Camino de Santiago, part II

And so we were officially on the Camino, with only 483 miles to go. This second day I, as well as dw, felt great -- and I continued problem free (mostly) for the rest of the walk (farther on dw started having problems with her feet).  The weather was ideal for crossing the Pyrenees -- cool, but not cold and enough sun and scattered clouds to make for pretty pictures. The pass isn't very high (a bit less than 5000 feet) but the canyons are deep and steep, and the Spanish side had a very steep descent.        This is called the Napoleon start, because Napoleon used this pass on the retreat from his Spanish misadventures, but it could just as well be called the Roland start because Roland died in several places on the Spanish side of the pass.

(Roland figures in many historical sites for the next 150 miles. He dies in a couple of places. He fights and slays Ferragut, the Moorish giant. He frees prisoners held by the Moors. He is a hero for the ages until the dastardly Moors cut him down. -- Several times. -- Naturally, he did none of it. He did fight the Basques who chopped the dauntless Roland to bits while they were kicking Charlemagne's butt.)

After the uphill, the trail descended a very steep path through a beautiful beech forest (shades of later on, dw started having troubles on the downhill) and we ended the second day at Roncevalles, a converted monastery, and one of the better albergues on the route.
      (the albergues were like youth hostels. They varied in size, the smallest would sleep 10, the largest, over a 100. Some were private, some were public. Some were one large room with bunk beds, some were cubicles with one or two bunk beds in each. Some had private rooms available. Almost all were mixed-sex, with little privacy but nearly everyone was discrete enough that the Camino isn't a 500 mile peep-show  --- it all worked surprisingly well.)

Most mornings, we would start before light, and at Roncevalles the albergue had a delightful wakeup alarm. As it happened I was awake early (5:30) and  I seemed to hear almost subliminal music, so quiet I thought it was my imagination, but it slowly increased in volume and by 6:00 it was clearly Gregorian Chants and loud enough (though not actually loud) that it worked as an alarm for the room.  The same thing happened at a different albergue several weeks later, but most often someone would just turn on the lights.

After Roncevalles and heading for Larrasoana we had the experience of "travel" derived from "travail" --- it rained. "It never rains -- , but girl don't they warn ya? It pours, man it pours." And that would be travel as travail as trouble, hardship, suffering. Well, maybe it wasn't that bad but it was a very heavy rain for several hours, and long sections of the trail were on slanting layers of rock -- it made for difficult walking and soaked feet as neither of us had water resistant shoes. Our ponchos worked well, and by the end of the day we were sort of dry (from the knees up), but it was good that it was a warmish rain and not a cold sleeting storm.

After that first storm, the weather was good for several days and then it started getting hot and the afternoons were consistently hot until we reached the mountains at the western end of the walk.

As we had already spent a night there, we skipped Pamplona and stayed in Cizur Menor. C.M. is distinguished by having two small medieval churches each on their own hill top. One seemed to be permanently closed, but dw and I wondered if in the past they shot fireworks at each other like those two Greek churches do in Vrodandos. If anyone had asked, I would have bought some bottle rockets and done my bit to start a tradition.

Each day we walked through several villages and in each we could predict where the path would go. Look for the church steeple (easy since it was always the tallest building and was usually on a hill) and you could be sure that the path would pass in front of the church. Except for the big city cathedrals nearly all of the churches on this end of the Camino were similar: A simple, fairly unadorned Romanesque stone box with a plain steeple. The few windows were usually narrow slits, glazed with mica. In some of the smallest villages, the churches were seemingly unused (except perhaps for weddings or funerals)
      Each village was similar (a grocery store -- called a "supermercado" -- dw and I didn't think they really understood the concept of a "supermarket" since the supermercados were about 10 feet by 10 feet square)  one or two bars/café/coffee shop -- stone buildings, some stuccoed, most not; an occasional wattle and daub building; narrow streets and a small plaza with a plain fountain -- usually the water was potable and we didn't need to carry much water.
      But each village was also subtly different enough that each day was interesting. Some places would have a section of a Roman road, or other Roman ruins. Few of the villages were happening places, but some were maintained and lived in, while others were largely abandoned with crumbling buildings, trees growing in the ruins and a stray dog or two sleeping in the shade -- they would look as if hope was lost  hundreds of years ago.

This eastern end of the Camino is largely wine country. A lot of vineyards with occasional dairy farms and truck farms. Occasionally the trail goes directly through a farm, passing between the house and barns, separating the out-buildings and animal pens. It's interesting and apparently the farmers are accustomed to it (after a thousand years I guess they would be) because I didn't notice any dirty looks directed at the peregrinos. And at each farm and frequently in between, the Camino, whether road or path, is used to drive livestock, so the trail is liberally strewn with manure. Somehow appropriate, since 2014 was the Eighth Centenary of St Francis of Assisi walking the Camino. Though I'm not sure his love for animals necessarily included walking through their dung.

WORD OF THE DAY: "oriflamme" -- The sacred banner of St. Denis, of red or orange red silk. Not to be smug or anything, but how many of you have your own sacred banner?

NATURAL HISTORY: According to the BBC, feeding garlic to cows will reduce their flatulence. Even reduced, I'm not sure garlic laden cow farts is such a good idea.

They are a bit late for the season, but JOKES OF THE DAY:  What is a schizophrenic's favorite Christmas song? --- "Do you hear what I hear?"
    
And: Merry Christmas to all the paranoids out there. Just remember, you are not alone. 

And so it goes. DJA



 

Camino de Santiago, part I

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.

Maybe not the worst of times. Although we were in France no one was likely to be beheaded, but I was tired the moment we stepped off the bus, and dw was going strong and got stronger as the day progressed. In any case at one o'clock we started walking from St. Jean Pied de Port, France,  on August 20th, my birthday.

The flight from Portland to Madrid was normal: Yin and Yang: bad to New York, and fine to Madrid (on the Madrid leg, we had a Van Johnson clone for a cabin steward). We got to Madrid early enough to do a little sight seeing, have a light breakfast and coffee, and buy a pre-paid cell phone. After wandering around a bit, we went to the Atocha train station, admired the enclosed tropical garden, found our gate, sat and had a moment of contentment until we thought we should get out our passports. (After the bombing of a few years ago, Atocha, and many other transport hubs and museums in Spain have airport like security). PANIC. dw didn't have her passport.

But we knew where it was: she used it at the phone store when we bought the cell phone. They took it, photocopied it, and forgot to give it back. Nothing underhanded and they had tried to call us -- twice. We heard the phone ring, it was on, but we thought it was just an ad (Buy More Time, Only E3.95). No one we wanted to talk with even knew we had a phone and certainly wouldn't be calling so of course we ignored the ring.

We only had 30 minutes before the train would leave. dw said she didn't really remember where the store was. I remembered and said I would go. dw pointed out (rightly) that she could run faster than I, so she would go, and off she went. Just outside the station, she saw a taxi and being clever hopped in: Indicating please hurry.
     When she got there, she asked him to wait (All in Spanish): "Wait, is that what you mean? Why do you want me to wait? Are you Sure?"
      "Yes, Yes, don't move, stop. Have a beer, coffee, churro,  whatever -- just don't leave!"
     She ran in, got the passport, thanked them for trying to call, and ran back to the taxi, waving the passport. And then the taxi driver understood the urgency so the ride back was exciting: through alleys, over sidewalks, banging aside garbage cans, scaring pedestrians, pushing other cars to get them to move, mowing down bushes and errant newsstands (in other words, normal Madrid driving)  -- he got his fee and a very nice tip. And she got back to the station with 10 minutes to spare.

And it was a good thing. The "big scary moment" of the trip was already over and done.

Next stop Pamplona where we spent the night. Again we wandered around a bit: walked part of the street where the bulls run -- a scary thought: it's narrow and slick -- (curiously, there's a burger place half-way along the run -- perhaps to further inspire the bulls -- "You might eat me later, but I'm going to get at least one of you suckers right now!") In the morning we took a bus from Pamplona to St. Jean, looked around St Jean a bit, bought some food (bread, cheese, cookies and peanuts) and started walking the Napoleon start.

      For the rest of the day, dw pranced along: mooed at cows, sang with the birds, talked with dogs, flirted with cats, smelled the flowers, and enjoyed the scenery; I slogged. I sweated profusely. I counted steps. I decided it wasn't my fault, my body was psychologically rebelling at being 71. I frequently stopped to take pictures. In short I suffered mightily, but bravely, and after a whole 7.5 miles we came to our first stop -- Orisson.

Our first albergue: Orisson, and it was a wonderful experience. First, there were no beds available, but there were four tents pitched in the back: Would one of them do? And yes, it would do because the alternatives were to backtrack three miles, or continue on to Roncevalles -- an additional 11 miles. The tent was very good: three man size, thick mattress covering the floor -- with sheets, blankets, and pillows provided.
     At dinner, the wine flowed like water.
     A continuing birthday party was going on (and had been for most of the day). After the birthday-boy was serenaded with "Happy Birthday" dw told our table that it was also my birthday, and I also got serenaded: "Happy Birthday" sung in English, German, Italian, Spanish, French, Basque and Polish -- it was a kick.
     At dinner we met, and mostly talked with, two Germans (40 or 50) -- Bernt and Ulrich -- we continued to run into each other for the next two weeks, and at the end in Santiago. And we talked a lot with two young Italian girls (15 or so), both named Sophia -- they were very nice  young people -- Walking with their families and just doing the first part of the walk. (We met them again in Los Arcos -- which was the end of their walk) --

It was an exceptional birthday day for me. No cake, but the second biggest celebration, and doubtless the most memorable birthday I ever expect to have.

BOOKS:  Living to Tell the Tale -- Gabriel Garcia Marquez. The first volume of his autobiography. If you're a fan of Marquez, this is required reading. Particularly interesting to me is how much of his fiction and fantasy was firmly based on people and locations in his (real) life. This volume stops when he proposed to his wife, and before he became internationally famous. Also -- Strange Pilgrims -- a collection of some of Marquez's short works.

NATURAL HISTORY: Giant desert tortoises can run as fast as one mph.

JOKE: A guy walks into a dentist's office and says: "You gotta help me doc, I think I'm a moth."
And the dentist says: "I can't help you I'm a dentist,  you need to see a psychiatrist."
The guy said: "I know, I already am."
"So what are doing here?" asked the dentist.
"Well," the guy said, "your light was on."      and so it goes.