Camino de Santiago, part VI -- fini -- Sights and Sounds

We almost always started walking before dawn and in each small village, somewhere in the distance,  a dog would be barking, sometimes two, but usually just one. One lonely dog warning the village that once again the wily peregrinos were afoot and planning to murder a poor dog who was doing his best. Since each village had its alarm dog and the peregrinos passed through each day, apparently all the dogs escaped the morning carnage but just in case, each morning they were on the alert. Farm dogs, on the other hand, were much more casual: Even when greeted with a cheerful "Buenas dias, perro" they didn't raise their head. One cow dog emeritus was comfortably laying in the doorway of the Alto do Poio albergue -- and didn't move (or raise his head) when ten or fifteen peregrinos stepped over him.
     A rooster or two would chime in but they didn't sound like they were worried about landing in a peregrine's frying pan, rather they were telling the ladies that they were up and ready for love. 

After a rainy day walking to El Ganso, the weather cleared in the afternoon and the walkers (including us) hung our day's laundry. While it was drying, I wandered around the village (one main street of four blocks, one cross street of two blocks) looking at the few occupied houses and the many ruins. I passed a young woman doing her laundry and quietly singing "O mio babbino caro" (Gianni Schicchi) -- That's the music that swells whenever a sweeping view of Tuscany appears on TV --  It was such a quiet, peaceful and intimate moment I felt as if I would be intruding if she realized I was listening. I walked on, but slowly and I hoped inconspicuously.
     We walked through Viloria early Sunday morning. It was very quiet, no traffic, no one stirring except for one tan dog who followed us for two blocks and then lost interest. I stopped by the village fountain to get a rock out of my shoe and dw walked on, getting a hundred yards ahead. As I walked by an open door I faintly heard a guitar playing Romance de Espana -- so fitting of the time and place.

We thought it remarkable how few wild animals we saw. Some birds, including LBJs (little brown jobs) crows and magpies, an occasional hawk or buzzard -- no game birds although there were some, since hunters with dogs were out in a few places and we heard a shot or two. We saw no deer, coyotes (or the equivalent), foxes or anything similar -- odd since we were usually walking before dawn when we would have expected to see something. (and we tended to walk quietly, without talking, singing, humming or making any other sundry noises)
     At one point I was following a couple of English




guys who were yakking about economics or some such when suddenly one of them blurted out: "Look! Another slug!" Which indicates how few wild animals were available to watch. Two women we met claimed they saw a bunny. We were skeptical.
     In some areas cows were plentiful, including cows with bindis, and cows with horns.

Generally, the weather was very good, although some days were too hot in the afternoons. But some days it did rain, rain a lot, rain all day. 
    

Some of the people we met and particularly enjoyed:  Sophia and Sophia ( young Italian girls, walking with their families), Bernt and Ulrich (German, having a long walk), Gunilla (Swedish, divorce), Hue (Korean, worried about being old and unmarried -- she was 28), Sarah and Jill (U.S. -- young women having an adventure), Natalia (Ukraine, worried about her family), Steve and Tim (U.S. --divorce and lost his son), and a French couple (both one year older than I -- we would intersect every couple of days, and each time the man would exclaim: "Ore-e-gone!" -- and the woman smoked, which annoyed dw since the woman was older and smoked and still moved right along.)  The Camino is remarkable for the ease of meeting, connecting, and then parting from a wide variety of people.

BOOKS: Amy Falls Down (Jincy Willett):  I first read Jenny And The Jaws Of Life (by Willett) when I saw it was strongly recommended by David Sedaris. Since then I've read her next two novels and now "Amy". I wouldn't call Willett a humor writer but she can be outrageously funny. "Jenny" is a collection of short stories and her other three books are novels. In the novels Willett's main characters are clearly an autobiographical/fictional mashup. I particularly enjoy Willett's word choices and sentence constructions, and how she lards the pages with (frequently irrelevant to the story) asides:
      "(Amy's) thoughts wandered, (his) words reminding her how, as a child, even while being terrorized by Krafft-Ebing, what frightened her most about the sexual act was the probability that she would not be able to read while it was going on."
     Commonly I put in a book entry just as a notation of what I'm reading. Jincy Willett, however, is an author I really recommend.    And so it goes.  DJA










 

Camino de Santiago, part V -- End of the Trail

We left Astorga and walked towards the Western mountains and a black stormy sky. After a half an hour we didn't bother to walk around puddles, our feet were so wet from the rain and the run-off from our ponchos a puddle or two didn't matter. There was an up-side, by the time we reached the albergue our shoes were spotless as if washed in a machine. A couple hundred miles of trail dust was gone with no trace left behind.

The next couple of days we were in the Maragato region. The mountain people go back to the 7th century and the Visigoths. Now the culture is dying and the villages largely deserted and crumbling. Very picturesque but sad and desolate and odd because the land itself looked healthy with obvious farming and grazing throughout the area. Absentee owners I guess.
   The first albergue in Foncebadon had a large picture of that bug-eyed, pompous old fraud Bhagwan Shree Rajneesh displayed on a wall. I muttered to dw "We can't stay here, not with that on the wall." She agreed and we went to a different place a few blocks away.  The Bhagwan place was a woo-woo crystal power sort of inn, the second place was newer and nicer.

We weren't yet doing a count-down, noting the kilometer markers fall to double and then single digits, but we did note entering Galicia, land of the Celts and the last region of the walk. There were some differences: Some spellings are different with a lot more "x's" used (but much of the political graffiti was still in English -- as a neutral language, I think) and "O" something or other was a common name, such as a bar we passed -- "O'Castro" -- Alas, I really wanted to see a Celtic cross or two but there weren't any.

At this point there were a couple of architectural changes. The village churches were mostly fronted with a false front and three bells, the sort of thing seen in every spaghetti western ever made (no tumble weeds blowing around though). And many of them had a sort of silo arrangement on one side of the front. We didn't go into any of the siloed churches, but I think the silos contained a spiral staircase which accessed a bell-ringing platform behind and just below the bells.
   The roofs were mostly slate, including some that were obviously  split by an amateur: someone picked up some chunks and split his own shingles.  (the western mountain range, the Galician Massif, seems to be a huge pile of slate).
    A few buildings had a thatch roof, surprising to us -- at first we thought they were tourist kitsch -- but we read that thatch was another traditional roof.

   And another architectural feature of sorts: stork nests. They were everywhere. The churches commonly had two to four. Chimneys were capped, as were antennas and power poles. Belying the fable we didn't notice armies of small children idling about.

After we had passed the 100K mark and were definitely on the countdown, I asked dw: "Now that we only have a few days left, how do you feel about this being over?"
   There was a significant pause, and then she said: "You're asking me about how I feel?"
   I admit exploring feelings aren't a favorite thing of mine, but hey, I can do it every five or ten years for a few minutes anyway.
   We discussed the end for awhile and concluded that I was more prepared to move on to the next thing than was dw. Mostly because I have more things at home to occupy my time. Even so, for both of us, the Camino was (in a quiet way) one of the great events of our lives.

At Sarria the short-timers joined the trail. You only need to walk the last 100K of the trail to get a certificate of completion, and we found a large percentage of them were loud and rude on the trail. Walking several abreast, cutting in front, stopping and blocking the whole trail -- consistently annoying. (and the very worst of the bunch were on bicycles) We came to look forward to times of heavy rain because the short-timers would disappear into their buses and taxis. A lot of them were catered walkers -- not carrying packs, and (I think) not actually walking the full 100K. I think many of them would ride a bus that would stop at a couple of places, the riders would get their credentials stamped, and then they would drive on. In one town we saw a bit of graffiti: "I like peregrinos, I hate tourists" Apparently my thoughts about the short-timers, the tourists, wasn't unusual.

Portomarin is a town relocated to make way for a dam and its reservoir. The austere church was moved by disassembling it, numbering the stones and then rebuilding it higher up the hill. It's as unusual as the picture would indicate, and it has the proportions of a brick lying on its side. We met Ulrich (from Orisson, our first stop) -- who had also taken a bus. He was hobbling around on a swollen foot and waiting for his walking partner, Bernt, so they could finish together.

Palas De Rei, another of the last towns we stayed in had its own brand of oddness. We were walking around looking for an appealing restaurant or a bakery or deli, when there was a very loud explosion. It sounded like several  sticks of dynamite exploding. We truly thought it was either a terrorist bombing or a huge factory explosion -- but we immediately saw the locals weren't concerned at all. They were sitting at outdoor cafes, having coffee or beer or tapas and nobody even flinched or looked up. I have no idea what it was, but about every half an hour or so, until nine in the evening another blast would rattle the city.
     Later we heard a loud loudspeaker -- it was of poor sound quality and we couldn't understand it of course, but we thought it was an angry political rally. Again the locals were unconcerned. They sat at their outdoor tables talking and drinking and ignoring the din. We decided it was safe, that we wouldn't get involved with an angry separatist mob (An element in both the Basque region and the Galician region are trying to separate from Spain) so we went looking for the source. It was a classic Punch and Judy hand puppet show. It was great. The audience was mostly little kids (with parents standing on the side), and they were really into it. Yelling warnings to the hero when he was going to be eaten by a shark, laughing at the jokes. The show was fun, and it was fun to watch the kids reacting.

    It was raining the next morning when we left, but we did enjoy the street lights that looked like Christmas decorations but were a permanent feature.

At Salceda, just two days before the finish, we met Tim and Steve. They were a couple of submarine engineers walking the trail having been inspired by the movie "The Way". Tim had lost his son some time earlier and when he saw the movie he decided he wanted to do the Camino. Steve was recently divorced. They both were seeking some sort of resolution for their lives. And as it happened, they both were fun to talk with, and they were vastly impressed with my age. I was duly pleased.
   (I didn't mention Dan though I immediately thought of him -- for some reason it didn't seem appropriate.)

We stopped at Monte del Gozo after our last full day. It was another day of pouring rain, and although we could have made it to Santiago (Monte del Gozo is only four miles from Santiago) we decided to wait and arrive in Santiago in the morning -- giving us a full day to find lodging and food and get our certificates.
   Arriving in Santiago was satisfying and moving, but neither of us felt a great surge of emotion. We felt it was a quieter moment than a climatic event. Satisfaction, to be sure, but more of an integral part of our lives rather than a passage with a beginning and an end.

When we were walking towards the cathedral, clad in our broad brimmed hats and ponchos, carrying our packs (dw carried her pack the last few days) I noticed several tourists taking our picture. We were pleased. (Rick Steves mentions watching the peregrinos arrive as an attraction in Santiago)

 The last of the path markers: directly in front of the Cathedral. 

We met a delightful French couple (about our age, who we met repeatedly during the last two weeks), Bernt and Ulrich, Tim and Steve, and one of the Korean women, all earlier stages of the walk -- another pleasure at the end.   We spent two days in Santiago, and four days in Madrid. And then home.   

"Europe was born with the Camino de Santiago" --- Goethe
  
JOKE OF THE DAY: Cigarettes are like gerbils. They're both harmless until you put one in your mouth and light it.

BOOK OF THE DAY: How Architecture Works (Witold Rybczynski) WR proposes and answers questions about the good, the bad, and the ugly in architecture. He discusses how design and construction work and how they are related in a building. I wouldn't suppose everyone would agree with everything he says (I don't), but if you're interested in architecture I'd recommend this book.

WORD OF THE DAY: Purring -- not involving a cute kitty as you probably expect, but the name of a shin-kicking contest --- one of the events in the Cotswold Olimpick Games. (the referee is a "stickler")
   I wonder what's up with these nutter Brits? What with Yorkshire ferret-legging (tie your pants cuffs closed and stick a ferret down there -- underwear not allowed. "It's not so bad if you don't mind a ferret biting your tool." said one contestant) And now "purring" it seems that the English miss larking about kicking the hell out of third-world countries.      And so it goes.  DJA  








 

Camino de Santiago, part IV

"Go west, young man!" I'm not young and dw isn't a man but we continued west anyway.  We didn't walk the final three miles into Burgos, rather we caught a city bus in Villafria. The day was hot, dw was tired and foot-sore, and the description of the last bit of trail sounded unappealing. Since we would be taking a bus from Burgos to Leon the little bit into the city didn't matter. It's unlikely we would have been affected but later we heard one woman say some creep grabbed her boobs on that bit of trail, and several others said they really felt unsafe. I have no idea why that bit was so bad. It's the only part of the Camino where anyone reported anything similar. I imagine, at least for awhile, the pleasure in the walk was ruined for those women.

Burgos is a World Heritage City. The medieval old town is well preserved and the cathedral is a giant pile festooned with gargoyles, extra side altars, stairs and doors leading to a blank wall, cloisters stretching every which way, a giant silver "float" carried in religious parades -- pretty much every adornment you can imagine. El Cid and his wife are buried there. The marker on the floor is blocked off so no one can dance on his grave even if they want to. The marker is nondescript, I almost missed it on our first pass through the church. However the city makes up for that with it's statue. Perhaps the beard doesn't make the man, but it doesn't hurt. In the evening I half expected to see Charlton Heston's ghost lurking around, carrying an Uzi and looking noble. Then I realized he doubtless fancied himself as Moses, leading the ignorant and unwashed, so he wouldn't be hanging around Burgos.
     There's not much left of the original fortress, apparently the last bunch who conquered it also leveled it. About the only thing left is the foundation which still looks difficult to storm if you're only armed with a pike. In general, we enjoyed our afternoon and evening wandering around the city.

After just one night, we caught a bus to Leon. Riding the bus, the Meseta (the part we skipped) looked hot and shade free  -- apparently many peregrinos thought so because the bus was half full when we started and as we progressed more and more got on the bus until it was full when we got to Leon.
     Leon is another World Heritage City. It was originally a Roman Legion encampment (29 BC), hence the name. It is another city we enjoyed just wandering around looking at the buildings and assorted curiosities.  The cathedral is another wonder -- It's second only to Chartres for the size and splendor of it's stained-glass windows. It's also notable because it took 50 years to build, it started to collapse and it took another 50 years to re-engineer so it wouldn't collapse. There's a Gaudi building, modest and tame for him, a lovely river walk, bits of Roman walls and gates  --  in brief, another city where we agreed it would be worth spending a few days.

Two days later (including one 20 mile day) we made it to Astorga which is the best small (12,000) town on the camino. It is a tourist destination for locals as well as peregrinos. A small museum has 12  "floats"  carried by 24 or 32 men (a long pole on their shoulders) each with a religious theme (the crucifixion,  Madonna col Bambino, Mary on a Joseph-led donkey, etc.) several crosses for individuals to carry, long masts with flags and crosses -- all things to be carried in religious parades. Next to the museum is the remains of a roman house with a large floor mosaic still in situ. In other places are bits of the original roman walls and gates. There's a small plain 11th century church, now used as an art gallery.  The main cathedral is built with random colors of stone -- mostly tan, with a red steeple and bits of red and black stone spread around -- it's as if when building it the workmen would run out of tan, and then grab whatever was handy and stick it in, it's very odd.

     And the reason we rushed to get here and then spent an evening and morning looking around: the Gaudi designed Bishops Palace. Like most of Gaudi, it's a neo-gothic design replete with unusual details: oddly shaped arches, a pillar directly in front of a window, rain down-spouts that are just groves in a corner. The bishop was a friend of Gaudi's and to his credit he lived in it for only a few months (he thought it was too grand -- he was right) Now it's used as an art museum and the contents, for such a small town, are superb and sometimes unexplainable -- but the building itself is the real attraction.
     After dinner and after wandering around looking at the sights during our evening of arrival, we watched a Korean drum corps, led by a shaman (?) as they performed in the main plaza. A totally unexpected pleasure. They were good, they were fun, and they got us pumped for the last stretch.

WORD OF THE DAY:  "rechauffe"   of food -- reheated, made from leftovers. I always cook for two days: I plan for rechauffe food, that's because I'm not really interested in cooking on a daily basis.  Usually it's OK, but sometimes two days are a day-and-a-half too much.

BOOK OF THE DAY: Capital in the Twenty-First Century (Thomas Piketty) I admit it was tough sledding at times and I didn't actually read every word, but I read enough to get what he was saying: Concentration of wealth, such as we have now, is bad for the economy and bad for society. And "trickle-down economy" is a joke (As Will Rogers said: "Water trickles down. Gold stays in the first pocket it comes to.") Unfortunately the people who should read this book won't -- or if they do, they won't care. 

JOKE OF THE DAY: Little Willie quatrains were very popular around 1900; they had many authors.

Willie pushed his Aunt Elizer
Off a rock into a geyser.
Now he's feeling quite dejected,
Didn't get the rise expected.

Little Willie hung his sister,
She was dead before we missed her.
Little Willies always up to tricks,
Ain't he cute, he's only six.

Little Willie in one of his bright new sashes,
Fell in the grate and was burnt to ashes.
And now although the room grows chilly,
We haven't the heart to poke up Willie.    

And so it goes DJA




 

Camino de Santiago, part III

              So on we walked, and waited for a cool breeze
              And went without shade, and cursed the sun ---
--- So it doesn't quite scan --- But as we progressed, the afternoons were getting quite hot and dw in particular was bothered by the heat and increasingly by sore feet (not blisters particularly, but by some odd inflammation of her least toes) --- (dw: My "little toes". All of my toes are significant and while I have "little toes", I don't have "least toes".)

In any case, we walked on and at Los Arcos we learned a new (to us) art term: "horror vacui", in particular as it applied to the church interior. (literally: fear of empty space. In art, you can't put in too much detail)  Every, and I mean every, square inch of the interior was carved, painted or gilded and usually all three at once. It was amazing. We sat through the mass and at the start all of the lights were turned on: When the lights hit the gilded, giant retablo it was like being assaulted, suddenly the giant (30' X 50') polished wall, adorned with carvings, statues, paintings, pillars, angels, and saints shone with the supposed glory of heaven -- which was the intent of course. It was amazing. After the mass all of the peregrinos attending (about 30) got a special blessing and then got to go backstage into the vestry. -- One of the few times we really regretted not understanding Spanish. -- The priest showed us and explained some paintings of good quality, and then behind giant double doors (6"X15'X10') -- the door locked with a 12 inch forged iron key -- he showed us relics of Mexico, Peru, Ecuador and of the Spanish Reconquista.  dw and I could understand enough to pick up names and dates but unfortunately that was all.  (mea culpa, we should have studied harder)

     Probably because Los Arcos gets few tourists apart from peregrinos, much of the church was open and we were able to enter the choir loft, sit in the ornately carved stalls, and get a close look at the psalters (they were protected with a glass cover). Because everything was so accessible, this church was as interesting as the larger cathedrals in such places as Pamplona or Burgos.

There were more vineyards at the western end of the walk, but in the middle section, wheat and sunflowers seemed to dominate. The sunflowers north of the path would seem to follow us -- it was amusing, and we (along with many others) brushed off part of the flowers to write our initials on the plants.

The wheat fields though were amazing. The wheat was already harvested, but the straw was baled and piled into giant stacks. The stacks were 40 or more feet high, 50 feet wide and a hundred feet long.  Great piles. (later I found the straw would be used for paper or bio-fuel or a few other things) We were puzzled by these stacks (and I wondered if there was a risk of spontaneous combustion, or arson -- we didn't see any signs of either one) It wasn't clear why the straw was piled instead of being left as bales spread around the field, but the heaps were useful to get behind for a quick whizz.

Still in the wine country, we did stop at the Monasterio Irache, just outside of Estella --- site of the famous wine fountain. And indeed, you can fill up whatever you want for free (people do seem to be somewhat restrained -- There wasn't any sign of 5 gallon carboys) Unfortunately we were there too early, the inside keg was nearly empty, and we just got a half-cup to share. Since it was just at dawn and we had another fifteen miles to walk it was a bit early to knock back a couple pints of red wine but it would have been nice to fill up one of our water bottles.
     As an aside, we thought the Spanish red wine (rioja) -- the vin ordinaire of this region --- was consistently very good and amazingly inexpensive.

 (the jackass in the black hat seemed to think he was being helpful)

Increasingly, dw was bothered by the heat and by her feet. For a few days, I stuffed as much of her load into my pack as I could. But it wasn't enough. Then we tried a carrying service (for a few dollars you can have a service pick up your pack, and deliver it to where you plan on stopping at the end of the day -- there are several companies that do it, including the postal service) I continued carrying my pack, but I did put some of my things into dw's pack.  Ultimately, we took a bus from Burgos to Leon, skipping the Meseta -- the hottest part of the walk. We weren't alone: the bus was half full, mostly with peregrinos when we started, and along the way more got on at each stop. By the time we arrived in Leon, the bus was full.
     Since I felt good I considered walking the Meseta section, but in the end that would have been cutting it too close for our departure date, and I wanted to spend some time in Santiago and Madrid which wouldn't have been possible had I walked. As it was, the time we had in those cities was less than we wanted.

Burgos is the end of Roland territory. The modest hill where he fought Ferragut is noted, surrounded by shabby farm stuff, and planted with a pole on top but there are no more carvings of his great unbreakable sword Durandal. Around Belorado poor Roland is put on his horse Veillantif and told to blow his horn Oliphant (loud enough to wake the dead) elsewhere because starting at Burgos El Cid is the hero of the day. 

POEM OF THE DAY: (Amanda McKittrick Ros) -- the author of what some consider the worse poetry ever written ---
ON VISITING WESTMINISTER ABBEY
Holy Moses! Take a look!
Flesh decayed in every nook.
Some rare bits of brain lie here.
Mortal loads of beef and beer.

HISTORICAL DATUM: In 1983 sacrilegious thieves stole Jesus' foreskin relic from the rectory in Calcata, Italy.   The case remains unsolved. 

WORD OF THE DAY: mallemaroking -- boisterous and drunken partying among sailors in extreme Northern waters. I would suggest anyone living in Sweden should be careful around mallemaroking sailors.                     And so it goes. DJA





 

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.  

Grand Canyon Suite: Part 2: Ssssizzlin'

Angels Rest campground (Phantom Ranch) and it got even hotter later in the afternoon. This thermometer was in the sun, of course, but there was very little shade on the trail.

Cottonwood creek and Angels Rest campground. The creek was surprisingly large (the water needed to be treated before drinking) and it was very refreshing to splash around in. It didn't cool off much during the night. dw slept on the picnic table wearing just enough to be decent. I slept in the tent -- just in my skivvies -- not enough to be decent but it was still hot.

(Scorpions are known to abound in this campsite.  One ranger likened a sting to having a glass tube jammed into your hand, and then broken off. Another ranger (supposedly) gets a new tattoo of a scorpion each time he gets stung. -- Sort of like a WWII fighter pilot and his airplane.)

Phantom Ranch itself is a series of cabins and bunkhouses. The main building is just a large room -- serves breakfast and dinner (family style) and it's air-conditioned which is possibly why dw spent the whole afternoon there. Actually most of the people who were at the bottom of the canyon spent the whole afternoon there.
    Along with the air-conditioning you could get beer. Tecate lager, which I thought was nearly undrinkable, and Grand Canyon lager which was much better but still pretty thin.

We just spent the afternoon and night before moving on. We did get a breakfast which was a mistake because we didn't start hiking until a bit after 5:30 and we didn't get far enough along the trail before it got hot.

(The breakfast was quite good though. Scrambled eggs, muffins, pancakes, bacon and coffee. Our end of the table was missing a couple of people (assigned seating) and the other three who were there were Indian or Pakistani or some such. I don't know if it was their preference, or religious restrictions, but they didn't eat any bacon. I figured I'd be working it off during the rest of the day, so I hit that plate of bacon pretty hard. -- It was great.)

Again the scenery was spectacular:

For a while the heat really got to dw, but she recovered enough to take a side hike to Ribbon Falls:

The moss covered apron is travertine, formed by the falls and dissolved limestone. We spent more than an hour here, enjoying the shade and rinsing our shirts in the water and then putting them on for the quick blast of cold. We reluctantly moved on and struggled more with the heat, finally getting to Cottonwood camp and lucking into the last remaining site that had some shade. Three groups came after us. They dropped their stuff and immediately retreated to some shade.  

 

The last day was the hardest, about 7 miles and 4500 feet in elevation gain and most of that coming in the last 4 miles. Since dw had struggled the previous day I took more of her stuff and most of the water for the last day. We started on the trail when It was just light enough to see, but even so the heat was again a problem. I went well until about the last mile and by then it was a bit cooler and there was more shade and dw began to perk up -- I considered suggesting we trade packs -- but I sucked it up and finally we both topped out.

A few more scenery shots:

When we finally topped out, we both thought: "Thank god, that's over!" After a shower and some r&r we both thought: "Actually it wasn't that bad, maybe we could do something similar again. Although it would be a good idea to get into better shape first."  But so it goes. DJA

 

Next up: some of the details that make travel so much fun.