Author Archives: Inge

Walking at home…

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It’s been a few days since we’ve returned. The first few days were busy with all the usual tasks. Mail sorting, bill paying, laundry, dusting, leave raking and shopping for groceries.

The day after I got home, a friend came to pick me up to drive to Grand Junction. T.V. station KREX wanted an interview with Carrie and I. Well, that was fun.


Also a reporter from the Daily Sentinel was there at the same time (click link to read). See the NBC11 News report.  It was on the news that Sunday night. KREX took some artistic license with the contents (and my name) but overall the word was out. Carrie had an interview with KKCO the next day and some more pictures of our journey were shown.

Sunday afternoon, Carrie, her mom, and her sister came, as did a few friends of mine, who wanted to meet Carrie. They wanted to hear what her impression and thoughts were. How or why it had changed her. That was a very nice afternoon, recalling and remembering our journey and as long as we get to talk about it, it hasn’t ended. My friend Carla stayed to help me write a letter to Marianne, in French.

All my friends and people I know, i.e. Post Office, grocery store, etc. tell me how well I look. They say I’m glowing. Perfect picture of health. (From their lips to God’s ear.) I feel really well. I’ve lost 5 lbs since I’m back. My body is shedding fluids. I’ve also started to take Avemar. This is a fermented wheat germ product and is to improve immune system as well as detox. I’ve seen a one-hour special, called “Run from the cure“.  It’s about oil made from hemp that helps to cure or alleviate many illnesses. Smoking marijuana, on the other hand, apparently does not help in cancer cases.

Strangers called me and asked for advice for lifestyle changes, to improve their health. I told them that I’m working on getting a cooking class together and would love to show them how this can be done, making small changes and working up to the grander scale.

During those first days, I still felt displaced and out of sorts. I was missing the simple act of walking, of meeting pilgrims.  I was told when the P.E.T scan appointment was made that I was not to do straineous exercise. The long walk was the reason I had to wait 3 weeks for my body to become ‘resting’. I’ve tried. I really have, but yesterday, was a gorgeous late fall day. The special kind we have here on the Western Slope. My body was idling, revving to go. (What I did not miss, was the JAMON.)

So, I put my snazzy camino boots on and walked the path by the river. The San Juan mountains, south of me were snow covered and brilliant against the azure sky. Trees still had gold, green, yellow foliage. I could almost pretend I was walking the camino. Horses were in one pasture and then I saw a pair of foxes. Their ears came up as I passed but they stayed.

I was still thinking about some of the places I’d been, when some people walked toward me. Automatically I said ‘Buen Camino’.  They smiled and said “Good morning.” I chuckled to myself; maybe they thought I was Mexican.

I felt bad thinking about those poor people getting pounded by this freak snow storm, back East, when I was enjoying this perfect weather that we have here, oh, about 300 days out of the year.

It felt so good to just keep moving. I walked a measly 3.5 miles but felt so much better. I don’t think this will hurt anything? In any case, I’ll stop walking a few days prior to the appointment. It’ll all settle. Of course, now I’m also thinking what all these tests might show? But, I push those thoughts away. There’s no use on trying to analyze something that I don’t know. Would drive you crazy, if you allow it.

I suppose walking the camino at my age and circumstance may be a bigger deal than I thought. Or, perhaps it’s the curiosity of avoiding chemo that makes this newsworthy. Could be, because I did finish the walk. In any case, a reporter from “The Watch”, a regional newspaper called yesterday for an interview. This one is coming out Thursday and can accessed online. My 15 minutes of fame. But more so, everyone is anticipating the results of these tests. Waiting, wondering if all this walking has done something unique. I know it has, without results from tests. Meanwhile, I will enjoy the great weather and walks and even go up to the Black Canyon. I think walking there will be gorgeous right now.

 

 

 

 

Respite in Portugal

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I’d stopped writing in my journal because we were so busy sight-seeing. We took a half day and went to Sintra, a lovely, picturesque town near the Atlantic Ocean. We wanted to see the Moors’ castle, on top of a big hill (yes) surrounded by a huge park. We took the bus up and it was interesting how the driver went around the curves. There were many.

When the castle came into view, it was very enchanting with the many turrets, towers and arabic influence. Like Aladdin’s fairy tale. It also reminde me, in a way of King Ludwig’s castle Neuschwanstein.

You had to go up a little, steep hill to go through the gate. Some people, younger ones as well, walked slowly due to the incline. I just took off, passing them. I was in shape. Nothing to this tiny hill. I heard Cameron calling behind me, “show off! You’re such a show off.” Made me smile.  We took a tour through the inner sanctum, where the royals lived. Exquisite furniture, priceless china and the usual pomp.

When the tour was over, we went to the bus station to go back to town. It took a long time and when we found out it would be another 25 minutes, we decided to walk. We were in the walking business, after all. Long, steep hill down, no problem. We made it in record time. Took a cab to the train station as Carrie and I really wanted to see the Ocean. We’d given up Finisterre but were determined to see some water.

                          To get there, we were told to go by trolley. A real old one. It was open on the sides and the conductor and driver were up front on a small platform. A few other tourists joined us. We were so excited to have this special treat. Then, the trolley went arounda bend and the most god-awful-screeching came alive. This was the sound we heard for over 40 minutes, going perhaps 15 mph, that this ride lasted. Every bend, every applying of the brakes, it screeched.  We covered our ears but that didn’t help a whole lot. Spoiled some of the fun of seeing nature at a slower pace. We went past beautiful villas covered in vines and flowers. Tall grasses, trees and shrubs.  The view opened up and behind some tall beach hotels, shining in the sun was the Ocean. Carrie and I took our shoes and socks off and ran ‘yohoo-ing’ and laughing down to the water’s edge. Breathing deep the tangy air and watching the waves ride in.

Cameron picked a boulder and was fast asleep after a few minutes. Carrie took her already wet shorts off, and sat in the cold water. I just sat still as my eyes wanderd over the many surface miles. Watching the sea gulls and felt the warm sun on my face. I could’ve stayed there a least another day but, we had to.

I reflected on the little time we had left and what all we had done, where we had been and I felt sad that it was over. I knew when I got back, reality would set in and I would have to deal with the ‘C’ again. Needles, tests, scans and pain.

As I turned to leave, I left one more image in the sand… with some more hope of this being so.

(I’ve forgotten our opera visit in Lisbon. When I saw a poster about ‘Don Carlo’ and date and time, I was so excited and told Cameron and Carrie that I really, really wanted to go. They did, too. We purchased the tickets and asked if our ‘dress’ was acceptable and it was because it’s not all the glitz and glamour anymore. We sat in the 3rd row, right by the orchestra pit, but it was a good view.  As soon as it started my excitement deflated. It was one of these modern interpretations. Street clothing, no set to speak of and kids running around with tennis rackets. I looked at Cameron and he just nodded his head as if saying ‘ I know but it is what it is.’ We did stay the whole 4 hours. This opera had been rewritten a few times, as had the ending. This particular ending fizzled out. The love interest of the young tenor was old enough to be his grandmother and thus not believable and the chemistry was missing.

The singing was very good though as was the music.  Next morning we had to leave early to catch the bus to the airport. Long lines and security made for a fast good bye from Cameron, as his flight was several hours later. Carrie and I didn’t get to sit together and so began the slow separation and feelings of displacement. It felt as though someone plucked me off the camino  and into the plane. At one point, tears welled up at nothing in particular. It’s been continued at home as well. Although I’m glad to be home but the camino left its mark. Nothing tangible, nothing I can grasp and hold except pictures and memories. But, subtle changes and I believe this will work its way through the future.

People asked me, ‘would you go back?’ I answered, well, not right now but perhaps at some point walk certain stages again.

Meanwhile, I saw a German movie about a Pilgrimage to Padua, Italy and I’ve been researching the ‘Jakobsweg’ they just rededicated in Austria. … Beautiful, gorgeous scenery… nice places to stay… good food. Dare I call Cameron and Carrie??                                                                       

Must be fair about food….

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I know I complained ‘a bit’ about the food on the camino. I want to be very fair and state that I really don’t know how the rest of the people in Spain eat. I just don’t like all that mayo on Tapas, nor some fish. I just couldn’t have so much grease and there was a LOT of it. In the end, it made me nauseous as I had hardly had any fat the last 18 mos and my system protested in more ways than one.

I must give our friends, Julio and Marianne a lot of kudos for their cooking because that was good and plentiful and Julio really took care to prepare dishes that I could eat and were close to my diet. I want to get the recipe for Marianne’s Couscous salad. I really liked that one.

Some of the soups I’ve had were very good, especially the one at the Fiesta where Julio ran down the cook and asked for a special bo wl for me. It was only on the Camino that things were uninspired. It’s O.K. to have eggs and bacon and ‘Jamon’ but there should be at least one or two choices for people who have health issues. i.e. Diabetes, cancer, ect. There’s a lot of sugar everywhere and at breakfast that’s all one gets. Danish, Croissants, other sweet pastries or just white bread. This is what makes the beginning of the walk difficult and hard. I wish they’d serve Oatmeal in those bars. Some had fruits, like banana, orange, and apple. But that was few and far between. and wouldn’t sustain energy over the amount of kilometers.

Maybe they’ve not even thought about Pilgrim’s health issues?

Some people are allergic to fish and lessens the choices  considerably.

I know I missed my veggies something fierce.

Good bye Spain and Hello to Portugal

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As we left Spain, the landscape was still the same. Rolling hills and lots of green. During the ride, Carrie and I got our camera’s and looked at the digital pictures and asked each other where this or that was taken and what we did. Already memories fading a bit and the need to reconnect. It was a strange feeling not to be walking and my eyes searched for the yellow arrows. I looked for paths to walk, that were not there anymore. First impression overall was, that the buildings and everything seemed more kept up. In better condition and somehow cleaner.

The landscape flattened out and changed. Still pretty but different.

Porto was a bee-hive-busy activity. Beautiful buildings and churches. We stopped to eat and use WiFi. It was a bit of a surprise that the menu was not much different. The Portugese eggs were hidden in an omelette but same french fries.

Cameron looked up Hotel choices on his lap top, which wouldn’t cost an arm and a leg. We found one, the rates seemed reasonable and breakfast, WiFi was included.

Then, like excited children went to town to shop for new clothes. At first, it was totally overwhelming. The sheer amount of people on Catarina Avenue. The throng of people, the noise, hollering, honking, music, laughter, dogs barking and activity. Like New York’s Fifth Avenue.  After the peaceful camino, quite a difference.            

But, it also meant shopping and getting out of these well worn, stained clothes. One shop after another. One cafe after another. Looking a the prices the joy faded aomewhat. One outfit was 95.00 Euro’s, calculated to 50% more into dollars was too much.

Then, I spotted C&A. The German clothing giant and I know they have reasonable prices. That’s where we went. Carrie and I, totally blissful.  We found what we wanted, except Cameron, who went to an Italian Clothier. Happy with our purchase, we hopped on a sightseeing tour bus. Churches, cathedral in various architectural design, some of the exterior, totally covered in tiles. Big buldings as well.

Several big bridges spanned the river. One, old iron bridge, designed by Gustav Eiffel.                      

We stopped by the river and got off. Picturesque, old houses lined the river promenade. We were invited to see how Port wine was made. Touring with us was a couple from Holland who joined us when the free samples came. I liked the second one best.

The bus was supposed to come back in an hour but came much earlier and then we found out, it was the last one. Left us stranded. I would’ve loved to walk this promenade but it was getting late.

We decided to spend one more night at this hotel as the others were too expensive and did not have WiFi not breakfast. Next morning, after a nice breakfast and we stuffed ourselves, we went to town. Carrie wanted to sit at a Cafe to do her school project and paint. Cameron and I went shopping. Then, we met at the pre-arranged point for lunch which was in a 1920’s style, elegant Cafe. We went window shopping some more. Later, we had dinner and it was just awful. Cameron didn’t finish his as his fish was in a sea of grease and oil.

Early next morning, we only had to go up the road to catch the bus to Lisbon.

It took us a little while to find the place Cameron had booked. We’d taken a cab. Arrived at the address, there was no sign only a tiny piece of paper over a bell. We looked at each but rang anyway. A lady opened the door and a torrent of angry words was the welcome. She pointed upstairs and after we drudged up, there was nothing to identify anything. We left.

Cameron discovered that he had left his connecting cable at the hotel, in Porto. Lap top battery dead. Got another taxi and found the ‘Apple’ Store where we were allowed to use free time for FB and he could find us a place to spend the night. Once, all this was taken care of we took a cab to the place.

In an old house, up narrow stairs and a long hallway. The manager was nice enough and very helpful. The first thing we saw, going into the room was an open area, with a sink and a Bidet. Carrie laughed histerically and I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. But, he showed us the other bathroom/shower areas. We figured since we were only there to sleep and had our eyes closed, this would do. Our finances were dwindling fast. Carrie and I, both had to keep borrowing from Cameron.

The next morning, we went to see the castle and had this magnificent view. Peacocks wandered in the garden below. I was enchanted.

After a nice lunch, outside at the bottom of the castle , we took the streetcar to the famous tower. Carrie and I decided to forgo the 5.00 Euro entrance fee and just enjoy the bay and sun. Then, we went to the huge monastery, white and richly decorated with stone carvings.

We went in search for dinner and came upon a Indian restaurant. We were the only guests and had a feast. It was one of the best meals, in along time. If you go to Lisbon, look them up. Dehli Delights.

Casanova Mato, Arzua, Pedrouzo, and Santiago

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From October 12 on . . .

After some confusion and miscommunication about the transport of Quasimodo, we set off around 7:30a.m.  It’s still dark, with a full moon.  Going past a forest and up a hill.  Mist rising in the valley, and we’re walking with Rene, from Jena.  He’s into holistic medicine and also works with crystals.  Walking is brisk in the morning and our path goes uphill quite a bit.  I am truly amazed how hilly Spain is!

We stop at a store and I buy fruit and my beloved Spanish pepper.  Someone should import these.  When I think of the ones back home, in comparison, they seem plastic.  Temps were going up to 32C.  My whole body got hot as I still wore two pairs of socks (so as not to blister).  Also greased my feet and toes with Nivea.  We stop at one little bar and have a fresh and natural raspberry drink.  Oh, my, that was so good!

Mainly we walk through sunlit forests, but we’re still going up.  One particular steep hill — I dedicated this one to my cousin Renate.  Another for my sister, brother, and close friends.  There are enough hills here for half of the people in Montrose.  Sure was glad when the 17+kms were done today.  Now I’m sitting under an old gnarly apple tree, looking out at hilly landscape, and wide swatches of fall colors.  Birds are singing, and it’s another peaceful spot.

Stopped in Casanova Mato.  The refugio is right on the road.  There are only five houses here, and no store.  Carrie and I are ahead of Cameron, who took advantage of free wi-fi and stayed longer at the last spot.  The woman talks very rapidly in answer to my questions.  I tell her, “No habla Espanol.”  It’s nice and clean and has a kitchen.  This was put in as a joke, since there’s no store here.  We showered with the usual sound of ahhhhhhh.

Cameron caught up.  We were told that there was an albergue 1.5km away that would pick us up.  That was too far to walk, even for very hungry pilgrims.  We got a very good lentil soup — we ate two plates each.  Then meatballs, home-made fries, peas and carrots, all in a nice sauce.  Water, bread, wine.  A very reasonably priced good meal.  We are happy campers.  We were chauffered back and I told Carrie that I could purr like a cat now.

There are ten bunks total, and they’re all filled up.  I read a bit, and talked to a German woman next to me, who has walked from France, but by a different route.  The street light shines right into my face, and I had to put my mask on.  Then I woke up, out of a deep sleep, because the Spanish couples came in, talking, rustling.  Finally, quiet, until one of them starts snoring.  Deep, loud, and going on most of the night.  I was dismayed, thinking of the long hike ahead with barely any sleep.

Got up at 5:30 and got ready.  Again only one bathroom for all of us.  We left at 6:15, one cup of tea and one small piece of bread we’d brought from the restaurant last night.  Carrie was the only one who had a light.  Cameron lost his, and mine was empty, as I’d used it to read.  There was a full moon, but of no use, since we had to go through a very dark forest.  And so we trekked along.  After 4-plus kilometers, I shared the last bit of chocolate, which only made us more hungry.

Cameron figured we’d have to walk about 9km before reaching a larger place.  I was thinking of all these refugees who walk for days without food.  Finally, we saw a large city and we knew there was a bar open somewhere.  Having come up some more steep hills, I was famished.  We walked around a corner and there it was.  We could have pizza and sandwiches, and there was Internet and cafe con leche!  Almost paradise.

We stayed for over an hour.

Ten more kilometers to go.  I would never have guessed how many hills Spain actually has.  We’re going through lovely forests, but also steep inclines.  I dedicated each to a different person.  My heart friends:  Irene, Bonnie, Inge, Carla.  The next hills to Rowena, Jayne, and Willa Kay.  The last steep one to Cameron.  Then suddenly I felt shaky and dizzy.  We stopped and Carrie gave me a banana, and then we kept going.

The stench of liquid manure, pig farms, etc., is overwhelming.  As beautiful as Galicia is, so far it smells the worst of all.  In between, we would smell natural scents of hay, dry leaves, eucalyptus, fennel, roses, mushrooms, and even camomille.  We were ecstatic.  We arrived at the next town, but then decided not to stay in another dormitory with noisy people.

We took a taxi for a few kilometers to Arzua and checked into a hostel with nice, soft beds and towels.  After the usual shower, Carrie and I took off to find a grocery store, and when we did, and the automated door of the grocery store opened, we both said, “Ahhh, look how pretty!”  There were shelves of food, and it was very clean.  I went to the produce section and almost wept with joy.  Everything was there, and my wonderful red peppers too.  I bought grapes and cheese, bread, yogurt, tomatoes, salad, and dressing, plus plastic plates.  We came back and had a picnic on the bed.

We had found Internet (expensive as usual).  I also thought of the high prices they charge along the way for a small cup of coffee and a piece of toast, 3 Euros.  We haven’t seen much of this town, so very near Santiago, but we are too tired.  Carrie and I watched some Spanish soap opera, and laughed at the bad acting.  And since we didn’t understand, we made up our own dialogue.

I want to make sure of this distinction:  that we only know the food on the Camino.  I am not saying all food in Spain is this indifferent.  We don’t know how people eat elsewhere in Spain.  There simply isn’t any desire nor creativity to be different along the Way.  Cameron suggested starting a moveable deli, starting at one point and moving along to meet pilgrims wherever possible.

Pedrouzo

We’re in Pedrouzo now.  This is a very nice albergue.  Near new, clean, wooden bunks, sheets and pillows.  In the middle of the dormitory is a plant topiary with soothing water running.  There’s nice soft music playing overhead, and it’s truly an oasis.  The usual ritual followed:  I washed all clothes — in a machine – and hung them out in the fresh air and sun.  Then Carrie and I went looking for a grocery store.  Not many choices, they said, since it was Saturday.  But we found one and got the usual:  bread, cheese, grapes, and white asparagus for me.

We ran into Rene, who was staying there as well, and he joined us outside for dinner.  He talked of his journey, and disappointments.  How unfriendly, unsmiling the business people, waiters, etc., on the Camino had been.  He was upset at the cruelty to and neglect of the animals.  “You can tell a lot about people by the way they treat their animals,” he stated.  Then he asked me if it was true that people in the U.S. had the claws from their cats removed?  I said yes, I had seen a few without claws.  He said, “It’s just like ripping out your toes.”  He was visibly upset, put his face in his hands, and just shook his head.

Next morning, sure enough, the rustling and bathroom-goers started at 5a.m.  Then, as people walked into the hallway, a light came on automatically, and shone in everyone’s faces.  They need taller walls — the kind that go all the way up to the ceiling.  I got up at 6a.m., Carrie did too.  I went to the coffee machine to have a cup.  It made such a racket that I walked away so no one would know that it was me!

Cameron needed to work some more while he had wi-fi, but since it would be 20-plus kilometers, I wanted to leave at the agreed-upon time of 7a.m.  Carrie and I left and made our way, looking for our yellow arrow.  Here came the forest . . . deeep and dark.

She cranked up her light, and then we remembered that Cameron wouldn’t have a light.  Back she went a little way, left her penlight and a note.  I doubted that he would see it, but hoped that he would find some other pilgrims coming through.  After a while, Carrie and I agreed that we’d never have done this at home.  We actually felt safe here.

Finally, a different path, then forest again.  Then small hamlets started to appear.  Same slate-stone houses, with corncribs.  By now, we would know that if there were six houses, two to three would be in ruins.  After an hour or so we saw our first bar.  Stopped for cafe con leche and Carrie had a fresh OJ.  We waited 20 minutes, then moved on.  I told her that Cameron would catch up, probably singing, “She’s a lady, woh woh woh, she’s a lady.”

 

Cathedral, St James and Certificate

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The exterior of the cathedral had many, ornate stone carvings, statues and gargoyles. It looked a bit dark and had yellow leeches growing all over, in some places grass growing out on the side. It would need a good scrubbing as well and window cleaning. The were so black, one could not see through. (Maybe they should ask for some Pilgrim volunteers?) We went inside and I was surprised that there were not many people there. It was  Sunday and surely other Pilgrims had made it? No one came and applauded our accomplishment, either. No matter, we knew. The main altar was richly adorned with gold and flowers. In the middle a life size statue of San Diago. The famous, huge silver orb hung still, unmoving on thick ropes. A 9 man team swings this orb , filled with frankincense through the cathedral but only used on special occasions. Like, the pope visiting, or a holy year. (In 2010.) In long ago past, the reason for this, was to cover the stench the many unwashed, unclean Pilgrims brought with them.

A small staircase went up behind the altar, the steps hollowed out in the middle from millions of previous foot steps. The statue was draped in a large, gold cape, richly decorated with jewels.   Most everyone touched the back, silently wishing? praying?  Or just glad to have arrived and giving thanks. Some more devout people cried as they did so.

Below the altar, is a small room. Placed into the recess of the wall and protected by thick glass, is a richly decorated, silver coffin. It is said, that it contains the remains of St James.

There’s also a small prayer bench to kneel for a short prayer as people are lining up to get their turn. Also, attached to the bench is a large donation box. They are everywhere.

We had met Rene again and he chatted happily as we made our way to the pilgrim’s office to receive our Official ‘decree’, in Latin no less, certifying that we have done ‘the way’.

Not only a piece of paper.                       

 

 

 

 

 

As we made our way through historical, busy streets, a man came up offering us a room for 50 Euro’s and as he kept repeating, ‘very, very quiet. He offered that we could look at it. We went with him and there were several rooms with a fully equipped kitchen.   Well, I wouldn’t have time to use it much.

The owner helped us through the maze of many streets as we still had to pick up Quasimodo for the last time.  Suddenly, someone grabbed me and screeched ‘Meine Guete, schau mal wer da ist?’ (My goodness, look who is here?) I turned and it was Barbara. They’d made it there just a little while ago as well. Her husband had surpised her for their 26th wedding anniversary as they’d never been apart on that day. He had walked the last 3 days of her camino with her. As I shook his hand, I remembered at the Albergue where we had met the second time, when she told me about him. She said, in that lovey, lilting bavarian, ‘jo mei, I hoab ihn hoid nu so liab’. (Well yes. I still love him so much.) This sincere tribute, after 26 years really touched my heart. We couldn’t stand in the middle of the street with the landlord tapping his foot and we quickly asked if they would go to Finisterre. She told us that the bus would take 3 hours, one way. We said, we’d see them then. Later, we decided with heavy heart  not to go after all as it would be more time than we had allowed. I feel sad, that I didn’t ask for her address. I sure hope that they will have another, happy 26 years.

On we went and then saw the Monastery. You guessed it. Up a high hill and a very, steep incline. But, finally we were all reunited. Carrie offered to carry mine and Cameron carried hers, as it was really heavy. By that time, we had not had any food since early morning and then only a piece of white bread. Our Carrie, who has never complained , suddenly turned into a bear, nearly fainting from hunger. Finally, to our room and then quickly back the cobble stone streets, old, ornate buildings, street musicians, beggars and many cheap souvernir shops.

Cameron and she devoured a pizza in a few minutes while I still had to wait 40 minutes, since the waiter forgot my order. After some sight seeing and Cameron using free WiFi, Carrie and I went back to the cathedral to just sit and look. The sun was setting and it was a peaceful, beautiful moment. I felt disjointed, sad that it was over. The ‘way’ was finished.

Up early next morning, we took a cab to the bus station to go Porto. The ride would take 3+ hours.

Next morning, we drove to the bus station to go to Porto.

Last kilometers into Santiago

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I am catching up the blog but have to rely now on my journal as memories fade already to exact words and thoughts.

As we were walking  the last kilometers I was thinking about the trip. Did I have expectations? No. Did I have any regrets? None whatsoever. Will I be disappointed if results turn out different? No, not really. It has been a fantastic journey, in many more ways than one.

I was wondering what that last, steep hill would be like? I’d read about it in 2 different books and was a bit nervous. But, if I can climb the Pyrenees then I can climb this one too. We came closer to Santiago and some people sped up. We stopped at a mount with a huge wall with a likeness of the Pope on it. Then went on. When we actually came upon a hill I went up without comment (or sigh) and when we came down I realized that this was ‘the hill’ they had described as so difficult. Phhhht!! Totally anticlimactic. Whiners, both of those authors. Unless they or someone moved the mountain.

On we went to Santiago but curiously did not feel a whole lot. There were large, box-like Apartment Housings, 60’s style that seems to be the same all over the world, in cities. Since it was Sunday, shops were closed. I had had the shakes earlier on and I believe I’m missing vital nutrients besides this daily, physical hardship. We must’ve walked 2-3 km when we finally came upon a cafe and sat down. After a small respit, on we went and then saw the historical section. There were lots of people walking around the small, cobble stone streets. I saw spires from the back and other nice buildings. We met an American couple, who were visiting Santiago for the second time, liking it that much. They told us that we were the first, actual pilgrims they had seen in three days.

I had told Cameron earlier that I did not feel I had arrived until I would see the cathedral. The absolute finishing point of the camino. When we came around to the front, ‘Timothy’ came back once more, lodging in my throat. There it was. The End. I had absolutely made it. Through grueling mountains and long, hot hiking, sunburn, toe injuries, hunger, thirst, and double blisters. Santiago de Compostella. I remembered a sign we had seen, right after St. Jean pie de Port, which stated 792 Km to Santiago and how I thought what a LONG way away this was. Now, I was here and tears came. Then, Cameron reached into his backpack and came out with red carnations. Like a magician. He had carried those 2 flowers for awhile. That really opened the water works, We hugged one another and then group hug for us three, so happy to have arrived.  Happy shock. The couple had also come around and congratulated us and took a few photos, promising to e-mail them. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Inge – Rabanal to Mercadoiro and the Iron Cross

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Rabanal

Someone told us that in the small church in the village there would be Gregorian chanting. Carrie and I started out in a small church, but after we’d sat there for ten minutes without anyone coming, we figured we must be in the wrong church. Sure enough, here came Barbara to tell us the right spot. The other church was sad and dilapidated.

In most places, they would have closed it for fear the ceiling would fall down. Pamphlets in multiple languages were passed around, but the thirty-minute service was in Latin. The monk sang and the congregation answered. I know it’s all a ritual, but it wasn’t bad, and I loved hearing Cameron with that sing-song.

Four pilgrims said a short prayer, each one in a different language, and that was that. I told Carrie she’d receive extra credit for Latin.

We went to bed fairly early and there was only one snorer. When I went over to the kitchen at six-thirty, the stars were brilliant and plentiful. A lovely sight, as we hardly ever get to see them like that.

Up to the Cross

We started walking at close to eight, and it was almost dawn. We had to wear several layers of clothes, and I wore my wool shawl that I’d gotten in Venice. Crisp and cold, but walking was good. Except my nose was running continuously. We went past old stone houses in tiny villages, stepping back through time and centuries.

The sun came up, huge and brilliant in orange and yellow. As we walked, we saw gorgeous green hills, unspoiled, untouched. So much space, it seemed to go on for hundreds of miles and one could see to the end. Here came the mountain, and up we went. Not as steep as the Pyrenees, but pretty close. The scenery well made up for it, and at times this beauty took my breath away. I tried not to concentrate too hard on the cross and what I would do.

Cameron asked me what I’d do and I told him I’d just let it happen. As I was looking around, I did wonder on what hilltop it would be.

Stony path and much steeper then. A hard way to walk. Cameron would walk behind me, urging me on, giving me some of his energy again. Then some way off, I saw it. A frog had taken up residence in my throat lately, long enough to name it: Timothy. At the cross I saw dots of colors, red, blue, yellow, white, and green. Bicyclists stood at the foot of this cross. I slowed a bit, not wanting to have a whole audience. Cameron had asked what else I would say or ask for.

I said that I would pray for my daughter, so that she would have the courage to create a better life for herself, and thus be able to have the peace that she so craves. I would pray for my grand-daughter, that she would know the difference between a good time and disaster, and that responsibility doesn’t make a person sick. I would pray for my son, so that he could let go of childhood hurts, and be content and successful. I would pray for my grandson Dylan, that he would find his path, in spite of the troubled past. And for Kaleb, that he would keep going and that no matter what he did it would be all right.

I would pray for my niece Fiona, of course, so she wouldn’t be so terrified of getting cancer again, and could enjoy life and do fun things. For my sister, so she could have some time for life as well. A little prayer and blessing for Carrie, and then a prayer for my friends and other people who are important in my life.

I sensed that Cameron was getting emotional too, because he kept cheering me on. I was afraid to turn around for fear of starting to cry. I had to let go of all that regret of not being able to do a do-over. He asked me if I remembered that he’d written in social studies the person he admired most, and I said yes, happily recounting that memory, that this was in fourth grade and most of the other children had chosen to write “Luke Skywalker” or something. Under “My Hero is . . .” he’d written “My Mom”.

And then after that, he said, “Schiab’st a bissl’”, and I said, “Oh, Oma’s here,” and he said, “She’s been here all along.”

We arrived at the bottom of the stone pile. Into my head came the name montagne misère. The cross was tall, into the blue sky. The first third was covered with lots of different stuff that people had attached to it all the way around. T-shirts in all colors, a bicycle helmet, and plastic flowers. Buttons, ribbons, pictures, and cards.

Things left behind at the Cross

I took my rock and my PET scan picture out of my backpack and went up. I fell to my knees and offered this tumor. I remembered the pilgrim I had met the day before, for just a few minutes, not speaking any language in common, but he’d said, insha’Allah, which is Arabic for “as God wills”. And that’s what I was thinking as I lifted the tumor up. Not in English, not anything Catholic, just insha’Allah.

I was not going to demand, but to ask with grace. Then I just started to cry. Covered my face, and got up. I buried the picture between two rocks and left it there. I was still trying to formulate prayers for all the other people in my life. Cameron came at one point and put his arm around me, crying too. Thus we stood.

Carrie and Mom at the Cruz de Ferro

Walking off the hill, there stood Carrie, crying too. And then she went up and left her stone. When she came down and stood there, with tears running down her face, I folded her up in a big hug. We spent a little more time, quiet, solemn, and then went on.

The path away from the cross was really nice — wide and smooth, and I remarked that this could be indicative of our “new beginning”.

I had visualized the tumor just hanging by the kind of thread a spider would make, and as we walked I saw the tumor fall, lying on the camino ground as a dried-up mass.

On we went, through more beautiful, vast, and green countryside. Up a long hill, down the same long hill, and I was sure they’d moved Acebo another ten kilometers. Surely we had walked 16 already? This was the middle of nowhere, and nothing, except hills and a wide expanse of land. Far away, I saw a few rooflines. Finally we made our way to the village.

El Acebo

Another alpine look, with a small road through the town, and typical slate-and-stone houses on both sides of the road. There was the albergue, and we were soooo hungry. Immediately, we got our credentials stamped and ordered lunch. Me: bean soup, and some sort of meat dish. Cameron and Carrie got an odd-looking concoction, a little sack filled with odds and ends — bones and cartilage? A chorizo sausage sitting on the side, potatoes, garbanzo beans, and cabbage.

My dessert was pineapple and syrup right out of the can, with that distinctive tinny taste (do they think it can’t be tasted?). We went upstairs to our dormitory to choose our beds and shower. Only two toilets for 50 people. I was so ready for a nice, hot shower after that long and dusty road. We went to the store, the only one, bought a few groceries for the next day’s journey. Then Carrie lost her little wallet.

Later, at dinner, the waitress was really glad to see Cameron. She was delighted to explain the wine, even brought the chef out to consult. She touched his shoulder, his arm, and smiled, and flirted. Carrie and I were so amused. She didn’t touch us!

We ordered a different dinner. I ate the same soup and a vegetarian plate, with lemon mousse for dessert. Cameron remarked that if he’d had any love handles, he’d have lost them by now. I said, “Me too.” Carrie said, without missing a beat, “All I lost was my wallet.”

She’d even gone back to the store to check again. I told her not to worry. Went to bed, read a bit, and slept most of the night. No snoring.

Got up to use the toilet. No water to flush??? Too tired to deal with it. Went back to sleep. Woke up again when the guy in the next bed left at 5a.m. Took my thyroid pill (lost Lipitor somewhere near St. Jean along with my self-inflating pillow). It’s very difficult to take medication on this trip. But I miss my pillow. Bathroom again, still no water. Wow. They turn it off at night! None for brushing teeth.

I went downstairs to use that bathroom. No water. I went to the clothes sinks, and sure enough that worked to brush my teeth. And had hot water, even though when I washed my clothes the day before it had only cold water. (I left my beloved cup there!) I looked up at the star-lit sky and it was beautiful. So many, and so clear. I wished I would have brought my jacket, I’d have stayed for awhile.

At 7:45 we went down to have coffee before setting out. Nice walk, with pastel skies, and I felt good and capable. Carrie said, “You’re hoofing it this morning!” I said I was like a horse out of the chute. Then came the hills. Up a rocky one, hard, and down steep, long rocks. Stopped after a couple of hours to eat our makeshift breakfast. When we reached Monte-something, we stopped for coffee. Another picturesque place. What a great day, and fabulous weather, still.

The walking was going well, and through pretty little places. Then my toe started up. I changed shoes. After a while, I felt a lot of pressure, and had to take my sandal off, limping into Ponferrada on my sock, with my shoe in hand. We may stay somewhere other than the albergue to sleep in for once, as we have to take the bus once again for a few miles.

Sarria

No idea what day or date it is, but here we are, in the historic section of town and the albergue. No kitchen to speak of, and some people slathered on enough Ben-Gay to gag a maggot. I couldn’t sleep anymore after that. I sneezed several times and got up.

Started at eight, it was still dark, but the countryside was exquisite. Fauna and flora, green meadows with dew and tall trees. The enchanted forest. And around a corner, guess what?

A steep climb.

This one is for Fiona, I said to myself. My niece. We saw a huge, strange-shaped tree, but it’s too dark for a good picture. Up I pant, and finally, the top, and glorious sunrise. I sang, “Oh, what a beautiful morning / Oh, what a beautiful day.” And it truly was. What a magnificent jewel – Galicia.

It’s green and orange. It’s abundant, with so much different foliage. The sky is deep blue, the berries are red, like Colorado, and we are amazed and grateful for our good weather this whole trip.

My toes were down to a mere little whimper, and I really enjoyed this walk today. “It warms my heart,” I said.

“The whole trip warms mine,” Carrie replied.

How special she has become to us, how very special she is, to take this hardship on. But all of us are so glad we are here.

I feel a great sense of well-being. I said so, and Cameron took a picture. 100 kilometers, I read people start to get emotional. I started to be emotional. I find myself in tears at any given moment. But the latest may be due to this wonderful music at the Mercadoiro albergue, played by two Catalans.

We got a great hydro-shower, blasting out of many faucets, and then a free washing machine. Loved this spot, and then had conversation with a few more Germans.

Mom: Navarette, Azofra, Santo Domingo, Belorado, Burgos, Leon, El Acebo, Astorga

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Catching up on entries . . .

Navarette to Azrofa

It was a 21km hike to Azofra.  It was miserable for me, between this constant runny nose and the blisters on my toes.  (This rhymes).  I tried to ignore it, but snot ran down.  My kidneys started hurting too, and I don’t know whether I can walk 15km tomorrow.  I took a shower, the water was very cool, then I washed my clothes.  I was really freezing, so I lay down.  Julio wanted to know about dinner, so we went to a little but well-stocked store.  I got ingredients to make crepes for breakfast.  Tired of all this white bread.

I’ve been buying red peppers, which are sweet and juicy, my raw vitamins and a wonderful food.  It’s already October, where has the time gone?  Julio, Marie Anne, and Cameron are walking ahead while Carrie and I will take a taxi with backpacks too.

To Santo Domingo

We got here early and the taxi driver knocked at the albergue and asked the couple who answered the door if it was okay to leave our backpacks.  Carrie and I walked around in the chilly morning, trying to find a pharmacy, but it was still too early and everything was closed.  Finally, we found a bar and we stayed there for a bit to warm up.  Then we went to the square by the big cathedral and sat in the sun, drowsy but at least warm.

Close to the albergue’s opening time, we went to a small café and had a pizza.  (That’s all they had).  It was a lovely square with old-town charm.  When we got to the albergue, Cameron was already there.  This is by far the very best albergue.  Still new and clean.  The showers have lovely hot water, and we didn’t have to re-pump it every 25 seconds.  Nice, well-equipped kitchen.  Off we went, Julio, Marie Anne, and I, searching for food.  Then we prepared it.

We all left to wander around town and see more than just bed bunks.  I wasn’t sure if I was ready and well enough to walk 24km the next day, but I was willing to try.

I got up at 5a.m. and did my morning toilette.  I ate half a red pepper and had coffee and bread.  We left at 6a.m. and it was still pitch-black, but we saw our yellow arrow.  I thought my boots would be better, but after a few kilometers, my right foot was in agony, and my two small toes hurt like the dickens.  Next chance, I took my boots off and skin was hanging off my little toe.  The other one was raw hamburger.  My H’s were in an uproar, and there was a lot of blood, which created another problem.  By the time we stopped to rest, I was in a lot of pain, and just started crying.  I couldn’t breathe for all the snot!

Cameron came over to rub my back and give me some of his good energy.  I taped up my toes and went to the bathroom and took care of that problem.  They asked if I wanted to take the bus, but I didn’t want to.  I wanted to walk.  I just wanted to slow down, so that I could tend to things and not be run to the next place.  I also took an ibuprofen, and it started to kick in.  I was feeling a little better.  And then click-clacked the rest of the 12km.

Then we were near Burgos, in a private albergue (our first) with a swimming pool and other lovely amenities.  I told Cameron that I was ready to “throw the SOBs away” – meaning the boots.  Nothing feels as good as a good hot shower after 24km in hot weather.  I took the layers of band-aid off my little toe and the skin was hanging loose and pus was seeping out.  I wondered what possible function this toe has, other than making my life miserable.  We all rested before dinner, then went over to the restaurant.  I ordered mixed salad and roasted chicken.

The salad was all right, but the chicken came in a soup plate with fat/oil a half an inch thick in the bottom.  And in this greasy pond were the French fries (which I didn’t eat).  All that on top of those greasy eggs with jamon that I had eaten earlier.  It looks like pancetta but is too salty for me.

I fed it to the many cats that run loose here in Spain.  There was a DVD presentation of the Camino, set to lovely music.  We were delighted when we recognized some of the places we’ve been, and the assorted pain and difficulty associated with them.  This albergue has a kitchen, but no pots.  It’s damn difficult to get a cup of coffee.

The next day, we got on the bus, which was 35 minutes late.  The ride took just 45 minutes or so, but we saved two days of walking.

Burgos

Burgos is absolutely lovely.  The old-town center has many squares with shops, cafes, bars, and restaurants.  Julio bought us some expensive jamon and cheese, presenting them like treasures, and we had a picnic on a park bench by the river.  The huge cathedral had masterly stonemasonry.  We decided to get a ticket and see the inside.  My goodness, all that GOLD!  Richly decorated altars, to whose glory?

The albergue was near, new as well, and huge.  There were seven or eight floors, a large kitchen, showers for each group of four, so that made it nice.  Marie Anne, Carrie, and I walked around trying to find some clothes, but a big problem was that fall fashion is in place, and then the sizes only went up to 44, or a 12 in the U.S.  My toe hurt worse and I was limping.

I took a shower and put on make-up, and waited for everyone to get ready for dinner.  It would be a thank-you to Julio and Marie Anne for their invaluable help.  We will leave tomorrow to take a bus to Leon.

 Leon

October 4.  That was a nice and fine dinner, and good wine too.  We even had dessert, tiramisu for me.  I woke up at 4a.m. and after lying there for a while, I got my book and used my little light under the covers to read.  Later, Julio was awake, and we went downstairs for some automated coffee.  He then got the hospitalero to look at my toe.  He left and came back with betadyne and asked if I had a needle and thread, which I did.  He threaded these through the blisters, and stuff came out.  He also made sure that I understood how vital it was to take care of this at once in the next albergue, in Leon.  I then bought more stuff at the pharmacy.

We went to have breakfast near the cathedral, and it was another gorgeous day.  Julio said it wasn’t quite normal.  Then we went to the bus station to say goodbye, and that wasn’t easy.  I wonder if I’ll ever see them again.

We decided to go to the Museum of Human Evolution.  An impressive building and an amazing past, ancestors and all.  Lunch at a nice square, though it was windy.  Now we’re just killing time and flies in the lovely sun and surroundings.  We met pilgrims from earlier etapas and greeted one another like old friends.  Several said they were following the blog.

The bus trip covered two hours and boring landscape:  hot, land, sand, nothingness.

Leon

We arrived around 7 and took a cab to the albergue, then hurried across the street to have dinner, which was a piece of frozen lasagna, heated on one side, with laboratory cheese, for 10 Euros.  Then I had heartburn.

The hospitalero was one of the nicest and most accommodating of the Camino so far.  Smiling, too!  We had no pillows, so I used my jacket.  Woke up with my toes throbbing, but got up and ready for breakfast:  bread, coffee, jam (and margarine, my other nemesis).  We waited outside for Cameron.  A group of German men sat close by and asked questions about where I came from, where I lived, reasons for the Camino.  I started talking and pretty soon there were a couple more.  They asked who Carrie was, and how she came to be with us.  I told them that at first I had had reservations, and had said I was not bringing another teenager to Europe.

Then I told them the rules I had painted for her.  One, get up at 5:30a.m.  Two, no whining.  Three, no time for hair-fussing.  Four, no make-up (since rescinded a few times, for both of us).  Five, no going off alone.  One of the men said, “Wait, wait!  I want to write this down!”  Sure enough, he got his notebook.  Another man said this was the pastor, and he would use the material for his Sunday sermon.

They asked Carrie what her best and worst experience was so far, and she said without hesitation the Pyrenees.  They asked further if she regretted being here, and she shook her head vigorously no, and assured them that this was the best experience.  We took off, leaving the packs behind, and walked up some small cobblestoned streets.  The only other presence was the street-sweeping machine, cleaning up after the fiesta mess of the night before.  “Oh, gosh,” I groaned.  “Not another fiesta.  Everything will be closed.”  Sure enough.  But then we found a small café and had some form of a Danish (sigh).

The cathedral was just as impressive in architecture as so many others.  We went inside and heard Gregorian chanting.  We sat down and listened, being still and in the moment, while looking at the many gorgeous stained-glass windows in brilliant colors.  Cameron sat beside me, holding “the spot” on my back, then we left and looked through the town.  Lovely houses with lots of flowers and beautiful, colored paint.  We saw some tents, and these were the beginning of a medieval festival.  Many, many different items and so many colors and smells.

Drawback was, walking so much.  My toe hurt something fierce and at one point it was stinging like mad.  I sat on a bench and unwrapped it to see that a thread had cut off the circulation.  I am so sick and tired of pain.  We did have a baked potato while we rested.  Cameron is being frustrated not knowing how to help me.  I thought I needed to go back and take my shoes and socks off, just air out my toes and let them dry.  Later we found a Farmacia and bought Compeet for my toes.  Then we saw an Indian restaurant and decided to come back later for dinner.  A group of people sat outside in the yard of the albergue and we all visited.  Then a young man from Chicago and a woman from Denmark (who speaks at least four languages) joined us at the Indian restaurant.  We sat outside and had a really good meal, although in very small portions.

Lots of people started to move and go to different plazas for another fiesta.  Tables and chairs everywhere, families with their kids and/or dogs all around.  Old, young, visiting, laughing, and enjoying their fiesta.  It’s a nice way to see your neighbor, in a different setting, other than court.  Tomorrow we’ll take the bus just to the outside of Leon and walk the rest.

Astorga

Lovely place here, too, and we LOVE the albergue.  Nice couple greeted us warmly, with smiles.  The woman, Marlene, immediately showed me a well-stocked kitchen.  The room had only two sets of bunk beds, and nice, soft mattresses and pillows.  Clean, too.  There are nooks and crannies, a terrace, and a park nearby.  Great town square and fantastic looking Gaudi house, almost like Hogwarts or some wizard’s home.  I went shopping and immediately made a nice lunch.

Later, Carrie and I went to town and bought curlers and tweezers, and hamburger at a nice carneceria, so I could make German hamburgers.  We ate on the terrace, which had a beautiful view, vast landscape with church towers, houses, poplar trees, and nice, nice weather.

We rested some, and went to see the first (?) chocolate factory, but it was more about memorabilia.  Then I bought new shoes.  The salesman was getting a bit nervous, as he didn’t have any more wide shoes to accommodate my right toes and bunion problems.  I finally found a pair of Salomons with Gore-Tex, slipped in and said “Ahhh!”  Cost:  135 Euros.  But the first 50 meters, and more, the next morning were pure heaven.  I wore them for about five hours, before having to change into sandals.

Someone said there were electrical lines on the Camino.  I envisioned these earthly currents running gently along my spine like some kind of Terra RX.

We hiked 22 kilometers with only a couple of stops.  One was in a lovely bar.  The bathroom had lights, enough paper, soap, and hot water!  All women pilgrims immediately brightened, and we thanked Pilar for these small luxuries.  She told us how important a clean and healthy liver is, and how that fact translates into happy, smiling people.  “All the poison is in the liver,” she told us.  She had a beautiful basket on the bar with fruits and veggies in it.

We came upon some strange but melodious sounds.  A young woman held a saucer-looking instrument that had several round indentations, and she struck and stroked it with her hands, thus making it emit this Tibetan-like melody.  We stayed a few minutes, then went on.

El Acebo

We finally came to the Albergue Pilar, and a profusion of flowers in the courtyard.   Tables and chairs with pilgrims sunning themselves and conversing.  No town to speak of, and the only grocery store had closed, so we had no groceries for the next day’s mountain crossing.  I had a big plate of pasta with oily sauce (tomato?), which promptly gave me heartburn.  We met Barbara from Bavaria again, and Rainer from Cologne.  Later on, there was Hans from Switzerland, who had walked all the way from there.  His Swiss dialect made him so familiar, and reminded me very much of my brother.  I really liked staying at the albergue there.

After a shower, I put curlers in my hair and the grandmother was surprised that there were no stickers to hold them.  I told her I wanted to look nice for my visit to the cross.

Catching Up: Logroño and Navarette

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Logroño

Checking into the municipal albergue is now old hat. The one in Logroño was staffed with more unfriendly, unsmiling volunteers who speak a rapid Spanish that none of us can follow. What it boils down to is, we need to show our credentials and show our passport, then take a shower and come back to pay. We received throw-away sheets and pillowcases, which is what some albergues do now. We had arrived so quickly that we didn’t know what to do with ourselves. The 9 kilometers were so easy, but I was still tired. We tried to find a notary for Cameron and a grocery store.

This albergue has a nice big kitchen, but the two stoves have been removed and only a slow microwave exists. We bought veggies and salad (tomatoes, cucumbers, cheese, and chorizo, and bread, of course). I haven’t eaten so many carbs in a long time. But there’s absolutely no choice. I wonder if the veggies are sprayed. I am so far off my diet, I don’t even see it anymore. My energy level is down, and I would even consider eating meat just to get something of substance into my stomach. I bought two large, lovely red peppers to eat on the way in case there were only the uncovered mayo tuna tapas.

The guys took off to do business, and Marie Anne and I went to a café in the square. We were people-watching while we had our café con leche and mousse. It’s a lovely afternoon and people are busy going to and fro. Most of them are very nicely dressed. The more mature women as well. Their hair is coiffed, clothes match, nice shoes. We don’t see many overweight people. There was a beautiful cathedral with an ornate façade.

After washing our clothes and arranging the service to take Quasimodo to the next village in the morning (who has been replaced by a fat-baby daypack). We had another salad for dinner, and I went to bed to read for a while. There are three dormitories and probably 36 people in each. There were only two toilets and two showers for women, and as many for men. Toilet paper is a rarity, and one had better bring one’s own or be caught with one’s pants down. I hear people speak Spanish and laugh, some in broken English, and finally lights are out, and all is quiet . . . until midnight.

The snoring concert begins, and it’s awful. I went to the bathroom and then tried to go back to sleep. The Irish guy who was up a little while ago, tending to his injured foot, is now talking in his sleep. At two o’clock I’m still awake, and all four snorers are snoring at the same time. Nothing helps. I even contemplated dragging my mattress into the kitchen.

Even though I had only 13 or so kilometers to hike the next day, it’s a lot when you’re tired.

The flax (which I call “my dirt”) started to work, so I was up again. Finally, I took ibuprofen, and slept one-and-a-half hours before the plastic rustling began. I tried to go to the bathroom first, so I could take care of my dental issues. I snuck back to my bunk and retrieved coffee. There was not a pot to heat water.

A young Spanish man pantomimed that I should place a glass of water into the microwave. “Ahh,” I said. “Good idea.”

And then I decided to take my flax in the mornings, because I believe it will work much better, and won’t give me so many colon issues.

Logroño to Navarette

Marie Anne, Carrie, and I left Logroño while it was still cool so we could arrive before the hot noon sun caught us. Cameron and Julio were once again dealing with the notary. We made decent progress, and only stopped several kilometers out of town. The landscape changed back to being hilly, with lots of vineyards. We stopped at a bar, luckily open, and had our morning café con leche. I had to take of two blisters on my right foot. It was a beautiful spot by a pond, surrounded by green hills.

Then we started again and the Camino ran along the highway, divided by a chain-link fence. Every link had a hand-made cross in it, some made of wood, others of plastic bottles. I fashioned one from yellow flowers and placed it there as well. I remembered my visit to Oklahoma City, where people had done the same thing. I tried to explain that the bombing had hit the sangre de couer of the people of Oklahoma City, and she understood.

I was thinking as we were walking about the ancient pilgrims, and their hardships. How they were often robbed, and if they didn’t have enough, they might be beaten and thrown into the river. So in spite of all my issues, they were much worse off.

I was also having a food obsession: where to get it, what I would do with it, if they didn’t have what I wanted, what we’d do instead. Once that problem was taken care of, then came the bathroom obsession. Where to put it all, when there was not even a tree.

Everywhere the harvesting of grapes had begun. The weather was still perfect, and I’m sure they’re very happy to have such a great year.

Navarette

We arrived in Navarette early, and the albergue was still closed. We waited at a nearby café, where other pilgrims sat, and got sleep in the warm noon sun. Soon, we saw Cameron and Julio. Both made the 13 kilometer trek in 2 hours – a serious butt-kicking. “Cheesus Crise!” Julio said as he sat down. “Jour son is trying to keel me.”

We heard some music that sounded like from an ancient time. We hurried to check in, but there was no hurrying the process. And so we got another lesson in patience.

I had had two blisters between my toes, so the going was a bit tough. When we reached the square, situated right by the church, under some very old trees that shaded a stage, we saw children in elaborate, very starched white dresses with colorful flowers on them. They danced some old folk dances while throwing shy glances at their beaming parents. We were starving, but found out that everything was closed due to the fiesta to come. I would have thought that a priest or two would care for these hungry pilgrims. What are pilgrims to do on days like this? I had read about locals coming with water or food to greet the pilgrims. Well, I don’t know how long ago this was, but we sure haven’t seen anyone, except hungry feral cats. We did find a restaurant open and ate a fairly decent meal, but it cost 50 Euros. As Julio says, “the fleecing of the peregrinos”.

Carrie is catching a cold, and I hoped wasn’t getting worse. I can feel my throat tickle, and I groaned inwardly about yet another malady. We showered and changed, washed clothes, and arranged Quasimodo’s ride to the next town, since I really can’t carry mine with all these issues.

We wanted to visit the church, but due to the fiesta, it was closed. This is a smaller town, and rural, so I would imagine they would take their fiesta pretty seriously. During the fiesta, I had two bowls of the best soup ever!