Back On The Enlightenment Superhighway (and Driving in the Breakdown Lane)

Within an hour of leaving Burgos I ended up in a bottleneck of hikers just as a group of more than 10 cyclists whizzed by. If you’re looking for solace, walk the Camino portugués, not the Camino francés (at least not in September!) A German I walked with did it last year – it’s shorter, cheaper, well-marked, and not crowded. (Oops, I wasn’t supposed to say that! Now that will get crowded too!)

I was thinking of titling this post “Rules of the Road” but I really don’t think there are rules. The road just is what it is. There are conditions and circumstances that make it more or less enjoyable. I’d say my own personal “Conditions of the Camino” are:

1. Do not walk more than 10 km a day.

2. Wear knee support.

3. Walk after the sun has risen (8 am) Depending on terrain, it’s only going to take 2 to 2 1/2 hours to walk 10 km. You can’t enjoy the landscape in the dark. And it’s easier to get lost

4. If it’s easy terrain, carry the pack. It gives you a lot more flexibility if you have your things with you.

5. Arrive early. (But not too early. Many albergues don’t open until noon)

The first town I walked through was Tardajos. This map found as you enter town gives you a good sense of what I’ve walked. I started in Pamplona, not the French border!

I would not have chosen a lot of this, but ironically I think it has me enjoying things more. As a result of walking less, there are many advantages:

1. I can be the last one out, and have more room to organize my stuff.

2. I’m not in a rush. It’s hard to stretch 10 km into even 3 hours

3. I’m usually the first person at my destination, get the best bed

4. I can take a shower and do my laundry before most people show up. No competition for facilities.

5. I’m not tired so I take time to explore the town.

6. I get to know the locals because I hang out with them all day.

7. There’s a whole new group of people to meet every night.

8. More time to blog (if you have decent wifi)

 

#7 has its good and bad points. Sometimes you meet people you’d like to spend more time with but no one is going this pace. At the most you’ll spend the morning with them walking the next 10 km (but not if you’re the last person out the door)

This grove of trees was on the side of the road as I entered Rabé de las Calzadas. You can see the fall color starting and it definitely feels like fall in the morning and evenings. Sun up is around 8 am and sun down around 8 pm

Tonight was the second time in 20 days where the language around the dinner table was Spanish. And the only non-Spaniards were Italian and Portuguese speakers, so they could follow a lot of the conversation. All the Spaniards were saying how much the Camino has changed in the past 5-8 years: more commercial, crowded, not very contemplative. One said that estimates were that there are currently 30,000 on the Camino francés.

This was my first less-than-10km stop – the albergue on the main plaza in Rabé

The first day of walking on my rejuvenated leg took me to Rabé de las Calzadas. I had a reservation and shipped my pack, and was the first to arrive – about 20 minutes before it opened at 12:30. Three other people waited with me, including two future roommates – one from Portland OR and the other from Germany via Turkish parents. We got into a discussion about the movie “The Way” which everyone discusses all the time on this trip. My experience with this movie was finding it as a bargain basement DVD a few years ago and picking it up thinking it might be of interest since I hoped to walk the Camino one day. I don’t ever remember it being in theaters. I thought it was mostly uninspiring, although the scenery is nice. Apparently it has moved thousands of Americans (and others – apparently it showed in Germany) enough to walk the Camino. So basically Emilio Estevez and Martin Sheen are to blame for the 30,000 people currently hogging all the beds!

 

View of the church from the window in our room. There is a monasterio (convent, in this case) along the street by the church where the nuns have evening vespers at 8. We made a visit.

When I voiced my lukewarm review of the movie my Portland roommate reacted as though I’d committed a sin! This was her second time on the Camino and she felt she needed to come back to get grounded and make decisions about life. I still think this is like a mad rush playing musical beds!

A Camino classic: wearing a light summer top and skirt while laundering everything else you own – and keeping warm with a blanket from the albergue!

One of the few friendly kitties I’ve met – most are street cats and very skittish. This guy was sitting on the window sill while I pet him. Then he got down and waited by the door as if to say “you got to pet me, now let me in!”

Dinner that night was a little less serious. Two sisters (one now in Vermont and the other in Chicago) helped me finish off a bottle of red wine. We ended up singing traditional songs of the countries represented at our dinner table – Frere Jacques, It’s a Long Way to Tipperary, and She’ll Be Comin Round the Mountain When She Comes.

Many of us went to the evening vespers service at the convent that night. It was a bit confusing since you had to be buzzed in. You really didn’t want to show up late. After the service they did a pilgrim blessing and asked us to pray for them. Since the youngest was probably in her 60s I can understand why – if someone doesn’t join soon, there will no longer be a convent. They were very sweet as they tied medals of the virgin around our necks and gave us kisses as though we were undergoing first communion.

 

At vespers that night the nuns gave the pilgrims a blessing and gave us these medals. (For some reason all I can think of is Catholic guys in high school!) They commented on my Spanish since I could read along and told me I was nearly andaluza since I’d lived in Sevilla! It’s been a long time since I was kissed that much!

The morning we left Rabé. My plan was to leave at 8 since I was only going 10 km but I was up so early I left in the dark at 7. Between the time and the fog, it’s a miracle we saw the road. My trusty mini UMARMY flashlight came in handy!

The sun is trying to break through in time for me to tackle Matamulas (Mulekiller pass)

Matamulas was not as steep as I expected but there was plenty of loose rolling rock. I guess I’m glad I shipped my pack!

I ended up arriving at the albergue at 9:30am, an hour an a half before it opened. The only cafe/bar in town also didn’t open til 11 so they let me wait inside on the couch. I beat my backpack delivery by about 45 minutes!

The day I walked to Hornillos was an exercise in killing time. I arrived at 9:30 (see rule #1-no walking before sun up) and knowing nothing was open in town, the innkeeper let me sit in the common room as they cleaned up from the night before. They explained there was so much hair on the floor because 4 Catalans were traveling with 2 dogs – one of which was quite large! Once the clock struck 11 I knew the cafe/bar would br open, so I headed down there for second breakfast, which really turned into lunch.

Much of the day in Hornillos I spent in the bar/cafe eating and reading and sometimes playing interpreter for those who couldn’t communicate in Spanish. The chorizo al vino and olives were yummy!

One thing I learned by readin the paper is that I managed to dodge another fiesta

I’d noticed the Tarta de Santiago earlier but didn’t know what it was – it’s an almond tart. Luckily I had lots of time to kill in Hornillos so made another late afternoon trip to the bar for an afternoon snack! This is what gets me in trouble at home – killing time with snacks!

Above the laundry sink in the albergue: Life is the Camino, don’t give up, continue …

I wish I’d gotten to the paella pan before we ate it!

That night we had a communal dinner of paella and salad. One of the pilgrims was a chef from Australia. He said he usually doesn’t divulge that info. We discussed baseball, a sport he claims he knows nothing about. However, he did manage to win a 6-pack of beer by betting the Red Sox would win the World Series in 2004! He claimed when his American friend wanted to bet, the only team name he could come up with was the Red Sox!

The sun rises on Day 3 of my revised Plan B 10 km daily walking. I’m off to Hontanas

Fields of sunflowers (grown to eat the seeds) alongside windmills. There are windmills everywhere in Spain

About a half kilometer from Hontanas some clown altered the sign to say 10.5 km instead of 0.5 km

Walking into Hontanas after my 10.8 km day carrying a pack

So here I am in Hontanas in the municipal albergue. Thought I’d have my own private alcove but someone who claims she has a bad knee just moved to the bottom bunk next to me!

The view as I look down at my feet from my bottom bunk. There are two bunk beds (four beds) in this little alcove. At 6:30 tonight I thought it’d be my private alcove! The innkeeper assigned our bed numbers when we checked in!

 

This is a more typical view as I look at my feet! And there is almost always someone in the bunk above me. It’s the last day of September. Maybe the crowds are thinning for October!

That’s all for now folks!

Seeing Burgos: Convalescent Stop

Gateway to the Plaza Mayor in Burgos with the spires of the cathedral rising above it

The entire town is an homage to El Cid, native son. He was basically a mercenary who fought the moors and helped Christianize Spain. He died in battle with his horse and they were buried together at a monastery outside of town (not his final resting place) I missed the monastery since I ended up taking a van ride into the city

Since I’ve spent so much time recuperating in Burgos, I thought I should at least see the city. I’d been here 20 years ago and remembered I thought it was quite picturesque, but that’s about all I remembered. I also needed to shop for a knee support and some warmer clothes for fall. It’s feeling very crisp these mornings and evenings! I also thought it’d be a good thing to test my knee while still in town.

My first day knee testing involved walking about 5 miles. I picked up some cotton socks made in Burgos at the open air market.

Two of my new purchases: one of three pairs of striped cotton socks and the knee support compression stocking (4.50 €, about $6)

I managed to find two T shirts, one long and one short-sleeved, as well as a “jacket” appropriate for fall weather. (An upscale, fashionable zippered hoodless hoodie designed for women so it fit pretty well) Unfortunately I could not find a pair of pants that fit well so I’m hoping my 1 pair and 1 pair of shorts last! At least til Castrojériz where I understand there’s a decent sporting goods store.

Plaza mayor with the ever present cathedral spires in the background

Public art – there is lots of it in Burgos

Having walked about 5 miles and completed almost all of my shopping, I thought it would be best to rest my knee. Technically this should be my third day of rest – unless you count the van ride day, where I spent half of it riding around waiting to be seen in the emergency room! I got a box at the post office to ship home some things I could live without now that I was adding warmer clothing.

I was able to fit about 4 lbs of clothes/stuff that I could live without in this box. I’m sure the new clothes would add most of that weight back to my pack!

On Day 2 of my knee test I brought my box to the post office and logged another 4 miles – with knee support. I carried my guide book with me and decided to follow the Camino back to my hotel, seeing historic Burgos in the process. I’d walked the alternative “green route” along the river the day before.

Morning mist in Parque El Parral

The walk along the river is given as an alternate route in the guide book. It goes right past my hotel.

These two seemed to be having a good time on the Río Arlanzón

Having taken the “scenic route” the day before, I decided to take the historic one. Ironically I found it to be as scenic, or perhaps more so.

The Camino as it winds through the streets of Burgos

The cathedral appears as you walk on

Neighborhood on the back side of the cathedral

Hillside and skyline as you walk the Camino

The arch of Fernán González (not sure who he was but I thought the stork nest was impressive!)

Site of El Cid’s home

If I’d gone inside the cathedral (which I’m sure I did 20 years ago) I’d have seen the final resting place of El Cid and wife. When I learned they didn’t move his interred horse from the monastery along with him I just figured it wasn’t worth the price of admission. It’s all about the horse, after all!

The San Martín arch was the entrance to the medieval city. El Cid’s home was just inside the arch

More public art

Along the Arlanzón River

When I got close to my hotel I was reminded it was in the neighborhood of the university. This egg has been on the sidewalk since the day I arrived. Some kind of hazing with raw eggs and flour was going on that day. I was lucky to avoid being hit.

At my daily lunch stop – the bartender told me her kids wanted to walk the Camino and they did 40 km each of 3 Saturdays! But she pointed out they weren’t carrying packs. This guy – a patron’s dog – was very interested in keeping the floor clean. I asked the bartender if he was hers and she said although she liked dogs, she was plenty busy with 3 kids, a husband, and a bar!

Well, the knee seems to be behaving. It should be up to 10 km a day on flat ground. That shouldn’t take much more than 2 hours. Guess I’ll just have to see what happens tomorrow! Drop me a line if you have a minute!

 

To Walk or Not to Walk?

On the road to Burgos with Gloria, who had every imaginable drug, medicinal supply, and hiking aid known to man!

After an extra day’s rest I left the abbey in the hopes to make it to Atapuerca that day – about 18.5 km, which in normal conditions would be a piece of cake. These weren’t normal – it was my first true morning of rain and we were walking through red mud where mushrooms were being cultivated. Plus, we had 3 significant hills to climb and descend. I’ve never had mud cake so badly on my shoes before. Of course, at home I would think you’d have to be an idiot to hike that trail in those conditions – with a less than stellar knee. Gloria considered herself the turtle of the Camino and warned me she’d be going slowly. She didn’t know (nor did I) that she’d end the day walking with an invalid!

 

This was the first day of walking through a heavily wooded area. It was rainy and we saw heather along the road.

We passed a mini monument to los caídos (the fallen) from the Spanish Civil War.

This picture does not truly illustrate how caked with mud my shoes were. It was work getting most of it off and 3 days later the shoes still aren’t clean! Luckily I have lots of time in Burgos to clean up.

The area was filled with signs like this one. It was a mushroom-growing region and it was prohibited to remove mushrooms from the area without a permit.

Beautiful, nicely scented path through a pine forest on the way to Agés.

The town before Atapuerca was Agés – it was about 2.5 km closer than I’d hoped to get that day. But my knee wasn’t feeling great and it was 1:30. We were finding that many albergues would be full by 2:00 due to the traffic jam of people. So we stopped in Agés. The beds to the albergue were a climb to the upper floor.

Entering Agés – there it is behind me

My knee was feeling bad, but I was walking on it. The banister on the stairway helped me take some weight off the right knee. I laid down a while and then went to take a shower. By the time I was finished I was worried that I wasn’t going to be able to get out of the shower. The pain in my right knee made me feel certain that surgery was going to be needed. There was a line about 6 people long waiting for the shower! Thank God there were at least two showers!

By hanging on to the many bunk beds I was able to get back to my bed. I was fortunate to have a table and chair next to my bed for support. I’d later be using the chair as a walker to get me to and from the toilet. My next concern was the fact that we’d bought dinner and breakfast downstairs and I was sure they were going to need to use a crane to carry me down there to eat!

The innkeeper at the Agés Municipal Albergue. He was concerned I’d break his chair when I used it as a walker after dinner. He was instrumental in getting us a shared van to get to Burgos. Great guy.

I was lucky to be traveling with Gloria, a Canadian trained nurse. Although an American living in Seattle, she’d lived 20 years in Canada and did her training there. She was carrying Canadian Tylenol – the kind with codeine in it! I’d already taken ibuprofen at prescription levels but she said it was no problem alternating acetominophen with ibuprofen for maximum pain management. So I was enjoying it all – especially the codeine!

Now the test – could I get to dinner? I absolutely hate making a scene but I knew this was going to be one. I could get downstairs because of the bannister, but getting into the dining room would be impossible without a chair as a walker. Talk about a scene! And then once inside the waiter had the nerve to ask us to change tables, since we were a party of 4 at a larger table. Our party included Ray and his Filipina wife, Poora. After dinner she suggested I lean on Ray to get out of the dining room but believe me, I needed something more solid than a human being! Once we were upstairs she prayed over my leg, which helped, because when I needed to get up in the middle of the night I managed to move without a walker! Even better, I could get downstairs in the morning. There was a group of young Spaniards there asking about my leg – one had been cracking everyone up the night before when he tried to put his enormous rain poncho in a tiny sack! I told him I appreciated the comic relief. Although he spoke catalán he was mostly using castellano – I told him he had to continue in castellano as I didn’t understand catalán and I needed the comic distraction.

The other annoying part of all this was that I had to run a gauntlet of middle-aged French people to get to the bathroom. They were quizzing me about all of it in French and said I looked like I was walking fine on the road. So now I had to be polite in French when I basically wanted to crawl in a hole! How much torture must one endure on the Camino? I didn’t undertake this with a plan to do penance!

Main entrance to the Plaza Mayor in Burgos

Gloria had walked the Camino before. She had planned to hike to the highway and catch a bus into Burgos because the suburbs were so industrial and not particularly attractive. She ended up with a door to door van ride from the albergue to the hotel I’d booked for two nights.

Decoration of the archway in the entrance to the Plaza Mayor

Gloria set out to explore the city as I took a taxi to the University Hospital (brand new, 2 years old). Time to test the wonders of socialized medicine. I explained I’d pay – they said I wouldn’t. They took my insurance info and address and said if they had any problems they’d notify me by mail. After a short wait for triage, then an exam, I explained to the doc that I was done with the Camino, what did I need to do for my leg? Surgery ? He told me I had tendonitis and needed bed rest for 3 days – elevate the leg. The nurses put a compression bandage on it that was to remain on for 3 days. Then what? He said I could continue walking, but with a knee brace and no more than 10 km a day. Should I carry my pack? He said to see how I felt! Seriously, I thought surgery would be required! I asked why so much pain between the femur and tibia right in the middle of the knee. He said I was compensating for the tendonitis and the meniscus was irritated!

With the help of a taxi Gloria and I made it to the center of Burgos for dinner. The melon with jamon serrano was delicious! Gloria had the Castilian soup – dropped egg in tomato-ey broth

Traditional regional dinner of roasted peppers, salchichón, morcilla (yes, Imelda, like Irish black pudding), fried egg and potatoes. We shared Burgos cheese with membrillo (quince) and whiskey cake (more like whiskey ice cream cake) for dessert

Burgos cathedral as the sun goes down – it is feeling like fall now. Will have to shop for warmer clothes

So, thinking I could no longer walk, I devised Plans C and D. (Plan B involves a reduced rate Camino.)

Plan C: ditch the north for Sevilla – I wouldn’t have to buy fall clothes!

Plan D: apply to be a volunteer at Vaughan English (I did, they’re full for Oct 5, the only date that works with my itinerary. I’m on a wait list for last minute cancellations)

Looks like I’ll be attempting Plan B – Camino at 10 km a day. I’m finishing my third day of rest today, planning a day of shopping on my feet in Burgos tomorrow, and will see how the Camino goes on Saturday. Only time will tell what happens!

Hotel Abadía Camino Santiago – my convalescent home complete with jacuzzi tub and hair dryer

 

Another Plan B … or C or D!

I’m now in Burgos – just west of the last marking on this map. I had to take a van ride here from Agés, about 22km away. I could not stand on my right leg the night before since the pain in my knee was so severe.

A lot has changed since my last post. I only made it to 22km short of Burgos (town of Agés) before my knee gave out. I continued to ship my pack but apparently walking 20 km (13 miles) is not good for your knee if it’s ailing. On this road 20 km is usually an easy walk!

On the road to Santo Domingo de la Calzada from Cirueña, a 5.9 km walk (about 3.5 miles)

The morning after my stay in the “casa de los espíritos” I headed west to Viloria de Rioja. I’ve been trying to stay in towns that are between the Camino stages suggested by the Brierly book in order to avoid the crowds. Cirueña’s innkeeper suggested a “refugio” in Viloria and helped me make a reservation so I could ship my pack there.

 

My first stop was Santo Domingo de la Calzada, named for the man who built roads and bridges to support pilgrims on the Camino in the 11th century. There is a chicken coop in the cathedral due to a local legend. The chickens in this picture are the ornamental kind – my knee wasn’t up to climbing the tower to see the real ones.

The legend involves a young man and his parents staying at an inn in Santo Domingo. The innkeeper’s daughter falls for him but he goes on his way, rejecting her. She frames him for theft by planting a goblet in his pack. He is arrested and hanged. His parents find him alive in the gallows and go to the sheriff. The sheriff claims he is no more alive than the chicken he is about to eat on his plate, whereupon the chicken comes alive and jumps off the plate. The sheriff then cuts down the young man from the gallows and he goes on his way with his parents. For this reason there are many chickens or chicken signs all over Santo Domingo! (This story was incorporated into this past year’s Christmas Revels.)

Playing pilgrim in Santo Domingo

In Santo Domingo I stopped for a second breakfast. This is typical of pilgrims who start out with toast, coffee and juice before daylight. Typical Spanish lunch is at 2 or 3 pm. Spaniards may call it merienda (snack time) but I call it time for a real breakfast that includes protein! I’ve eaten more eggs in 2 weeks in Spain than I had the previous 2 months! While I rested up and ate I became the bartender’s assistant as more and more foreigners came in. She’d wave me over if she couldn’t understand what people wanted. As long as they spoke English or coherent French I could usually help. Most foreigners spoke some English. Lithuanians, Koreans, Hungarians – they all spoke some English,

I went through the small town of Grañón after Santo Domingo. This water fountain was the best landscaped one I’ve seen. The mixture of rosemary, lavender, and roses smelled heavenly!

Outside Grañón, why did the sheep cross the road? Because the sheepdogs, as directed by whistles from the shepherd, made them do it!

Shortly after Grañón I came to the border of Castilla y León, which is the third region I’d be traveling in. Began in Navarra (land of Pamplona and bull running), then moved to La Rioja (wine region ), now here! Castilla y León are central Spain, the region in which Madrid is located. The word “Castilian,” as in the Spanish language, comes from here.

Waitress and bartender at my lunch stop in Redecilla, first stop in Castilla. She kept raving about what a great day it was because it was cool and overcast. I guess she’d had it with summer! She was a joy. The real reason I took the photo was that their uniforms were the color of those at WEG! When I left the place many people were telling me it was about to rain. I put on my rain poncho, which of course guaranteed that it didn’t rain as long as I was on the road!

Doorway at the restaurant in Redecilla

In this region, Burgos is the first province you enter. It is the land of El Cid, the man who helped conquer the moors, drive them out of Spain, and begin the Christianization of the country. His image turns up in many places.

In my effort to travel light and save my knee, I bought a touristy La Rioja day pack. It might not have been my first choice, but considering stores are perpetually closed for fiesta, I was lucky to find a tourist shop open to sell me one. The man at the store told me these fiestas were no big deal – I should come back in May for the really good ones!

Belorado is a picturesque town where part of the film “The Way” was shot. As I was walking through, a man came up to look at a footprint in the street that turned out to be Martin Sheen’s. It was made during the filming.

Main plaza in Belorado

This explains the picturesque district of El Corro, which was the former Jewish quarter before 1492 and the Inquisition. Most quaint neighborhoods in Spanish towns used to be the Jewish quarters. I think Spain used the Inquisition as an excuse to claim all these barrios.

One of the streets of El Corro

Viloria is the birthplace of Santo Domingo (the man for whom chicken-town is named) I reserved a bed here in the only albergue, which only had 10 spots. It was very nice, run by a Brazilian couple who were followers of Paolo Coehlo (I think I learned about him in my master’s program on education) One of the requirements was to share a meal at their table. While their intentions were kind, I began to feel like I was in a new age group therapy session! The Camino attracts all kinds!

A picturesque home on the road after I left Viloria. The cat who jumped onto the gate as I snapped the picture must have known I was craving a cat fix.

Tosantos was a town on the road to Villafranca. It was Sunday, there was loud drumming, and another fiesta!

This chapel on the hillside outside Tosantos was a focal point of the fiesta. They proceeded to take a statue of the Virgin Mary up the hill to the chapel. Apparently it stays up there til spring when they bring it back down. Gloria, who I met at the new age albergue, joined the procession and spent the night here. My knee felt I should pass on the opportunity!

El Cid is everywhere!

My next stay was in Villafranca Montes de Oca (Goose Mountains) at a former abbey turned hotel/albergue complex. The rooms at the hotel are 60€. The beds in the albergue are 8€ for a room with bunk beds, 10€ for a single bed with no upper bunk. I sprang for the no bunk room, which was the first time I’d stayed in an albergue with no bunk above me. Sometimes it pays to have gray hair. Innkeepers always make sure you get a bottom bunk!

The grounds at the abbey

I was the last one to check into the abbey – I arrived at 4pm. Glad I had a reservation. I was too beat to wash my clothes (second day in a row, things were getting critical) and felt like I didn’t get much time to appreciate the place. My leg could use an extra day of rest, so I booked a second night! That way I could enjoy a second glass of sangria and not worry about getting up early! (I didn’t learn til later there was gin I it! And I felt it)

As if the healing toe blisters and painful knee weren’t enough, I developed a rash from my wool socks!

So happy the abbey let me stay a second night. I was able to move to the most private cubicle by the window, complete with my own plug for charging and night table. I also got to do all my laundry that had backed up for 3 days while there was plenty of room for drying left on the clothesline! And enjoy the grounds of the abbey and rest my leg!

My second night at the abbey reconnected me with Gloria, an American nurse who trained in Canada and was packing Canadian Tylenol with codeine. She would prove critical for my next few days, which had me devising plans C and D! But I’ll save that for tomorrow when I’m trying to amuse myself during my third day of mandated bed rest! To be continued …

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Talk to Me, People!

Town center of Viloria de Rioja

This morning I’m really feeling the need to talk to someone who isn’t on a quest to find themselves or the answer to life. It’s been a while since I’ve run into someone I feel like I really connect with in a conversation. I’m still trying to recover from one last blister so prefer not wearing hiking shoes (though I always carry them in case it rains because there’s no way I could walk in Teva sandals in red mud). My knee seems to be holding its own though the way I’m carrying myself is now putting a strain in my right hip and I can’t wait to reach Burgos (day after tomorrow), where I plan to spend 2-3 nights in civilization probably in a private room in a pension. And rest.

I liken this experience to Cape Cod in summer. Everyone wants to get out of the city and enjoy the ocean and as a result all the traffic jams are on the Cape instead of in Boston. The Camino at times seems like an endless stream of people chasing available beds. We had a whole discussion about this at the “new age” albergue where I stayed last night. It was nice to be in a small place with only ten, but we were also forced into the intimacy of sharing stories, which started to stress me out. One talked about how disappointing it was to have to reserve a bed rather than simply walking until you feel like stopping. The inn keeper (meditation guru?) said September was the worst for throngs of people – who knew? He said he didn’t love reservations because it wasn’t the spirit of the Camino but if it gave people peace of mind and freedom to walk at the pace they needed, he felt it was right. All I know is that if I couldn’t reserve a space and transport my pack, I’d probably be on a bus or holed up in a town for a week waiting for my knee to improve.

And people say that this is nothing compared to once you reach Sarria (the last 100km) where there are many more pilgrims! Well, I’ve never been one for Cape Cod in summer, so I suspect once I reach Sarria (assuming my leg lasts that long) I’ll be taking a bus to Santiago to deliver prayers. Seriously. Yet the walking and the landscape are really the best part of this.

So I get the stats. I know one day there were at least 20 of you reading this – from the US and Spain. (I get my thrills from watching the flags show up – I was getting US, France, UK, NZ, and Canada when I was in France) So who are you? You didn’t want me to do this on FB so you didn’t have to join, but it’s mostly the people on FB that sustain me by their comments there. So drop me a line. Tell me if this is at all interesting. I’m getting really bored with the one way conversation. And I’m really missing Spain – am dying to get off this road to actually connect with Spain. It seems a shame to be here but not be here. I’ve got 4 more weeks – what do you think I should do??!!

I keep seeing Sevilla in my mind.

 

Language of the Camino

Leaving Logroño before sun up, passing a statue of pilgrims on the Camino. There was also public art made like a chess board with various towns along the Camino represented in the squares

One of the things I so looked forward to in walking the Camino was a chance to see parts of Spain that I haven’t already, and the chance to speak Spanish again. Well, the Camino is Spain, but it isn’t. One sees lots of gorgeous Spanish landscape as one walks along, but one doesn’t necessarily speak a lot of Spanish – especially if you are not a native speaker. You hear languages you never imagined you’d hear: Russian, Korean, and some Eastern European language I couldn’t identify (Polish, Romanian, Lithuanian??) Generally the lingua franca among pilgrims is English. Most Germans and Scandinavians speak it well. And younger generations from France, Italy and Spain will most likely have it as a second language before any other. That is a major shift for me – many young Spaniards who want to speak to me in English to practice their language skills.

View as the sun rises on the outskirts of Logroño

Although I try to get into Spanish mode I find that very few non-Spaniards speak Spanish, unless of course they’re from another Spanish-speaking country. In addition, everyone seems clueless about typical Spanish meal times. I met Germans for whom I was interpreting who expected a sit down dinner at 5pm! Most Spanish restaurants don’t open for dinner until 8:30. So I say, have some tortilla or calamares to tide you over. But it’s not within their dietary parameters! People, the Camino (and life for that matter) is all about rolling with the punches! Get over yourselves! (Plus, you don’t know what you’re missing!)

Ruins of an old pilgrim hospital outside a winery in La Rioja

In Rioja you walk through miles of scenic vineyards on the Camino. Right next to the hospital ruins was this giant piece of advertising for the winery.

Then there are the native varieties of English. Within American accents I’ve encountered people from California, Oregon, Arkansas, Arizona, Pennsylvania, and New Jersey. There have been Canadians (both native French and English speakers), Brits, Scots, Welsh, Irish, New Zealanders, Aussies and even a guy from Belfast (I had to ask where he was from – I was leaning toward guessing Scotland but it didn’t seems quite right. It was just my closest guess) I wonder if other native speakers understand Americans better than we understand them. After all, they are inundated with American films and television programs. I don’t remember the last time I heard someone from New Zealand (maybe WEG) and I’m not sure I’ve ever spoken to someone from Belfast before. I had to explain to my Irish dinner companion that between the fiesta atmosphere we were eating in (running of bulls in Viana) and his brand of English, I was probably getting only 80% of what he was saying unless I stopped to clarify – and you can only do that so much before it gets annoying. You’d think I’d do better with Irish, living in the Boston area!

This was the most lovely albergue I’ve stayed at. It was in Ventosa, a very small town with one albergue that accommodated under 50. It was full by around 2:15. At least two latecomers were allowed to sleep on the floor on make shift bed rolls.

I know that all my Spain loving friends are drooling seeing the calamares and tortilla, but I was with at least one person who refused to eat it! The calamares were outstanding!

Now it’s lucky for foreigners that the Camino has a schedule all its own. Albergues generally open for the evening at around 1pm, close doors with lights out at 10, and wake everyone up around 6. You must exit for the day by 8am. As a results small towns that cater to peregrinos tend to serve pilgrim dinners at 7/7:30pm. It’s tough to eat 3 courses and wine and get to bed by 10 if you don’t start early!

Leaving Ventosa before sun up. It was the most lovely albergue but as a result had a throng of foreigners who wanted the ambience but seemed quite intolerant of the typical Spanish daily schedule. I was happy to get out of here. The advantage to leaving by 7am (before sun up) is the cool comfortable walking. The disadvantage is the inability to see markers on the trail, which ar challenging at times even in daylight!

After sunrise, stone piles on the trail. Hard to describe these – altar-like tributes left by pilgrims along the way.

Walking through La Rioja is like walking through an endless postcard of vineyards and mountains

The bar I stopped at for a Coke. Enough with the Sevilla references! This is making me so nostalgic for my junior semester abroad. If some doctor in Burgos claims my knee is unfit for walking, I may be traveling south to hunt down my old friend José Luis!

The town where Bar Sevilla is located. Most of the guests at the Ventosa albergue stopped here as it had an albergue with a small pool. Hardly something you could swim in, but lots of people sitting around it soaking their feet.

Much of this walk I decided I would listen to an iTunes playlist I made of Spanish songs I’ve known over the decades. I wanted to pretend I was in Spain. There were lots of bici-peregrinos who sped by me and smiled as they heard me singing over my earphones!

Halfway through this walk my right knee began to ache. I called Jacotrans to pick up my backpack and take it to my next albergue so I could reduce the weight on my knee. It was a good decision. Now the trip was like a walk in the park! And I had the added benefit that most of the pilgrim throng was staying behind as I went on to the town of Cirueña – a name no one seemed to recognize even though we’re all carrying the same Brierly book! Apparently the albergue was not posh enough! Luckily there was no podiatrist’s daughter around to tell me I needed more arch support. My toes were happy!

I’m glad I ditched the backpack and went onward. The albergue in Cirueña was the complete antithesis to the one in Ventosa. I felt like I was in a ghost town that time had forgot. Not at all picturesque, and only 30 inhabitants. I felt like I was entering a García Márquez novel! It did border on the creepy, but as I arrived I learned a young American I’d met in Viana was there. I liked her – she was definitely a go with the flow type, able to operate on a Spanish schedule and eat available food!

The hill just before arriving in Cirueña – I was really glad I ditched the backpack! This Young German at the top was doing the Camino while sleeping outdoors in a tent. The guy from Belfast asked him if that was the reason why his hair looked like it did – blond with a style that was a cross between Bob Marley and Billy Joe Armstrong of Green Day!

The albergue in Cirueña – only 8 people staying in a place with space for around 20. It was very isolated and I felt like it was a set for a novel of magical realism (even if it wasn’t Latin America) in fact I ended up with a private room that could have housed 4. The wind blew open my window at 2 am. (There is a chair blocking it now – the latch doesn’t work) I’m able to write this because I was woken in the middle of the night, no one else is in the room, and I can actually access the wifi from bed! I feel like I’m in a luxury suite!

View from my room

The first place I’ve done my laundry where there was plenty of line space and free clothes pins!

Since there wasn’t much town I decided to eat the pilgrim’s meal in the albergue – a porridge of lentils, vegetables, and chorizo. Not elegant, but tasty. It was the first time the common language was Spanish. There were 7 – the hostalero, a guy from Madrid, 2 guys from Arizona (one a native speaking Mexican American), a French couple, and me. I ended up doing some interpreting for the French, but almost everything was in Spanish – yippee!! It was an interesting mix of Spanish. I thought the hostalero was a non-native speaker (as many are), but Lionel, the Mex-American, thought he was a native. We learned he was from San Sebastián, Basque country, so assumed Spanish was actually his second language. The other Arizonan could understand a bit, but didn’t really speak. He said he could understand me easiest, probably because I think and phrase sentences more like an English speaker. It was a great conversation all around talking about his the younger generation speaks so much more English and the intricacies of dealing with many older foreigners who don’t speak Spanish.

After dinner I talked with the retired Arizonan, who told me he’d become a long distance hiker in retirement. We discussed my knee and he told me he’d had a torn meniscus on the Appalachian Trail. He said it was fixable – but only by surgery. He finished the trail, but not that year! He suggested I talk with an orthopedist in Burgos, as they probably know more about joint problems on the Camino than anyone. He said if he hadn’t stopped on the Appalachian trail when he did he might have lost the use of his knee. Well it looks like I’ll be seeing a doctor Monday. I’d prefer to keep the use of my knee. I’ll probably be shipping my pack and maybe taking a bus til then. I’ll see how my knee feels tomorrow. I may end up in Sevilla before this trip is over!

The High Road, the Low Road, or No Road?

The reason I have time to write

Yesterday I was trying to dump photos here, thinking I didn’t know when I’d next have a good wifi connection. Today I took an extra day of rest so decided to actually write. Yesterday was a day of pictures, today a day of words.

I’m almost finished with 7 days on the Camino and it is ever changing. So many options! You can transport your pack and basically take a long walk. Or you can carry it. An Irish group had a prearranged tour where they had hotels booked in advance and a car to pick up and drop off their luggage each day. They thought it was completely mad to carry everything you have on your back! Then there were the 2 American women around age 70 who thought it was the only way to do it (they were clearly life long outdoorsy Coloradans). Many people are age 50+ on this trail, but most are in good shape who are attempting it at that age. 

In spite of attempting this at an “advanced age” and not in particularly great shape, I seem to be managing with a pack. I’m able to walk although every day a new blister seems to develop. At least they aren’t in places that keep me from walking. Knowing that the next stretch involves a lot of up and down hill, I decided to take an extra day in Logroño to really rest and care for my feet. The pharmacist seemed to be horrified when she saw my toes. I now have a complete three-phase foot regimen: what to apply to avoid blisters, when an unbroken blister develops, and once a blister has popped. The worst for me is the downhill. It’s hard to keep toes from jamming into the front of the shoe and when you’re on a steep hill it’s brutal. I’ve developed blisters UNDER my toenails that I didn’t know I had until they exploded when I tried to cut a nail! Ironically I’m usually not even aware of them until I stop walking.

I wonder what I’d do if I really could no longer walk. Take a bus? Take a whole different trip to a part of Spain I don’t already know? This whole  trip to Europe is full of Plan Bs. First there was the cross country day that turned into playing tourist in Suisse-Normandie. Then there was the day late start to the Camino due to Sylvia’s flight delay. Then there was the fact that our paces were just not going to work well together, so we’ve split up. It’s been fun, but completely unpredictable. A couple from Arkansas celebrating 39 years married were acting like excited teens, as though it were a walk in the park. Would love to spend more time with them but I was not going to be walking a 30km day! A  guy from Ireland I walked with a bit had blisters in places that kept him from walking, so he took a couple of bus rides and eventually rented a car and went south to Cordoba. That was making me nostalgic for Sevilla. I tried to get him to just use the car to transport my pack for me but apparently I was unconvincing. It’s just as well because I was drinking way too much red wine whenever he was around. That didn’t bode well for early mornings and long hikes!

Although I could afford to spring for a private room once in a while, I do enjoy meeting people in the albergues. They are a real help for connecting with others. Taking this extra day off has put me way behind most people I’ve met earlier, so who knows what will happen next. I walked into Logroño with several Germans who I suspect are two days ahead of me by now. We met when I was putting on a rain poncho and they rushed over to help me out. Actually that rainy day was the most enjoyable yet for walking – flat, cool, and I don’t even think I broke a sweat. A crazy guy from La Reunion (French island near Madagascar) kept calling us all mutant turtles with our rain gear that accommodated backpacks.

So I’ve basically learned that some take the high road and some take the low road and some decide they’d rather not even go to Scotland

For all pix see FB: https://m.facebook.com/nancy.siddens/albums/10204079150131667/?ref=bookmark!

Leaving Pamplona, Guardian Angels

Pamplona is behind us

The attractive and poetic shell. I also found it to be completely annoying. If it wasn’t clinking around it was falling off.

Marley from Australia was desperately trying to cut blackberries from a bramble. I helped him out and caught a few thorns! I realized it would be helpful if he turned the knife around and used the blade! Guess I was playing guardian angel to him.

Pilgrim figures at Alto del Perdón (Height of Forgiveness)

I decided the first burden I’d leave behind would be the clinking shell. I figured this guy would do a good job carrying it for me. At this spot we met a group of Irish tourists doing the Camino with day packs – their belongings were being transported via car. One gave me his walking stick, which probably saved me from falling down the very treacherous hill. My guardian angel.

We met Sandy and Lois from Colorado in Pamplona and ran into them on the road. These two know there’s life after 70 – we discussed sex at that age over lunch!

At the reception desk at our first albergue in Óbanos.

Sunrise on Day 2

Morning snails

The laundry that didn’t dry the day before was finished on the road

One of the drinking fountains for pilgrims usually found as you enter town

Puente la Reina

There are many road casualties visible on my feet

And on the third day there was the wine fountain!

This Frenchman fills up for lunch

Debbie from Arkansas

As we were sitting together we realized we had the same style of Teva hiking shoes !

Entering Los Arcos

Church in Los Arcos

We attended a pilgrim blessing there

A man working breakfast at the albergue made this for Debbie!

Debbie and husband of 39 years, Fred, who was born in Cuba. I shared my most luxurious albergue room with them! Only 3 of us in a room for 5!

Traveling to Sansol from Los Arcos

This day started with people singing in the streets of Los Arcos and continued with a brass band in Torres del Río. We later learned it was the Fiesta de la Virgen de Nieva

Well wishes on the road

With Odette and Tony from New Zealand as I enter Viana, where there was a big celebration of the virgin with bulls running through the streets

It finally rained on the way to Logroño, capital of La Rioja, wine country. The Frenchman from an island off Madagascar kept saying we looked like mutant turtles! The Germans on the right helped me put on my rain poncho

Entering Logroño with Verena from Germany

Who’d ever think there’d be another fiesta coming up in Logroño!

Explanation of what happened in Viana

Waiting for the “bulls” (the Irish guy I was with claimed they weren’t real bulls, just teenagers)

Caught a quick shot of this one as he gave a little kick. There was a dog (very small terrier-like) on leash nearby who was dying to go after them. Napoleon complex?

From young to old, everyone was dressed in red and white. Love these kids!

From le bordellique to the fantastique!

The train I took south to Spain stopped in Bordeaux. This was my view as we pulled into town.

In Paris, while waiting for the train to Spain, I saw an elegantly dressed woman walking a dog like this one. I later saw her get off the train in Bordeaux. It turns out she was taking her Dogue de Bordeaux to Bordeaux! You never know when those vet tech classes will come in handy. I was able to discern this from that Breed ID class I took!

As Forrest Gump would say: France is like a box of chocolates, you never know which one you’re gonna get! I spent two weeks trying to calm an angry mob complaining about how badly organized WEG was, but had the most spectacular home stay experience with Fabienne and Patrice. And it wasn’t just foreigners complaining about the games. The French were proclaiming: C’est le bordelle! (bordelle=bordello In other words, things were completely f’d up! The alternative to this is: C’est bordellique! And I’m sure Sarah B will let me know if I’ve spelled that wrong!)

One story I heard from an Australian woman sticks with me. And she was amazingly pleasant given the situation. She’d booked a first class trip from Australia, including a first class train ride from Paris to Caen. After a flight FROM AUSTRALIA they got on the train only to find one car had been removed, so the people who were supposed to be in that car had moved into the first class seats that should have been occupied by the Aussie and friends. They ended up spending 2 hours sitting on the floor next to the bathroom from Paris to Caen. This woman had tickets to the cross country day and could not get a train to that venue because seats were sold out on the trains. All she was asking for was a refund on the ticket since not enough transportation was available. I sent her to the Letige (Problems Desk). I hope she got her refund but I wouldn’t bet money on it! And if you’ve been reading along you know how well that cross country day turned out for my British friend Sarah and me …NOT!

Speaking of cross country day, I think I finally sleuthed out what happened that resulted in 17.6 km of halted traffic at the entrance to cross country. Olivia, a woman who worked that venue, came to help us out at the main stadium the last two days. She told me that due to the heavy rains, it was so muddy at Haras du Pin that they weren’t using several parking lots. During the week as trucks would make deliveries they’d get stuck in the mud. They didn’t want that to happen to everyone’s cars so they closed the parking lots! Voilà, major traffic jam! I also think I sleuthed out the overarching general organizational problems as well. Apparently the entire operation was being run by a bunch of twenty somethings. Most people on the Organizing Committee had landed there after they’d done an internship for a business school course. Once they finished the internship, they were offered jobs. A cost saving measure? The entire event felt to me as though the people running it were in so far over their heads that they didn’t know what they didn’t know. It just felt like no one had the smarts/ability/knowledge/experience to correct things on the fly. I thought it was just a French love for bureaucracy, but it turns out it was just because college kids were running the whole thing! I’m all for giving students opportunities, but not at this level! Oh Canada, please do not do this!

It is no longer the Renfe of the 1970s!

Now that I’ve set the scene, how do you think my train ride from Caen to Paris was? Remember, I’m leaving the morning after the World Equestrian Games close. Packed platform, I get into car #15, as my ticket indicates. I find seat #42. Ahhh! Several minutes later a woman comes over with the same seat listed as a first class ticket. Mine is second class. Are there TWO #15 cars?! I start walking, hoping to eventually reach a second class #15 car. At the last first class car there is no accessible passage from first to second class! The train is moving so I can’t get out to change cars. But there are these nice hard suitcases with FEI (International Equestrian Federation) baggage tags on them! I take a seat on one – it’s only two hours to Paris and this isn’t so bad! I thought signage at WEG was less than stellar but maybe signage is France’s flaw – it was tough finding Metro lines in Paris as well when I needed to take the train south from Montparnasse. The French know how to do food, but I’m not so sure they know how to do signs!

Toto, we’re not in France anymore! When I reached the border the Basque language was everywhere. In France I understood 60-80% of what was said. In Spain I hoped it would be more like 95%. All the Basque signage is not helping my goal!

So when I arrived at Irún, the border town in Spain, no one knew where my pensión was nor where it’s street was located, so they directed me to the tourism office … which was closed because of this holiday. I still need to find out what it is about.

A little old lady took me under her wing, flagged down passers by to get them to use their GPS to find the street. She then accompanied me in the direction of the pensión, apologizing that she was too old to walk me all the way there! After asking a man at a local bar if I were headed in the right direction we decided I should take a taxi (so much for practicing walking with a pack!) He then got the bartender to call me a cab and a whole entourage waited with me. I eventually ended up at this spotless guest house with this view for the evening.

Meanwhile, back in Boston, my travel companion Sylvia’s flight to Madrid was turned back after an hour of flight. They were unloading fuel and were surrounded by fire and rescue when they landed. But that’s a whole different story that she needs to tell. All I know is that I ended up at our shared hotel in Pamplona 4 hours before her as a result. I knew it’s name was Hotel Palacio Guendulain. I just didn’t know it really had been a Palacio!

The road to the palace.

The coach of Duke Guendulain. I called to have the horses pick me up at the train station but they hadn’t made it back from WEG!

It wasn’t a red carpet but it would do!

Our abode

The towels were woven with the coach logo of the hotel

Door tag color coding: red tassel=do not disturb, yellow=ready for cleaning

The courtyard from where I’m writing while Sylvia gets a decent night’s sleep!

Renovated and opened as a hotel in 2009 by Guendulain royalty!

Part of today’s lunch … when in Rome…

We’re finally in Pamplona!

For more photos of Pamplona see: https://m.facebook.com/nancy.siddens/albums/10204071708025619/?ref=bookmark

The Last Weekend on the Front Lines!

 

Caden’s City Hall. Caen was known as the city of 100 bell towers before WWII. Many were lost in the bombing

Typical architecture of Normandy

Our home away from our homes away from home

I’m about to wrap things up here in Caen, so one last post before I leave for Spain! Not sure how available wifi will be once we’re on the Camino. I’ll try to include highlights that I haven’t before. You can always get more of the gritty details at my Facebook page. It’s just so easy to dump stuff there. When I’m here I have to think through what I’m doing, and at this point thinking in any language is not one of my strong points!

The whole gang having lunch together: Pauline, Michelle, Julie, Léa, and Johanna. We miss you, Florine and Sarah!

Johanna (from Sweden via Belgium) mans her post!

Sometimes people would line up two hours before a competition. The guy in red is security – in charge of moving barriers to let the crowd in. But he would yell at me if I held up his line while handing out brochures. They take line management seriously in France!

Once they let in the frenzied mob the guys in green would scan tickets. Through experiences like this I learned how to say “this is completely f’d up!” in French. (C’est le bordelle! bordelle=bordello) This guy was a Québécois now living in Savannah, GA

One of the little things we provided- wristbands for children with the parent’s phone number.

People working inside the stadium had a serious emergency with a rider down. Our emergency? The guy making sandwiches outside our booth cut his finger! So we called the Croix Rouge!

Meanwhile back at the expo Breyer did not miss the opportunity to sell 10€ ($13) horse blankets with the 2014 Games logo for model horses!

The Pony Tail Bar at the expo (just a gimmick to get you in the booth)

Pieric – one of the shows for children at the expo

I

Beezie Madden jumps the windmill jump. You can see the Camembert jump behind her – painted like a cow

 

One of my favorite jumps – a triple. From Lexington, KY to Caen, Normandy to …

… To Bromont, QC

Canadian jumping fans!

Bought this American scarf at a British beach (Gold Beach) in France so people would know to expect less than perfect French out of my mouth. And some guy had the nerve to ask if I was German!

Meanwhile back at the racetrack people were tearing down fencing to take a look at the driving marathon!

This shot was taken through a hole in the fence!

Typical view from my booth at the end of the day.

Typical end of the day for the Dutch team -at the tapas bar!

One of the reasons for a Dutch celebration – gold in both individual and team jumping. Patrice Delaveau of France took silver and Beezie Madden of the USA took bronze. However, her horse Cortes C took the top horse award for jumping four clear rounds with four different riders!

The back yard at home. Patrice complained about all the hazelnuts that fell from the tree!

Packing all my loot!

Agathe (on the day she left for her first year of college), Fabienne, and Patrice

I can’t say enough about how wonderful this family made my stay. From taking me to the stadium for early morning shifts to playing tour guide at the beaches of Normandy, I got way more than expected from airbnb.com!

 

My proof of participation and a parting gift!

Next stop, Spain!