Nadine, Author at Nadine Walks

The Camino’s not done with me yet; Day 33 on the Camino, Negreira to Olveiroa

September 4, 2014

I’d thought that my Camino had ended in Santiago. I was continuing on to Finisterre with a friend, but when I last wrote from ‘the road’, on the first day’s walk out of Santiago, I said that I felt like I was on a long walk to the beach with a friend, and no longer on the Camino.

Oh, famous last words. If the Camino could laugh, it was laughing at me then. She thinks I am finished with her? Has she not learned anything on this walk?

After that first day, walking from Santiago to Negreira, I felt like it was a sort of ‘in-between’ experience: I was still a pilgrim, and it was a Camino of sorts, but very separate from the journey I had just been on. My pilgrimage was done.

But things started to change on the second day. Sonal and I walked to Olveiroa and met so many other pilgrims on the way. It reminded me of the beginning of my Camino, that first week out of St Jean when everyone was new and eager and forming friendships and connections. Maybe it was because we were new to each other, and there weren’t many of us on the road. But suddenly it felt easy, once again, to meet people and to make connections.

We stopped at a quirky place for a second breakfast: a family’s home, the patio and grounds opened up for pilgrims to stop and have a drink or a bite to eat. Hammocks were stretched out between trees, picnic tables and multicolored adirondack chairs were scattered across the lawn. I was excited to find this place: a Camino gem. But just before Sonal and I arrived a group of loud Spanish pilgrims, probably in their early 20’s, had descended on the place. We’d been trying to move away from their group for the past two days but they always seemed to show up wherever we were. We hesitated outside as the Spanish group took over, and just as we decided to leave, an older woman came out of the house. She gestured over, motioning for us to come inside.

We did, and settled into cushioned chairs in a quiet room off of the kitchen. High, wooden beamed ceilings, antique furniture, old musty books, black and white photographs on the walls. I couldn’t figure out what this place was: a family’s home, it seemed, but also an establishment for pilgrims. The mother was bustling around the kitchen, a daughter came out to take our order. Our coffee was served with little orange flavored pastries, and our tortilla was warm and fluffy, with a basket of soft, crusty bread. When we finished I signed the guestbook, and I wrote that it was like a small paradise: unexpected and magical.

And unexpected and magical are the words that I would use to describe the rest of my experience on the Camino.

After a long day’s walk we arrived in Olveiroa, and as I walked through the bar to find the hospitalero to check in for the night, I noticed Richard, a British guy we’d met earlier in the day. I stopped to say hi and sitting with him was someone I’d known from my “real” Camino (as I thought of it at the time). Since I’d started walking to Finisterre nearly a week after arriving in Santiago, all of the people I knew had already moved on, or gone home. “Everyone from my Camino is gone,” I kept saying. So to run into a familiar face, even if it was someone I didn’t know well, felt a bit mystical. I was walking to Finisterre, he was returning from Finisterre. We greeted each other with a strong hug, and later, stayed up late into the night- each of us, I think, clinging to our last Camino moments.

And that night Sonal and I made a new friend, Emma. She had walked the Camino Frances six years ago, ending in Santiago, and vowed that she would return one day to complete the walk to Finisterre. She kept her promise and had started out from Santiago the same day as Sonal and I did. We talked with her that night, sitting around a long table outside of the albergue’s bar, as the stars came out and the air grew cool. People kept joining our table, sliding up chairs, laughing at jokes, pouring shots of hierbas from a tall bottle. We toasted, all of us. I looked around the table and marveled at the combination of people sitting with me: a pilgrim who had left St Jean on the same day that I did, but who I hadn’t talked to until the very end of my journey. New pilgrims I had just met that day. A pilgrim who had walked six years ago and had just returned to complete the journey. And my friend from home, a brand new pilgrim two days into her walk, but someone I’d known for 20 years.

So many different connections: so unexpected, so magical.

As I drifted off to sleep that night- top bunk, muffled snoring from the corner of the room- I realized that my Camino hadn’t ended after all.

“What’s next, Camino?” I asked. “What comes next?”

The Camino Provides

August 31, 2014

I walked into Santiago over a month ago… a month! I traveled for a few more weeks after that, but even so: how has it already been a month since the end of my pilgrimage? Since returning home I’ve thought about the Camino every day. At first it was all I could do to just settle back into life and catch up on sleep and see friends and family and adjust to being home. The Camino- and everything it entailed- was sort of a hazy presence that I knew I would get to, eventually.

And I’ve been trying to get to it lately- go back and sort it all out in my head, wrap my mind around what it meant, what it continues to mean, what it will mean for my future. But it will probably take years to sort out and by that time I’ll have walked another Camino and will need to figure that one out… it’s going to be a lifelong process, I think.

That being said, I’ve been doing some good, solid post-Camino thinking. The other night I got together with a friend who walked the Camino Frances six years ago, and I had a million questions for her. At first they were fairly standard: how heavy was your pack, what was your experience like in this town, etc. But then I started to get to what was really on my mind: how and when did you form friendships? Did they last throughout the Camino or did you break away? Did you find that the Camino gave you what you needed?

This is a big one, it’s the question that’s occupied most of my post-Camino thoughts. “The Camino provides” was a phrase that I often heard during my walk, and one that I’ve used myself from time to time. Nervous at the airport in JFK, wondering what I was getting myself into… and then right away I meet Julie, who is also walking the Camino, also a bit nervous, and so happy to talk to me. The Camino provides. Our flight is delayed, we are stuck in Iceland overnight, by the time I make it to St Jean I am a day behind schedule. Had I started on June 26th, as planned, it would have been a wet, gray, rain-soaked walk through the Pyrenees. But June 27th, the day I started? Clear blue skies, views for miles, sunshine and a cool breeze. The Camino provides. I worried about meeting people and making friends, and while I was so glad to walk that first day alone, I couldn’t help but notice other pilgrims linking up and walking together. On the last hour of the descent to Roncesvalles I met Mirra, from San Francisco. We ended up sticking together until she left in Burgos, and I couldn’t have imagined a better person to spend the first half of my Camino with. The Camino provides.

And this was just the first few days of my trip. There are countless other examples of how the Camino provided something to me when I needed it. Small stuff: an open bar when I was desperate for coffee. A snore free night when I most needed sleep. But the bigger stuff, too: companionship when I felt the most alone. Guidance when I felt lost and uncertain.

And then, well, there was my entire Camino. I’ve wondered- while I was walking and now, a month after I’ve finished- why everyone had the Camino experience that they did. Why was my Camino so, so good? Why was I so lucky, so blessed? Why did I avoid injury and pain? How did I escape the bed bugs and the notorious snorers? How did I always get a bed, and sometimes the last bed? How did I avoid walking in the rain? How did I meet the most incredible people, always at just the right times? How did I have so much fun?

Something we started saying towards the end of the walk was- “Oh, Camino.” and “Why Camino, why??” It’s like we realized- for good or bad- that this experience was a bit out of our control. The Camino was going to give us the experience we were supposed to have, and we could question it but in the end, the only thing we could really do was accept it.

Why, for instance, did Susie, after an injury riddled walk, get bed bugs on her last night in Finisterre? Why did Joe and Adele, ready to relax and celebrate, get food poisoning the night they arrived in Santiago? Why did Laura, the Italian mother, get a huge blister on her heel three days before the end of the walk?

I think about these examples, of the pain and struggle at the very end of the pilgrimage, and I wonder why. Why does anyone have to experience pain? Why them, and not me? Was it for Susie to prove, once and for all, that she was far stronger than she ever could have imagined? That Joe and Adele, on their honeymoon, were able to support each other- truly- through the good and bad? That Laura could put a smile on her face and continue to walk and be the best possible example for her 12- year old daughter?

I don’t know. It’s what I saw, and I suppose that the meaning of any life experience- Camino or not- is what we make of it.

And this is what I saw, in part, on my Camino: the Camino gave me joy and life and fun. I came to walk the Camino for many reasons, but the timing of it was because I needed to move towards something. The serious relationship I’d been in had ended 6 months before and the better part of the last year had been very difficult for me. I wasn’t happy, I wasn’t having fun, I was just getting through my days in order to get to a better time. Even though I knew I would find it again, I couldn’t feel the joy in life.

Why does anyone experience pain? I don’t know, but I do know that the contrast of such incredible highs after difficult lows is a thing of beauty. It’s life: we feel pain, but we can also feel joy. We can also feel great joy. I came to the Camino, in part, to feel life again, all of the beauty and magic and hope and joy of life, and I was flooded by it all.

My Camino wasn’t perfect, or totally pain free. Sometimes it felt difficult. But most of the time, it seemed like all I could see and feel was beauty and magic and joy.

The Camino provides.

Going back to some Camino moments: Day 14, Hontanas to San Nicolas

August 23, 2014

I left Hontanas with a spring in my step. It was- for me- one of those perfect Camino villages. Small, a couple albergues, one bar/restaurant where all the pilgrims sat and drank and talked, a pretty church, lots of character. I’d gone to bed the night before in a room of 8, sleeping on a top bunk next to an open window. There was a view of the village rooftops, a fading violet sky, a bright moon.

That morning I’d woken early, shoved my things in my pack and went downstairs to the bar to have a cafe con leche and a croissant. One of my favorite things on the Camino was when a bar would be open by 6:30 so I could have coffee before I left for the day’s walk, and it was for this that I left Hontanas with a spring in my step.

I was feeling good. Still adjusting to being without Mirra and for the first time (except for the beginning of my Camino through the Pyrenees), feeling like I was truly on my own. I was nervous, but I was also excited. That night I would be staying in a place where, most likely, I wouldn’t know anyone: La Ermita de San Nicolas.

I’d heard about San Nicolas before leaving for my Camino, and it was on my short list of must-sees/must-dos. A 13th century church now converted into a pilgrim albergue, run by a confraternity of Italian men. The building had no electricity, there was a communal dinner with a pilgrim blessing, and some sort of ritual foot washing. I’d purposefully stayed in Hontanas the night before so that I would have a short walk to San Nicolas, ensuring that I would arrive early enough to secure one of the 12 beds.

The morning walk was beautiful, and with the help of the cafe con leche, I sailed through the kilometers. I arrived at San Nicolas at 10:30, the earliest I’d ever arrived to my evening’s destination. On the door of a church was a sign that said the albergue would open at 3:00, but luckily the door was cracked so I pushed it open and stepped inside. Several pilgrims were there, looking around the building and getting stamps for their credentials. One of the Italian hospitaleros was there too, and he greeted me warmly.

“I’m hoping to stay here tonight,” I explained to him.

He looked around, then looked down at me. “Yes,” he nodded. We don’t sign anyone in until 3, but you can pick out a bed and leave your pack, and then come back.”

I smiled, thrilled that I would be able to stay for the night. As I spread my sleeping bag out on a bottom bunk, he came over and asked for my name.

“Nadine.”

A flash of recognition came over his face. “Ah yes, Nadine, you are the American? We were expecting you.”

It’s a strange and unnerving feeling to be in the middle of northern Spain, standing in a small church surrounded by nothing but wheat fields and to be told that I was expected here, in this place.

I stammered. “How did you know I would be coming?”

“A boy told us.”

I’m still not exactly sure who this could have been. Possibly Etienne, a French guy I’d met the day before. We’d had our morning coffee together coming out of Burgos, and later ran into each other for lunch as well. He’d been walking for over a month at that point, having started in France, and averaged about 40 kilometers a day. I had told him that I planned to stay in San Nicolas, and we looked it up in his guidebook. He had left Hontanas earlier than me that morning, and so I suppose that as he was passing through, he might have stopped in San Nicolas and told the hospitalero that he knew a girl who planned to stay for the night.

I never saw Etienne again, so I’ll never know for sure if it was him or not. But whoever it was, I was grateful. It was the first time on the Camino that I was branching off on my own, and I had walked into a place and instantly felt welcomed, and like I belonged there.

So I stashed my pack and threw some necessary items into my day bag: flip flops, my fleece, bottle of water, can of tuna fish, bread, cheese, peach, spork, journal. I set off towards the nearest town, 2km away, planning to find a nice spot to eat lunch, and then hopefully a bar to have a coffee or a drink. As I walked a car drove past me, slammed on its brakes, then reversed to come back to me. The window rolled down and the hospitalero I’d spoken with 20 minutes before leaned out, asking me if I would like a ride.

I only hesitated for a moment. As I’d been walking I thought that I would not only have to double back and walk these kilometers in reverse, but that I would walk them again the following morning. So when the offer of a ride came, I was tempted. I would still walk these Camino kilometers, but I would walk them the next day, as part of my actual Camino.

But as quickly as the thought entered my head, it vanished. I smiled at the car and shook my head. “No thank you, I like walking.”

The late morning and afternoon ended up being one of the best of my Camino. It was the first short day I walked, and it almost felt like a rest day. I found a shaded spot next to an old church to eat my lunch, and when I saw Ibai walking past I waved to him and he came to sit with me. I ended up walking further with him into the town and to a bar where we met up with Vinny and Vicool and Hyoeun and Jiwoo. They were breaking for lunch, and were tired. Sitting with them, I thought about how nice it felt to be done for the day, and how happy I was that I’d decided to stay at San Nicolas.

And the experience at San Nicolas was, indeed, a special one. I returned to the albergue and went about the normal “chores” of the day: showering and washing clothes. But from the moment I returned I felt a different kind of energy around the place. There was nearly always a feeling of kindness and peace on the Camino, but it was more present at San Nicolas. Pepe, another one of the Italian hopsitaleros, told me that I was home. “For today, and tonight, this is your home.” Jerome, a French boy with a wide brimmed hat and a sly smile, shook my hand as soon as he saw me. I met Eva, an Italian woman with dark eyes and a soft voice, and Alice, another Italian woman who laughed like a child and kept repeating, “I am so happy to be here.”

I sat outside in the back courtyard with my journal, and throughout the afternoon people came to sit with me: Jerome, Alice, Rudy, an American from Chicago who I’d encountered a few times before. The caretaker of San Nicolas, an old man wearing a long, worn sweater, came over to me a few times. He only spoke Spanish, and I nodded along, trying to understand his words. But it didn’t matter that I couldn’t understand; he smiled at me, then pulled several Maria biscuits from his pocket and placed them down on my journal.

Pepe came over, squinting against the sun. “You’re a writer,” he said in his raspy voice.

“Yes, I like to write,” I replied.

“Okay, okay,” he paused for a long time looking off into the distance, and I wondered if he’d forgotten that I was there. But then he looked down at me again. “You should keep writing. Maybe you should write a book.”

And then he walked off, leaving me to wonder if this place, like some others along the Camino, held a bit of magic.

Before dinner we sat in the altar of the church, in upright wooden chairs. Pepe and the other hospitaleros wore dark brown cloaks, and read a pilgrim blessing in Italian. Then the moved around to each pilgrim, asking that we place our right foot over a basin of water while they read a few words and rubbed a wet cloth over our feet.

We sat down for dinner at a long wooden table, candles at each place. A cucumber, tomato and olive salad; pasta carbonara; bread and cheese; melon and wine. Food was continually passed around, the candles were lit, coffee was served. I spoke with a German man on my left and Eva across from me. We joked that both the coffee and the wine were like fuel on the Camino. “To more fuel, more energy!” the German man cried, pouring us wine and lifting his glass for a toast. We echoed his words. “To more energy, to the Camino!”

The night slowed down, quietly. At 10:00pm I stood outside, wrapping my arms around my body for warmth. The sun had set and there was a soft orange glow over everything. A wind blew through the wheat fields and it was all you could hear: we were alone. No buildings, no roads except for the Camino, no pilgrims passing at this hour. Alone, but exactly where I was supposed to be.

In the morning we drank coffee and ate toast by candlelight, and slowly packed our things to leave. I thanked the hospitaleros, and Pepe gave me a hug. “You could stay here for a few days, if you want,” he rasped. “Help cook, and clean, and then continue on your Camino.”

I wasn’t sure if he was serious. But in any case, my pack was on my back, my shoes on my feet. Every day on the Camino I wanted to walk, and I did walk. It wasn’t time for me to stay put yet, even if staying put only meant a day or two.

“Yes,” Pepe nodded when he saw I was leaving. “Keep writing. Write a book.”

I walked away from San Nicolas, leaving before anyone else. Feeling strong, feeling at peace, feeling energized. Ready for whatever would come next.

Coming Home

August 15, 2014

I just took a shower in my apartment, and my hair feels clean- truly clean- for the first time in a month and a half.

Right now I’m marveling a bit at the normalcy of this: sitting on my couch with my porch door open, a breeze blowing through my living room, the sound of the fountain trickling outside. I woke up this morning and didn’t know where I was: I looked around my room and everything was familiar but my brain couldn’t figure it out. After a minute it came together; I was home.

For the past several weeks I’ve craved a morning like I just had- sitting on my couch with a cup of coffee and nowhere to go, nothing to do. (well, the first thing I had to do this morning was to put on my shoes and take a walk to the nearest food store to get supplies to make coffee. My car is at my parents house so I have limited options… but at least I just finished a pilgrimage across Spain so walking to find coffee wasn’t a big problem). In any case, I’ve loved this morning. I got very used to all the traveling, the packing and unpacking of bags, a different bed every night, but having some routine and comfort back is welcome.

And yet. One of the first things I did after I sat down with my coffee was to start thinking about how to get back to Europe, or how to do another Camino. It’s all just thoughts at the moment, because for now I need to be back (and I need to make some money). But my traveling this summer- and certainly the Camino- has had a profound impact on me.

There has been so much on this trip that I’ve wanted to write about, and a lot in the last few weeks (Finisterre! The Côte d’Azur! Provence! Paris! Iceland again!), and I’ll get to some of it. I also want to write more about my experience on the Camino, and my thoughts now that I’m back. So there will be more to come.

But for now, right now, I just want to appreciate that I’m back home. When I passed through customs as I was flying out of Iceland, the man working behind the counter asked how long I’d been in Europe.

“How long?” I paused, mentally doing the calculations. “Uhh, 7 weeks.”

His eyebrows immediately shot up and I laughed, saying, “7 weeks, I know. I’m lucky.”

7 weeks was a long time to be away and traveling, and I was, indeed, very lucky to take this trip, and I was very lucky while on the trip.

I think about what’s changed in that time, because mostly things look the same. I suppose that on the outside, I’m just a bit different: my hair is lighter and my skin is a bit darker (not to mention the crazy tan lines on the backs on my legs; I have a picture when they were at their worst, but I don’t know if the public will ever get to see that). I stepped on the scale this morning and I’m four pounds heavier than when I left. It figures that I can spend 5 weeks walking across Spain and gain weight: I blame the bread, cheese, and wine. And the ice cream/gelato.

So there are tiny changes on the outside. On the inside? I’m still very much the same person. But there are some changes. The light and the magic of the Camino got to me, spread through me, and started to shine out, and I think it’s going to take me to some great places.

But first, I’m going to sit here, drink more coffee, and appreciate being home.

The Camino continues; Santiago to Negreira

August 2, 2014

Back on the Camino! I was only gone for 5 days, but man, it’s good to be back. What am I going to do when the walking is actually and finally over?

I’m back, but it’s different. I don’t feel like I’m on a pilgrimage anymore, I feel like I’m taking a long walk to the beach with an old friend.

Which is exactly what I’m doing.

Sonal met me in Santiago on Friday morning, and we spent the day in the city: stopping by one of my favorite bars for cafe con leche and tostada, walking through a park to get a sweeping view of the city, attending mass in the cathedral, drinking wine, eating a big dinner of grilled fish and vegetables.

It was a great day, but it didn’t really feel like my Santiago anymore. I saw one familiar face the entire day; there is a brand new class of pilgrims in the city, just like there is every single day. It reminds me that even though the Camino feels like mine, I share it with hundreds and thousands of others. I was just a blip in its history.

We headed towards Finisterre this morning at 7am, bundled up in our rain jackets. If I needed confirmation that my pilgrimage is over it was this: a gray day full of rain. I know I was incredibly lucky on the Camino, I only really had one rainy day, and even that wasn’t so bad (it did rain several times on my trip, but I timed it perfectly by hiding out in cafes and bars until the rain passed). But there was no hiding from the rain today. We walked 6 kilometers before finding a bar for coffee, most of it in a steady rain.

Where’s the Camino magic that I’d gotten so used to? The perfectly placed bars for my much needed morning cafe con leche? The sunshine and cool morning weather? After climbing 200 meters today, I should have been treated with a stunning view, not fog and rain clouds.

Or maybe the magic is still here, but in a different form. I was so mentally focused on the end of the Camino and Santiago and saying goodbye to my friends that when I started walking this morning, it hit me: I get to keep doing this. I get to squeeze all of my things in my pack again. Don’t forget the bar of soap! Where’s my Icelandair pillow that I stole from the airline and have been lugging around for a month just in case I might need it even though I’ve never needed it? Make sure the sleeve of Maria cookies is accessible in the front pouch of my pack; coat Vaseline on my feet before putting on my socks; grab my walking stick and take my daily selfie before starting the walk.

I get to keep doing all of this for a few more days. And today, after the steady rain stopped and we walked in a cool mist, after the strong and milky cafe con leche, and somewhere in the middle of a 200 meter ascent, my face broke into a smile. I was back on the Camino, and I get to keep walking for a few more days.

And I get to do this with a friend. It’s a completely different experience from what I’m used to, and I had to remember to slow down my usual fast pace just a bit, and I had to remember that what has become second nature to me is all brand new to my friend.

But it’s great to have someone familiar here, someone from home. Even though I had friends surrounding me on the Camino, it’s different to do this walk with an old friend, and there’s comfort in always having someone to eat with, someone to pick an albergue with. And what a great experience to share with someone I’ve known for 20 years.

So we’re in Negreira, staying at a new and modern albergue with one of the kindest hospiteleros I’ve met yet, getting a small history lesson on Galicia. We went to a local place for a cafe con leche and in addition to the coffee we were given a shot of some sort of very strong liqueur. We made a spaghetti dinner in the albergue kitchen and shared it with John, a man from Arizona with long blond hair and a sweet nature. Two Spanish boys just spent 20 minutes trying to open a large can of peaches that probably weighs several kilos, and I took a victory photo for them with their opened, mangled can. There’s a guy outside whittling and carving a walking stick, and I’m drinking the last sips of a decent, 3 euro bottle of Rioja wine.

This part of the Camino might feel different, but it’s still the Camino. And I still have a few more days of getting to be a pilgrim.

The Greatest Camino Magic

August 1, 2014

Right now I’m in Vigo, a coastal town south of Santiago. I’m in the train station, drinking my second cafe con leche of the morning. I’d planned to take a 10:33 train back to Santiago but when I arrived at the station, I found out that the train I wanted wasn’t running, so I’m here until noon. And that gives me plenty of time to drink coffee and write.

I miss being a pilgrim. I still get to walk to Finisterre; I leave on August 2nd to walk for 4 days with a friend from home, so I know that I’ll still get to experience more of the pilgrim life. But mostly, my pilgrimage is over, and walking with a friend is going to be a different experience. I think it’s going to be so much fun, but it’s no longer my pilgrimage.

I have such mixed feelings about the ending of this. In many ways I was ready to reach Santiago, because it was always the destination, and I always knew that I would be walking for about a month. As I got closer, I was excited about reaching my goal.

But the end has also been heartbreaking. Saying goodbye to the friends I made along the way, accepting that there were a few people I probably wouldn’t get the chance to say goodbye to, not knowing whether I would ever see some of these people again… there’s an aching, beautiful sadness to it.

I expected to really celebrate the night after I arrived in Santiago. I’d hoped to see so many of the people I’d gotten to know over the last month; I expected to go out and have drinks and eat a good meal and crowd around a table and laugh and sing.

But that first night was different. I kept looking for ‘my people’, but I couldn’t find them. The Koreans all took off for Finisterre. Susie and Helen were already there. Saskia was on her way to the coast, maybe even walking another 70 kilometer day.

Ibai was gone too; I’d hoped that he would be in Santiago when I arrived, and when I heard that he had already left my face fell. I started this walk alone, and the first friend I made was Mirra. But the second friend was Ibai: we walked the last hour of our second day together, we walked into Pamplona together, we cooked a meal in Puenta La Reina together. As Mirra and I walked around Santa Domingo we heard a distant voice calling our names: it was Ibai, at the top of a tower high above us, waving and smiling. I watched as Ibai led others through a yoga practice in the courtyard of an albergue, I watched as he approached someone walking alone and began talking to them in his gentle and friendly manner. When his shoes were stolen I stayed with him for the entire day. Throughout the walk I was often separated from him, but every two or three days we would end up in the same town, and every time we heard each others’ voice we would run over and hug.

We both walked the Dragonte route, and late in the day Ibai told me that he was glad we could spend time walking together, before the Camino ended. I last saw him in O’Cebreiro, as we walked out of town together. We stopped at a small bar and I left him sitting at the counter, drinking coffee. “If we lose track of each other, I’ll see you in Santiago, on the 27th, okay?” He nodded.

My night of celebration on the 27th, in Santiago, didn’t feel right without Ibai. It didn’t feel right without the Korean cousins, Hyoeun and Jiwoo. It didn’t feel right without Susie and Helen, without June and Jonathan (who I hadn’t seen in weeks). It didn’t feel right without Steve and Peg and Blas (who all ended in Leon). And it didn’t feel right without Mirra.

I loved the people I was with: Adam. Joe and Adele and Matteo. I was happy to be in Santiago. But it wasn’t the celebration I’d been hoping for.

And I realized that I had, in part, chosen this. I could have picked up a Camino family along the way to walk with, to stay at the same albergues with, to arrive in Santiago with. I could have collected phone numbers and emails and tried to stay in touch along the way, coordinating get-togethers.

But I chose to do this mostly alone, and to stay independent and separate. I struggled with this choice a lot, but all along it felt right. I wanted to arrive in Santiago by myself. I would have loved to be surrounded by all of my friends, posed in front of the cathedral with our arms in the air, but that image was never the Camino I chose to walk. I made friends along the way- so, so many- and I needed to accept, finally, that it was okay to lose them.

I spent the 28th in Santiago, drinking coffee and eating good food and roaming around the city. I’d been planning to take off for a few days to explore the coast of Galicia, and had been thinking about leaving sometime late in afternoon on the 28th. Something held me back, and I decided to leave Santiago on the 29th instead.

And thank goodness for that decision.

Word was going around that pilgrims were meeting at 7:30pm at the horse statue near the cathedral. I walked over with Adam, curious if I would know anyone, and my heart sank a bit when I saw the group of people gathered. All strangers. I began talking to some of them, and like it usually is, the conversation was so easy. It was fine to meet new people, but now, at the end, I wanted familiar faces.

And just like that, Hyoeun and Jiwoo appeared. Their packs were on their backs, and they explained that they were leaving that night for Madrid. “Ibai and Vicool are here,” Hyoeun told me, “they’re in the cathedral.”

What happened in the next few hours was like magic. I found a bar and sat with Hyoeun and Jiwoo’s backpacks so they could go to mass in the cathedral. “I’m only giving you your bags back if you bring me Ibai,” I told them. As I sat at the outdoor table of the bar with Adam, Rosie and Susan came to sit with us (the Canadian mother and daughter who I’d met walking into Burgos). Then Ante appeared, the Spanish woman I’m met the week before. Joe and Adele came and sat too, and then Hyoeun and Jiwoo were back, with Ibai and Vicool. I almost cried when I hugged Ibai. We sat in the corner: me and Ibai, Hyoeun and Jiwoo. We’d all started together from St Jean on the same day, and I joked that while they had all been together that first day, I was walking alone. Hyoeun looked at me, “But it was our destiny to meet.”

When the Korean cousins left there were strong hugs and a few tears. Jiwoo walked backwards down the street, waving to us until he was out of view.

Our group moved on, stopping by a restaurant to find Rudy, who I’d bonded with in St Nicolas. We walked in and Rudy gave me a gigantic hug. I rounded the corner and there was Sung Eun, the Korean opera singer who I’d met in Santa Domingo, and walked with through Castrojeriz. When she saw me she gasped, stood up, and started crying. To her right was Carlo, the Italian man who speaks little English, but who I’d seen in the same albergues every day for nearly two weeks in the middle of my Camino. I’d lost track of him about a week ago, and his face glowed when he saw me. As we left the restaurant and walked down the street, we saw the tall Korean boy who I ran down a hill with over two weeks ago.

The four of them joined us for dinner, and there we were, 16 gathered around a table in a beautiful outdoor courtyard, drinking wine and eating pulpo and grilled vegetables and croquettes and bread. My Camino family. I wasn’t alone after all, I suppose I never have been.

We’d been urging Sung Eun to sing a song for us, and finally she obliged, standing up shyly and telling us that she would sing two songs. ‘The first is a traditional Korean song,” she explained. “And the second is a farewell song”.

Her voice rang out through the courtyard, and as she sang the other tables grew silent, everyone listening to her clear and strong voice. We applauded and toasted when she finished, but there were tears too. It was beautiful: her voice, the courtyard, the night, the friends, the journey, the Camino.

It was magic.

Next Post: The Camino Continues (Camino Finisterre)

The Walk, for now, is done; Day 31 on the Camino, Monte de Gozo to Santiago

July 29, 2014

I walked into Santiago on Sunday morning at 7:30. The sun was rising behind me and the streets were just about empty. Somewhere ahead of me and somewhere behind me were other pilgrims, but I couldn’t see them. I was alone, and it was exactly how I wanted it to be.

I moved further into the city and I saw 5 pilgrims climbing some stairs and walking into the street in front of me. My first thought was, ‘I either need to drop ahead or behind them to give myself some space’. But them I looked at them a little harder, something seemed familiar. A man and a woman walked ahead, and three girls walked behind. It hit me at once: they were the three American girls who’d come to walk the Camino on a school trip; the same three who were eager to talk to me in Estella, who were a bit homesick and missing their friends, who walked with their right arms stretched outwards to the sun (to get an even tan, of course), who I shared my dried fruit with one day on a long, hot walk when they were struggling.

I hadn’t seen them for at least two weeks, and assumed that I would never see them again. But suddenly, 10 minutes from the cathedral in Santiago, here they were. I rushed to catch up. “Hey guys!” I called out.

The girls turned around and they beamed when they saw me. “Hi!!!” they all cried. We all started chattering, they had been in Santiago for two days and were just leaving to walk to Finisterre. “You’re so close to the cathedral!” they told me.

I walked with them for a few minutes then told them that I was going to walk ahead, that I wanted to be alone when I arrived at the cathedral. Their teacher nodded. ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘We’ll be a bit behind you, and can take a picture when we catch up.’

So I ended the walk alone, just like I had begun. The square was quiet when I entered, the cathedral covered in scafolding. I stood quietly for a few minutes and thought about how far I’d walked, and when the American group caught up with me we posed for photos and the girls asked if they could friend me on facebook.

The rest of the morning- the rest of the day, so far- has been great. I got a cafe con leche, I walked back to the cathedral and ran into people I knew and took photos and laughed and cheered. One of the Korean girls I’ve gotten to know handed me a small note that she’d written, and I was so touched I almost cried. I received my compostela, I checked my pack for a few hours, I hugged the statue of St James and then went below the altar to kneel for a few minutes before his remains, and said a prayer for the nuns, for my family, for my friends, for everyone I met on the Camino.

I met up with friends and drank another cafe con leche and every time I recognized someone as they passed my table, I jumped up to give them a hug. I attended the pilgrim’s mass and saw the botafumeiro swing. I ate pulpo for lunch and drank sangria, I took a shower in a real, private bathroom, I wandered into the city and found a quiet corner and ordered a tinto de verano and sat down to write.

Carol and Laura, (the Italian mother and daughter and two of my favorite pilgrims), just passed by and sat with me for awhile. Around a wooden table under a large white umbrella, with a soft wind blowing, old Spanish women walking by arm in arm and dressed in Sunday clothes, muted sounds from the television inside the bar, and ice clinking in our glasses: this moment feels so good. It is the end- a little bittersweet- but mostly it just feels good. I finished my walk and my Camino, but I’m excited to see what happens next. Because like so many have said, the Camino continues, or begins, after the walk has ended. From here, it feels like my journey could take me anywhere.

Next Post: The Greatest Camino Magic

Heart and soul and 5km; Day 30 on the Camino, from a little village somewhere past Salceda to Monte Gozo

July 26, 2014

5km to go. I stopped in a place called Monte Gozo and it’s a little bizarre. It’s like a huge, deserted complex for pilgrims. There are other pilgrims here, but it’s such a large and isolated campus that it feels empty and desolate. I’d heard from a few people who were here in the last few days that it’s a bit like a ghost town, and I think that description is accurate. Empty playgrounds. A boarded up supermercado.

I wasn’t sure how to approach these last few days of the Camino. When I stayed in Portomarin three nights ago, I decided that if possible, I wanted to try and stay in small albergues for the rest of the way. The crowds add such a different feeling to the Camino, and I wanted to avoid them as much as possible. That plan worked well two days ago, when I found a small, private albergue in a quaint village, where chickens and cows roamed the streets, and where I could sit for hours outside, drinking tinto de verano, eating potato chips, writing in my journal, and talking with other pilgrims.

Yesterday I met up with Adam in Arzua, where most other pilgrims stopped for the day. We decided to keep walking a few kilometers further, to try our luck with a smaller albergue. We walked a few kilometers, and then we walked a few more. And then a few more. There weren’t many accommodations and what we could find had no beds left.

At some point on the Camino, a bit before the 100 kilometer point, markers started appearing every half kilometer, counting down the distance to Santiago. And as Adam and I walked, I watched those markers tick past: 40 kilometers to go. 35. 30!! 25. 24.

We stopped in a town 24 kilometers outside of Santiago and I knew that I could easily do that distance in one day, but I wanted to stretch it into two. My plan- for as much as I can actually plan anything here- is to leave early tomorrow morning for a sunrise walk into Santiago, to get in with plenty of time to take photos and drink a cafe con leche and store my pack and go to mass at noon.

I feel very uncertain about the end of this experience. I’ve wanted to have ‘perfect’ Camino days as this experience is ending, but I can only control so much. The Camino is different with so many people walking; the scenery isn’t as beautiful and breathtaking as it was a few days ago; somehow, my body has decided that it’s about had it (wasn’t I just saying how strong I feel? I AM strong, but I’m also tired. I think because my mind knows that I’m almost done, it’s told my body to wind down).

All of that being said, I did manage to walk completely on my own today. It helped to have started about 12 kilometers away from the large groups of pilgrims, so for my last full day of walking, I had mostly peace and quiet. I tried to think big thoughts: all the stuff that you’re supposed to be thinking at the end of a pilgrimage. Things like- ‘What have I learned?’ ‘How have I changed and grown?’ ‘Where am I going next?’ ‘What meaning can I take from this?’ ‘How will I change when I get home?’

But instead, all I could focus on were the steps. One foot in front of the other. The pain in my right calf (day 30 and my leg started hurting, go figure). The small pebble in my shoe. The humid air and a hyper-awareness of my body odor. Did I put on deodorant this morning? Was the coffee I drank decaf? Why don’t I have more energy? Where in the world did I put the second pair of headphones, did I actually lose another pair? Can I reach my arm around my pack and find my banana without having to stop and take the pack off? Where can I stop for another cafe con leche? Can I pass those pilgrims ahead of me? I can definitely pass those pilgrims ahead of me.

The time for deep thoughts was not this morning. And I’m not sure it will be tomorrow morning either: I’ll only walk for about an hour, and I think the road will be crowded.

But it’s okay, I’ve had plenty of time to think on this walk, and I’ll have plenty of time to think about it after I’ve finished. And besides, it’s hard to fully process something while you’re still in it.

I think I’ve written about this a little already, but I heard it described so well a week or so ago that I want to write about it again: this idea of the Camino being divided into thirds. David, a man from Ireland, said two things. The first was that the Camino really begins after the walk ends, and it’s something that I’ve heard several times before. Then he talked about the three parts of this journey: the first 10 days or so are about the body, the second 10 days are about the heart, and the last 10 days are about the soul.

And I liked that, especially the third part. I’ve had so many deep and soulful encounters in the last part of this walk and I think it’s been an aspect of this trip that I’d been anticipating and waiting for. I’m not sure if I’ve sought out these connections and moments or if they’ve appeared because others are in this frame of mind as well. But they’ve been here, and they appear so quickly and effortlessly. First it was Masa-Hiro, a man of Japanese descent who was raised in Peru and has lived in Malaga for 13 years. I walked with him out of O’Cebreiro and we played the ‘animal game’, which sparked a conversation about what we are looking for, how others perceive us, who we really are.

I ran into him again a few days later, sitting on a bench outside of an old stone home of an Italian woman who’d been living in Spain and offering coffee and fruit to pilgrims as they walked past her house. There was a wooden table filled with juice and peaches and coffee cups, tattered Tibetan flags strung from a tree, and several small dogs lounging in the sun. As I approached and Masa-Hiro saw me, his face lit up and he rose to greet me. He introduced me to an Argentinian woman sitting next to him, and a few minutes later Eva walked up, a woman I had met in St Nicolas nearly two weeks before and hadn’t seen since. The 20 minutes I spent at that little outdoor oasis felt a bit mystical, and when I stood to leave, Masa-Hiro gave me a strong hug, and the other women embraced me as well.

Two nights ago I was eating dinner at the small albergue in the tiny, quaint village, and I had an amazing conversation with a woman from Montreal, Lucy. (And an amazing meal: a huge crock of chicken noodle soup, salad, pork, frittata made from the eggs of the chickens we’d seen running around an hour earlier, chocolate mousse). The conversation with Lucy felt so fitting for this stage of the journey: she talked about her story of why she was here, and the conversation evolved into a long talk about love and loss. At one point I sat with my chin in my hands and probably a far off look on my face and Lucy said, ‘Ahh, this conversation has made you sad.’ I thought for a moment and replied, ‘Yes, but the sadness is okay, because it’s part of my experience. But I have so, so much happiness too.’

And I do have a lot of happiness. I’ve been so happy on this trip, and so often I’ve felt like I’ve been too lucky to feel this happy. It’s the mark of a good Camino, I suppose.

5km to go. Time to end this long walk.

Next Post: Santiago! Day 31 on the Camino Frances

Nuns and plums and getting close to the end; Day 28 on the Camino, Portomarin to San Xulian

July 24, 2014

It’s only been in the last few days that I’ve felt close to Santiago, and aware of what that means to me. I’ve been walking towards Santiago for 28 days, but I couldn’t really put it all together in my head until yesterday. Until now, it’s all just been walking: day after day. I knew that the kilometers were adding up, but I wasn’t paying close attention to how much I walked or where I was on a map. I was just walking, and taking in the experience.

The first thing that struck me was something three nuns said, on a little hill on the outskirts of Ponferrada a few days ago. Saskia and I had been walking by when we saw them picking fruit from a tree. Saskia, who can speak Spanish, asked what the fruit was. The answer was plums, and instantly the women reached down to us, offering handfuls of the round fruit. They filled our hands, offering more and more. The plums were spilling out of my grasp and rolling down the hill, but they kept reaching down to give us more. Two guys were approaching (who, it turns out, had just started their Camino that day and were about 20 minutes into their walk). I shoved handfuls of plums at them, and the nuns continued to give us more, speaking in Spanish the whole time. We finally left, our hands and pockets overflowing, and I asked Saskia what they were saying.

“They were saying- ‘pray for us in Santiago.'”

It gives me chills now as I write this, the idea that these three holy women recognized the importance of what we were doing, and saw a great meaning in our walking and in our destination.

I’ve tried to be aware that I’m on a holy pilgrimage, but it wasn’t the reason that I chose to walk the Camino, and it’s been overshadowed by so much here. I try to stop in churches when I can, and have attended a few masses and received several Pilgrim Blessings. But most of the people I talk with aren’t here for the religious part of the pilgrimage. And it’s easy to forget about the history of the path we’re walking on, and the reason that this Camino exists at all.

But when I heard that the nuns asked us to pray for them in Santiago, something shifted a bit in my head. I knew that I would say a prayer for them when I reached Santiago, and all at once, the larger scope of what I was doing came into focus.

I’m almost in Santiago. And I’ve walked a long way. This is day 28, which means I’ve been walking for 4 weeks. The beginning of this Camino- that first day through the Pyrenees- feels like a lifetime ago, and it feels like yesterday. I don’t want this to end, but I’m also so excited to reach Santiago.

And I’m a little surprised by my excitement. For weeks now, Adam has been talking about the sense of accomplishment we’ll have once we reach Santiago- to be able to say that we walked this distance. And every time I heard him or someone else say something like that, I couldn’t really agree. I’ve loved the walking so much, and some days have been hard, but it’s also been one of the easiest and natural things I’ve ever done, in a way.

But now that Santiago is close, man, I’m excited. And I feel proud. Lots of new pilgrims have started in the last few days (including large, large groups of students, and everyone tries to figure out where they’re stopping so we can avoid those towns), and the Camino is crowded. I was expecting this, and am trying my hardest to have an open mind when I can’t walk alone. When these newer pilgrims ask where I started, I feel really proud when I answer, ‘St Jean’, and I wasn’t expecting that. But I do feel proud: I’ve been walking for a long time, and now, finally, I’m starting to feel the accumulation of all of my steps.

My legs are strong. They’re really strong. I’ve always been a fast walker, but here? It’s a rare thing when people pass me. Several people have joked that I’m impossible to catch. On hilly and rocky sections of the Camino, I can nearly keep the same pace as bikers. I was walking quickly in the beginning and I’ve continued to, but now I just feel so solid. This isn’t to say that I haven’t had my hard days here, physically, but even my hardest day hasn’t been that bad. I’m proud of myself for being able to physically handle this walk, and proud that I can safely say that I could do this for another month.

I’m proud that I’ve handled the potentially uncomfortable parts of this as well as I have. I worried that I would have trouble with feeling displaced, and constantly on the move, and that I would tire of the same routine day after day. But if anything, every day feels so new and exciting and full of possibility. I have no idea what I’ll see or who I’ll meet. I have a fairly good idea of what I’ll eat but since I’ve mostly been loving what I’m eating, that’s not so bad (bread, coffee, cheese, wine, fries, tuna. Mmm). Last night I feel asleep in an albergue with about 100 beds in a wide open space. The lights were still on at 10:30 and people were moving around and talking and, somehow, I fell asleep. I’ve adapted to the strange conditions of this trip: the offbeat places where I’ve had to stay, nearly always sleeping on the top bunk, cramped and sometimes dirty showers. After the first week I gave in and bought shampoo and having been using it every since, but as for the rest of it? I think I’ve shaved my legs once, I’m definitely not wearing makeup, I wear the same two outfits every day. And I feel great.

I’ve had great practice in letting go of planning, I’ve spoken up for what I need when I need it, I feel more comfortable socially than I have in a long time. I’ve loved the people that I’ve met, and it feels good to know that I’m loved in return.

I’m not done with this walk yet but I’m certainly processing the ending. I had such a good walk yesterday: I walked alone for nearly the entire day, not seeing many pilgrims. The sun was shining and I was walking through a beautiful part of Galicia. I felt so good and at peace. I listened to music and at some points was dancing down the trail.

Last night I stayed in Portomarin where lots and lots of people stopped for the day. I ran into so many that I knew: all of the Koreans, the Spanish man and his two kids, the Italian mother and daughter, the Vermont family. Almost everyone is going to arrive in Santiago on the same day, the 27th, and that makes me so happy. There was a long time when I thought I would fully break away and stretch out my trip and walk short days or take days off. But about 10 days ago I realized that I wanted to celebrate in Santiago with all of the people I’ve met along the way.

And I think most of us feel this way. “When are you arriving in Santiago?” we ask. “The 27th, and you?” “Me too! We’ll take a photo in front of the cathedral!” “We’ll celebrate with sangria!”

Two days ago Ibai showed me a photo on his phone. ‘Can you see who this is?’ he asked. There was a man standing in front of the cathedral in Santiago, his walking poles raised in the air in triumph. I squinted at the photo. ‘That’s not Adrien, is it?’ Ibai nodded in excitement. ‘It is, he made it to Santiago!’ All I could do was grin. Adrien had started from St Jean on the same day that we did, but after two weeks started walking really long days to reach Santiago by his deadline. I hadn’t seen him since Hontanas.

And now there he was, the first person I’d walked with who made it to Santiago. I couldn’t stop smiling when I saw the photo, and I can’t stop smiling now.

Santiago is close.

Next Post: Day 30 on the Camino Frances

A Perfect Camino Day; Day 25, Herrerias to Fillobal

July 22, 2014

Once again I’m not sure exactly where I am. Somewhere in Galicia now, about 4km before Triacastela. Not having a guidebook, a friend or group to always walk with, or any set plans can be a wonderful thing: I usually start my day with a general idea of where I might end up (I have an outline of stages that Mirra tore out of her guidebook to give me before she left, and sometimes I ask to look at guidebooks that others carry, to give me an idea of what the next few days will be like). But the beauty of not having a set plan is that I can go wherever I want, whenever I want. I wanted to do a few short days, and thought I would stop in a town about 3km back, but when I passed the albergue I saw a group of about 40 teenagers talking and laughing in the courtyard, and I didn’t even break my stride; I walked right past and decided to head to Triacastela, where most of my friends are.

But I’m here instead, in a small village, sitting at a table outside the bar, in a little grassy area with chickens running around and a dog sleeping under a chair, a small apple tree to my right and a mountain view directly ahead. When I saw this space I doubled back to the albergue and checked-in. I’ll catch up to my friends eventually, maybe even tomorrow. For now, like I did a few days ago, I’m craving peace and quiet.

The last few days have been great, but as ever, my Camino experience continues to change and evolve. This time is very different from the beginning. It’s different from the Meseta, it’s different from the last time I wrote.

I am constantly thinking about the balance between time that I need for myself, and time that I want and need to spend with others. Three days ago I was feeling a bit down, and just a bit lonely. I’d chosen to go off on my own and separate myself from most of the people that I knew, and I think that experience was good for me, despite feeling lonely.

But all at once, things changed (and this is one of the greatest things about the Camino). I’d written my last blog post when I was in Rabanal, where I thought I didn’t know a soul. I went to hear the monks sing a vespers service in the village’s small church, and when I came out of the church I felt relaxed and settled. As I walked into my albergue I saw a group of people eating at a picnic table, and a girl looked over to me. It was Saskia, an American who I’d met at some point during my first week here, and continued to see every 3-4 days throughout the walk. The people she was with offered me the leftovers of their pasta dinner, and then I made some lentils and opened the small bottle of wine I’d found in the supermercado (along with the wine, I’d found earbuds for 2 euro, which was perfect since I’d lost mine a few days before. The small shop in Rabanal came through in a big way!).

So I had a simple, delicious dinner that night, and a good, long heart to heart with Saskia.

And I felt revived heading into the next day. More calm and settled about the time I spend alone, but also more aware of the time when I want to be with others.

I have so much to share about every day here, that when I don’t write for several days I have no idea where to start. I could write a thousand words about Cruz de Ferro and leaving my two rocks; I could write a thousand words about the new people I’ve met and the conversations I’ve had with them; I could write a thousand words about the Dragonte route and its beauty and challenges.

Maybe at some point I’ll catch up and share more stories. But for now, I want to share my nearly perfect Camino morning, and what was overall a really great Camino day.

I woke up this morning at 5:45, after a solid 8 hours of sleep. This has never, ever happened on my Camino, and poor sleeping has left me pretty exhausted. But last night was wonderful, I was in a small, quiet albergue, on a bottom bunk with no one above me and no snorers in the room.

I packed my things and left while everyone else continued to sleep, and as I made my way out of the village I ran into John, a Scottish man in his 60’s. I’d met him a few days before, and we spoke for a minute about the 8km climb we had ahead of us, and then I moved on ahead (later, I saw Joe and Adele, who told me they’d run into John later in the day, and he called me a ‘greyhound’ because of how fast I started climbing up the mountain. I certainly wouldn’t call myself a greyhound, but I DO walk fast, and probably faster after a good night’s sleep).

I climbed 4km and after yesterday’s extremely challenging climb (along with 6 other pilgrims took an alternate route called Dragonte which involved three mountains; we were the only 7 pilgrims on the route that day), I was able to climb fairly easily. Just as I was really tiring, I reached a town and, like a mirage, I saw an open bar (at 7:20am!). So I sat and enjoyed a cafe con leche and a croissant, and then climbed the next 4km to O’Cebreiro and I felt like I was flying.

It helps that I wasn’t carrying any food in my pack. Often I have at least one can of tuna (and at some point on this Camino I was walking around for 4 days with three cans of tuna fish), but I usually have more. The other day I was noticing how heavy my pack felt, and I mentally scrolled through what I had shoved into my bag that morning: half a baguette, a big chunk of cheese, a hard boiled egg, two peaches, an apple, a bunch of cherries, a tomato, two cans of tuna, and a bag of candy. Way too much, and I’m amazed I could fit it all into my pack. But at this point on my Camino, walking for over three weeks, I can handle carrying a lot.

But this morning I felt light, and it was probably because I didn’t have an extra 5 pounds of food in my bag. On the way to O’Cebreiro I passed a small town where I saw the Italian group outside having breakfast. They cheered when they saw me and Carol stood up to give me a hug. Laura, the 12 year old, asked where I was staying that night, and said she hoped it was the same town where she would be.

I continued my walk, meeting a man from Chile who was walking very slowly, but smiling constantly. I made it to O’Cebreiro, stopped for another cafe con leche and tortilla, then ran into Ibai on my way out of town. We accidentally walked a kilometer or two on the main road, realized we went the wrong way, then doubled back to find the natural track.

Today’s walk was breathtaking. I crossed into Galicia, and I’ve heard that this is the nicest part of the Camino, and from today, I can believe it. The weather was beautiful, there were near constant mountain and valley views, there were cows and chickens and horses and dogs everywhere. Quaint villages, so much green, and as the day progressed I had a lot of time to walk alone.

But I also met several new people today and had some great conversations, and it reminds me of how incredible this experience is. Geraldine and David have been walking since St Jean but today was the first day I encountered them; Anti started her Camino today and I met her minutes into her walk.

I walked with and passed by friends I’ve gotten to know over the last several weeks, I’ve had moments of connections with people I’d only just met, and I had time to myself to enjoy the beauty of where I am and how magical this experience has been.

And now I’m in this tiny town with a cold drink and the sun slowly setting into the mountains. I’ll have dinner soon with some new friends, and tomorrow I’ll wake up and walk… somewhere. About 6 days until I reach Santiago, and I’m trying to soak up as much of this experience as I can.

Next Post: Day 28 on the Camino Frances

The Camino finally gets difficult (subtitle: Spanish guys on bikes, and dogs); Day 21 on the Camino, Villares de Orbigo to Rabanal

July 17, 2014

There have been many points during this Camino when I’ve wondered when it was going to get hard for me. I actually started to feel a bit guilty about it- it was like my entire experience had been charmed, and only good things were coming to me.

I think things changed a bit today. Today was tough.

And it was tough all around: physically, mentally, and emotionally. For the first time, I really started thinking about home, and sort of wished that, for a few days at least, I could go back home and things could be easy. I wished I could take a day trip to the beach, I wished that I could sit on my couch and drink endless cups of coffee, I wished that I could hang out with my friends and shop at Trader Joe’s and do all of my normal stuff.

I think a lot has caught up with me, finally. This is my 21st day of walking, and I think I’m tired. My body is still handling this walk pretty well, but my feet hurt more than ever before. I have a few new blisters developing. Maybe I ate something a bit off for lunch today, because there was an hour or two when I felt a bit sick.

And for the first time, I ended my day’s walk earlier than planned, because I just couldn’t walk any further. I think part of the problem is that I’ve started to feel a bit invincible; even though I ended today’s walk early, I still walked nearly 37 kilometers, and most of that was a gradual uphill climb. I’m not sure why I thought that another 40+ kilometer day wouldn’t be too hard, but I did. And I felt just a bit defeated to realize that I’m tired, and that today, for the first time, I got tired of walking.

My experience last night was wonderful and just what I needed: sleeping in a beautiful albergue. Peace and quiet. Time to write and reflect. I had dinner with two Germans and that was also quiet and simple. Because of the language barrier, none of us talked much, but it was a comfortable meal (and delicous: jamon and melon, grilled meat with tomatoes and onions, ice cream for dessert and good wine and bread).

As I walked away from the albergue this morning (after a breakfast of coffee and toast with jam and honey), I thought about what a great decision I’d made, and how much I needed some time to myself.

But today, after a hard walk and not seeing many pilgrims on the road, I walked into this town hoping to see someone I knew. And there was no one. Only new faces, and it’s so strange to not know anyone. This is the first time it’s happened, and it feels a lot lonelier than I expected.

I found the municipal albergue and picked a bed, but quickly realized that I probably made a mistake and should have looked around at the other albergue options. I scraped my back twice of the underside of the top bunk bed, the shower was ice cold, and the windows bang loudly in the wind. Not many people are staying there, and the place has a hollow and sad feeling to it.

But, here’s the great thing about the Camino: either the day will improve and I’ll run into people I know or I’ll get a good night’s sleep or I’ll eat a good meal… or it won’t improve at all but tomorrow morning I’ll move on. Every day I get to move on, and sometimes that’s hard because I’m leaving people or a place that I really love, but sometimes that’s needed, because I need to move on to something better.

And even on this hard day- my hardest Camino day so far- there’ve been some good encounters. Namely, Spanish guys on bikes, and dogs. Three bikers stayed in the same albergue as I did last night, and as I was lying in bed around 9:30pm, winding down and looking at things on my phone, one of them started talking to me. I told him, in the kindest way possible, that I’d just separated myself from the people I knew for some needed time to myself (in other words: I want to be alone!). They were still sleeping when I left this morning, but I ran into them at a cafe in Astorga, after walking about 15km. The guy who’d talked to me last night came over and exclaimed, “You left without saying goodbye!” and then, “Wow, you walk pretty fast.”

Later I’d stopped at a cafe for some ice cream (on these hot days my new routine is to have some post-second breakfast, pre-lunch ice cream), and while sitting at an outdoor table in the shade, talked to another Spanish bicycler who’d also stopped. It’s only happened a few times, but I really like the conversations with bikers. They are experiencing the Camino in such a different way than the walkers do, and I like the fleeting but sweet nature of the encounters.

And then there were the dogs. This entire time on the Camino I’ve never had a dog come over and say hi, and it’s happened twice today. Right now I’m sitting outside at one of the village’s only bars, and right away an old, sweet dog came over to me, sat down, and waited to be pet. He settled in, then laid down, and has been keeping me company as I write.

I think about how people say that the Camino provides, and there’s just something about this dog that makes me think that his presence is not entirely a coincidence. I’m happy that he’s here.

So finally, things got a little challenging today. I always expected that at some point this would happen. But I’m hoping that things turn around a bit in the next few days, and the Camino shows me some more of the magic that I’ve come to know.

Next Post: Day 25 on the Camino Frances

To stay or not to stay; alone and together, Day 20 on the Camino: La Virgen Del Camino to Villares de Orbigo

July 16, 2014

I have a ‘note’ in my phone of things that I’ve jotted down since starting the Camino. Advice from others, tips on albergues, song and movie recommendations, etc. I just glanced at it and at some point I’d written: ‘Leon- DON’T stay at the monastery’.

Guess where I stayed in Leon two nights ago?

It could have been worse, but it was the second night in a row of not great accommodations. Hot, crowded, not super clean. But the shower pressure was great and they provided breakfast so I really can’t complain. And this is what I’ve learned when it comes to albergues and towns on the Camino: it’s all hit or miss. Sometimes I’m going to stumble on an amazing place or stay in an amazing town, and sometimes I’m going to stay in some real dives. But especially as I’ve let go of planning, I’m realizing that I just need to take what comes: the good, and the bad.

And really, the bad isn’t so bad. My Camino continues to be pretty amazing, and I’m still not sure how I’ve gotten so lucky. I want to believe that some of it is my outlook (today’s walk was super hot, next to a busy road for just about the entire 30k; I tried to find the alternate, scenic route but somehow was fed back to the main road, and at some point I lost my headphones. And my feet hurt more than they ever have, I think because it’s been so hot and they started to swell. But sitting here, settled into an albergue, drinking a glass of red wine with lemonade (it’s delicious!), I’m feeling good, despite the sub-par day). So some of it is my outlook, but some of it is just pure luck. My body is holding up, my spirits are holding up, and I’ve met the best people. I’m lucky.

Getting through the Meseta, and coming in and out of Leon, presented some challenges. And some were challenges that I hadn’t been expecting. I came into this walk knowing that I was walking alone, and the more I walked, the happier I was that I was here alone. Mirra and I paired up, and I think we were a great match for each other: we usually walked separately, and I think always felt that we could each go off and do our own thing when we wanted or needed to.

After Mirra left I was looking forward to truly walking some of this Camino on my own, but then I met some new people, and one in particular who I liked being around. In Leon I was faced with a decision: continue on by myself and do my own walk, or stay with someone and no longer have a solo Camino.

Maybe the decision never had to be so black and white, and maybe the decision I made- to continue on my own- will change and evolve as I keep walking. Maybe I will meet my friend at some point on the way, or at the end, and I will want to make a different decision. But for now, what has felt right, is to go off on my own for awhile.

Trying to figure all of this out- the social part of the Camino and the friendships and the connections and the hellos and goodbyes- has probably been the most challenging part for me. In real life, I don’t meet people like I do here. Every day, on the Camino, I have so many conversations, sit with so many different people and have coffee, or lunch, or wine, or ice cream. And I’ve loved this part so much. So much more than I expected.

And if I’m not careful, this Camino could turn into one big party. It would be so easy to stick with the people I’ve gotten to know, to always have meals with them and drink bottles of wine, and walk and listen to music and sing and dance. And there’s some appeal in that- a lot of appeal.

But I’ve realized that I’m not just here to meet people and have fun. That part has been important, and I think I’ve done a stellar job of it. But I’m here for something a bit more, and now is the time to figure some of that out.

So today I walked very much alone. I’d stayed at an albergue just on the outskirts of Leon last night, and I expected to now know many people there but it turned out that so many of my favorite people were there (this happens a lot). But it was also just what I needed: to make a big salad and share with a few people I’d gotten to know, but weren’t close with. To sit after dinner and play cards with the four Italians I always see in the mornings when we all stop for coffee. To stay up with Laura, the 12 year old Italian girl, and Nolan, the 10 year old Vermont boy, and have them show me card tricks.

Today’s walk was challenging, but overall I was happy that I made the decision to be on my own. I stopped for coffee, I stopped for ice cream, I stopped to put my feet in a cold river and eat tuna and cheese and cherries. Since I lost my headphones I sang to myself- long songs, like American Pie and Thunder Road.

I passed through a tiny town and wasn’t sure if I should stop or continue on for another 15 kilometers, and then I saw the albergue. A yellow building with painted blue shutters. I glanced in through the open door and I swear I saw a little paradise, and then I was convinced of it when I walked in further. This is the most beautiful albergue I’ve stayed in: a small courtyard in the middle of the building, a wrap around porch on the second floor with wooden chairs and an old couch and pots of bright red flowers. My room is beautiful, with wooden floors and large French windows that open up to the main village street. The bathrooms are modern, there is a small kitchen, and I was offered coffee when I checked in. Perfect.

And for tonight, this is just what I needed, and what I’ve been craving. A beautiful, peaceful place where I don’t know anyone too well. Time to sit by myself and write. Sitting here at the village’s only bar, drinking wine and lemonade, with two Germans at the table with me. Sometimes we talk, sometimes they talk and I write. It’s easy and relaxed, and always a reminder that even when I choose to be alone, I’m never really alone. But for now, alone in the way that I want to be alone.

Next Post: Day 21 on the Camino Frances

Day 17, Somewhere on the Meseta

July 13, 2014

I have no idea where or how to start this blog entry. The Camino continues to be amazing and surprising, but I can’t even remember where I was this morning or even the name of the town I’m in right now. Every day packs in more- scenery and thoughts and experiences and people and conversation and wine- and it’s hard to sort it all out in my head.

I’d thought that the time after Mirra left, after Burgos, would be different, and it has been. I’ve adjusted, I think, to not having my best Camino buddy with me, but I’m still not sure how I feel about these past 5 days. I’ve continued to have fun, I’ve continued to meet people, and I’ve sort of picked up a new ‘buddy’- Adam, from Ireland. But it’s still so different, and my feelings about it all change from hour to hour.

Right now I’m at a bar (again- in these small towns especially there’s nothing to do before dinner but take a nap or have a drink. I should probably be napping, but it’s too much fun to go to the only bar in town and sit around a table with all the Pilgrims who happened to stop in the same place). I’m alone at the table but 5 minutes ago there were at least 10 other people here. We’d heard that the village’s only store just opened, and everyone rushed to buy food for the long walk tomorrow (and since we’re in the Meseta, there are some incredibly long stretches where we pass through nothing but wheat fields for nearly 20 kilometers). Adam offered to pick up some food for me which is perfect: someone to help me out, and a stolen few minutes of peace and quiet. Me at an outdoor table typing away, the local villagers chatting and drinking coffee.

Except for Adam and another Irishman I met two days ago, I didn’t know anyone at this table. It is a vast difference from the first two weeks of this trip, when I would walk into a town and be greeted with waves and smiles and cheers and hugs and jokes. I’ve met so many people on this Camino, and have connected with so many in small but meaningful ways.

I think of Blas as my Spanish grandfather: he’s probably closer to my father’s age, but there’s something about him that reminds me of my grandfather. He is charismatic and knows everyone. Once his day’s walk is finished he strolls around town in his button down shirt, smoking a pipe, drinking an espresso. When I arrived in Ages he came over to greet me and tell me where the good albergue was, and Vicool, who I’d been walking with, whispered to me, “He’s a pilgrim? I thought he was the mayor of this town.” I met Blas about a week ago while I was walking. We were the only two around and I’d stopped to take a photo, and he offered to take one of me. We started talking-slowly, because he doesn’t know a lot of English- and after about 30 minutes I knew that I had someone looking out for me. Every time I’d arrive in a town and run into Blas, he would give me a big hug and make sure I was doing okay. Today was probably the first time I’ve arrived somewhere and have not been greeted by Blas.

Jerome I only met a few days ago, at the tiny albergue, St Nicolas (which I probably need to devote an entire blog post to). 12 of us stayed there, and I hadn’t known anyone. It was the first time in two weeks that I separated myself from the people I’d been walking with, and I was a bit nervous to meet new people. Jerome walked right up to me and shook my hand, he’s a French guy from Paris, probably in his mid-twenties (but doesn’t tell anyone his age). We sat on the grass in the back of the albergue, and after 10 minutes I was giving him English lessons and he was telling me about the girl he’d walked with for 2 weeks who had to stop her Camino because of tendonitis. They’d fallen in love and promised to meet in Santiago at the end of July; Jerome told me that he’d given up on love but then he met Delphine, and now all he could do is trust that she will show up in front of the cathedral. For the past few days I’ve seen Jerome when I showed up to the town where I’d be spending the night, and he would give me a look and tap his watch, indicating that I was walking too slowly.

A few days ago I saw Saskia after losing track of her for over a week; the last I’d heard she had spent the night with a Frenchman in the mountains. She insists that the actual story is not as fascinating as it seems, but I disagree. A night with a Frenchman in the mountains is nothing but intrigue.

Two days ago, in Carrion, it seemed like we were all together: Blas and Jerome and Saskia. Ibai and Susie and Helen. Adam and David and the Italian mother and daughter that I see every morning for coffee, and the Italian man who chooses the same albergues as I do. I saw the Koreans all over town. But now, I’m with an entirely new group of people, and it was all I could think about as I walked today, down an ancient Roman road through the north of Spain.

At some point today, I think I reached the halfway point of my walk. I only know this because others have mentioned it; I haven’t been paying close attention to how much I walk each day, or how much the kilometers and miles are accumulating. I’m a little surprised that I haven’t been keeping track, but on the other hand, the miles don’t really seem to matter. In fact, they’re sort of flying by.

I still love walking. I love it so much, that I feel sort of bad when people are talking about how hard or boring or long a day was, then ask what I think. My reply, almost always, is, ‘I thought it was great.’ I got some crazy stares today, when I talked about how much I loved the long, straight road that went on for miles. I walked alone, and since it’s an alternate route that not many people take, I couldn’t see anyone in front of me or behind. It was perfect.

But for as much as I’m loving this walk, the section we’re in now is harder than any of the days that have come before. There’s little shade, so the days are hot (although I have lucked out with the weather: so far, Spain in July has been unseasonably cool). I spent the past few days walking with people, and while I’ve loved the conversation and chance to really get to know some of the people I walk with, it’s also been hard. I love walking alone, and since just about all of my post-Camino walking time is spent socializing and meeting up with other Pilgrims, I really crave the solo-walking time. I got some today, and I felt like new person: once I got into the rhythm of my walk, the kilometers flew by and my head felt so much more clear. I could start to think about some of the things that I’ve experienced here.

And here are some highlights:

I left a pair of shorts in Hontanas, but passed a market in Fromista and picked up a pair of ‘lounge pants’, which are unlike anything I’d normally wear but they’ve ended up being perfect.

I had my foot kissed by an Italian man (this was part of the St Nicolas experience), and that same man suggested that I stop walking for a few days and stay at the albergue and help out: cleaning and cooking. I’m still not sure if he was serious or not. (and, for the record, I didn’t stay).

I stood at the top of a large hill and took a photo of four Italians standing in the middle of a labryinth of rocks; as they posed for the photo they shouted out: ‘Mucho gracias Espange!!’

I walked on a long straight path of the Meseta with Ibai and Adam, with Creedence Clearwater playing and the road stretching on for miles. I talked about mix tapes and driving and we joked that we were on a really long, slow road trip.

I waited in a cafe in Carrion with Susie, Ibai and Adam for three hours yesterday morning; Ibai’s shoes were stolen, and I refused to leave for the day’s walk until a shop opened and he could buy new shoes. There’s been a lot of theft in the past few days at this point on the Camino, and it’s so unsettling. I’m keeping my things close and being extra vigilant.

The day after Mirra left I walked to the small village of Hontanas. I walk fast and I arrived early so I secured a bed, showered, and set up at an outdoor table with my journal and a glass of wine. I was feeling a bit lonely but I compensated for this; for the next hour or two I was the welcoming committee for all of the Pilgrims coming through town, and I even convinced Adrian- the tough Spanish military guy with a heart of gold- to stop and have a drink with me before moving on to the next town.

People come and go all of the time here, but I think it’s really hit me in the past few days. I know it’s probably because I’m now around all new people, but I’m having a hard time accepting that so many of the people I’ve met in the last few weeks have now moved on. Or I’ve moved on past them. I think, from my experience over the last 17 days, that I will see some of these friends again. But some are probably gone forever, and I think that will have to be okay. And I guess that’s like life. People come and go, and at some point, that has to be okay.

And so tomorrow, I’ll continue to walk. Still on the Meseta, still on a long flat road, still moving slowly through this country. Still losing people, still meeting people. Saying goodbye, saying hello.

Next Post: Day 20 on the Camino Frances

Camino angels, the big city, saying goodbye; Day 12 on the Camino, Ages to Burgos

July 8, 2014

Before I started the Camino, I’d done a lot of reading and research about it. One of the things I’d read was that the path was sort of divided into thirds: the first 10 days were mostly about the physical part of the journey. The biggest focus would be the pains and changes of your body. The second third was about the mind: you walk long, hot days through the Meseta, a region where this is no shade, a flat path, no distractions. A lot of time to spend in your head. I’ve heard different interpretations about the final third of the way: some say it’s about putting it all together. Some say it’s about coming to life.

I’ll be curious to see if my Camino falls into thirds, or into any kind of distinct sections. Already I can see how it might happen: today, for the first time, felt like I was moving into a different stage of this journey.

I’ve been around mostly the same people for the past 12 days, and it’s been wonderful. I guess this has been my Camino family, and it’s a large one. But it’s changing. Mirra will leave tomorrow and I know that this will affect my Camino. In some ways I’m excited for the change, even though I wish Mirra would stay and she and I could finish in Santiago together. But being on my own could be good heading into the Meseta. Even though I spend hours walking every day, I feel like there hasn’t been enough time to really think about this experience and process what I’m going through. I don’t regret how I’ve spent this first part; in fact, I don’t know that I would really change anything. I’ve been having so, so much fun.

And so far, if I had to pick a theme for the first part of this pilgrimage, I think it would be about fun and connection. I’ve definitely felt the physical part of the walk, but not nearly like others have. All the training walks I did before coming here definitely paid off, and my aches and pains (so far) have been few. So if this first section of the Camino wasn’t about physical hardship, then I would have to say it was about the people I’ve met, and the fun I’ve had with those people.

And maybe I’ll keep having fun, and making good connections- lets hope! But I also wonder if this next part of my walk will be more internal, if I’ll intentionally crave time to myself.

I walked to Burgos today, and the night we just had was a celebration: of beginnings, middles, and ends. Just as Mirra leaves the Camino, Adam (from Ireland) begins. Ibai found him sitting alone in the albergue and invited him out with us. We went out for tapas and sangria, 8 of us squeezed around a wooden table filled with plates of food. We toasted, we sang happy birthday to Ibai, we told stories about our walk, we took photos and talked about keeping in touch.

We walked out of the restaurant to the empty square in front of the cathedral to say goodnight and go to our separate albergues. Everyone hugged Mirra tightly, even Adam, whose walk is beginning just as hers is ending.

Mirra and I walked to our albergue together, talking about what a perfect ending this was for her, and the perfect transition time for everyone else. I can feel, so strongly, that my Camino is going to change tomorrow. I’m not sure who I’m going to walk with, who I’m going to meet, who I’m going to drink wine with and cook with. I don’t know who will be sleeping in the bunk bed above or below me, because for almost every night of my Camino, Mirra has been my bunk mate.

But I’m also excited for the unknown. Two days ago I discovered that I left my guidebook at the albergue I’d stayed in. I panicked for about an hour, not knowing how I would figure out my days and plan where to stay and know how far to walk. But I’m choosing to see this as a big sign from the Camino: time to just let each day unfold and let go of trying to plan. And I think this will be a good lesson for me.

Already, today, the Camino gave me what I needed, more than what I needed. I had no guidebook to walk me into the city of Burgos, but I ended up with something better. An old man with a cane was waiting on a bench, and when I walked by he motioned for me to follow him, and took me and two Lithuanian girls to a scenic detour. Our entire walk into Burgos- what many others referred to as the walk of hell- was through a beautiful park. As we approached the city another man explained exactly how to get to the cathedral and albergue and tourist information center. And as I waited in front of the small albergue for Mirra, another pilgrim sat next to me and told me how great the albergue was, then introduced me to the hospitalero (the man who runs the albergue).

Some people call these Camino angels, and maybe that’s true. I’ve experienced this so much on the Camino: someone is there to help or be kind just when I need it.

So I’m going to try to put my trust in the magic of the Camino. I’m saying goodbye to my best Camino friend, and even though I can’t imagine that the second part of this Camino could be any better than the first, I’m trusting that if I let myself see it, I’ll experience so much more magic.

Next Post: Day 17 on the Camino Frances

Festivals and chickens, rainy day tea and cards; Days 9 and 10 on the Camino, Najerra to Santo Domingo, Santo Domingo to Belorado

July 6, 2014

I’m in the kitchen of an albergue in Belorado, drinking hot tea and watching the rain fall outside. Sitting around the long table are the Italian family (with the two sweetest and well-mannered teenagers I’ve ever met), Susie, Helen, Mirra and Alfred (the Frenchman notorious for his snoring. Supposedly, people have been avoiding the albergues where he sleeps, or they ask to switch rooms. I’ve heard how wonderful of a man he is- during the day- and so far it’s true. He has a deep voice but is soft spoken, and he made a large pot of tea and instantly offered me some when I sat down).

Besides Alfred, I know this group pretty well. I talked with Susie and Helen waiting for the bus in Bayonne, and I’ve walked/interacted with them for the past 10 days. I met the Italian family about 5 days ago in our albergue in Puente La Reina. The father is Italian and the mother is English, and our paths have crossed with them over and over. Three days ago I said goodbye to them, thinking that I wouldn’t see them again since Mirra and I were planning to do a short stage and get off track from the group. But we’ve learned that you can’t really plan or control things here, and maybe that’s for the best. Things- despite not going according to plan-are working out really well. In any case, we keep running into the Italian family and showing up in the same albergues, and it’s been wonderful to talk to them. I love the kids, and am so touched to see their kindness and care towards others. They were supposed to end their Camino today and take a bus to Burgos, but are staying just one more night. We joke about how tonight might be the ‘final goodbye’.

Mirra and I have planned our walks together, though our actual walking is usually done separately. She will end her Camino in a few days, so for now, I’m enjoying her company: our conversations about this time in our lives, our pre/post siesta wine and tapas outings, cooking in the albergues, and switching off on who gets the bottom bunk.

I wonder what my Camino will be like one week from now. Most of the people who are sitting around this table will be back to their normal lives, and most likely I will be walking with and talking to new friends. That’s both an amazing thing, and a bit of a sad thing.

Yesterday’s walk felt wonderful (especially after my stormy mood the day before). The skies were clear and the day grew hot, but most of our walking was done before the heat of the day. I walked about 30 km, a longer day because of a detour to see an abbey in Cannas. We ended in Santo Domingo, and it was probably one of my favorite places on the Camino so far. A small town but with plenty of bars and beautiful squares and a great church. The chicken church, as I (and many others), like to call it.

There’s a legend about a pilgrim and a chicken and a miracle that dates back to the Middle Ages, and the story is long and interesting but way too much for me to write out at 10pm (which is a late night here). In any case, the church has been keeping live chickens since 1350 (I think they rotate every few weeks), and I’d heard about this church awhile ago and it was on my short list of Camino must-sees. And even though it cost 3 euros to go inside, it was wonderful to see some chickens and think about the power of belief and miracles.

Everyone I loved was in my albergue last night, and it was totally unplanned. Mirra, John, Christy, Ibai and I had dinner together: an avocado, tomato and cucumber salad, bread and wine, lentils with mushrooms, cherries and chocolate for dessert. We sat outside in the courtyard until 10pm when the nuns chased us upstairs and told us to turn out the lights. I slept soundly, and for the first time on the Camino, was so comfortable that I wanted to stay in bed when my alarm went off in the morning.

Today’s walk was also good. I’m feeling strong, and except for some slight knee pain, am doing really well physically. A 20 km day feels so short, and I usually just want to keep walking.

Mirra and I stopped in a small town to try out a tiny albergue with only 10 beds and a communal meal. We were there by 10:30 and not a soul was around, but the sign on the albergue said ‘completo’. We didn’t believe it, so we waited there for nearly two hours. The day was windy and cool, but sunny while we waited, and we sat on the benches outside eating cherries and writing in our journals. Eventually a few other Pilgrims showed up, one called a number for the albergue to find out that there were, indeed, no beds available.

We packed up to leave but then heard music, and from out of nowhere a dozen boys in costumes were dancing their way down the small streets with the entire village following behind in a procession. It was Santo Domingo day (he’d been born in this tiny town), and if we hadn’t waited for the albergue we’d never had seen the festivities.

We walked on, and after another 9 km ended up in a town where most people were staying. We once again picked an albergue that had most of our favorite people, and now we’re sitting here quietly, listening to the rain and drinking tea. Two guys just joined us- one from Switzerland and another from Germany, Helen pulled out a deck of cards, and the Italian boy is explaining how to play a game called ‘killer’. Time to go.

Next Post: Day 12 on the Camino Frances

Rain, feeling grumpy, a cute Italian; day 8 on the Camino, Logrono to Najera

July 6, 2014

Today started out so well, so I’m not sure when it took a turn for the worse.

I woke up after a good night’s sleep in the parochial albergue; somehow, in a large room of 35 people in bunk beds, no one snored. No one even tossed and turned, or maybe I was just sleeping very soundly.

Once I woke up and packed most of my things, I went upstairs to the dining room where breakfast was spread out. The table was set with plates of toasted bread, strawberry and apricot jam, butter, crackers and cookies. There were large Italian espresso makers boiling coffee on the stovetop, with milk and sugar containers next to the mugs.

It was such a treat to start the day with fresh coffee, and as soon as I walked into the streets of Logrono, I felt so good: my legs were strong and my feet felt great. I passed by a bar where I saw bins of fresh bread; I bought a loaf and said hi to a few other pilgrims I’d recognized along the way. The man spoke only Spanish so I couldn’t understand what he was trying to tell me, but then he opened a plastic bag and offered me a cookie. I walked through Logrono eating the cookie, and it seemed as if every time I got to an intersection and couldn’t figure out the way, someone would point me in the right direction.

But then things went downhill, although it was mostly just my attitude. Dark clouds had been gathering and soon it started to rain (the first time I had to walk in rain so far on the Camino); I was stuck in a cluster of Pilgrims (I would move ahead, then stop to drink water or add/take off a layer, and others would catch up); the walking felt hard. Too humid in the rain, too cold without a jacket. I was uncomfortable. I was dragging.

And I just couldn’t get away from everyone. Sometimes I don’t mind walking with others, but today it just felt like there were so many people around. I wanted to feel like the path was more spread out; I like walking and only seeing a few people ahead or behind me (or better yet, no one).

I found a large tree and a big pile of rocks to duck behind to use the bathroom; I couldn’t have been more than two minutes but when I came out from behind the tree, it was like a tour bus had dropped off a few dozen people. I have no idea where they came from, but there were pilgrims all around, walking with daypacks.

I finally made it to the town where Mira and I had been thinking about staying; it was small, with a few streets and two bars and one albergue. I passed one bar and looked inside to see about a dozen people I knew. Then I walked up the street to the other bar where some locals were hanging out. I got a coke, sat outside at a table, and started writing in my journal.

It’s a strange contrast here, to be on a pilgrimage and want to experience solitude and space, but to also be part of this large community that is so welcoming and warm. I’ve loved the people I’ve met, and part of me wants to follow the typical stages and stay where I know everyone will be. It is so wonderful to walk into an albergue and be greeted with smiles and even cheers.

But today I just couldn’t shake the feeling that I wanted to be apart from everyone. I was sitting at the bar, thinking about this, when a beautiful Italian boy pulled up on a bicycle (I think stuff like this only happens in the movies, and on the Camino). He took off his helmet and set his things at a table, then turned to me and gave me a big smile and an “Hola! Buenos dias!’ We each sat in silence for awhile, and then started talking. He must have been young- in his early 20’s- with dark curly hair and clear blue eyes. We talked all about the Camino and the experience and where we were from and what we do and then quickly, like things usually go here, we talked about deeper stuff. About the same things I’d just been writing about: solitude versus community. Making connections and then losing the people you make connections with.

Mira came up to the bar and we decided to keep walking to the next town. We said goodbye to the Italian boy- Jeremiah- and he gave us each big hugs. As we walked away he called out after us, ‘I hope you have a beautiful life!’

My day turned around after this. I was still a little grumpy and craving some time to myself, but I was able to drop most of my negative attitude. The clouds cleared away and we walked on a path that looked out to a panoramic view of the mountains. I listened to music, and then walked with Susie and Mira into Najera. We decided to splurge and stay at a private albergue, in a room with only 2 bunk beds (a good choice, because we later saw the municipal albergue with 90 beds in one room, many of them pushed together. And rumor had it that there were at least 6 people snoring loudly that night).

We went out for wine and tapas, then did some grocery shopping. Before making a big salad in the albergue kitchen, we took a bottle of wine and a bag of potato chips down to the banks of the river, where we stretched out on the grass and talked about life. I continue to be amazed at the potential for meaningful conversation on this trip, and how easily people open up about their lives and the things that they struggle with.

I thought about how I’d been tempted to be alone all day: to walk by myself and to stay in the tiny village and to go off and write and do my own thing. And if I’d chosen to spend my day that way, alone, it would have been okay. But sitting with Mira and Susie, drinking an amazing bottle of La Rioja wine, hearing incredible life stories… that felt right.

And it made me think about what the Italian boy said: that even if the connections are fleeting, the encounters are beautiful.

Next Post: Days 9 and 10 on the Camino Frances