b9b_d7d2" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZCzWDJBq8m0DHuGAn3uvX0EOHMHTmBfv9pjO-qBOEZw4n2YjM8-T29_AF_nHZbnpj2avEEPwBcvmHIXtcyQ9E6H-W1PQzV-szcDdkYgKmaLcqbPwGk2J8HfobTPxd5pxGlDjL5dK9xPE/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br><img id="id_b3fd_61bc_508c_c51e" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ95Z5E89qg7RfKv3adALxkhx9H3Jc8A4Sil_O34AEiuY99sxaM74xDrzJCpGKvaMaAlL-SMXGkxzocq3HxZAkO5qAxHx8PrIvPuu2QJkageQbTuvJGJJb3U2QeLtZ7oUgFuVKU75MS-0/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br><img id="id_1e6_8c9b_d07f_5de4" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpMvaxYC4ByGKu68iiM2G0uNdRpOHFLR1bD7A3ljgz-BqJJ5rP3kMWGtJThiCuIChmgxIFHJa3Y5U8fCAYzNRx1em1kt2z_CKZF4fOCGc7a11Ohaquc5jfwFhTdpVQwCW9NJ32oQa776w/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br><img id="id_ed3c_9455_8032_9dd9" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-c555TiYFeOg/Wv6uc3jPJbI/AAAAAAAABuU/WOpg0dPsC8IvRcnRHvSkNSf_LgZgCJD1gCHMYCw/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br><img id="id_d03_1f97_7a7_ae74" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIatgBcbKw28Qz7iB6Y7KC1lLwnqDiufWFul_UZcqQOCr8yNGcwGYSkk8ExHMEj42StbTJK4VbHVUQeYfTDyJelG_pmxYwgDLJZIcGp_94Im8j3Y9tr-R6b30QAsMDJRZW3QLQBvbqw_s/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br><img id="id_5443_e2f9_3e29_a1dd" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAx-rLiTVpvlSRzRlt-O9bHG6dViqrKCjqpoBoSLKlAE-8AmslA_8pXXRJDy6C94ImNPnNhRS-cyhlsziaUkRElghR4-AQ2oZN_9aBDPeVn15EZC9e8quliTUHEQRy2GnxaftAmhpf_gw/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br><img id="id_ce0c_6104_b6ed_8d27" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6pC5LiBqGUGlnyvvgdkhUHXdSKJJ5c_mGOF9bSBARfgK9v8fxWAvXAP3kUu7oFKeELFAzEOGMEyee0OiJvoiazndvmZOf5MF5vV_xt6boIj814JvDP2o8Mi75f_Dqp4IVHuWOyEIu2R0/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br><img id="id_e0e8_e0df_5ead_fcbe" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHE6Y6lfi3f2BjKbVdSxW3WQ5Cjstn4cteo9S8aSOK33kSenStOIfLKvGqyPh6d5278ZF_DhnSPJqe5MnlM-I7ipGLlf-T6jQI6qZ8tjKWczunKb3o2DWpD5s6Z3fQS5iC4rvPPg-jSKo/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br>I took my Camino more slowly this year — a full 10 days longer — because I wanted to savor it. But as I neared the city of Santiago de Compostela, the goal destination of most pilgrims, I had to start paying more attention to the calendar to ensure that I had enough time to make the trek out to Finisterre on the Atlantic coast (50 miles beyond Santiago) in time to be back in Santiago by Monday, May 14 to start my volunteer job. Santiago is the traditional spiritual end of the Camino pilgrimage where pilgrims can collect their <i>compostela</i> certificate, but Finisterre is the physical, literal end of the Camino trail.</font></div><div dir="auto"><font face="Arial"><br></font></div><div dir="auto"><font face="Arial">Arriving in Santiago is a very joyous, emotional experience. All the various Camino routes across Spain converge in Santiago, and at any given time there are hundreds of people in the streets and in the huge square in front of the massive cathedral, celebrating, hugging, crying, or lying on the cobblestones in exhaustion. It is also a place of reunion, where you are very likely to see people that you met earlier along The Way. One of the true joys of the Camino is that you can walk into a café or church or hostel anywhere along the route, and you are very likely to see a familiar face. In Santiago this is multiplied, since people tend to stay for a few days to rest, sightsee, or pick up souvenirs before heading home.</font></div><div dir="auto"><font face="Arial"><br></font></div><div dir="auto"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font face="Arial">My last night before Santiago was spent in the charming little village of Ribadiso, which has an ancient Roman bridge over the river. Some of you know my affinity for cows, so you can imagine how excited I was to see this beautiful black-and-white cow roaming freely on the grounds of the hostel:</font></span></div><div dir="auto"><font face="Arial"><img id="id_5989_57eb_fb65_c816" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixkTFwxwnMytqArBpMLvaJnbml9cs107Q2AWMvuNAm1IcHf0eipkxlrI1A73QBbMl5pbuXEOaYAmpqYAit4NFMeDTn2SrtXU1YV7JXhpU_ZW92IPFKyKv0gdOSXytkJcqj3nEOpatQwj8/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"></font></div><div dir="auto"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font face="Arial"><br></font></span></div><div dir="auto"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><font face="Arial">This was the view out the window next to my bed in the Ribadiso hostel: </font></span></div><div dir="auto"><font face="Arial"><img id="id_7c53_89a1_9031_f39f" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibA1PjyffmHQR2nPwgZPdtlCtLMLh-2U7zxr0R0PxbZnCwPt6aMTn32h-JmRuuS1zHx2ZXs6JyCgaXY8jmo9f2cWjXYIslriwZk5atjj8DOIfkmRicTwERfyV1QENfJsffUkW9qzwFgcE/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><br></span></font></div><div dir="auto"><div dir="auto"><font style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);" face="Arial">For my trek into Santiago, I wanted to set myself a challenge and see if I could make it 27 miles in one day. By this point in my Camino, after nearly five weeks of daily treks, I was feeling pretty strong, and the knee tweak was but a twinge, easily managed with a brace and ibuprofen.</font></div><div><font face="Arial"><br></font></div><div><div dir="auto"><font style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);" face="Arial">(Side note: Everything is so much cheaper in Spain. You can buy prescription-strength ibuprofen here, 600mg tablets, over the counter. A box of 48 costs about $1.50. An American ex-pat living in Spain told me he regularly buys his mother’s medications here and mails them to her. A bottle of her prescription Rx that he can buy over the counter here for $3 costs<i> $300 per bottle</i> in the US. But don’t let’s get started on American healthcare costs. Everyone I’ve spoken with on the Camino is horrified to hear what I am paying for my stupid high-deductible Obamacare policy.)</font></div></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font face="Arial"><br></font></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font face="Arial">Ahem. Back to the narrative. </font></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font face="Arial"><br></font></span></div></div><div dir="auto"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><font face="Arial"><u>Monday, May 7</u>: I got up early and was out on the Camino before sunrise (not as big a deal as it might seem, for those of you who know I am not a morning person — the sun doesn’t rise until about 8:15 this time of year in Spain, and it stays light until 10pm). The forecast called for the warmest day of this Camino, high 70s, so I wanted to take advantage of the morning chill.</font></span></div><div dir="auto"><font face="Arial"><img id="id_b0ff_fa76_433_46c7" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyegfMn6jTBme7CIwu4ToaLmsTCutlEsreeVilGNvwH3bgYKL9x5ke68MchI91SofAQLhbTtqRqpiOhgwM75kEjACN1JNnaysPlfZI9gCCXjbXe5hAoKPv1-SpQJh8ekO26bPuQPBjlUY/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><br></span></font></div><div dir="auto"><font face="Arial"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">All day as I walked, I kept telling myself I was going to make those 27 miles. It’s a distance most pilgrims cover in two days. My previous personal best on this Camino was 21 miles in one day. </span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">It was very warm & bright, not my favorite weather (I know, I’m a weirdo), but I was buoyed by my commitment to make it all the way to Santiago that day. </span></font></div><div dir="auto"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><font face="Arial"><br></font></span></div><div dir="auto"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><font face="Arial">In Galicia, the beloved concrete Camino way-markers, which stand like helpful little beacons pointing the way at many forks in the road, also include little kilometer plates indicating the remaining distance to Santiago. Every time I passed a way-marker, I would feel a surge of excitement as the kilometer count got smaller & smaller.</font></span></div><div dir="auto"><font face="Arial"><br></font></div><div dir="auto"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font face="Arial">Early in my Camino, I had decided to dedicate each day’s walk to family members or friends (including each and every one of you on my email list). I would place a small stone or wildflower on the Camino way-markers, which also serve as impromptu shrines. Often you’d see a laminated photo tucked under a stone, placed in memory of a loved one who had passed away. For me these way-markers were sort of like beads on a rosary, and no matter how distracted I was by conversation or my own crowded thoughts, seeing a way-marker would remind me to send a blessing to that day’s honoree(s). </font></span></div><div dir="auto"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font face="Arial"><img id="id_5182_c337_ebf8_4d34" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyXgoqYFePv87BS4rhYr726Yr13j2JtNmALbBNxXfbTUmgWcpmOfnNyOPWbUTiOe4-4A5D_5vSfdlWkTYRc0lP5I3I9linb79EsCHUincWlGhgkHdF4Hxz6k9DssTBFisLOSkSptJGEt4/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"></font></span></div><div dir="auto"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font face="Arial"><br></font></span></div><div dir="auto"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font face="Arial">Now, with the added kilometer countdown, the way-markers became even more significant. </font></span></div><div dir="auto"><font face="Arial"><img id="id_4eef_bea4_bdf8_fd0d" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiljAWCbg_GW85iqwnL8DZfhqIx4HA6E_zCz2Sej-OxLsKoYvUZNOm20rFl5tUbZn5irMIHTohKFHl1iudMCqlT5kGIo48kfQbelm4b4twplpiLfUWJJQ_EMYdpjOggSpopQ7S2lctPqx4/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></font></div><div dir="auto"><div dir="auto"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font face="Arial">In an echo of my first day on the Camino, five long weeks earlier, I kept encouraging myself whenever my feet got sore or I felt my energy flag as the day got warmer: <i>You can do this! </i>Five more kilometers to the next town, and you can stop and get some iced tea. At one rest stop, where I had stripped off my shoes and socks to dry in the sun, some passing pilgrims handed me an ice cream cone — they had just bought a box in the last town and had one extra. The Camino always provides!</font></span></div><div><font face="Arial"><br></font></div></div><div dir="auto"><font face="Arial"><span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0);">18km outside of Santiago...</span><br><img id="id_e4bb_a280_61d2_8b35" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaqoobARA8ha_I_nVQeR_9qIo0mmYgtBlMkz8H8YKbu9HC8SWB5Ed8HQOHv91-N06i60Uq8MsJfoiqK6dp9GRqZWY48tb1kO1hlr1QSt92CU1TTk1jWvSzOiHWFU5LW-MeVHp-E1mUx6s/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><br></span></font></div><div dir="auto"><font face="Arial"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">As I walked, I reflected once again how blessed I felt that I had gotten no blisters and only had sustained this very minor knee injury in all these weeks of continuous walking on sometimes</span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"> quite challenging terrain. I’d met so many pilgrims, young and old, who had to delay or stop their Caminos because of blisters, tendinitis, shin splints, Achilles heel problems, mysterious leg or foot swellings that wouldn’t go away even after a few days’ rest, or in one truly unfortunate case, a broken ankle. I saw pilgrims with horrifying giant blisters — 7 or 8 on each foot. There is a pretty straightforward science to preventing Camino blisters (comfortable broken-in shoes 1/2 to one size larger, double socks, grease your feet, stop immediately & cool off when you feel a hot spot), but even those who take all the usual precautions sometimes still get them. Some people are just more prone to blisters than others.</span></font></div><div dir="auto"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><font face="Arial"><br></font></span></div><div dir="auto"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><font face="Arial">I had decided to walk into Santiago alone, although all along the Way I had spent two, three, or four days at a stretch walking with various friends. Although the company of fellow pilgrims was a delight, I loved having hours of walking time to think, or sometimes <i>not</i> think or talk, and just enjoy the incredible natural beauty and peace that the Camino has to offer. </font></span></div><div dir="auto"><font face="Arial"><br></font></div><div dir="auto"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font face="Arial">I’ve mentioned before (and this is not an original thought) that the Camino is like a river of people. I felt that so strongly this year, and I learned to dance with the currents as we all moved westward to Santiago. </font></span></div><div dir="auto"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font face="Arial"><br></font></span></div><div dir="auto"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font face="Arial">You’d spend a day or two or three walking with some new friend, sometimes sharing the deepest secrets of your heart or your troubled past, or sometimes just chatting about politics and health insurance, other times having deep philosophical discussions about God and religion, and then the current would shift and you’d part ways. Days or weeks later you might see them again, or hear about them from another pilgrim. The currents would weave and bob as the river carried everyone west. Every farewell was a small sting, but I loved my solitude. There was a constant pull to socialize, especially if I was having a lonely day. Then I’d spend a day or two in company and suddenly feel the urge to be alone again. Quite literally, I went with the flow. </font></span></div><div dir="auto"><font face="Arial"><img id="id_f099_256_446b_e4bb" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-ruOEF0ZOR_U/WwAWo4Rx6SI/AAAAAAAABz8/33TFs_KqMvkdZkQ88i3XCKO9SI7IdB3rgCHMYCw/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></font></div><div dir="auto"><font face="Arial">I also reflected on how many ghosts there are on the Camino. I was constantly reminded of Bernie and Maddy from Australia, my dear companions for so much of my 2017 Camino, remembering all the good times, songs, laughter, prayers, and tears we had shared. I sometimes did a double-take when I’d see a pilgrim with a similar hat, walking style, or shirt. </font></div><div dir="auto"><font face="Arial"><br></font></div><div dir="auto"><font face="Arial">Then there were the ghosts of people I’d met earlier on this Camino but hadn’t seen or heard from in weeks who would suddenly pop up when I least expected them. I thought about all the wonderful people I’d met and all things we had shared. </font></div><div dir="auto"><font face="Arial"><br></font></div><div dir="auto"><font face="Arial">It seemed that everyone I met was a mirror of some aspect of myself. During the first half of my Camino I kept meeting moms or dads traveling with their 20-something children. Which of course made me reflect on the complex and mysterious relationship I have with my own dear and lovely wild child, currently attending graduate school in China. </font></div><div dir="auto"><font face="Arial"><br></font></div><div dir="auto"><font face="Arial">(I interrupt this blog to share a delightful picture of Ben feeding birds in China:)</font></div><div dir="auto"><font face="Arial"><img id="id_51da_11df_1e16_89a0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinQA5b7q4xkkd_qCRscd91dKE_Id-zjHfur39heV7GMwIp38JFkRw0_raD-bL8BOkyIdJYOSvIt-ZYoHq7aD-nOYUue_zZBBpqlJXurJMdOcBT5_CcRk8n4aJ1kaJ9hOVTtn43yUzij6w/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br>Later, I kept meeting pilgrim after pilgrim in their 50s who had spent decades working in successful but totally unsatisfying business careers, who longed to quit so they could paint, or pursue their passion for music, or do something to feed their creative spirit. (Huh.)</font></div><div dir="auto"><font face="Arial"><br></font></div><div dir="auto"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font face="Arial">So anyway, I made it! The 27 mile journey took me about 11.5 hours, including rest breaks. I arrived in Santiago around 7pm Monday, May 7. </font></span></div><div dir="auto"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font face="Arial"><br></font></span></div><div dir="auto"><font face="Arial"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">7pm is a very late arrival time, by Camino standards. By 7pm, the vast majority of pilgrims have already settled into their hostels, done </span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">their laundry, and are enjoying a well-deserved meal. Arriving later in the day means you run the risk of finding the hostels full. However, Santiago is a big town (pop. 180,000), and is all about the pilgrim, so there are dozens of lodging opportunities. I wasn’t worried about finding a bed, but I was sad that there were so few pilgrims out on the streets. I walked around the old town, circling the outdoor cafés, certain I’d see a familiar face, but I didn’t. There was no one to take my traditional arrival photo in front of the cathedral, so I took this lame selfie:</span></font></div><div dir="auto"><font face="Arial"><img id="id_a166_b22e_973f_b0ea" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGFXzD0ApKb_Y0Ob24r4WFUuD6OowV7yPJ8y0qtciB3mlJN9k8YfOHGVqNlFWBiM6kovmEul2JhRJCgxYGlYWazuFs0qRqCarEKpBwymzY6eM7lqn5BVFE2F8KZ_W2NN8fJ6VgHL50h3o/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br></font></div><div dir="auto"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font face="Arial">I made my way to the Pilgrim Office at the bottom of a long hill to collect my <i>compostela</i>, but was informed that, although the office was still open, they were not accepting any more pilgrims that day. Whaaat!? I had just walked longest walk of my life, and I wanted that certificate! I explained as nicely as I could that I had just walked 43 km and could I pretty please with sugar on top (or a loose Spanish equivalent) get my <i>compostela</i> today, but the guard was adamant. He’d heard it all before (the Pilgrim Office sees about 1,000 pilgrims per day).</font></span></div><div dir="auto"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font face="Arial"><br></font></span></div><div dir="auto"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font face="Arial">No Camino pals ... no <i>compostela</i> ... it was a rather anticlimactic arrival, after the joy of setting myself a challenging goal and reaching it.</font></span></div><div dir="auto"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font face="Arial"><br></font></span></div><div dir="auto"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font face="Arial">Deflated, and suddenly very tired, I trudged back up the steep hill to the center of town, found a hostel, parked my pack, pulled off my shoes, and stretched out on my bunk, sweaty dusty clothes & all. The guy on the next bunk was plugged into his phone, and kept laughing out loud. He pulled out an earbud and apologized for making so much noise. I said No problem, and told him I’d just walked 27 miles in one day, the furthest in my life (just had to share the news with someone). He high-fived me, and we chatted for a few minutes. Turns out he was American, a retired real estate broker from San Diego. After a few minutes he said Hey do you want to go get some dinner? I took a quick shower, then we found a place on a little side street and had a wonderful meal of <i>croquetas </i>and fresh fish, and the ubiquitous Spanish french fries. He insisted on picking up the tab. So I not only got a celebratory meal, but someone else paid for it! The Camino always provides. </font></span></div><div dir="auto"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font face="Arial"><br></font></span></div><div dir="auto"><font face="Arial"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">The next morning I collected my </span><i style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">compostela</i><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">, meeting several pilgrim pals while waiting in the long line, and had breakfast with one of them. (I picked up the tab, because I believe in paying it forward.) Then I went to the Pilgrim Mass at the beautiful Santiago Cathedral, where I met other Camino pals. Although the mass is in Spanish, there is a nun who sings most of the mass, and she has the voice of an angel. I remembered this same nun from last year, I had spoken with her afterwards and thanked her for sharing her exquisitely beautiful voice. I was happy to hear the music again. </span></font></div><div dir="auto"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font face="Arial"><br></font></span></div><div dir="auto"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font face="Arial">My <i>compostela</i>, with my name in Latin:</font></span></div><div dir="auto"><font face="Arial"><img id="id_766b_8626_1a03_e299" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-wENzTtGxEhM/WwAI6yFCa-I/AAAAAAAABxA/qSRS5LrxB-02waHMpA5XOIXt2V3jJd2igCHMYCw/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></font></div><div dir="auto"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font face="Arial">Santiago is beautiful...</font></span></div><font face="Arial"><img id="id_6fdb_54d_1bbb_333b" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCQ8plmJgiqnsF_XyvODl475E2rekGbEW4jLGi-fFZ6yLyfIVoaJvF3BCSvonxD6g95Jxmi3V91aVuuD6CQeSb35RCqVCRc_56NfSfm1c6cdDA2jczCmiFSS70TyLOxR51MPddQ55bs-8/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br><img id="id_99e4_e8fe_9916_32cc" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqEH0CI_ORqxC-NXfwSlYvBT3FJphGrEgCLY2ADz1RsvS0wemWihR6eTAPF_wcSToEbgwqQkpF0JoTosy9CUROoHk4WAotpE6fEOHNYso3NdohajDQyJtglMtQUpGNQEyt4gbXQwjE15I/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br><img id="id_9e37_3d12_8b0b_1c2d" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8KNSEHrpNd2hjEt7ySlD9TfcHacLBxGq4vlwt8iqHCqTm2cIDS1out6V4yUirSEceIB6ECtq8vhoosi_QVeLa7gL82YzjnZApHUCPuMDCxXdRtI4yNaECu8qiinH8cWFB0plStC8yF7M/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><img id="id_fabd_67df_4560_18bd" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-bmbls4BHAm8/WwAI_dgDpdI/AAAAAAAABxc/KlQ7HhbbPbg0nPWRDKUlwOpv4kd43FLCgCHMYCw/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br></font><div dir="auto"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font face="Arial">That night I had another celebratory dinner at the fancy Parador Hotel across from the Cathedral with a group of pilgrim pals. I spent more on that one meal than I spent in a week’s worth of hostel lodging on the Camino, but it was delicious. </font></span></div><div dir="auto"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font face="Arial"><br></font></span></div><div dir="auto"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><b><font face="Arial">The Final Leg: Santiago to Finisterre</font></b></span></div><div dir="auto"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font face="Arial">The next day I continued my journey for the final 50 mile walk out to Finisterre, a small, rocky peninsula the Atlantic coast, which for centuries was believed to be the literal end of the earth.</font></span></div><div dir="auto"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font face="Arial"><br></font></span></div><div dir="auto"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font face="Arial">The good folks who organize the Camino thoughtfully restarted the kilometer count on the way-markers outside of Santiago for the final push to Finisterre, so you can once again begin the countdown as you make your way to the “end of the earth.” </font></span></div></div><div><font face="Arial"><br></font></div><div><font face="Arial">I did not walk this stretch last year, but instead had taken a bus with my friends Bernie and Maddy on a day trip to Finisterre. We’d stood at the famous zero-kilometer way-marker at the end of the peninsula, and as I watched joyful pilgrims celebrating the end of their long walk, I totally felt like I had cheated by taking the bus to get there. In that moment, I vowed that one day I’d come back and walk every step of the way to the end of this peninsula. Little did I know then that I’d be back so soon!</font></div><div><font face="Arial"><br></font></div><div><font face="Arial">The three days from Santiago to Finisterre were wonderful. Fewer pilgrims, and the countryside got even more remote and beautiful as I neared the ocean. </font></div><div><font face="Arial"><img id="id_f4e4_7c7e_73dd_f7b2" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6xoI_NLiHjE8dxb6qu4e9f5cL1PwI7KTNk_LqvphAr9OqTt5jnN5FVxj60zYx9tj1ebCHNQiDXwcLNTEDE4BrrlDbKURAsyh482yWyI5_473sIkFMzVsXSXX9wktQ5TTjxjUMRI9_FFM/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br><img id="id_eff_b6df_1661_5671" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-9IYg_iQcWSc/WwAI--8_GUI/AAAAAAAABxY/bfdxuN9SzY0gYG644yBX-fhKtMbsvlsWACHMYCw/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br><img id="id_559f_31d_ec4f_9266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgokTdDC2fniymm6wqT7yHWLDpthjm09CT-HwqUJwZ_0vXRFrRnTmrpQh-VkWdUirLXA49d8g83INyLHWEupKS42JPa6a3bRaKaPPXvqBKnM5rvWUH3iyvwbJyRGylz6LaZY8PT8IhAnTM/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br><img id="id_e3d3_76c2_9b1d_383f" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDhuIsR8ULm8XcBz4ZScX7yC8wRc1okImv7vBIc6ULtt0gB99ICnX9a8T4GM7L0eOCtE3zKfZGPAKzL5nUeYmMmycozWy2sinK-d_hQF-b4M6aD-oGCnShghTL1h_NhKryLLAMdrJv7IE/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br><img id="id_c3d9_ed88_be12_cec8" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNQjCvLx15NfuTSpbeao_attjH33-pW-Ug1f9uioEeaT8jj2kjXtWUmlTejcoQxQuLrmAA955plCJmi56imCC4RkdJ_xa9fz1e1EwrzcZrw4nlP94YymDN55RN0VKpKyrbWlndr4-fP9o/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br><img id="id_ce84_e10_f57b_c50c" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-2EH_Pm2WlNY/WwAJB3yWbVI/AAAAAAAABxs/LIxVc0jsBp4c9fZFVxzWMbFYzBmzQEIaQCHMYCw/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br><img id="id_76ed_655c_fd1f_ada0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEis7d7OYXQ5moJdi2_VmbFiPWF3ieK4ITa1f9VzvPnqB48jEM2xVMrtABZfP4xp4ef2bL0Uxq75meVRy6ZPRRE8eT8JyadVrH8tTb5Du2OxYLj_0xZopT_qWeRJOedNEiIng7RDLg7N_6c/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br></font></div><div><font face="Arial"><u>Friday, May 11</u>: On my last day, I decided to push even further and walk 29 miles in one day, from Logoso all the way to the lighthouse at Finisterre. I had to be back in Santiago Sunday night to start my volunteer gig the following morning, and I wanted to be able to spend two nights in Finisterre. </font></div><div><font face="Arial"><br></font></div><div><font face="Arial">It rained pretty steadily all day, which felt like a very fitting ending to this very wet Camino. I didn’t see anyone I knew, but I met some new pilgrims on the way. Still, I chose to be alone as I walked, and reflected on the previous six weeks and all the wonderful experiences I’d had.</font></div><div><font face="Arial"><br></font></div><div><font face="Arial">I was overwhelmed with gratitude for all the good things that have come my way, not just on this Camino, but in my life. It literally took me a few hours to try and count all my blessings, and I felt like I barely scratched the surface. Truly, my cup runneth over. </font></div><div><font face="Arial"><img id="id_ee50_b6b1_cbc4_8553" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-ht1hfaIhI8I/WwAJBLfZatI/AAAAAAAABxk/pHyB3iNgfoMvFaqEj0DcaYwU-n3WPf8zgCHMYCw/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br></font><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font face="Arial"><br></font></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font face="Arial">And I got even more <i>verklempt</i> when I caught my first view of the Atlantic Ocean.</font></span></div><font face="Arial"><img id="id_d32_2574_c48b_4270" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmtg21DZD69sYBlBA0QcL4xfAbpBRYIfZFvfb71Yk5oH7kRnKGqvVbCW3uWST8UpO6KveVZJ27fxFCQjkRSCZ-BlAeP9Fwd1yTY6GfEDuAJ69a020X5R0pNTkNMdo4DbE4NJsuJGfCEH8/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br><img id="id_d138_93f8_a8fa_33a6" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvTedMcgIKM7SR_wO2oiOprQF1RgbqgymgiWc3wpC4Mi5E31QgZ-x1Mtk3QUIMzEDUOD9deHyerOa7H6yUM5RsAguhGZ4H07yOtUspcHOSPQ43EhpyVvBbw1_os1SUnaT97HXUArwGvHk/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br><img id="id_995c_1913_34e6_273b" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUTRSjOs-5e9TpQpmMG4W7hHubchn7C5BuLDq4d-G4atqbo-qZujHfPdsuPgYV0QnAIWxaQ9tssUOEqACe7d1rPrP7gQq3Z7f2r6KYypjY_jltEncufDDX2OkAPVKAFWIDScj1AfdVCQE/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br>I stopped for brunch (<i>huevos con beicon</i>) <span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">in the pretty coastal town of Cee, and bumped into some friendly pilgrims I’d met the day before. As I set out again, the rain was falling even harder, and somehow I lost the Camino. I wandered around Cee in the rain, getting more and more frustrated. No pilgrims, and none of the locals seemed to know where the Camino trail was. It’s easy to miss the way-markers in the cities, because there are so many visual distractions. I tried to use my phone to navigate, but it was pouring rain and the screen was wet so it wouldn’t respond. I wandered in circles for a while, getting more frustrated, and started to cry. Then I had to laugh, because getting frustrated to the point of tears was such a perfect bookend to my very first day on the Camino when I was feeling lost & alone, crying in the snow in the Pyrenees. In the 600 miles between that day and this one, I had not gotten lost even once.</span></font></div><div></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0);"><font face="Arial"><br></font></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font face="Arial">Finally I found some shelter and was able to use my phone. Easy-peasy — I just needed to basically follow the coastline for the remaining 15 km to Finisterre, Camino or no Camino. I followed the waterfront, and within 10 minutes I found another Camino marker, and calmed down.</font></span></div><div><font face="Arial"><img id="id_214a_28a2_8905_ab42" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFrV3lkaF0sW-TzqS_aYExGwb7KZ7JDKkOMGqRyfCMDkzYB4spYT7DUlguvFgK9ZS7_sdFV0W7h9nsLtKheEOd02eq1XN0FRf6THwDyDLVNX8EFi30T8JtVz6E9FdBcv-d_DSHj9EwHcQ/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br><img id="id_1121_dbea_1d5e_aea1" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxqfiqq32NkyKtxRBnn8b7YkY7UmcldQTf1FfSPvEIoaqFPR2J7m0UnAuHFXI-NEfOBNiQIJklVgwus6jRi20Jjo9mWTT6jy2Scn8ZQ5KLHjHRrToHg0wdtJ2IVcRySsocv64V9qyaqsA/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br></font></div><div><font face="Arial"><img id="id_b69a_2beb_41cc_dc98" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-SbJwEfaR3II/WwAJHSFJOhI/AAAAAAAAByQ/McvD5eU4_v0hKiQq0sUo2T_ondM2qL_HgCHMYCw/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br><img id="id_6704_4390_4a1f_c293" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPhU4RwlptNch_A1a3q7R6uRqTwBuV-P5k5jxdTtZQfhymUKapk5ojcHI_6PXrwfeOX6cE3yDNfcORyni4DSGaKDLthBBs9WwcdFZABsO2VoSyPxI7mvhVjoouG_XpdWx3zkscALzmfao/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br><img id="id_59fa_d763_8db3_5dd0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8x1PcZKkEDAnywHnwmW_CZtxJVWFDMGXGd5X49AjJ3ZiVWvIlnb5GkHjOZxG2JRTm_MryIcOTDUHF2aJ60-f6dL_ZNYcgbJS4S0LLQPaZlAGBI3xBfgZ1UORkJqCkh9xGkxtkW7STnu8/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br>The rain slowed down a bit, and I was hopeful I might see a bit of blue sky and maybe even some sun for what I knew would be spectacular views from the end of the peninsula. </font></div><div><font face="Arial"><br></font></div><div><font face="Arial">Have I mentioned that the Camino always provides? About an hour before I got to Finisterre, the clouds broke and the sun came out.</font></div><div><font face="Arial"><br><img id="id_12f0_8177_b4a9_dd49" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4dqWSJRep12WRSI_s80Bj4EjGG3aUjIHhc0TYIYbTFsv4_IqAMlAHpDBP71TpWfSl77WWZX_TntXQe2SSWrJR5lud2qWpKTE27Tn_MyuT3l0EWSSRvp9mpwaKziP1ZDy4zrovSMPX_CU/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br></font></div><div><font face="Arial">I walked through the charming little coastal village of Finisterre. I was too excited to stop and look around, I wanted to make my way the final few kilometers out to the end of the peninsula. And finally — there I was ... just one kilometer left to the end of the Camino...</font></div><div><font face="Arial"><img id="id_8b9a_4f0d_8fdd_70e8" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp_K4Zqafqdim8dXqierwneX_JEct9gc_oWyq4AmgdmdCT_ZhJIJOE3AG4dbP0X43kd-gEpCT0InKtf-SJvv2b6bZ_fvAKaM64ep-wRo-6Vh0M9ayCdPlg3WKOEvagTvOc3jXuybmShhg/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br>As I ascended the final hill, I set one more intention: I really wanted to see someone I knew so that we could take end-of-Camino pictures of each other, rather than dopey selfies.</font></div><div><font face="Arial"><br></font></div><div><font face="Arial">Within minutes, I met Lorentz from Australia coming down the hill. We had shared an impromptu picnic lunch on the side of the road the day before. Lorentz was making his way back into town, but immediately volunteered to walk back out to the lighthouse with me and take my pictures. I didn’t even have to ask. </font></div><div><font face="Arial"><br></font></div><div><font face="Arial"><img id="id_83cd_18e7_618f_8307" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKMzYw4LpPuCGvFBRppeNN1epFpSR1V6QrPGW8fj6jIu7G2aOBCxNxKY0eo06ronKL1hqOww6DA018GZIcsfGemu3dL2n_IdvP2bc-JbmBfYuLRX1pA0vBbjBafjM0gYqUF9k488ioFN8/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br><img id="id_a0e5_a2b6_c87c_3a4c" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF5jaD_CQ9ifJlFG2ZKjJ8kTyzHj50C6Ul0DNHftCY_rprWfTqx-lXtOgfcU7H5-osqj7xLgH1xJzkS3qNmRsSJQCQ0fub269eEgU1Otdg8whjn0VQlukcRYmWGbAxNNO6RqwyakkJ3YU/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br>My amazing feet carried me 600 miles in 42 days, and they only complained a little. They rock!<br><img id="id_9261_753f_b527_4c99" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-di-ICIMYyyg/WwAJJpnCKbI/AAAAAAAAByk/8x65I7XFa9s4AzFLYlVnNRVq6Mih5FqpgCHMYCw/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br><img id="id_8fc_790c_9f1d_2492" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhTIcB2nM2AID5_VkF9UszwddbgDKRanNlAwf9-1uOHnq3xbaIPBcBFaEeLxdFKcsNoSkMdv1nJjb0GAknJisO4FY_eTsr8ubLMOn_6RoMTVH5JgRctQ1UEBlfmw1Ho8s06eZ__nd-0UY/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br>The next day I walked to the beach and put my fabulous feet into the Atlantic Ocean. </font></div><font face="Arial"><img id="id_7a24_3c66_f2f3_2366" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNp9AwUNsfuaMZqisvMURl63OFW5GKrfd1arVQv9zt4zyxJfwQqUWF6NrwOHjxKi8Q6GB-JBJ_OFmd1xVeQy08VQM_aCbqvP0_xeoMYq5klZ0ExhlMgB-zQFc9AxyEunfqwkZB8ZZIqxw/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br><img id="id_3b_c7fb_69ff_6c0d" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-Ux3JJsctJFo/WwAJLZZic1I/AAAAAAAABy4/uZM-8BiDTF8FzFk34vlVAWd56cFoxwGIACHMYCw/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br><img id="id_d162_4bdc_f6e3_27e0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuCtvAgGQiloYnorTMxRyBVPXt8GNdkA3buIhE1ye8RAWkC3VCxO-HPT-rjxVF6VytQBjveQJODArHu8IgHNeIbe3Bw47qnQbDpRgs1z7pe7sneSezWsDmVJ92n4toRB-fAIQhd-QvpRM/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br>That evening, I met up with some other pilgrim pals and we had yet another celebratory dinner. The Camino provided another gift: a rainbow!</font><div><font face="Arial"><img id="id_1fbd_98eb_4698_e13a" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheHX3DP405qsUfrXAeoEoeRqxNoP72g84S0q-MUNxfSL8P1EIY6tl00INNEcCNv5RnF_LYw64Ppq3Wah58B25vtOpw0XYeZFYybz4YCeG10tmmfZaNdSA4tIHMCVWTu1tSaoeE-A_z4b8/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br></font><div><font face="Arial">The next day I strolled around Finisterre, did my laundry, had a lovely long phone call with Ben in China, and started to ponder a post-Camino existence. It is very unsettling, after six weeks of knowing exactly what you’re supposed to do every day (that is, just get up and walk), to suddenly have to make more detailed plans. </font></div><div><font face="Arial"><br></font></div><div><font face="Arial">Sunday, May 13 was Mother’s Day. I’d planned to take the mid-day bus back to Santiago, but at the last minute changed my mind and decided to take the later bus so I could walk out to the lighthouse one last time. I was feeling pretty weird about not having any more Camino left to walk, so I figured the 5-mile round trip would be a nice way to spend the day and say goodbye to the Camino.</font></div><div><font face="Arial"><br></font></div><div><font face="Arial">As I made my way up the hill one last time, I paused to look at the bay, and for some reason glanced behind me. 30 yards down the hill, I saw my friend Siggi from Germany making his way up the hill. (Siggi is one of those 50-something frustrated creatives I mentioned earlier.) We had spent many days walking (and singing) in the snow and the rain along Camino at various times, but the Camino currents had carried us apart several days earlier, around the time I hurt my knee. And now here he was! We hugged like long-lost friends, and I accompanied him to the 0 km marker and took his pictures. It was such a lovely surprise to see a good friend at this symbolic last moment. </font></div><div><font face="Arial"><img id="id_7aab_58c0_f507_427d" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEdJ33gGQjiLfJy3XmNQSCp2PL1zjtN-ldl4x1kuQT7-eI-WW7Sab37DwaKIvUX1QDEc48UvPFQqRqRe5fKPE0S8xAEHIOUxRz0X2qxF5yrqSAUWoXyhryMzCDvCNaZCpEA3itW5nFj8A/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br>Siggi insisted on buying me a celebration lunch at the lighthouse restaurant. It was one of the best meals of the entire Camino — scallops, razor clams, and delicious fresh hot bread. Siggi even convinced me to share some celebratory champagne, which I have not drunk in many years. (I got a little tipsy.)</font></div></div><div><font face="Arial"><img id="id_d2ed_1fb0_3f92_a845" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrN2w_r9Za32fO9AOAUG0xpXuBmDcY8BgtCkGPj-XHMAcC3d1xkianldYN0M7qQDV6v563WzNUekXxxa0HPe__6Yf-0SsTTR4CSQuqRBtMn5wm49RGehS3LOfSyyebFjgLZK880m-lh4I/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br><img id="id_a6ad_12c_ab7c_c8e6" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrIbzNjZ0biFRkrw0Bd-x90VFulOJPVxl47hrDEp2p4Q2m5I6UObWD2hW-MRG5PioYEF5ZzhkpgOmZ0tzbPAG_cJZrLSwlcgMyDgfiutZy6unlRJpJJ2fONnwVwBHQg-zuuSsYf8QL_ZI/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br>We made it back down the hill in time for me to catch my bus. I didn’t know if I would see Siggi again, but as fate would have it, we bumped into each other again a few days later in Santiago, the night before he returned home.</font></div><div><font face="Arial"><br></font></div><div><font face="Arial">And so my Camino ended, and another adventure, being a Pilgrim Office volunteer, began the next day. I’ll fill you in on that in another post. </font></div><div><font face="Arial"><br></font></div><div><font face="Arial">If you’ve made it this far, congratulations, and thank you for reading. I feel like I’ve only skimmed the surface of all the experiences I’ve had, but I hope this gives you a flavor of the incredible journey that the Camino can be.</font></div><div><font face="Arial"><img id="id_5957_18d4_485c_f0bf" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfR2BxtxcVZzP9Zqwlno0kZ6rxdyIVZkq7es3VNX-vLWM-Gp2hih1mZ-KMUoT3oqXqRgLDJ5hGuJXHwYTDoX1zAaNfDhImu_gosBAi8toMsANeFRgynOzIPjFmtO2xIHaoMbgp3Dzt_uc/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br><br></font></div><div><br></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-269148434431098022.post-11241193407001814622018-05-03T14:34:00.001-07:002018-05-07T01:41:42.550-07:00El Camino Magnifico... y muy frioI’ve never much enjoyed small talk. I like to have deep <div>conversations about the countless mysteries of life on this confusing, marvelous planet we call home. Nothing makes my eyes glaze over more quickly than surface chitchat about things like sports, or the weather. </div><div><br></div><div>So it pains me somewhat to write a blog post about the weather... but it is, quite literally, headline news here in Spain this week... and as someone who has spent all day every day outdoors for the past month, I have a new and profound respect for weather forecasts. </div><div><br></div><div>This is the view I woke up to outside the hostel window near O Cebreiro, northwestern Spain, (elev. 4200’) on April 30, 2018: 30 degrees F and SNOW!</div><div><img id="id_92c1_438c_5fbf_58a7" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRv5UjP5gSYx7kagsj5KMHm64kHbvmHyTDFoOoISyrirNElyZBJnEajkovAcEJngY2EXXSdzwRMRKZyIhoQgW7cQsg7_TIKAHdkhUhX3OXDQUKj1-uBj5Ry4dVEFlBW_goMFOREFH1lb0/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><img id="id_eed_c426_d29b_b7a" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif2zvcdtLLGG2Ea4boSGMvSgrZcqXhaUpt4QC-ZuU1X8gTP1W61N_DHiACYYVO9lOeQ84Ct4dKAikGU69zHxtkHKplMEmvYfHvDIbdP-AdlAWnzao0yTs8qlp0shD6t2LSx_pLFUuxxGM/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"></div><div>This late spring snowstorm is so unusual that there was a Spanish news crew filming pilgrims on the Camino trudging through the snow. </div><div><br></div><div>On my last Camino in April 2017, I enjoyed (and took fully for granted, as most California natives would) what’s considered normal springtime weather in Spain — moderate temps and bright sunshine on all but a few partly cloudy/rainy days. In fact, getting overheated was my biggest challenge last year, and I spent the majority of the Camino drenched in sweat even while wearing my lightest hiking pants and shirt. (I may have mentioned that hot weather kind of affects me like kryptonite.) </div><div><br></div><div>This year, after the first 2.5 weeks of mostly rainy & cold weather (and way too much Camino mud), the clouds departed and we had a week or so of bright, if still unusually chilly, weather. I happily stuffed my new waterproof raincoat (the one I’d had to buy here after my rain poncho failed me in Week 1) way down into bottom of my backpack, feeling pretty certain I wouldn’t need it again on this trip. Finally, spring had sprung in Spain!</div><div><br></div><div><i>Mama Natura </i>clearly had other ideas. As the Camino route slowly left the <i>meseta,</i> and meandered into the foothills of the beautiful Cantabrian Mountains, the weather forecast again called for several days of rain the last week of April. </div><div><br></div><div>The red arrow below shows where I am now— just past Triacastela. In 34 days on the Camino, I have walked about 675km/420mi. </div><div><img id="id_5821_8d00_2d0b_9d61" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9YLT0k-FhNQ68Q9x_tEwfumu9r8GPMGOsdfP2JpbODXrxRiN_Xy5EujnUzqINJdjISAbvm_NpihF8aBjcjXr0Ui5qgw_wJWh9BfYuh_cLWO6H8NHVboO_TIbBMaGENujyxMrVKtuPFb4/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"></div><div><span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0);"><br></span>The past two weeks on the Camino have been truly spectacular. The views in the mountains are amazing. I have been walking slightly longer days & been busy getting to know various pilgrim pals, so it has been easy to neglect this blog. Rather than try to catch you up, I’ll just let a few pictures from the past two weeks or so speak for themselves. </div><div><br></div><div><span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0);">The spectacular Bishop’s Palace in Astorga, built 100 years ago, designed by the brilliant master of modern neo-Gothic architecture, Antonio Gaudi:</span></div><div><img id="id_b0ae_6cea_23d0_84f9" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIYbYEz5QYKyzq0DgehQxbojFizDlYEp21p9JUFExL-Yr8WFlizyN4-UZP6_eIt_oo7rl1up5OjFhBt5ksvsir6yivrdbbLlGfzmq395JW1anK0qYwo81ia2AnbrJfHfe9st1mdgfie6c/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br><img id="id_cf23_95ec_31d7_bad3" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEht30F2QMoDkJhtPKqLrUgWqzddW8lQ4K9yPv2-XeeKXGiMWw5mLnRTXLVwrp_D0WstDXwwnEdl5bm28hkv3ulhQx02gBgxrdz2OWS9rjGMyy60a95sgamFOouPhJ1qAcvwqXdyUxYo18E/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br><img id="id_f41_4d79_43d1_9635" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtYI-cH7nAW7VrWR_3P6V1On5kSJrgSJMZUfTXA0djhtDd1EiviQQwm0A5qWGbF9YNo3DjTlgB1O0jn3Hjp8DKFJi6QJWlpB-mQ2FMIwGSaNrvhVbn3_RRsJDmOnLLWlo7ONhkXlAeqX8/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br><img id="id_aa8_1cd2_6843_b4d3" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMx2UbLBJqWFEESnvLHAKNKqXoack7PuYY2vlombRDojmKQXQGc-X4cDU3nS9Km1PZirqyQepNV04HT3t0cDJfDqTPhDBzX9vLh5K-RNe6-2HdJLQ4Sq9y47Sh8QG83s58v_GXlA5jQ6Y/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br><br><img id="id_cc4b_48e0_617a_81d6" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi04VCbESHcr6MMfaG4YzkaIZx67aVTidkvIF6rl3ZWd5cdLWeyJiDjS-qkDr4_h14UUgtMuP-pbdPyuqlZFo9Q6qspLNcmyMD84yg72Ndw-Ctaj4cvoB6kWoo9fAwayFJZrEQdK_aYB-g/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br><img id="id_da38_4859_a1d2_1a9" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-0Lc9O6cBUj8/WuuAV_5PMgI/AAAAAAAABps/Ww9gqyi17xo2_tm7WvFAecIrk5tfEUNtACHMYCw/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br><img id="id_afb6_b486_3404_1f3d" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiX-cS2iLaB5rWzjXUOvvZ9A1Zyz97d0Ph_fHHP6jrOyaE_Xo234g_ZShvOGwZDstDNpve_RW88yWQ6XBKDRo-q9NkSCf7Fzqmyl0wc8MsmGG0ATUN2VLk4gEw77JYWsg6aoGTDKy1_ec/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br>Heading into the Cantabrian Mountains of northwestern Spain:<br><img id="id_2aaa_6dba_3b06_445b" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDpbITj_1weyJ67L8qfchhP3FtZoDH8F1361S1Yk_yu1b0_aqLhKhmmh4giYnK-uGwCwSx6Jobb5wRSM73EUtbHVGwUpZcyCuDwlrrKOazdc-91KY4pVPY7pvdc15-uoFA7YjxbzWyN_k/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br>Giant stork nests are everywhere in Spain!<br><img id="id_96a8_de92_8b19_2341" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_s1zNIxfN5Uxa4xu5Qeo7_94YayuIdPKtkY8OjiLWfQn0FGAQbBtp7sVd51XqolYXGVQqaGCFqOo4Xz1DkL-QFQ8mamCOcpF0Q2aiMnSths_5aZXgTrh74nodsIHaNNnM1-dJEg00H2k/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br><img id="id_dd0d_d207_5ad2_402b" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHQi-cBnAoSAhDQDn6WsXfimLKROTAZC9_hTh-w83NUxvf5m3zYX9gB3ryXXVgZamZbS2rEbjOABGidk-kBEXpUNYvdggZENrrR10oTlyu6GZlszbJuDD2LpVgAy6cfwzdKyns0NvTY1Y/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br><img id="id_dad4_5814_9516_64cc" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-iJ05UTRD1ss/WuuAXgxNu0I/AAAAAAAABp8/89UKQNNkFkcqjf6e3Ksc0if3auj-T0IHwCHMYCw/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br><img id="id_4d52_72f3_4391_ae84" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-87i-37ymtkg/WuuAXZ2tZ7I/AAAAAAAABp4/alD4sjEGrqIyf8LU7eiNNz2ds_njH7uFACHMYCw/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br><img id="id_1272_2bf1_64ca_15f6" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-NhelbMEy4io/WuuAX2cc3qI/AAAAAAAABqA/Nband1KsSzsaFIz-HGVoADlgSvjk01J8ACHMYCw/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br><img id="id_20e9_2338_6fb0_23e5" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZIT4dwbsJ7AJb-W5N5hnSGiWCJ13icRWKCZ-Lf9JB5gClC_tbYTPg0lEQvngswfjpqUooPDF9dEuDI_VfATS_zOZ1ZcE4wY8W_HluGT99BEXT-BaFvxZfJHv-mB3e0obq8f29ZELY8is/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br></div><div>At a random <i>donativo</i> rest stop in the middle of nowhere...<br><img id="id_91c6_b515_f277_b319" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgESsDx7OsQ9wsc4bMBukD1vzMwFpTZ28z6Rubl9hyphenhyphende1A7xfWnTlu0SaSrpVWylt9Il6ILro20LjUWn4WTrmbM6lJteJ5qrt7MNbroPJnbrslabm-g62tr6qBRTNZ42b4ykAxG_7eqVfM/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br><img id="id_96b6_76ea_3b66_75c1" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguJzqXFBKKpVg-tBWBnCy6ZJUXey9hoEEra_lQE3rzNagJqPGwa-e2b_Xywyw66_9dBkOvPe-CnheQYCzjKKsWN2KZbhj_84TPfl3Ge1FN6_unpRqTLTYxrqTAKBg1R_lU-NI2ZlpvmAI/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br><img id="id_b3b0_8c01_5389_b48c" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcCZVAjHB2wDEBWiTHUxQp19RAmWSlxaTArD0vcTjbfziWx3LGMyDi4meaA19spFpCUakpt1sjScrVxzVLv_qBv38LpGZFQEfqgG-80-xhbSwL3szD022YmCoTdzu57SF-Fz0148w1oic/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br><img id="id_1051_f18b_a039_cd61" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-QY91JSQkqZo/WuuAdJC5b8I/AAAAAAAABq0/rtg0DUUDZp4pr5jjU9Ps49p-T5N_PxzGQCHMYCw/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br></div><div><img id="id_a982_2af6_f43d_1adc" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilZzWmIETWtXciTykBdkO9HuaGijCsK4xAzFPpi7ik3mh_Sbr6Cd73nbK2Qsy92m4CROGukl48340KXDH0VjX3-LYO-pj5SRu1aVARxbkRmg0s-XAwo5IIkO_0zPKJ1H_z1GdYB5-clcQ/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br></div><div><img id="id_473f_db23_b3ed_7ad9" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCRK8boqpn5KVCN76xTlEb288yF1Hu_3XANhykHxUd2VzlDK5PJR1HvoKdOtnqMleSrROYPZPTfGFtEYu-gFFHurqKDLDvqzd0bmFoX81Jakinr8SHQRmAR7g2PfrjaHjz6DKOPrArdTU/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br><img id="id_3093_b454_7a2_3164" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-xnf2z2XITWU/WuuAbF8_WhI/AAAAAAAABqg/U9fp0CLkRUE74zj445arxw7LJ72QZfGxwCHMYCw/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br><span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0);">Sometimes we have to share the Camino with local cows. </span><br><img id="id_5877_10a2_6a7b_2ac2" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLPL6QvwjVgMN2ki0qIZgA273afqHLmlGBX4iaBb-k0uw_ZZpYNyurgkTcZFAgJQG1-sTN2c8PG247gykN_dKE6c6syPxdhqF7urqDfseCO859ne39ZKZQ3p1W_2hqZOmiiHdxcj8fLzs/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br></div><div><img id="id_4876_e17c_46e6_6f42" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRUwgPEIcpPz-KgEjrE3iCv5Nq5sz6Nu1uCbU9gTPHckqCQf4YgChLSOK3zbjOmDOulfqWYUfJu5us9rhyFdoi7MZJ_dtpdFi4fxW0SlCSWEJNDvPv5vg1kX5vkN4AoKtfIv72vUtZPlk/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br>I actually loved the snow this time around. It was cold enough that I didn’t get all sweaty from trudging uphill, and the snow was cold and dry rather than wet like rain. It was never so heavy that it obscured the trail like it did my first day, so I really enjoyed it. <br><img id="id_6a48_995_fb13_bbb7" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-I-zSaM8HrSE/WuuAdCE5S7I/AAAAAAAABqw/_GekH9HPHy0GFNGWIeCl28h0ObH30oU2QCHMYCw/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br><img id="id_3977_8a7a_8c24_b419" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXO1LAO-8_VtDVS-DBdSs-AKiXs1sxin8321pFLi0LQ2RakFZoyWPrPCygaZDq6xhKaai-bxd9ZV_kLm2FH_EpIJFU_KnuCXbB8VNWqn320nLmTTJubAVJU2mKzW91XbcsXZ7MFcEubZk/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br><img id="id_8537_f4b5_1177_b081" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiEe1kxuCMVc6pgz0wWkyhH2GYNRRu_J5ObnhZ_SROeavLX0FTjWvxmTYLkAGAei0gP9GTwpH8owyfrrz2d94EFhe1QDITihf9Jfs6CK7hdPsKJdA_m0TnSR-L-JFYrVMO9xZdjszlSVI/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br><img id="id_f7cd_6062_618a_a18e" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW5vvM5JAhCRNH7MCt5oG-P6aGmWK77wSOBSDf8WJUBetSBOhFx9nPSwTViBpWhN7vtZaHfsGtFYOP54J3qjA-OHmyRWgmqJ6Onna2xM9XBP1ww7CvZhruOGTLkaEDq6ZB76i3uU8P4yE/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 432px; height: auto;"><br><br><img id="id_9905_a161_9077_f251" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglyxjCWzRPKpLrlhTpP-Z8MBc4PGYsAckY89lOjkEwQChK-9XbIFgl540ZBY88UFZDJJBY9Q_2huOQWZ1_acLHXgButumo2nBxF1pZnD_wgbIOXmhbmRxLpDwpk_dRIzgBOrY3d3z20_Q/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br>It continues to be a wonderful (if chilly) journey. </div><div><img id="id_a80d_6d35_9adc_a0a9" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXfOW4fwWlWi1bX2ZMgsktaZ3CY7RxWBsTdcwkal3R5Gn0BEvBwKyCR6qtGVj_ioKv8E1G9WabuVLXOYzCaqwxPZ-gnWMkB3cTZvXYGv9JtnU8UGifCUwX4WzEsa5lSXhY4cnhbOa3qCM/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br><br></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><br></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-269148434431098022.post-36436910707329337902018-04-22T08:23:00.001-07:002018-04-23T01:23:36.106-07:00Past the Halfway Mark <font face="Helvetica" size="4">Arrived Sunday 4/22 in the beautiful city of Leon, which means I have walked about </font><font face="Helvetica" size="4">295 miles in 23 days. Still feeling “Camino strong” & have no injuries or blisters. I am now just past the halfway mark on this Camino. (sign is in km)</font><div><font size="4"><img id="id_3f70_9d40_5cc7_6607" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLyNylOODkC5U8loeNI1o4Yq9OZMh-xRz-e8RW5yYS2KL7UXkdaeop7eJbywsnI_PnBC4l0vLVwxmQcUT6QomVvOZw0Xx-acGmyYHr7ShQjO6qbii7kzfoq0KvUYzK_xVDL_wXw_Oda6c/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br></font><div><span style="font-family: Helvetica;"><font size="4">Entering Leon, as seen from the Camino: </font></span></div><div><div><font size="4"><img id="id_a19c_466c_62e2_2092" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBXY-uXBAKDZZOWmf_dFIY54mdR_CYbSt-OYdQkJNv15FzxlbIpXrdJC8JJIcOcetHZX2-pJp6dU1OWfjVA1f2VNhPObhODIK9WWtTwHcaSaQEfwd5XZKnjBo32RRlNAOr1c9M6PUZktY/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><span style="font-family: Helvetica;">Leon is famous for (surprise) yet another stunning, massive, exquisitely and intricately constructed 13th century Gothic cathedral. Fortunately I took pictures of the Cathedral last year (see below), because it’s obscured by scaffolding this year. </span></font></div><font size="4"><br><img id="id_2054_89d0_a897_ddcd" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf489giK6prwA3_UWGLcKML4v0TXfXS5JKidAG6aDtEuvZRInxxkVZWz2-9JZMiTy1dXxdUlceBM-IB8DME7ubwRT1QAe16M3FNG8KrbrvC05S9hGQjsujE5c8QkBphhiA1i0KC5KSdT4/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br><img id="id_5fdb_8748_dffc_4a4c" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcCiC0tiit7_TpX_8aS6JRKuClDH2SgUkwqWAhwn-McCuMOLyz-Z6kiJ43IacSAPNtFo7LvW7Qb7yStjw6xJZn2B3dn6hfBHxbcAfvgETd36uuUcPQimmeZlDR7UMKzKugzDeqtrshGyU/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br></font><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: large;">This massive cathedral features close to 20,000 square feet of stained glass windows. (Once again, props to those amazing medieval craftsmen!) </span><font size="4"><br></font><div><font size="4"><img id="id_fb0f_e9ab_2f89_3590" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3Pjt-vsj_98HtwU-zI7n0JY6kQb7qD2P6Pn9KgHUH0pqRbCzbhX1wZPrRZ-dTGtyAi_VTb2gfjt_ax-fIfbO0CSyixZEWWaTcRpT4ZVXRZTafS0Nfn05Oc1iMKvWLDdf8H6KZ3WAvUp4/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><img id="id_b91a_416b_4b75_fba5" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP3_t4dwC4Z_ecJsVbYqfgvY8RooEhepi8afP1R1egwaYgtEFJbP8zEib7jD4FNDprg4khlcMFZ4CSj_V8xfKTqiejU8MDeWa6K4tWXFAjNGEO-Vs8uthVzyzWQnCE7e05_zA7AM9qPzs/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><img id="id_3215_8b1c_a33c_732c" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir39gSHV4xMkUDutUrhnm5FGMMtTLUnl6VQyK_dBBZxT6n8P3HNwcsHQeguDoi__NGXn425pFne7hSdLk_kSqyZ6eulLIKLgTtubrWy1UzoRjF_wR6jZNJsse3STvxv7VJd3o-T7nES9k/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br><img id="id_6a47_342b_868d_9747" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjji5yafdl0UauVeQ1GONvBWwwk4IYLwxENKE92pj80dralGPxVM_ZACEliLl6-VO4WPPjX5GkQ8LEX61UY2gZLrGdlIxvompAdQSBMZD43VoEfrIdw-izZBzq6poQXvN1XuylWfoXkW1U/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"></font><span style="font-size: large; font-family: Helvetica;"> Leon was founded as a Roman military base in the first century C.E. The cathedral was built on the site of ancient Roman baths (It never fails to amaze me how <i>old</i> things are here in Europe, and how visible its history . . . in California, “old” means “built before 1900.”) In the early middle ages, Leon was the richest and most powerful city in Christian Spain, before it was decimated by the Black Death (plague) starting in 1350. Afterwards, it drifted into obscurity until the arrival of the railroads in the mid-19th century. Today Leon is a busy industrial center with a population of about 130,000. </span><i style="font-family: Helvetica;">(fun facts courtesy of my Camino guidebook)</i></div></div><div><font face="Helvetica" size="4"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica" size="4">What I love about these mid-size Spanish cities is that they have retained their original medieval city centers, and in some you can even see remnants of the original, ancient city walls. For the most part, the old parts of town are car-free zones, because the ancient winding streets are too narrow for cars. I love the idea that the highly irregular, spider-webby street layout in these ancient cities has remained largely unchanged for hundreds, if not perhaps thousands, of years. </font></div><div><font size="4"><br><img id="id_4511_6570_1133_f2bd" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlP1kW7u-y6vZ_1TPuimxvu2kbofLAeF1DQ45w-4ne1kp8k3SKdj_rb7Lpp56aczc2x3jcqt9CsXS3aBXp3wrMaxbD-Ocncfsk0TCfCTR_zPJ216HCEsIfuwx7R59rPVybacWxk8OaaS4/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br><img id="id_b2aa_1418_ffb_3667" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXdFs3Czf4hNS6faGHB253DwG2-ZDhWKjTcbloyGxeja83aSnEKgA-124d45Z8lZT_HoUKso27OhvePhPZoTq80EgONnovaEmbfuVYDO0YIzHSTJOgmi4dsD21qdkp5D2WNZakIWSo1pU/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br><font face="Helvetica">In my last post, I was struggling with rain, cold, and Camino mud. I’m happy to report the weather finally warmed up last week — bringing more typical moderate spring temps & sunshine, and drying out the Camino trail. I do miss the cooler temps, but not the mud!</font></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica" size="4"><br></font></div><div><font size="4"><font face="Helvetica">This central section of the Camino is known as the <i>meseta </i>(plateau). The <i>meseta</i></font><span style="font-family: Helvetica;"> is very flat, has few shade trees, and much of the Camino here follows arrow-straight roads that were originally laid out by the Romans over 2,000 years ago. Compared to the first and final sections of the Camino, which wind through beautiful mountains, rolling hills, and picturesque farmland, the flat, dry, and sometimes industrial <i>meseta</i> is pretty boring. There are fewer towns here, and a lot of the Camino goes right alongside the highway. Some</span><span style="font-family: Helvetica;"> <i>peregrinos</i> choose to skip the <i>meseta</i> because it is notoriously dull, and instead will take a bus or taxi to Leon. </span></font></div><div><font size="4"><span style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br></span></font></div><div><font size="4"><span style="font-family: Helvetica;">However, some say the <i>meseta</i> can be the most powerful part of the Camino experience, as the lack of visual distractions encourages deeper introspection. Walking is walking, regardless of scenery, and most <i>peregrinos</i> are here to walk the whole Camino. Also, I think the boring parts make you appreciate the lovelier parts that much more. I recall last year at one of the hostels, just before the <i>meseta</i>, as we were all preparing to leave in the morning, the very stern German <i>hospitalera</i> loudly instructed: “Don’t skip the <i>meseta</i>! Very powerful what it can churn up. And pay attention to your dreams!”</span></font></div><div><font size="4"><span style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br></span></font></div><div><font size="4"><span style="font-family: Helvetica;">(It is pretty interesting to observe what floats through your brain, and what sinks, after you have been removed from your familiar daily routine and environment for weeks on end.) </span></font></div><div><span style="font-family: Helvetica;"><font size="4"><br></font></span></div><div><font size="4"><span style="font-family: Helvetica;">Here is an altitude map, in meters, of the entire Camino Frances. The <i>mes</i></span><span style="font-family: Helvetica;"><i>eta</i> is that flattish middle section:</span></font></div><div><font size="4"><img id="id_53a5_4fd7_e8ad_fd50" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRxF2UHipK3ONbvdBT709Pf3Gln70uzfM7LNc6Ru7xTexHoBZvciJ4bwjyHHzOUF-85VdCay8_zrvlf1OLLxDCz8zeuwW9NdyxpTIi6prPwpW6M7r0IF2mKDw6iJ_pgOZkJ5IEMwPUSvQ/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br><span style="font-family: Helvetica;">Just before the <i>meseta</i>:</span></font></div><div><font size="4"><img id="id_fe27_ccf1_e0ca_c054" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3-P7XvrJD-2BWmQqC0-Z-ZUtq6juXC_KD076lQkgFs09IOVBLGzQYnFKho-RPcSaqvFjt5TWdauz94GfCfyXPibFBvRqLo7MVovYEPEDt6RDvPiq3zaUzCnF8JhBYGxa6s6CJ0PmVNy8/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><span style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br></span></font></div><div><span style="font-family: Helvetica;"><font size="4">It is interesting to travel this same route again. Some parts I remember very distinctly — I can recall exactly which bench I took a snack or rest break on, where I busted out the phone to take a picture, and each cafe where I stopped for an iced tea and/or <i>pincho</i> (slice of Spanish omelette) when I was here last year. Other parts, even entire villages, are completely unfamiliar, as if I’ve never seen them before — which is impossible, as I didn’t skip any sections. I finally figured out that the parts I don’t recall are sections where I was deeply engrossed in conversation with another pilgrim (I can get very tunnel-visiony sometimes)!</font></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Helvetica;"><font size="4"><br></font></span></div><div><font face="Helvetica" size="4">I’ve met dozens of pilgrims and heard so many poignant stories. As I’ve mentioned, part of the magic of the Camino is how readily total strangers will open their hearts to one another. </font></div><div><font face="Helvetica" size="4"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica" size="4">At a communal dinner the other night I met Leo, a lawyer from Manitoba, Canada, age 73, who is walking the Camino to carry his wife’s ashes to the Atlantic. Last year he and his wife began the Camino together in St. Jean Pied-de-Port. A few days in, she had severe pain and had to seek medical help in Pamplona. Turned out she had stomach cancer, so they had to abort their Camino, and she passed away four months later. She made Leo promise he would finish the Camino after she was gone. </font></div><div><font face="Helvetica" size="4"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica" size="4">I’ve met many women who (like me) have children grown and gone, and who have come to the Camino to reflect on what to do with their lives & energy now that the hands-on part of the mothering journey is over.</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica" size="4"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica" size="4">I’ve met many people who (like me) are between job situations, who have come to the Camino to seek clarity and perhaps some clues about which direction to go next. </font></div><div><font face="Helvetica" size="4"><br></font></div><div><font size="4"><font face="Helvetica">I’ve met many people who (like me) </font><span style="font-family: Helvetica;">are looking to deepen their connection to Spirit, in whatever form it might take, and who are willing to talk honestly and for hours about their spiritual journeys. </span></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica" size="4"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica" size="4">I’ve met many people who (like me) do not hesitate to share whatever food, water, equipment, songs, or moral support they have with a fellow pilgrim in need. The spirit of generosity on the Camino is truly remarkable, and unlike any other place I’ve ever visited. </font></div><div><font face="Helvetica" size="4"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica" size="4">It is such a joy to witness the kindness of locals right alongside the Camino. One day I encountered two girls who were giving away paper Camino arrows they had drawn, with small magnets glued on the back.</font></div><div><font size="4"><img id="id_93f9_f634_619f_533a" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-BkCnVqcHsoA/Wtyo1P2eIcI/AAAAAAAABnQ/9XIwpM9rgcUZCzDPUfHb-bktgZtP3RH1wCHMYCw/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br><font face="Helvetica">Another day, an anonymous Camino angel left a crate of bottled water with a <i>donativo</i> (honor system) tray, right next to the trail.</font></font></div><div><font size="4"><img id="id_9f6d_4fb7_a4a9_d081" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRk4xLsUhlZWoVEVdn12nzqeSguo2Lno_pVz325Uwq6OcerIklJVITlaYAMF6X_LymTmkXPtaIHxnf4C3svi0-QVRq5hKyfQZm9bNxnmNNd-BDE7RvRzNhpff01dUGwxP0ieVXDQlUMAw/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><font face="Helvetica">One of the highlights of this Camino was a stay at a hostel in Carrión de Los Condes </font><span style="font-family: Helvetica;">run by the Catholic nuns of the Order of St. Augustine. The four nuns, like we pilgrims, came from all different parts of the globe, and arranged a welcoming ceremony for the 30 or so pilgrims who were staying in the hostel that night. The German nun translated (to English) for the other three nuns. First they asked us to share briefly where we were from, and why we were doing the Camino. Reasons ranged from a desire for challenge and exercise, to the more esoteric or spiritual. For those who spoke no English, you could totally feel their emotion and get the gist of why they were here — it was very moving, and a testament to the fact that language is no barrier when we speak from the heart. </span></font></div><div><span style="font-family: Helvetica;"><font size="4"><br></font></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Helvetica;"><font size="4">Then the nuns passed around lyric sheets and serenaded us with singing and guitar. I didn’t recognize anything except “When The Saints Go Marching In,” but I was very touched by their final song, sung in Spanish but translated on the lyric sheet:</font></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Helvetica;"><font size="4"><br></font></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Helvetica;"><i><font size="4">Nadie fue ayer, ni va hoy, ni ira manana </font></i></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Helvetica;"><i><font size="4">Hacia Dios en este mismo camino que yo voy</font></i></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Helvetica;"><i><font size="4">Para cada hombre guarda un rayo nuevo el luz del sol...</font></i></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Helvetica;"><i><font size="4">Y un camino especial a Dios.</font></i></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Helvetica;"><font size="4"><br></font></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Helvetica;"><font size="4">(No one went yesterday, nor goes today, nor will go tomorrow </font></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Helvetica;"><font size="4">Towards God in this same way that I go</font></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Helvetica;"><font size="4">For every man the sun has a new ray of light... </font></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Helvetica;"><font size="4">And a unique way to God.)</font></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large; font-family: Helvetica;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large; font-family: Helvetica;">Afterwards, one of the nuns went around the room, touching our heads as she blessed each of us individually. A second nun handed each of us a small paper star which had been colored with crayons. The German nun explained that each star had been made by the nuns for us, with a special intention and prayer for a safe Camino, and to remind us to keep the light of God and the spirit of the Camino in our hearts. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: Helvetica;"><font size="4"><br></font></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Helvetica;"><font size="4">You don’t have to be Catholic, or even Christian, to appreciate the unconditional love behind this all-embracing gesture on the part of these lovely and kind nuns. The faithful and the indifferent were welcomed and blessed with the same warmth and love. I was very deeply touched. </font></span></div><div><font size="4"><img id="id_cb84_4527_5b9c_2fab" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-aecrcJrDZS0/Wtyo139m7eI/AAAAAAAABnY/-t_QzS8Odl8j4_X5cV69MM0f7CMWcy5sgCHMYCw/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><img id="id_6b6c_b8f8_8a30_43c8" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhENhyphenhyphenI2cAdAYg730vZaei1UI7VG7YmgoZN0MAR6M7hlJ3wTEFgJaktuif5HRxpPFQa42spPpNc21htAszGaxrO13sAhlknGVYErZ_Hq5qtSvMqmTF_kNhLFBYl5betUiYkLUZiTWMR_zI/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br><span style="font-family: Helvetica;">And the journey continues. </span></font></div><div><font size="4"><img id="id_ea58_cc13_236c_df90" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizqbnzb_IFZTjrAHSYvUnJlOTpLiNxPS8GTj-RS4iFHLH06WC-5J7YNtoIaNySA9PE4WQk5nMFq039nUaio25H40hf1hTnujpNx-GFPV5pQoWr3wgLkNZOTyronMhiBw44PbSJOLezUf8/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br><img id="id_1e0e_c769_b2d5_4109" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiP6CgVGAjKn41fskLkLPBr3YWCY5EqkP7lkX3i3oZHPZcdcNl3SKYEiwttEJ6T1AfvbXSIOP-CLbfJyQbuTsMhG5OlJAgssjNnc0bdh_8bQWHwPEf_wXqqnmQ9l6rbqAyzWnRvvLg5ULQ/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br><img id="id_3b2d_b731_9c31_4c60" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXPeflzUYR7ByD_3hfWKF_lh2CxO_QoeVqgw-dX2LuGBze3Q-t6gPyp1mlRr6K_UXEj7V91HflTdskvWGzQjj-ic8IIxAzkVBnvQx2Sp6eAxon4rO2s_gOtnsYfRWJNaE8Ij4gi5zcDRM/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br><span style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br></span></font></div><div><font size="4"><br></font></div><div><span style="font-family: Helvetica;"><font size="4"> </font></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Helvetica;"><font size="4"><br></font></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Helvetica;"><font size="4"><br></font></span></div><div><br></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-269148434431098022.post-49409678677504982702018-04-16T10:10:00.001-07:002018-05-12T15:03:13.972-07:00The Rain in Spain<p><font size="4"><font face="Times">...has been pretty relentless. It has been a cold, wet, and cloudy Camino journey this year — big difference from last year’s trek, when it was mild and sunny almost the entire month of April. This year, it appears Spain hasn’t gotten the memo that it’s springtime. <br></font><font face="Times"><img id="id_119e_72e5_1b1e_bfd0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVbu8lVq86WxsxwcriSfX1lQdv_ah3dHv_gpxksqZBZoWe3SNSRTNqhZTnLsCOw9Qw_IXLiscwfNZnKsC5Ve2o2wzENHMtECO51qYgCeGgkryUwVE30zgBBhTQSvewtE2CEmn6-08ynmI/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br></font></font></p><div><font size="4"><font face="Times">There are spring flowers blooming in spots, but you have to keep your eyes peeled to find them. I found this little garden blooming alongside the Camino despite the fact that it had snowed the night before...</font><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">(that’s snow on the grass behind the flowers)</span></font></div><font size="4"><font face="Times"><img id="id_8c4d_eaaf_d31c_6eb6" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-61Sxaa7jSNU/WtTY50YkOfI/AAAAAAAABlU/6grYjGxssRgFOciyBYsBPyhMK7pLkvm9ACHMYCw/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"></font><font face="Times"><br></font></font><p><font style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);" size="4"><font>All my life I’ve preferred rainy weather, but after 16 days straight, I confess I am a little tired of trekking through mud, and being cold & damp all day, despite being bundled up in (allegedly) moisture-wicking layers. I’ve had to use my very nice REI rain poncho every day, but I discovered, much to my chagrin, that it is water <i>resistant</i>, not waterproof. Between the sweat of exertion from walking many miles a day over varied terrain, and the rain soaking thru the poncho and into my warm but also </font><font>only water-<i>resistant</i> jacket, I was getting pretty damp & cold. So last week I ended up buying an actual hooded rain jacket (which I usually hate because the plastic doesn’t breathe at all), and it has been a godsend! </font></font></p><p></p><p><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font size="4">I heard that earlier on that Camino, in spots I’ve already passed, the constant rain caused major flooding on the Camino, and several pilgrims had to be rescued while attempting to rock-hop across what was, when I crossed it a week or so ago, a small and easily traversed stream. Yikes!</font></span></p><div><font size="4"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Probably from being outside all </span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">day for several days in damp clothes in the chilly air, I caught a bit of a cold last week, which has been kind of a bummer. Feeling OK and I don’t notice it when I’m walking, but I hate being “that person” in the hostels whose sniffling and coughing disrupts the sleep of fellow pilgrims. </span></font><p><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font size="4">The very good news about the cold weather is that:</font></span></p><p></p><ul><li><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font size="4">It’s much easier on the feet. Even with comfortable, well-broken-in footwear, double layers of wool socks, and lubing the feet with lots of Vaseline to prevent the dreaded Camino blisters, when it’s warm outside and you walk 10-18 miles a day on sun-baked dirt, concrete, or gravel, you and your feet get pretty hot. Last year I had to stop & strip off the socks to cool my feet at least once a day. Not so this year! And no sign whatsoever of any blisters. </font></span></li><li><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font size="4">Warm weather tends to zap my energy, especially on long uphill climbs. It’s kind of my kryptonite — the hotter and brighter it gets, the more I fade. So with all this delicious cool weather, I feel energized almost all of the time — big change from last year. </font></span></li><li><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font size="4">Since I have done this Camino before, I am seeing familiar places but in very different weather, and also at different times of day, so it feels new. </font></span></li></ul><p></p><p><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font size="4">All that said, several stretches of this Camino are a muddy mess. I am ready for some drier weather. </font></span></p><p><font size="4"><img id="id_d3ec_edd7_2f70_4589" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqGa5VGGNwu0A4OSZ4fXbl8AJlT3lG6aKWVmDcPHz31sB9fArsinjwxaL96P3DKkRD12tqJHbomy5yA9qvOst1GfNNYpGINRsC99cRIlbT8KHvUL5vX3iW-8HQgi_OPCw_R19p-Q7LXAw/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br><img id="id_9d20_dd8e_ee1f_a088" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFjT72Li7SGd6C7plSXARi_bHEJlo1rv6KBbqFE3A4jR63DiuWmtoHzjS3NkzqDHyMPfgFalLe9KoXjbGXL0FQZUAu8pMvqsEdslziKlzPcuA2gXcKH6x_bNI4u8-2p65Ow0Usw0w6NkA/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">What has not changed from last year is the delight of meeting people from all over the world, sharing stories, food, equipment, songs, and great conversations. Something about being on the Camino allows people to open their hearts much more readily to perfect strangers. With no distractions and (in most cases) no rush to get to the night’s destination, it’s easy to fall quickly into very deep conversations as you take long, leisurely walks through the countryside.</span></font></p><p><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font size="4">I have often said the Camino is like a river of people. I spent two wonderful days walking & talking with Fiona from Wales, until the tides of the Camino shifted and she caught a bus to make up time lost to an injury earlier in the Camino. </font></span></p><p><font size="4"><img id="id_8766_bc99_c13e_492f" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-wKGpGk_aNGU/WtTY4Q6BisI/AAAAAAAABlI/lSDVcRLdBNAJKfCLFyZiCcxrsp5u2VE5gCHMYCw/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Many people have told me they think I am “brave” to walk the Camino alone. But I am rarely alone for long. I meet people literally all the time, and the longer I am here, the more familiar faces I see from previous days. Every day there’s a reunion. In fact, it’s a constant challenge to balance solitude with all the opportunity for socializing. I almost feel sorry for the couples or friends or groups walking together, since they seem to meet fewer people by sticking to their little units — they just seem a bit more isolated. </span></font></p><p><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font size="4">Once again I am blown away by how the Camino provides. It’s truly amazing how whatever you need shows up. One day I forgot my phone cord, plug & adapter in a hostel, and out on the trail, lost the rubber tip to one of my walking sticks. At the next night’s hostel, I mentioned this to Craig from Ohio, a former IBM executive, who had the bunk next to mine. (Craig is on his 7th Camino — he’s completed four of them as an aide/guide to Vietnam vets suffering from PTSD.) Later I found an iphone cord & plug, plus 4 walking stick tips, neatly lined up on my bed, courtesy of Craig, who had extras. At dinner I met Allyssa from Arizona who gave me her extra plug adapter, so I was all set! Camino magic. </font></span></p><p><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font size="4">That night I shared a wonderful impromptu dinner in the hostel’s communal kitchen with this group of fabulous women, most of whom are traveling solo:</font></span></p><p><font size="4"><img id="id_8b7b_4a73_de2_4b6f" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-DGMOEavRVl4/WtTY55mAh5I/AAAAAAAABlY/4G5tquKjy0k5mODwyEI03oTYS8Z342yuACHMYCw/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 358px; height: auto;"><br><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Susie from Morocco (far left) brought a baby Martin guitar on the Camino and serenaded us all until it was time for lights-out, singing an amazing rendition of Leonard Cohen’s “Hallelujah,” along with some of her original compositions. (Allyssa from Arizona, who gave me her extra converter plug, is 2nd from left.)</span></font></p><p><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font size="4">The communal dinners in the hostels can be hugely entertaining. Last night three friendly Irishmen from Dublin treated us to Irish ballads after dinner. Many nights, though, people seem too tired to do anything more than eat & make light chitchat. Most pilgrims are from Western Europe, so I’ve had a chance to practice my one semester of Italian, my long-forgotten 2 semesters of college French, and my pretty decent basic Spanish. Most Germans and folks from the Scandinavian countries speak very good English.</font></span></p><p><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font size="4">I have covered a lot of (muddy) ground. I’ve been on the Camino since March 31, and have walked about 190 miles. Tonight I’m in the tiny village of Hontanas, about 1/3 of the way to the Atlantic (see pink highlighted X):</font></span></p><p><font size="4"><img id="id_a1f6_fbb_8714_8c3c" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirHjrTnCLyiY3ckQw8rs1woc5Vh8BwVdSa_lNTRNoRGyabkqTLBxTV_DfVpMp4Rw0WCTxSkRALs9qDM3x1pZ9bmsB71lS7jjhj5FsmcNj8CnAphUW62vfFE9Kvb5KQEG7VX-31T28DGu4/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I spent two nights in beautiful Burgos. With a population of 190,000, it’s one of the few large cities on the Camino. (Most of the towns on the Camino are tiny.) Burgos is home to one of the most breathtaking and spectacular Gothic cathedrals in the world. I never stop marveling that all of this was created between the 13th and 15th centuries, entirely without power tools...</span></font></p><p><font size="4"><img id="id_2de3_5d54_1a36_46d7" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjinjHmcNl_MCXjKK7jBazllGlGHEkltsZelBSt59xFB48cqHQgNNfzMC0EQhg_L-yEps8GNJTYawTcmH-d0lGKkjRALEjTZiiLDnM7USVPSN_eI7oPogaiIy_a2C-WmH6bDbwKFF_0q8Y/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br><img id="id_7951_90be_d18f_ca1c" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOeBOmud-wV6tT4lvO8JnHF22A4eJsIZmDXhmPIp-CTJXu95kSFzXG917F5wqNrche_T9LzjNVoPaQj4PahFjr8pcdPXHg2RUuEUbty8DeKvVENXiefX1a6fG55RegDqe1oJFYy48azPA/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br><img id="id_e4f3_9f93_c329_9f7b" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxfpY0phojlJ_7O6XFxsG43mBjCKx9Ipukkk7BwBMvpz5F3Ixxn6TbTnbHcaaowGMLogN0ImA63nxNFZpc8f8mM99dJnKwxNeA8gdRmA3MhbU02Hf0r114zZK2w9nLKxJbciCs6FWADJk/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br>Sunlight through stained glass illuminating one of the side chapel altarpieces in the cathedral. Stunning. <br><img id="id_41f1_9914_237c_bfb1" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-7IxOvvrnkcU/WtTY7ntGw8I/AAAAAAAABlo/0pWZXCBuaVAxRbpoIfNFOlHvfJc9_ds7gCHMYCw/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></font></p><p><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font size="4">I’m averaging 13 miles a day. The time flies. No injuries, just tired feet at the end of the day. My light pack doesn’t feel like a burden. Here’s a screenshot of my daily miles from my phone:</font></span></p><p><font size="4"><img id="id_94c1_b25_f29c_4722" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-qVucXxPls0Q/WtTY7ccKxMI/AAAAAAAABlk/2dXuXVemRRs4CAWU3xaOHn9HRUgDvM_uwCHMYCw/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Sometimes when I get in the flow of walking it almost feels like I am being carried. After hours & hours, the alternating left-right rhythm of my arms/sticks with the opposite feet becomes totally automatic and I forget that I am walking.</span></font></p><p><font size="4"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">It is very fun to look back and search for landmarks to see how much distance I’ve covered. This pic shows how far I traveled in one day...I took this early one morning — I </span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">had started the previous morning in a hostel near the top of that little pointed mountain (see arrow).</span></font></p><p><font size="4"><img id="id_7e22_846_686c_e318" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9i2-LMpDRQwkfN_QVPTBg4BUWWlK0jBTwQTkm6KgoUnt_xT5TeF966sRydKf7p8kswA_wQanpd17fLai8xCAiXCCA9cImgIOd6_vgb9nPnY8pLd1cd5OuzNp6hwoq2zuhFXksHPAZXRw/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">And nearing the end of a long day, nothing lifts the spirits like seeing the night’s destination village come into view.</span></font></p><p><font size="4"><img id="id_e9d1_7e5e_b2c0_2335" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7Xa8UuudEmvXNAOgU0IhZCkwbHvVt_na9m693NSlr1j6xDKJaZrCw0cgLRbuPS61DNoRBDloUFdEkk71sku86UJM_aNFSpp8vbqUtu7NooBp93HdqZmEr26MuOfyc_CSYXAvJvzxcn4c/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Spending days & days, week after week on the Camino has the effect of stripping away the need for any structure beyond the most basic sustenance activities of eating, doing laundry, and sleeping. The freedom from virtually all decision-making is one of the best things about the Camino, and it’s why so many people see it as a walking retreat. I have spoken with many repeat </span><i style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">peregrinos</i><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> who, like me, have returned here in order to enjoy the uncomplicated pleasures of the very simple Camino routine. We ponder whether it’s merely an escape. Maybe, but it’s also a wonderful respite. It’s just too easy, as many pilgrims young and old have told me on this trip, to distract oneself with job, chores, relationships, social media, smartphones, etc. A 20-year-old told me that here on the Camino was the first time in her life she really just stopped to think. To have the luxury of several weeks at a stretch to contemplate nothingness and being-ness is a tremendous gift indeed. I am beyond grateful.</span></font></p><p><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font size="4">Of course I am frequently asked why I came back again, and I see in the questioners the same skepticism I had last year when I met repeat <i>peregrinos</i>. Why would you do this same route twice? My answer varies, but it’s something along the lines of: I just had to come back. </font></span></p></div><p><font size="4"><img id="id_8e73_29cf_e32f_70e4" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8ZM4jacH0Cs59AM9sN95pma9PGWGch8iQDGCP4YbjZIfg4-fe1Q9oPbd2QfScP6dFbu_4LT38mDggWXCJhyphenhyphenHpsq7cGgodr_h9YE3CduQFUuNPfLmMFZga-gKu2pjRepg5j6Ne3mc2Eis/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br><font face="Times"><br></font><font face="Times"><br></font></font></p><div><div><font face="Helvetica" size="5"><br></font></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-269148434431098022.post-68882702129180152832018-04-07T08:24:00.001-07:002018-06-08T12:04:50.794-07:00Not Exactly Everest<span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">So I started the Camino Saturday 3/31. I’ve walked about 115 miles so far, and am feeling great. Already I feel like I’m in the Camino time warp — not really sure what day it is, or where I slept last night. The time just flies! Hard to believe I’ve been walking eight days. </span><br />
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<span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">But let me start at the beginning....</span><br />
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<span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b>The Adventure Begins </b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0);">My original flight to Barcelona Mon. 3/26 was cancelled, so I left the next evening, Tues. 3/27. After two days of planes, taxis, trains, and buses, I finally arrived by bus from Pamplona, Spain, to my Camino starting point of St. Jean Pied-de-Port, France, around 7pm Thurs.</span><span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0);">, 3/29. I hoisted my 13-lb. pack onto my back and glanced around the cobblestone streets. Several other fresh-off-the-bus pilgrims stood warily about, none of us sure which direction to go. There was a sort of “first day in the freshman dorm” nervous excitement on everyone’s faces.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255 , 255 , 255 , 0); font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">St. Jean is a small, charming hill town on the French side of the Pyrenees. </span><span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0);"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The setting sun lit the clouds and sent shadows slanting across the medieval buildings as we all made the trek into the center of town, across an ancient stone bridge, and up a steep hill. Stunningly beautiful. </span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I found a cheap, clean hostel & settled in for the night</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">. I </span></span></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">planned to spend 2 nights in St. Jean, just to get myself on European time before my first day on the Camino. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0);">Friday 3/30, after an amazing mushroom omelette for breakfast (cooked by a surly French woman at a tiny corner cafe), I explored the town. The highlight was a nice hike up several flights of steep, ancient, stone steps to the top of the Citadel, </span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">a 12th century fortress which afforded a spectacular view of the town and surrounding countryside, as well as the Pyrenees, where my Camino would begin the next day:</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="height: auto;"><img alt="" id="id_fcff_e567_aadd_77d8" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-laYMgYWK-D4/WsmtFmp6GEI/AAAAAAAABiw/I8rmwauWQBIBpgGrOGRF_t-sjOhgzCjNQCHMYCw/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" style="height: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></span></span><br /><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I found a small market on the main street and for 3€ made myself a simple dinner of a giant, sweet, red bell pepper and a potato cooked in the microwave at the hostel, slathered with the most amazing local Basque cheese made from sheep’s milk. Delicious! </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">There are two Camino routes from St. Jean to the next stop in Roncesvalles, Spain. Both routes wind their way approximately 18 miles over the Pyrenees and are notoriously challenging — the most difficult stage of the entire Camino — which is why I skipped this section last year. The higher and more difficult route, the Route de Napoleon, reaches an elevation of 1400 meters (4600’), and is usually closed until mid-April due to snow blocking the trail. The lower route, the Route de Valcarlos, while less difficult at a maximum elevation of about 1000 <span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">meters </span><span style="font-family: "times";">(3280’), is still very challenging for a novice hiker like me due to the relatively rapid elevation gain. I’d be starting at an elevation of about 600 meters (1968’) in St. Jean. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">This altitude map shows both routes, in meters. I took the lower (Valcarlos) route. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Adding to the challenge was the weather forecast: Rain, and a high of 45F. I wasn’t worried about the weather or the trail conditions, as I knew from last year that the Camino is well-maintained, and I’d heard that much of the Valcarlos route is on the roadway. But I was a bit worried about the vertical ascent. <span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I am notoriously slow on the uphills. I sometimes struggle with feeling inferior because of my slowness, as people pass me all the time going uphill, but I do respect that everyone has their own pace, and mine just happens to be pretty sluggish on an incline.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255 , 255 , 255 , 0); font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I went to bed early in anticipation of the big day, the start of my Camino.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Saturday, March 31.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I woke up at 3:30am. After lying awake for two hours, I surrendered and got up at 5:30am, too keyed up to sleep anymo<span style="color: #454545;">re.</span><span style="color: #454545;"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">There were about a dozen people eating breakfast in the hostel kitchen, but it was completely silent except for the rustling bags & the clink of china as we ate our meager breakfast (included in the 10€ hostel price - instant coffee/tea, bread, butter, and jam). I supplemented mine with fruit I’d bought at the market. I knew from experience that later on the Camino these communal breakfasts would be a lot more vocal, but these were first-day freshmen! </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I was really nervous about the challenging day ahead. I knew what to expect from the rest of the Camino, but this trek over the Pyrenees was new turf. Needing a pep talk, I reached out to my son Ben in China, where it was 6 hours ahead. We had a quick but satisfying text exchange. “You got this, Mom,” Ben texted. I felt better. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I set off in the rain around 8am, layered for warmth and protected from the wet weather. As I made my way through town and into the foothills, passing charming farmhouses and rolling fields, the rain fell steadily and then turned to hail. This continued off and on all day. The sun made a few capricious cameos, lighting the bright green hills and sparkling on wet grass and trees. But I could see snow dusting the higher hills and wondered how far up I’d be going that day. I had no idea what I was in for!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I was warm and dry, and so happy to be on the Camino at last. The morning’s anxiety slowly morphed into euphoria as I drank in the beautiful French countryside and fresh, clean rain-soaked air, feeling strong and confident, and did I mention, so happy to be back on the Camino?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I took my time, pausing to take lots of pictures. As I moved farther up into the hills, the fresh smell of farmland and sheep grew stronger, and I saw all kinds of birds I could not identify flying about, including some kind of split-tail hawk. It was a lovely passage for many hours, pausing briefly to chat with other pilgrims as we passed each other. </span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><img alt="" id="id_842a_a90a_686a_4dc8" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm-FekQc1sOM6UWjVTpcZj7zUaQk4m1df7kJKPCroklpF_C2eZ-ncNbcU0VbQvhz9TlTz-QmKeDWGv4A4cTVxFj1XQBsNOiTHWSf08b9Jgev1qNGFKtcYs3ZQ_F08kfhOLtrSqaHcesRY/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" style="height: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></span><br />
<span style="color: #454545; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Within a few hours, I crossed the border between Spain and France, marked by nothing more auspicious than a petrol station and an aging little strip mall. There’s not even a sign, I only knew it was the border because I’d read about it in the guidebook. Around mid-day I made the small village of Valcarlos, the last town with services before my destination, Roncesvalles. I paused to rest and eat some crackers with more of that amazing Basque cheese, sitting on a bench overlooking the valley in the snow-dusted hills beyond, during a brief sun break. Very quickly the rain began again, so I packed up my picnic and soldiered on.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><img alt="" id="id_e2f3_2145_32b8_475e" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSJO4CIrQ27f4KO9z_T4-f3R4mRtEPyr5MbHio5gCa-eeddvi_G4ZoE6M2595IbVzDrjX817cVJZQHB1uyKr7OJiyXsR86QcugaaZE4Qv5_m3amC5xSVKLFtzPKuz86nZNxiLuBPEZuFY/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" style="height: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /><br />The way passed more beautiful farmland and forest, slowly getting steeper. I shared an apple with two tiny ponies by the roadside.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><img alt="" id="id_beb0_2d8e_fb7f_2f82" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5E22oaO0_2I2RVCCiWGrfuL5T3fNWZ69xsUyDhGUG1-UazIOLKXQOBE1obsZ_E8QYDrT83VpjbJeysdSvZekADjan0_ns5_Dfai-a7j8UQEFbo4zIB68E0SJ89sCY5cwExI5ig0cRhco/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" style="height: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /><br />The road kept climbing, and soon I could see small clumps of snow between the bases of the trees, then as I ascended higher, the snow was</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> piled scantily along the sides of the trail. It was beautiful. Tired, I paused again for another snack around 2:30, estimating I was only about an hour or so from the hostel. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="height: auto;"><img alt="" id="id_4b78_f492_c551_7582" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguJPDKRsUjcEvp4iKi61tZg0V5hNLlgHiOnp9UrNbo3ydR-dlvqWPAEGvcnr0BbR3YGI7owsGISKbRxpayp2l5ut0HwvRoUunIFAgEq8bEE9QDiJTQzlXGmSJuDeCC3K3l5H9xb5FiBuE/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" style="height: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></span></span><br /><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Some people wisely break the 18 mile stretch between St. Jean and Roncesvalles with an overnight in the tiny town of Valcarlos. I chose to make the 18-mile trek in one day. I knew it would be challenging, but I’ve been training for months in the San Francisco hills and I figured I was good to go. All went well till late in the day. I had perused the altitude map for the day and read the trail notes in my guidebook, but I hadn’t paid very close attention to the end stage — the steepest ascent on the Valcarlos route, where the trail goes from 1300’ to 3200’ feet in 3.75 miles. It just so happened that on the day I walked, this difficult final stretch coincided with a spring snowstorm!</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The trail kept winding up and up, and seemed steeper all the time, much to my chagrin. I was getting very tired, as I’d already been hiking for about six hours. The rain and hail started up again, but now turned to snow. It was soft and quiet and lovely, as I’ve always imagined snowfall would be. (Californians typically get a little giddy about snow, since we only get to see it if we go skiing). Hiking this steep trail alone in a foreign country in the falling snow, which was starting to obliterate the trail, was another matter entirely. The snow’s charm quickly wore off. However, I could still see the muddy, now snow-filled, footprints of my fellow pilgrims, so I was comforted. Weirdly, there were no way markers here, but the trail depression was pretty pronounced. Still, I hadn’t seen another pilgrim in about 2 hours. I felt the first twinge of anxiety. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">After seven hours on the trail, I assumed I was fairly close to the hostel, thinking it absolutely couldn’t be more than a few miles at most. The trail got steeper and steeper as the snow fell. At one point the trail T-boned a road, and I couldn’t tell which direction to go. I stood in the silent, falling snow and started to cry. But I realized I had to hold myself together: Losing it was not an option! So I sucked it up. I saw footprints going in both directions, but I just trusted my gut and went left. Good call — within a few dozen steps I saw a Camino marker. It led the trail off the roadway, into the woods. Thankfully there was a small barbed wire fence along the slowly fading trail. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The temperature was dropping, and the snow became ankle deep, seeping over the tops of my ankle-high Keens. I regretted once again that I had not been able to find the right pair of boots that fit comfortably. In boots I would’ve been confidently trudging through this, but with my feet getting soaked despite two layers of wool socks, and the threat of losing the trail as it got later, I started to get really nervous. I was dressed warmly, but also drenched with sweat from the exertion, and completely exhausted. Whenever I paused to catch my breath I would immediately get very chilled. Between the cold, my nervousness, and not knowing how far away I was from the hostel, I had to fight to hold back the panic. I’m not a natural athlete despite being, uh, “big-boned,” and after a long day, I was nearing my limit of endurance.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Again I told myself I would get through this. I had to. Staying out here was not an option. I knew I could probably call for help, but I’d heard that pilgrims who need to be rescued are charge €5000 for the trouble. No thank you. Only if it became dire, and somehow way deep down I knew it wouldn’t, though that didn’t curb my nervousness very much. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">As I forced my sore and tired legs to keep stepping up and up, I started mentally singing songs to ward off despair. The first one that came to mind was the Christmas carol I used to sing with my sister: “Good King Wenceslas” —</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i>Mark my footsteps my good page, t</i><i>read thou in them boldly</i></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">In<span style="font-family: "times";"> his master’s steps he trod, where the snow lay dinted</span></span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i>Heat was in the very sod which the saint had printed</i>.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">(This also has a nice zippy 4/4 beat which helped me keep a steady pace. I didn’t feel any heat in the steps, but just thinking warm thoughts helped, a little.)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">To further distract myself, I started preparing for a long night in the snow, should it come to that. I did check my phone’s map, which said I was 40 minutes from my destination (noting nervously I only had 20% of charge left), but I needed to stay on the trails to get there. And if the trail disappeared…. The GPS in the mountains was just a dot in a green field onscreen, so not really helpful at all. <span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I knew I had no way to make a fire, but at least I had dry clothes in my pack....</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Foolishly, I had drunk almost all of my water, since I had been so sure I was close to my destination, based on time elapsed. I thought I could probably put snow in my water bottle and melt it against my body if I needed to. Also I had food, so that was covered. But I absolutely did not want to spend the night in the snow. I thought of calling for help, but I wouldn’t know how to describe my location. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Wet, exhausted, scared, alone… I realized it was foolishness to have lingered earlier along the way, stopping to snack and take all those picture</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">s. I had been lulled into a sense of confidence, since I had done the Camino before, and I knew that it is ridiculously easy to navigate, you just follow the little yellow arrows or way markers, which you typically only miss if you’re not paying attention. But I hadn’t done this stretch, and here in the mountains there were very few markers and they were very far between. In good weather, I’m sure the trail is extremely obvious, but snow is a great obliterator. I thought of all the pilgrims of old who probably died on this notoriously difficult route, and again thought of how spoiled and soft we modern pilgrims are with our waterproof equipment, lightweight backpacks, GPS. The arduousness of the pilgrimages of old cannot be overstated.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It was now about 4pm. I knew I had a lot of daylight left — the sun sets around 8:30pm this time of year in Spain. But as the trail kept climbing and the snow fell harder, my despair grew. I mechanically kept repeating Good King Wenceslas, trying to stay calm. </span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Sire, the night is darker now, and the wind grows stronger</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Fails my heart I not know how, I can go no longer </span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">No, not that verse! Go back to the <i>Heat was in the very sod</i> verse, you idiot!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Finally, <i>finally</i>, I heard a car, so I knew that there was a road nearby. I was still on what tiny bit I could see of the trail, and then I heard children’s voices. Up ahead, at the top of a hill, I could see a car parked and children playing in the snow. I knew I was very close, at last. I paused to lean on my walking sticks, tears of relief flowing down my cheeks. With my waning energy I made my way sloppily up the final very slippery steep hillside, to the road. The Camino trail wound off into the woods again, but I elected to stay on the road, using the last of my phone’s charge to guide me to Roncesvalles, one mile away. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">As I neared the hostel, I finally saw another pilgrim — a man ahead of me on the road, moving very slowly. His rain poncho had bunched up behind his backpack and a small pile of snow rested on top of it. I could tell from his body language he was just as exhausted, if not more so, than I was. I hurried ahead to him, so grateful to find a fellow pilgrim!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">How are you doing? I asked. You got some snow in your pack, let me brush it off. He looked a little disoriented and was oblivious to the snow that had piled up. I brushed it off and adjusted his rain poncho. Thank you, he said. First Camino? I asked. Yes, he said. Don’t worry, Roncesvalles is right there. We’re almost there. I pointed to the rooftops of the buildings I could see just ahead. Oh good, he said. I was happy to provide comfort to someone when I was in need of comfort myself. It made me feel less sorry for myself. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I was never so relieved to arrive somewhere in all my life. I crossed the snowy courtyard, greeted by a Dutch <i>hospitalero</i>. Once inside I sank onto a bench with my backpack still on and collapsed in tears for several minutes, flooded with relief, and elated to be safe and warm at last.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I got settled into the clean, modern hostel, which is housed in a beautiful 14th century former monastery. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><img alt="" id="id_1f8b_93b5_680c_1ae1" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCPebRCSMnGxaH9p0qFfMvr-IQocbBCaAvhAxDD1Z3Uvf8cNoDoOIt5ri4_BuoFDbA6-EjWP3telHSr90QyHyLzHowV64ItqvGythh_B5wcixJCKUHo3VXauvhv-vG-LtrywQNOM2o2ds/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" style="height: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I had a wonderful dinner of vegetable soup, delicious bread, pork chops, and the ubiquitous Spanish french fries. I was so pumped full of adrenalin I could not stop chattering with my pilgrim tablemates. It was hardly a brush with death, but it was still a fairly dangerous situation —</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> I later found out that two Scottish pilgrims had to be rescued from the route that day. I was very lucky!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Not to worry, folks: the rest of the Camino is nowhere near this challenging. The hardest day, made unexpectedly more difficult by a late spring snowstorm, was behind me. I made it! This was the most physically demanding thing I have ever done in all my years on the planet (well, except maybe giving birth to Ben — 18 hours of labor with no drugs). <span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I felt like a total badass!</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I had a hard time getting to sleep that night (still too pumped), but when I did I slept like a rock. And a good thing, because the hostel kicked us out the door by 8am.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">And so the next morning, a bright sunny Easter Sunday, I began day 2 of my adventure....</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><img alt="" id="id_f50f_50b5_9029_b792" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuDBYMZhIkfGABJ8ZT53QSPlr08ZyRY9BiY8wtkMZXQOZ9OR1CS02GjM0ntnoIcrdOBshA3oL8YbW7jVPT6Ni3-CSZvJRBaonajO46qgsPxGwEdOKzx9AyHda5NvS0zfGcM018GSXUqvo/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" style="height: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></span></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-269148434431098022.post-20877164253789698122018-03-23T22:48:00.001-07:002018-03-24T15:10:18.546-07:00Camino de Santiago, Round 2<div style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">So I decided to head back to Spain to walk the Camino de Santiago again. Something about the <i>peregrino </i>(pilgrim) lifestyle, with its extreme simplicity, has proved irresistible and I feel compelled to return.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I leave for Spain Monday, March 26, 2018, and will make my way by bus and train to St. Jean Pied-de-Port in southwestern France, just north of the Pyrenees at the Spanish-French border. I'll strap on my 15-lb backpack containing the barest of necessities -- no need for camping gear, as I'll be staying in <i>albergues</i> (pilgrim hostels), and will walk along the <i>Camino Frances</i> (the French Way) through rural northern Spain to the city of Santiago de Compostela. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">There are many Camino routes across Europe, but the Camino Frances is the most famous, well-traveled, and well-supported. From Santiago I will continue to Finisterre on the Atlantic coast (in less enlightened times, Cape Finisterre was widely believed to be the literal end of the earth). Afterwards, I will be a Camino volunteer for two weeks in the <i>Oficina del Peregrino</i> in Santiago.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">In all, this will be a journey of approximately 550 miles (890 km) on foot. I'm in no rush, and will take my time to avoid injury. Here's a visual:</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS0Viv3lIZu7_fIJ5dt1W5KEj-u94My0DflzdvQaJJojo_2cGw93BnGvwob-D726U373U5b45Om-RPF6aroJs_eLfekoXpMfYfOfNKqUETi7S7RnoQLr3JPlvZdOr_nzFDNUJFA4t5Bqg/s1600/Camino+Map.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="178" data-original-width="590" height="96" id="id_547f_5a71_27f5_cb8a" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS0Viv3lIZu7_fIJ5dt1W5KEj-u94My0DflzdvQaJJojo_2cGw93BnGvwob-D726U373U5b45Om-RPF6aroJs_eLfekoXpMfYfOfNKqUETi7S7RnoQLr3JPlvZdOr_nzFDNUJFA4t5Bqg/s320/Camino+Map.jpg" style="height: auto; width: 320px;" width="320" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">If you're wondering <b>what </b>the Camino is, <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Camino_de_Santiago" target="_blank">here's a link</a> explaining. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">If you're wondering <b>why</b> someone would walk across a country, <a href="https://vimeo.com/224157559" target="_blank">this lovely 4-minute video</a> explains it pretty nicely.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b>Background:</b> I first walked the Camino Frances in April-May 2017 after getting laid off from a long-term job. My son was about to graduate from college, freeing me from significant financial responsibility. It was transition time, and I was eager to "clear the lint trap," as my son put it. Also, I had recently lost a lot of weight and was curious to test-drive my stronger body see if I could actually walk 500 miles. And I did! Thankfully the Camino is fairly level but for a few moderately challenging spots -- a great first hike for a novice like me. It is less strenuous and better supported than, say, the Pacific Crest Trail or the Appalachian Trail. I averaged 15 miles a day with no injuries, aside from a few minor blisters. I had a fantastic time, and ever since, I have been haunted by a desire to return. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The only real downside to making a Camino journey is that it's totally addictive. After decades of being a single mom and dedicated employee, I found the near-total freedom from responsibility and decision-making to be practically euphoric. I absolutely loved the simplicity of living out of a backpack with just a single change of clothes. My sole "job" for five weeks was to get up and walk west, following the little yellow arrows and scallop shells that mark the Camino route, which flows westward like a one-way river of people towards Santiago. Food, water, and lodging are readily available -- I was never more than five miles from some kind of amenity. Never in my life have I spent all day, every day, for weeks on end, outside in the fresh air. Heaven!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I had brought my iPod because I had imagined it might get boring at times to walk for hours and hours... but only used it a few times, briefly, and found it to be an unwelcome distraction. The soundtrack of the Camino is the birdsong, the breeze, the rhythmic crunch of the trail beneath your feet, and, if you like, interesting conversations with people from all over world. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">As has been the case for many centuries, every small village and city along the Camino is geared to provide support to the tired and hungry <i>peregrino</i>. Tap water never tasted so good. I slept like a baby in the modest public <i>albergues,</i> and although my feet were sore and throbbing at the end of each day, every morning I woke up energized and rarin' to go. I didn't take a single rest day in 34 days. Did not know I had it in me!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">For me the Camino was an extended exercise in being fully present in the moment. I made no advance lodging reservations or plans. I followed my impulses, stopped when I was tired, ate when I was hungry, found company when I wanted it, and solitude when I needed it. </span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">This sounds almost ridiculously simple, but it was profoundly different than my non-Camino life, where my head is always full of some kind of worry or plan or distraction. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">There is something very special and indefinable about the Camino.</span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I was deeply aware that I was walking along a sacred path that had been trod by millions of feet over many centuries -- some long stretches of the Camino are ancient <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Roman_roads" target="_blank">Roman roads</a> paved with stones laid out over 2,000 years ago. The ground itself seems blessed, to say nothing of the scores of medieval churches and chapels, both vast and humble, that dot the Way. Though I was raised Catholic, I am not a religious person in the traditional sense, but I am aware of a mystery greater than myself, and that mystery is somehow more readily accessible along the Camino. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Many people speak of Camino magic, and it is a real thing. </span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Whatever was needed for body and soul would magically appear, just in time. </span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I gave and received food, water, first aid supplies, gifts, money, prayers, encouragement, and memorable conversations</span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">. Whether it was a band-aid, a redirect when I wandered off-trail, an unattended table of fruit and snacks in the middle of nowhere, a lost item mysteriously recovered, or a friend pointing the way to a warm and welcoming </span><i style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">albergue </i><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">when I arrived weary in a town at the end of a long day, the Camino <u>always</u> provided. Synchronicities abound so frequently that you begin to take them for granted. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Like most </span><i style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">peregrinos</i><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">, I ended my 2017 Camino in the beautiful city of Santiago, and despite the joy of collecting my </span><i style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><a href="https://oficinadelperegrino.com/en/pilgrimage/the-compostela/" target="_blank">compostela</a></i><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> (certificate of completion), something about that journey felt incomplete. I very much wanted to continue the additional 55 miles (90 km) from Santiago to Finisterre... there's something deeply symbolic about walking from the Pyrenees, crossing several mountain ranges, and finally to touch the Atlantic Ocean ... but I had to return to the U.S. to celebrate my son's college graduation -- another memorable rite of passage. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Returning to my regular life, post-Camino, was difficult. I felt profoundly disoriented for weeks, baffled by its noise, complexity, and emptiness. The only relief was to take as many long walks as possible. Fortunately, I am blessed to live in San Francisco, which is an amazing place to explore on foot, and I have traversed nearly all of its 47 square miles over the past several months. That has been my solace and my inspiration. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">And so... a year later, life has once again blessed me with the health, strength, and freedom of schedule to make this amazing Camino journey one more time. Many people wonder why, with so much of the world to explore, I would return to Spain to make the same trek. It is hard to put in words, but I know I am not alone. Last year I met many <i>peregrinos </i>who were making their second, fifth, or 20th Camino... and I also privately wondered why they would repeat the experience. I can't really explain it... but now I understand. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I wasn't much of a correspondent on last year's Camino, as I wanted to experience it rather than focus on documenting it. Most days I was too tired or too busy socializing to write. So, no promises, but I will post occasional updates, and if nothing else, more photos than I did last year. Stay tuned. </span></div>
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-269148434431098022.post-32611586368069679682017-04-17T14:32:00.038-07:002020-11-05T15:27:48.376-08:002017 Camino - Trip Report #3 - Sahagun, Spain (halfway mark)<p><span style="font-family: arial;">i have made it halfway across spain ... going about 15 mikes a day over all kinds of terrain, mostly flat open farmland and countryside,. there were lots of mountains in the beginning but central spain is pretty flat. today marks the exact halfway point of my adventure... time is funny here, i feel like i've been here forever but at the same time the days fly by so quickly i don't even remember what day it is. hard to believe i have been walking all day every day for over two weeks ....</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">my feet and body are feeling strong & good. i have a few blisters but totally manageable. my upper back gets tired in the afternoons with the pack and lifting the walking sticks, but sometimes i send my pack ahead to the next night's hostel for 5euro - a special treat. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">it's an amazing experience. best thing i ever did. i wish i had more time to write about it. too tired at night & too busy during the day meeting people from literally every part of the world. i sleep well even in the public hostels and have adapted to the widely varying degrees of privacy in the hostels. every morning i wake up full of energy & ready to go no matter how tired i was the night before. it's amazing what this body can handle. feeling lean & strong. haven't taken a full day off yet, but a few half-days. i listen to my body and as long as it wants to keep going, i will. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">i parted from my australian friends bernie (77) & his granddaughter maddy (25) today after a week traveling together - we were very compatible travel companions & had a marvelous time -- but, in the way of the camino, we all just knew it was time to move on without even having to articulate it. i am a little sad & missing them tonight, but also glad to have my personal space back. by far that is my biggest challenge both in life and on the camino - getting too easily hooked into other people & their needs.</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO3FuuXMIxRWxlCDWAOy2s-1SY3dEmvjlcuDeM8CQT2xQWlaajV2QlQQ_ztvDFEmLjPUAb7aVDTZUtlNS3vqjjqTNklBHe1i82ayafpQO4LdtOHQ6lQh6GFKPSrehzxEjUGBuzFM0QXNI/s2048/2017-04-15+Camino+-+Castrojeriz+Maddy+Mary+Bernie.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO3FuuXMIxRWxlCDWAOy2s-1SY3dEmvjlcuDeM8CQT2xQWlaajV2QlQQ_ztvDFEmLjPUAb7aVDTZUtlNS3vqjjqTNklBHe1i82ayafpQO4LdtOHQ6lQh6GFKPSrehzxEjUGBuzFM0QXNI/s320/2017-04-15+Camino+-+Castrojeriz+Maddy+Mary+Bernie.JPG" /></a></div><p></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">bernie is lifelong catholic, but has a simple honest faith that seems irrelevant to any religious structure. i found myself so drawn to his kindness, warmth, and open heart - a bright spiritual light. i asked him to bless our meals every night -- sometimes even when we were in a larger communal meal setting -- and his sincere, un-self-conscious, warm gratitude & blessings invariably brought tears to my eyes and moved everyone who heard them. (in fairness all my emotions are closer to the surface since i've been here -- the camino has been great for offloading stored grief). he is a simple, unassuming man who sincerely loves people (go figure) and has a kind word for everyone. i don't understand how some people make it to his age - 77 - without being beaten down and cynical. we have had a number of deep conversations about faith. i told him he should have been a priest. anyway ... spending much of this week with him was a real gift. his granddaughter maddie walked the camino alone last year & returned to accompany her grand-dad this year. neither of us can keep up with him -- he's a machine! </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">on easter morning we were staying in a 13th century convent -- that thankfully had been fitted out with all modern brand-new fixtures -- our room had about 10 pilgrims in it. during the night maddie quietly went around and left chocolate easter eggs next to everyone's backpacks ... very sweet. on easter morning when i opened my eyes the first thing i saw was the lavender & pink predawn sky outside the convent window, with the last stars shining over the silhouette of an old church tower...just beautiful. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">i am filled to overflowing with gratitude almost every day... the camino is an amazing experience ....</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">one afternoon we stopped for a break in a tiny medieval village nestled into a small valley... i saw this cat sitting on the rocks ... </span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihqgdNYlS3zvus-k66se3AxiPCwGREiUXM2Br2V9-DREL3zHWciMo5hXOuyj7lTsoyRXcZZONTda2zzJbkZJ3qbODCoQDPJGxknctx6CC6OgF8jTjERZjN8Q9dMQl2xb0j9sSg_oothJs/s1000/2017-04-14+Camino+-+Hontanas.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="750" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihqgdNYlS3zvus-k66se3AxiPCwGREiUXM2Br2V9-DREL3zHWciMo5hXOuyj7lTsoyRXcZZONTda2zzJbkZJ3qbODCoQDPJGxknctx6CC6OgF8jTjERZjN8Q9dMQl2xb0j9sSg_oothJs/s320/2017-04-14+Camino+-+Hontanas.png" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">we popped into the village church on that thursday before easter just to have a look - and i was immediately drawn to a corner in the back where a big sand tray with candles was set up, surrounded by cushions on the floor and bibles in 7 or 8 different languages. Never seen anything like that in a catholic church -- it was just lovely & so much more inviting than the hard regimented wooden pews so common to all churches. Maddie and i immediately lit candles and then sank onto the cushions ... i sat there the longest time soaking up the lovely vibe ... finally got to meditate (which is impossible in the hostels with them rushing you out the door by 8am) -- then a priest gently interrupted and asked if he could give me a cross on a cord that had been blessed for Holy Week... he quietly placed it around my neck. it was such a kind and unexpected gesture, i was just overwhelmed & could not stop the flood of tears that came up .... not all churches have this effect on me but a few of them do.</span></div><br /><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuYRfqEqjFFF1nSpbDO9K94WANEcSEq4_rjCEQf7ni3QG4h1IKWLyL9LSiQElZ4JzAJgOIEW1WXspbafaGkEQl7jhSETY2NzbSeZYd0h9WyUP61hDlIspPwP4_1wM5yTTLlocFzTpeEoE/s2025/2017-04-13+Camino+-+Hontanas+church+Maddy.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2025" data-original-width="1553" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuYRfqEqjFFF1nSpbDO9K94WANEcSEq4_rjCEQf7ni3QG4h1IKWLyL9LSiQElZ4JzAJgOIEW1WXspbafaGkEQl7jhSETY2NzbSeZYd0h9WyUP61hDlIspPwP4_1wM5yTTLlocFzTpeEoE/s320/2017-04-13+Camino+-+Hontanas+church+Maddy.jpeg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJJfkEgUjQxeCjAEQ7_iakI5RG3NVyoOkvgnEUwDT_Mv_MgcLkDGoptxTZJHBdJWjvIDKv0B3Suke9ihWZWKrpsJrmxnT6SLX9rrF1S_DSw2GLkhKeuVPnXI2PzypOikVtlTAOULpJG-4/s1892/IMG_9217+%25281%2529.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1892" data-original-width="1624" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJJfkEgUjQxeCjAEQ7_iakI5RG3NVyoOkvgnEUwDT_Mv_MgcLkDGoptxTZJHBdJWjvIDKv0B3Suke9ihWZWKrpsJrmxnT6SLX9rrF1S_DSw2GLkhKeuVPnXI2PzypOikVtlTAOULpJG-4/s320/IMG_9217+%25281%2529.jpeg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><i>April 18, 2020 - Sahagun</i></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: arial;">i have been reflecting a lot on my catholic upbringing and how odd it was... how spiritually dry and devoid of light. (no -- i am not becoming catholic again -- but i am definitely feeling more connected to spirit here). Catholicism is such a violent, massive, and anachronistic edifice.... there are so many giant gothic churches here even in the tiniest towns.... who would have the balls to stand up and say "this is bullshit!"? as a little kid i sure didn't. i have seen statues of medieval saints wearing EXACTLY the same heavy black nun garb with white wimple that my first grade teacher Sister Francis Ann wore... as a kid i was cowed by all the pomp & circumstance ... and yeah i kinda think that's the whole idea with catholicism. control the masses with grandeur and images of bloody Christ on the cross and martyrs being beheaded, flayed, and flogged (that shit is EVERYWHERE in Spain). Purely from a marketing standpoint -- if one wants to win hearts & minds & convey the loving message of Christ, this AINT the way to do it. bernie & i had versions of this conversation several times last week. he always just smiled and continued beaming his warm loving light. he's on to something that has nothing whatsoever to do with the Tarantino-esque Catholic iconography. i still don't know what it is but there's no denying it is a real thing...</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: arial;">adios for now. i wrote this last bit while taking a break for lunch with my feet up in a rare vegetarian cafe -- walked 9.4 miles so far today and another 6 to go before the next town ... sorry i haven't written more, but rest assured i am having the time of my life. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div></div><br /><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-269148434431098022.post-77395220890090744962017-04-01T23:00:00.025-07:002020-11-05T14:29:04.003-08:002017 Camino - Trip Report #2 - Roncesvalles to Pamplona<p><span style="font-family: arial;">i'm having a fantastic trip -- just loving every step of the camino. 11 mi yesterday (Roncesvalles to Zubiri), 13 mi today (Zubiri to Pamplona)-- no blisters or muscle strains, just very tired at the end of each day. the Spanish countryside is amazing -- so lush and green. many kinds of forests and open mountain vistas, quaint medieval buildings/hamlets everywhere, beautiful old stone bridges, also cows, sheep, horses, ducks, all kinds of birds (including this little red robin who actually sat right next to me for while while i was taking a break). </span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3OmtCHBQseOgn88yFePRYSl4RBzuOjA2cz7-ictDHBk_iEIggZ7vjD1b5RHSO9g4KApEos_4zrx8JUtnZKWumOhM5vYI8nwJqm_xH_JQuVQoPS2-O2zt5iGj_XdGs3Szs7hvFPM0-O2M/s1745/2017-03-31+Camino+outside+Zubiri+red+robin.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1307" data-original-width="1745" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3OmtCHBQseOgn88yFePRYSl4RBzuOjA2cz7-ictDHBk_iEIggZ7vjD1b5RHSO9g4KApEos_4zrx8JUtnZKWumOhM5vYI8nwJqm_xH_JQuVQoPS2-O2zt5iGj_XdGs3Szs7hvFPM0-O2M/s320/2017-03-31+Camino+outside+Zubiri+red+robin.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;">so glad i came in spring. it's been deliciously cool and fresh (40s-50s-60s) and there has been some rain each day, but all the ridiculously expensive outdoor clothes i bought are doing their job and i've been toasty & dry but not overheated. i packed just enough stuff. </span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">have met people from all over the world. the camino can be very social but you can also unplug & be alone & no one is offended if you just walk away, either on the trail or in the hostels. i spent most of today alone on the trail, only occasionally seeing other peregrinos. then i stopped for lunch at a random cafe and i knew half the people in there. it's a blast. kind of like a cruise in a way. everyone's in a great mood. there are lots of retired folks doing the camino - kinda blown away how fast & fit they are. i could barely keep up with an English couple i befriended - she's 70 and he's 80! they shared part of their lunch with me -- chocolate and some amazing cheese. people are so nice!</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">i brought my ipod because i thought i might get bored walking all day, but i haven't used it at all. just listening to nature is awesome. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">the hostels are all very different. some very private & quiet, others noisy. So far they are super clean & all have had high quality mattresses (thank god - this is so important when we're putting our bodies through so much). Tonight i'm in one that has "pods" for beds so i can have the illusion i'm alone. delightful. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"> i'm sooooo glad i did this....</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">falling asleep typing this (it's 9:30pm) just wanted to fill u in & send a few pix. I LOVE SPAIN</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRX1SNB-VhDITnB4Wo1Sgg2TQPPZCwR6HID2rGe8jpXgqW5C9xHrJmMA4Y12sHm6iE71jjSngCrdayKSiKWUjdIqE11UE_iwbb_15owCCh_8HFZ8AjzFgkVoGFj0UqjLsoL2Wu_cH_Ezk/s2048/2017-03-31+Camino+Roncesvalles+sign.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRX1SNB-VhDITnB4Wo1Sgg2TQPPZCwR6HID2rGe8jpXgqW5C9xHrJmMA4Y12sHm6iE71jjSngCrdayKSiKWUjdIqE11UE_iwbb_15owCCh_8HFZ8AjzFgkVoGFj0UqjLsoL2Wu_cH_Ezk/s320/2017-03-31+Camino+Roncesvalles+sign.JPG" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg27RZaRjuNssiBnj1db5i4gskPQVUDWinFxZv1WN6BRtRC-JxY7NSePtSGAJAmBhgFtwKHTVoRxd2gqGDthe27Pb1J_gM24vRsfhywUH9iHnVorRLOB105Jm-85f0xW8VKIqvFFDA3hg/s2048/2017-04-01+Camino+-+Zubiri+bridge.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg27RZaRjuNssiBnj1db5i4gskPQVUDWinFxZv1WN6BRtRC-JxY7NSePtSGAJAmBhgFtwKHTVoRxd2gqGDthe27Pb1J_gM24vRsfhywUH9iHnVorRLOB105Jm-85f0xW8VKIqvFFDA3hg/s320/2017-04-01+Camino+-+Zubiri+bridge.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoxCb8yiUaTIJ6GfITF9VUJDUNTlWd7nBpn1Ap_IIm1g1iE2ghihQJCEW_xgwZlfNrluABOyMjYVPbAXAOPaeYH4MngLojssfSbyGVNqg9dkoRaTrfRBtJkt2WuYvWi67Sj0lQ4M5Als0/s2048/2017-04-01+Camino+outside+Pamplona.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoxCb8yiUaTIJ6GfITF9VUJDUNTlWd7nBpn1Ap_IIm1g1iE2ghihQJCEW_xgwZlfNrluABOyMjYVPbAXAOPaeYH4MngLojssfSbyGVNqg9dkoRaTrfRBtJkt2WuYvWi67Sj0lQ4M5Als0/s320/2017-04-01+Camino+outside+Pamplona.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjor0Q1jETcmOjvLI2-BxSVFr9HFptOUHi6RNtSurCFXmPE4sB0rwgQF7f5MG0fTJDZdtVh6Xk89VzH_tivb2-LTE0GwHfUB1V_NZ_zK1UBGI_fiNkCYYygI0qHmpGVpxSk-lCfSEb82g4/s2048/2017-03-31+Camino+Roncesvalles+forest.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjor0Q1jETcmOjvLI2-BxSVFr9HFptOUHi6RNtSurCFXmPE4sB0rwgQF7f5MG0fTJDZdtVh6Xk89VzH_tivb2-LTE0GwHfUB1V_NZ_zK1UBGI_fiNkCYYygI0qHmpGVpxSk-lCfSEb82g4/s320/2017-03-31+Camino+Roncesvalles+forest.JPG" /></a></div><br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-269148434431098022.post-69407410310770199342017-03-30T13:16:00.149-07:002020-11-05T14:15:15.477-08:002017 Camino - Trip Report #1 - Arrival<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><i>Thursday, March 30, 2017 - 10:15am</i></span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><i>Pamplona, Spain</i></span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: arial;">So... I made it Pamplona! Later today, I'll hop a bus to Roncesvalles, about 30 miles north of here, in the foothills of the Pyrenees in northeastern Spain. Tomorrow I'll begin walking my camino. </span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Several people have asked me to keep them updated on Facebook or Instagram. Most of you know I am not a fan of social media, and anyway I am more interested in having this Camino experience than documenting it. So, no promises but I may occasionally send updates by gmail just so you know i'm still kickin'. </span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: arial;">My Camino adventure started to get real when I laid out everything I needed to bring with me for six weeks. My goal was to keep my fully loaded pack to no more than 15 lbs. A light pack = a happy back. Fortunately I don't need camping gear, other than the 1.9-lb. down sleeping bag I got at REI that smushes down to the size of a large cantaloupe. I am also a big fan of trimming life down to its barest necessities (as evidenced by ditching my mortgage, most of my furniture, and my car over the past few years -- not to mention 90 lbs. of excess body weight this year). Lean & mean works for me, big-time.<br /></span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: arial;">One of the things that am most looking forward to on this trip is the utter simplicity of it -- just get up, eat, walk all day, eat, wash self & clothes, sleep -- repeat for the next several weeks. Dudes, I did not even bring tweezers -- I will return home with the gloriously bushy eyebrows God gave me.</span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Here's a pic of all my stuff. First round came in at 17.5 pounds, so I brutally trimmed here & there, ending up at 15.5 lbs. Not bad for a novice!<span style="background-color: transparent;"> </span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial; font-size: small;">I am writing this from the main square in the middle of the smallish town of Pamplona (pop. 200,000), where 29 years ago my friend Julia and I "ran with the bulls" (ha -- they were actually two miles behind us, with half the population of Europe in between us and any hint of danger). Ernest Hemingway's writings made Pamplona famous, and I'm sitting just outside the beautiful Cafe Iruna, which I'm guessing looks about the same as it did when Hemingway hung out here almost 100 years ago. </span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial; font-size: small;">I never thought I'd be in this quaint little town again. </span></p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlvvku8jCBs0UeJLC_d3OzKs_Y9xhkS4KEPMDqoCc7uco-62SDw0dLNctG8JHZvb5dIYBXXjafkxTmwGqtoabABy3QzgCOtS2KlUbh3rsLJCrCdBs99LR5069YzwjMINKj4c91apa6Ssg/s2048/2017-03-30+Camino+Pamplona+Cafe+Iruna.JPG" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="clear: left; display: inline !important; font-family: arial; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlvvku8jCBs0UeJLC_d3OzKs_Y9xhkS4KEPMDqoCc7uco-62SDw0dLNctG8JHZvb5dIYBXXjafkxTmwGqtoabABy3QzgCOtS2KlUbh3rsLJCrCdBs99LR5069YzwjMINKj4c91apa6Ssg/s320/2017-03-30+Camino+Pamplona+Cafe+Iruna.JPG" /></span></a></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial; font-size: small;">I decided to start my Camino in Roncesvalles, just over the Spanish side of the Pyrenees, rather than St. Jean Pied-de-Port in France. St. Jean, just north of the border, is the traditional starting point for the Camino Frances route I'll be following. On the bus I met a few seasoned Camino walkers who said it's been a very long, wet winter in the Pyrenees, and although crossing them only takes a day, and hikers even older & less able-bodied than me have done it, it is notoriously the most challenging day of the whole Camino. There's a 4500' altitude gain over 5 miles -- tough even without the snow possibly obliterating the trail markers. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: small;">I'm not out to prove anything on this trip, just doing it to "clear the lint trap" as my wise offspring put it, so I decided to just skip the Pyrenees. Tomorrow (Fri 3/31) I will begin the actual Camino in Roncesvalles -- though some say the </span><i style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">real</i><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: small;"> Camino begins an once you commit to going for it. </span></span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV5HYgOv95HVNUhb6MjFMPSBdv9jMqxTPndlphILdLlB-0oKxUKKyzBSq6a1EbJnK2Wo-6FpDcMAj9YffYOf4hWkP_YZ5wZ20OEji_ggSazuzceh7lX13pnSryRo-HT4mLmFvsnkKw_Uc/s2048/2017-03-30+Camino+-+Pyrenees+mountains+from+bus.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="clear: left; float: left; font-family: arial; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV5HYgOv95HVNUhb6MjFMPSBdv9jMqxTPndlphILdLlB-0oKxUKKyzBSq6a1EbJnK2Wo-6FpDcMAj9YffYOf4hWkP_YZ5wZ20OEji_ggSazuzceh7lX13pnSryRo-HT4mLmFvsnkKw_Uc/s320/2017-03-30+Camino+-+Pyrenees+mountains+from+bus.JPG" /></span></a></div><p></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: small;">My first night in an </span><i style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">albergue</i><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: small;"> (pilgrim hostel) in Pamplona, the </span><i style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">Albergue Jesus y Maria </i><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: small;">(formerly an 18th century Gothic church),</span><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: small;"> was an eye-opener in terms of total lack of privacy. This wasn't news, and I fully expected it -- but still, it was a bit of an adjustment after living alone for so many years. The sleeping quarters were tight and very public -- a series of 15'x15' cubicles in the huge, open former sanctuary, with three small metal 2-person bunkbeds per cubicle. Definitely not everyone's cup of tea (I can feel some of you cringing out there, and you know who you are). But </span><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: small;">I am consciously choosing to give up a lot of creature comforts on what I am viewing as a walking retreat -- so it was a very pleasant surprise to discover the narrow mattress was actually super-comfortable. </span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: small;">My new down bag was a dream -- feather-light yet warm & cozy without suffocating Miss I Can't Stand The Heat. And the industrial-strength earplugs I brought are magnificent; the snoring of other </span><i style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">peregrinos</i><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: small;"> (pilgrims) was but the lightest, faintest far-off buzzing. I was on the upper bunk. Surprisingly, v</span><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: small;">ery peaceful -- as long as I didn't think too much about the five other humans sleeping just a few feet to my left, my right, and below me. (However, the price was right -- just 5 euro. That's the tradeoff pilgrims make.) </span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial;">Every movement made by either me or the person below reverberated along the slender lines of the bunkbed. I woke up several times to the slight tremor of the person below turning over, reminiscent of the gentle shake of a faroff earthquake. Whenever I needed to change position, I tried to move very slowly and deliberately in a sort of tai chi maneuver.</span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial; font-size: small;">I awoke to see the graceful lines of the huge vaulted ceiling of the former sanctuary arching overhead. Some pilgrims were already gone, the whole sanctuary was alive with rustling bags, whispers, low voices, footsteps. I wanted simple -- I definitely got it! </span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4t4AHEIIy7yAj6Pfh4UPsXU_-GGPYAeJsI4TKC2uxwJNchDeC0CaIjfx_DH-FblYLBuxDheQIWoWCMNOC1V9TMePjljUhkk0fZLIx_ZedwXJLGxrbV7Obx1DrAPXyHL56NEOLgSmDB9M/s2048/2017-03-30+Camino+Pamplona+sign.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="clear: left; float: left; font-family: arial; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4t4AHEIIy7yAj6Pfh4UPsXU_-GGPYAeJsI4TKC2uxwJNchDeC0CaIjfx_DH-FblYLBuxDheQIWoWCMNOC1V9TMePjljUhkk0fZLIx_ZedwXJLGxrbV7Obx1DrAPXyHL56NEOLgSmDB9M/s320/2017-03-30+Camino+Pamplona+sign.JPG" /></span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhorUd3sE8X0ac-X5YpuMQyxkzEtMi0bAUd0JboLgvMWR81MgJYIDoVqmxOvsM7ywkgAnmtWeDiUWlbTKXjjHAIbWsJuZLOlI2hquEWN-ZJJVHqMeWHeKdisOLhURQLwMNc4Qp5KZE_vIA/s2048/2017-03-29+Camino+Sign+La+Vida+Es.JPG" style="clear: left; display: inline; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><span style="clear: left; float: left; font-family: arial; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhorUd3sE8X0ac-X5YpuMQyxkzEtMi0bAUd0JboLgvMWR81MgJYIDoVqmxOvsM7ywkgAnmtWeDiUWlbTKXjjHAIbWsJuZLOlI2hquEWN-ZJJVHqMeWHeKdisOLhURQLwMNc4Qp5KZE_vIA/s320/2017-03-29+Camino+Sign+La+Vida+Es.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial; font-size: small;">So -- over & out. Just wanted you all to know I made it safely to Spain. Adios for now!</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGPorPXHfMgR8SY1f6UgLQTqfL257BzWTionqhPrL68IrVjbhejRZy_pqo2327oLMebJToI36i33bog36kPCxveQC2n-qkKxnwR1B7GxyhTbUSBNL6jsqGIEZ6wIl8Ne7GwRTg6V1YKYo/s2048/2017-03-28+Camino+Mary+at+SFO.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="clear: left; float: left; font-family: arial; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGPorPXHfMgR8SY1f6UgLQTqfL257BzWTionqhPrL68IrVjbhejRZy_pqo2327oLMebJToI36i33bog36kPCxveQC2n-qkKxnwR1B7GxyhTbUSBNL6jsqGIEZ6wIl8Ne7GwRTg6V1YKYo/s320/2017-03-28+Camino+Mary+at+SFO.JPG" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: small;"><br /></span><p></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0