Bonus

I thought I was staying in a small hotel, and when I was walking here yesterday, basking in the sunshine, I entertained visions of a nice glass of red wine at the bar. Maybe a little lunch (it was about 3:00 pm, so, yes, that's Spanish lunch hour).

Imagine my horror when I walk in -- JUST WALK IN THE FRONT DOOR -- and the family is sitting around the table, having THEIR lunch! Worse, after I retreat to my room, I hear them singing the Happy Birthday song!

There was no clue anywhere that this was a B&B.

And I had just walked 5 km from Astorga, where one might find the nearest open restaurant on a Sunday night in late November. I wasn't about to go back, in the dark, to wander around looking for some place open as early as 7:00 pm. So I ate some almonds I had in my bag and went to bed.

But not before I washed out my socks and undies. This also proved a challenge. Call it … I don't know what to call it. I pushed down the built-in drain stopper, filled the sink, dropped in my smalls, and took a shower. When I got out, I realized I couldn't figure out how to drain the sink. I really couldn't. My heart sinks.

There seemed to be a little stem behind the faucet. I got out a safety pin and threaded it through the hole in the stem. Pulled. Nothing. I begin to panic.

I crawled under the sink, looking for the mechanism that manages the sink stopped, thinking I could manipulate it from there. All I got was a whack on my head from the towel rack and the towel I was wearing wouldn't stay on. It was like that episode of Seinfeld: some things shouldn't be done naked.

I tossed the wet clothes in the shower. Found my pocket knife. Tried to pry up the drain stopper. Was unsuccessful with that, but did manage to slice my thumb.

Now things are getting desperate. I don't want to have to go downstairs and confess to the birthday family that I can't work the sink.

I'll have to start bailing it out.

There's a drinking glass provided. Real glass even. So I carefully scoop out the water and pour it into the shower. It takes a while. I'm almost done bailing when a thought occurs to me: I closed the drain by pushing down the stopper. Maybe … wait a minute…

I push down on the stopper and VOILA! It pops right up. Sink drains. Problem solved.

So much for enlightenment along the Camino.


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Location:Murias de Rechivaldo, Spain

Day 21: I Take a Leap

Yesterday, as I plodded through the rain into Sahagún, I decided I had had enough of the meseta and its accompanying head games. It had now been a week since I had the run in with the cyclist as I left Burgos. There were some gorgeous days -- some of the loveliest moments of the whole experience. Some of those had happened in the rain.

But then I saw a sign that said LEÓN 75 KM.

That was three more days. THREE MORE DAYS of flatflatflat and tiny villages with all their shutters down and no open cafes and endless deserted paths through plowed fields.

After two days of virtually no human contact -- not even much in the animal kingdom -- and what was starting to feel like endless uncontrolled crying, I decided I could make a change.

And the Camino provided. As I walked into town, I saw a train pull in. Ah ha! There was a RENFE station. And there it was -- on the other side of a gate -- that was open! Okay, so there was some climbing around and crossing of tracks in a manner not exactly condoned by the good people of RENFE. But it all led me to the ticket window where I asked the nice lady if there were any trains on Sunday to, oh, say, Astorga?

Why yes, there were. And she sold me a ticket. For 10€ I was going to get out of this mind numbing landscape and that much closer to the mountains again.

So at 12:52 I got on a train in dreary Sahagún, and at 14:06 I got off in sunny Astorga. The mountains loomed on the horizon. I saw cows and chickens and huge, fat rainbows unlike any I had ever seen before. The moon was there in an incredible blue sky. And it all felt exciting again like that first day out of St Jean Pied de Port.

Now, instead of arriving in León on Tuesday, weather permitting (and I think it will), I'll be at the La Cruz de Ferro, the highest point on the Camino Francés.

So much better.


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Location:Murias de Rechivaldo, Spain

Day 19: Solidly in Phase 2

I had read before I started this walking thing that there were three distinct phases to the Camino.

The first, from the French border to Burgos or so, is the physical part. And that was the case, indeed. This is the blisters and the oh-my-God-my-backpack-is-so-heavy and the Advil popping portion of our show.

I truly feel like I've turned the corner there. Yes, when the day stretches to more than 25 km, things start to hurt, I won't lie. But the past few days I've felt strong, my pace has picked up, and I don't notice the backpack at all any more. Really.

Because we're into Phase 2 now, friends. The mental part of the game. Yesterday I experienced what can only be described as a melt down.

The walking part was nice, if a bit dull (I'm still on the meseta, so the view hasn't changed much for a few days now -- think driving across Indiana if that helps you). The sun even came out for a bit. Or at least the rain held off until I was done walking. The town (Carrion de Los Condes) was cute. People in the center called out encouraging things to me.

But I got all weepy and began questioning everything. It didn't help matters that it was Thanksgiving. I haven't really celebrated Thanksgiving in years, since it's odd doing it on a normal Thursday, and by the weekend the urge has passed. Regardless, it usually does make me a tiny bit wistful. And when you are all by yourself, that can easily spin out of hand.

I was a real weepy mess. Just could not stop crying. The Home Team all had a difficult day, too, and although my presence at home would not have changed much about that, it's hard to feel you are being supportive from such a distance.

They encouraged me to make no rash decisions at the moment, and to sleep on it, which I did. Of course, everything is better in the morning. I still reserve the option to assess things when I arrive in León. I might hop a bus and cut out some stages. But I won't decide anything until I get there.

For one thing, the weather is forecast to improve on Sunday. Today is 7C/45F and drizzly. It's not really too, too bad, in fairness. For half of today's walk I didn't even wear a jacket (until the drizzle began). And it's not August. There would have been no shade today in mid-summer. It would be brutal, and I don't know how people do it.

I walked today along what was originally a Roman road (but unlike the bits of Roman road I've come across, this had nice, small gravel on it -- easy to walk on!). My notes say, "Probably very boring." It wasn't boring. But it was a very strange feeling.

I saw a few cars. A tractor. A couple of pilgrims heading the OTHER way (probably walking home from Santiago -- it happens, and more often than you think). I memorized part of the license plate of a car that passed me, and it became my mantra: 6-2-7-7, 6-2-7-7…

You know how some things can make you feel really small? Like a grand cathedral. Or the big streets in Moscow. I've never stood on the edge of the Grand Canyon, but I bet that's humbling.

That's how this felt. There was just flat farm land. And the Camino. If I stopped, which I did from time to time, I could hear the traffic on a highway I couldn't see. But not always. Mostly it was just the wind. Some birds, but not many.

It's a lot of head time, this sort of sameness.

Often, I can see my destination for a while before I arrive. Yesterday was like that: you reach a small crest and VOILA! There it is, and you feel like Dorothy running through the poppies towards the Emerald City.

Today my destination was elusive, hiding from me until the very last moment. So every time I thought, "Ah, maybe I'll be able to see it from here …" the answer was, "No. Not yet."

It was during this part of the walk that everything began to feel surreal and dreamlike. I started to wonder if I was really awake, actually doing this thing. And although there was a tiny bit of blue sky way off to my left, it was still grey and drizzly above me.

And that's when I started to experience the sensation of light around me. You're going to say, "Oh, boy! Now she's really lost the plot!" But I swear it felt like a spotlight was above me, making a circle of sunlight just around me. In long pulses. Warm, yellow light.

No, the Virgin did not appear. No one spoke. It was probably just the sky clearing. But it was nonetheless an odd sensation.

We are clearly in the Head Phase here, aren't we. The Third Phase is the spiritual part: that could get really wacky if today is any indication.

So now I'm in this weird bar/hostal place where the bartender/owner is missing some teeth, but not in a Deliverance sort of way. I can hear everything that happens in the bar/kitchen, but that also means the wifi is strong. I ate a salad (if I never see another Spanish tortilla with potatoes it will be too soon), and now I need to figure out how to move photos and video off my phone and onto the iPad as the phone is (again) out of memory. Someone has taken pity on me and turned on the heat (it's freezing in here). So life is good.

Thanks to everyone for all your encouragement. Lots of love from Spain!


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Location:Calzadilla de la Cueza, Spain

Thankful. So Thankful.

Today I left the loving arms of Carmen (I think that's her name), the owner of the little place where I sought refuge yesterday in Población de Campos. Her tiny hotel was just what I needed -- with a garden full of cats. She was so kind, hugging me every chance she got. When I left this morning, she told me, "When you get to Santiago, will you say a prayer for peace in the world?"

Yes. Yes, I will, Carmen.

My walk was completely solitary, other than a joyful cyclist (the best kind) who shouted "BUEN CAMINO!" to me as he passed.

I had a lot of time to think about Thanksgiving, which always makes me wistful anyhow, and about all I have. I have so much. I am so grateful.

My husband is healthy, handsome, and still knows how to make me laugh. I love him more every day. We have so much fun together: I am grateful for every moment we share.

My daughters are a gift. They are kind, smart, and gorgeous. I love spending time with them. I am grateful for their perspectives on life. They keep me young, they teach me more than I ever imagined, and I treasure every moment with them.

My family -- for every time I've groaned or rolled my eyes, you've given me your hearts and hands and more. You've made me who I am, instilled in me the values I carry. It's a precious thing, and I love you all.

My friends, you are my strength. Even when I'm not off on some crazy epic adventure, I rely on your encouragement and good humor. You are all so different, from so many different places and experiences, but that's what I appreciate: different views on the world to keep me balanced and open-minded. You share your lives with me -- it is such an honor to be included. You are bad-ass in the best possible way. Thank you for all you have given me.

Today, on Thanksgiving, I'm alone, but I'm not lonely because I feel the incredible love you all have for me and for each other. The world holds a boundless joy, and I wish only good things for all of you today, and every day.

Thank you. Thank you all. I love you so much.


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Location:Carrión de Los Condes, Spain

Day 17: Catching Up and Resting Up

It's Wednesday, and I've been at this for 17 days now, and for a few days I have debated taking a rest day, but worried I'd feel weird just sitting around for a day because I can't imagine walking around a touring a city on a rest day. Maybe you can.

But since lately my nights have been a thrash-fest of aching everything and multiple doses of Advil, I thought I'd try it.

That's not to say I haven't enjoyed the last two days. I have. I do think I've even turned a corner on the ability to tolerate the physical demands of this project.

Monday I felt especially good. It was a relatively short day (20.5 km) on a relatively flat route. I started in Hornillos Del Camino under cloudy/foggy skies with no one around me. Somewhere around kms 6-9, the path got really muddy and difficult to walk on. It was about this time I spotted another pilgrim ahead of me, but I couldn't tell who it was, and it took me a long time to catch up because it was such slow going (there's no going off piste because on either side of the path is plowed field -- even muddier).

The other pilgrim finally sat on a rock to rest, and I realized it was an older woman I hadn't seen before. I passed her, and continued on into a little town called Hontanas, where I found a bar filled with flies and cats, and ordered a real Coke and a sandwich filled with plain omelette. It was a huge sandwich (at least a foot long), and there was no way I could finish it, so I surreptitiously dropped bits of egg on the floor for a very handsome black and white cat.

Soon the other pilgrim walked in. Now we were practically family, so I sat there for a bit while she chatted with the owner (sometimes I can keep up in Spanish now, but sometimes I only get the topic, but not the speaker's position on the topic). Eventually I left them.

The second half of the day was easily the NICEST day I've had yet. The sun was out (but it wasn't hot), there weren't any climbs, and the countryside was really nice.

I will say, however, that a pilgrim on a bike overtook me -- I heard the bike and turned, and there was a guy who had a completely friendly vibe. He asked if my Camino was going well, that sort of thing, and continued on. But looking up a few minutes later I saw he had stopped (probably to pee, but if so, he was done and being discreet). He seemed to be adjusting a jacket, but all I could think was that I was not in the mood to deal with any unknown men, so I slowed way down until he was well on his way. He truly was harmless, but now I'm a bit defensive.

Anyhow, I continued on into Castrojeriz, which is the most charming town I've been in yet. Totally what you would expect when you think "Spanish village in the middle of nowhere." Castle ruins up on a hill. Cobble stone streets. Churches. All of it in good repair and with evidence of a decent tourist business (signs explaining things, bicycle routes marked, etc). Very romantic.

The next day (yesterday), as I walked out of Castrojeriz, I saw, for a switch, a line of pilgrims in front of me. Eventually, we all merged (there was a BIG climb, so we all ended up at the top taking pictures and trying to catch our breath). There was the woman from the day before (Rosa, I think), who greeted me with hugs and kisses. The was Ramon-my-Rescuer who I had walked with on Sunday. Plus another Ramon from Mallorca. Plus another Rosa, who speaks great English and is a tour guide from Barcelona. And Timothy, a feral-looking French boy of maybe 16 and his caseworker (sister?) whose name I haven't gotten. I ran into them days ago when I was walking with the Slovak girl and her boyfriend and the Swiss oboe player. I don't know what Timothy's story is, but he's definitely not quite right and seems to be undertaking the Camino as some sort of therapy (or jail avoidance?). The young woman responsible for him has boundless patience , although yesterday she mentioned she needed to take up meditation and maybe do more yoga.

It was Rescue Ramon's last day before he returns to his regular life, so often we took pictures of him, but also we often sent him ahead so he could have time alone. It was nice being with the group, but they tended to stop more often and longer than I would (the end result being my longest day walking -- but I knew I had a long distance).

We had my first torrential down pour. But my rain gear worked fine and everything stayed dry enough. It really only lasted about 15 minutes.

Going into Itero de la Vega, we found a guy handing out flyers for his bar. "It's clean!" he said. So we ended up stopping there for hot drinks, sandwiches, and toilet breaks. Rosa the Hugger stayed in the town because she was also ending her Camino (for now -- there's a 3-day weekend coming up next week, so she said she will do more then) and this was a convenient bus stop back to wherever she was going.

Then it was 8 km of open countryside. I walked most of it with Rosa Tour Guide. We stopped often and just stood there and listened because it was so incredibly quiet. I was thinking about how when we have a moment of silence, it's usually a ceremonial thing commemorating some sort of tragedy. But these moments of silence were more celebratory. We could hear the wings of birds as they flew over us, it was that quiet.

At Boadilla del Campo, I left the group. They stopped for a coffee because they were only planning to go as far as Fromista (another 6 km), but it was already 4:00, and I was headed to Población de Campos, 3.5 km beyond Fromista, and I wanted to get there before dark.

At one point the Camino goes along a canal -- like something you'd see near Bruges or in Amsterdam. It was very pleasant, but ahead I saw a lone man, sorta strolling aimlessly. He appeared to be holding flyers, so I thought maybe he was also doing a bit of advertising. But I didn't like being stuck out on a canal with any strange men. Of course, this was exactly what he was doing -- pushing a hotel in the town I was headed for. "I'm already sorted," I told him, "but there are 4-5 others a few minutes behind me … maybe they will be interested." And I left him. Again, he was harmless.

That last 3 km or so was hard -- not unlike Saturday when I dragged into Burgos. I kept thinking, "If you look to the left, you see … Spain," and humming "My Cherie Amour" to stay cheerful. But I was tired, and had decided I was going to take an extra day in Campos.

So imagine my surprise later when Ramon, Rosa, and Timothy's case manager walked into my little hotel lobby. They had rejected the only open albergue in Fromista because it had neither heat nor hot water, even though this meant Ramon had to walk back there to catch a 7:00 am bus this morning. They were at the albergue next door, but arranging to take showers and have breakfast where I'm staying because this albergue had no hot water either. The hotel owner poured them all glasses of wine, and we stood around and chatted for a bit.

Then I had some dinner while the hotel owner did a load of laundry for me. In a real washing machine! Not a sink or shower. Maybe my long-sleeved shirt will actually not stink now.

Anyhow, I still woke up at 5:00 am, but I'm looking forward to a day of reading and chasing the million cats who live in the garden. This is a teeny-tiny village with nothing to look at, but that suits me fine.

Tomorrow I have a short day (17 km), and on Friday, I think, this little project will be half over. I'm enjoying it, but can't wait to be done and back home with my family.

Lots of love to you all.


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Location:Población de Campos, Spain

Day 15: Burgos to Isar, 26.5 km

I can't believe I have been doing this for two whole weeks now. And I'm not half way done, but I should be by Thursday when I arrive at Terradillos de Los Templarios.

Yesterday morning I left Burgos. The guy at the hostal told me that a place on the corner "should be open by 8:00 for breakfast." Often, particularly in small towns, if I have to find my own breakfast, these little bars are depressingly empty, offering up only coffee, uninspiring croissants, and packaged magdalenas. So I was delighted to walk in to a place that was hopping, probably with folks who had been out all night (it was Sunday morning). There was an impressive display of little sandwiches, so I took three: two to eat and one for the road. With coffee it was under 5€.

And then I headed out of Burgos (a much nicer walk than the run into town) and out into the "mesta," or flat farmland that I tend to think of when I picture the Camino in my head.

I had been walking now and then for the past few days with an American named Derek. He was pleasant enough, but amazingly helpless (spoke not a word of Spanish) and out of shape. At first I felt like his slow pace kept me from overdoing, but eventually I got bored and fed up.

I had been dropping him on climbs, but then feeling I had to wait. So walking out of San Juan de Ortega he wasn't keeping up, and I just kept on walking. I looked back once or twice to see if he made a couple of turns. Yes. So I just kept going. There was a tricky, foggy climb then, and I knew he'd never catch up. It is not expected that you wait for people. You are supposed to do your own thing. I didn't miss him.

That said, yesterday I left Burgos and was chugging along, and then thought I saw him ahead of me. My heart sank (because I had forgotten ALL about him), and I was already thinking what I would say when I passed him (because I was going to pass him) and feeling bad about it.

Now I'm gonna tell you a story and I don't want you to get all freaked out. Because I just don't want to go over it again and again in comments, but at the same time it is part of my Camino.

By now, some nice looking Spanish guy on a bike coming toward me stopped and asked me the time. There were tons of guys on bikes out (it's like that every weekend, and it makes me miss my bike). I took out my phone and said, in Spanish, "It's almost 11:00."

He thanked me and rode off, but then a few minutes later rode up from behind me and grabbed my breast. I was mad, and said "WHAT THE HELL?!?" He stopped a bit in front of me and did a mea culpa gesture and gave me some crap in Spanish about how he couldn't help it, I was muy bonita.

I waved my walking stick threateningly and told him to go away and fuck off. He passed me and rode away.

I walked on, annoyed at what I didn't say. I came around a corner, and the guy I thought was Derek-the-American, but wasn't, was sitting under a bridge smoking a cigarette. I assumed he was an Anglo (he had red hair) and asked in Spanish if he was okay. He said yes, and I kept walking.

Not 15 minutes later, Spanish bike dude comes up from behind me and grabs me again and keeps going.

This time I yelled, "¿No tienes una madre? ¿No tienes hermanas? ¿No tienes hijas? Porque todos somos iguales!"

Now I was spooked, and the next time a bike came up behind me I must have jumped three feet. This poor guy was horrified, but I tried to explain, "Hay un hombre malo aquí hoy."

Soon I reached a little village and I sat on a bench in a fairly active area and ate my lunch. Before too long, Bridge Dude comes by, and I asked if he minded if I walked with him. He's from Barcelona, name's Ramon, does something involving glass for display cases or buildings, nice as can be. Agreed Bike Dude was mal educado, and let me tag along until I peeled off to go to my hotel.

So I was annoyed at feeling vulnerable. No, I wasn't hurt at all, and I doubt Bike Dude had any more serious plans. He was small and skinny (like a serious cyclist) and I probably could have hurt him had I the chance to get closer. I certainly could hurt his bike, and that's what I was planning to do -- put one of my sticks through a wheel and mess it up. Since he apparently views women's bodies as things he can have, just like a bike.

And while these were points on the path where I was alone, there really were plenty of other cyclists and a lot of guys in tractors working fields near me. I thought about stopping and talking to one of them, but I couldn't really identify the guy (white bike, black and white kit, nice looking).

Anyhow, the rest of the day was uneventful. You've seen the photos and video by now. It finally began to rain in earnest, and I was happy to have a hot shower and a couple of glasses of wine before a really nice dinner. I think I was asleep by 9:30.

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Location:Isar, Spain

Day 13: San Juan de Ortega to Burgos, 26 km

I began today at a truck stop. For a while I walked under clear skies. It's Saturday, and I was on the road to Agés, a tiny village, being passed by vehicles hauling trailers full of barking hunting dogs.

Just beyond Atapuerca, it became foggy again. I left the town, and began a climb that ran along a barbed wire fence with signs saying it was surrounding a military area. KEEP OUT! Between that and the fog and remembering the hunters, I was, for a time, concerned about the risk of being shot. I do have (and was wearing) a reflector band that I wrap around my arm. I also had on a lot of red, plus a bright orange strap that I use to carry a bottle of drinking water (unlike in Luxembourg, I don't need to have a whole day's worth with me because there are fountains with potable water, clearly marked on my maps, at regular intervals). Still I whistled tunelessly and sang to myself, just in case.

I could hear bells at times -- the sort one would find on livestock -- and there was a lot of evidence that sheep were recently where I was walking. No one would hunt in a sheep pasture, right?

And suddenly the fog cleared, and I could see Burgos, about 14 km ahead.

Things moved along uneventfully until I opted for a route my guide suggested "minimized asphalt." My feet were already taking a beating from the weight of the backpack and so much time on the road. What I didn't expect was to be slogging along muddy farmer tracks. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea.

And then I made a wrong turn and wandered off course for about half a km until a kind man walking his dog set me straight.

By now my feet were killing me, but there was nothing to do except plod on, and on, and on until I finally reached the city of Burgos and my little hostel.

The fellow working the reception desk gave me a map of the city and some recommendations for dinner. By the time I had washed my (very muddy) things and rested a bit, I was too late to go in the cathedral. But I found a pharmacy and weighed myself (now down a kilo from what I weighed in Luxembourg), gimped around a bit, had a glass of wine and a tapa, and found the place he recommended for dinner: a bustling little bar/restaurant. I got in just before the rush and sat at the bar where I could see all the action in the grill area. I ordered a sangria so big I couldn't finish it and a plate of fried eggs, potatoes, and what they call picadillo, but which wasn't at all like the Cuban version. Again, too big to finish, but by then I had finally warmed up, studied my map, and successfully navigated my way home.

Tomorrow is slightly shorter, at only 21 km. I took two Advil, and hope my feet recover in time for that walk. I tend to feel good for about the first ten km. I'm not seeing any great improvement in my physical capabilities, but I continue to hope. I can't imagine ever feeling spry enough to undertake a 30 km day. Not with the backpack anyhow.

Lots of love to all from Burgos!


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Location:Burgos, Spain