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Quiet and Free (and a monastery); Day 16 on the Camino del Norte, Celorio to San Esteban de Leces

July 7, 2015

Today also didn’t quite go as planned, and I find myself in an albergue on top of a hill, next to an old church, in a “town” that’s not really a town- just a few buildings that are so still and quiet they could almost be abandoned.

In fact, I didn’t realize the albergue was the albergue until I walked up and down the street and saw two guys on bikes pull up in front of it and ring the doorbell. It’s a large, rectangular building; a woman opened a window upstairs and shouted down to us. Inside there is a long, quiet hallway, a small kitchen, a coffee machine (yes!!), and a few rooms with bunk beds. In the back is a yard enclosed by a thick brick wall, and if you stand up on the slope of the hill, just out of the albergue, you can see out to the sea.

Right now I’m the only girl here. This came in handy earlier when I took a shower; the bathroom has two toilets behind locked doors, but otherwise an open space with sinks and two showers. But bathroom privacy aside, I feel a little lost from everyone that I know- two days ago I walked a longer stage and sort of got away from a big group of familiar people and now, suddenly, I’m in this eerily quiet albergue with 6 other people I’ve never seen before.

Maybe it will change tomorrow in Sebrayo, the last stopping point before the Primitivo/Norte split. Or, perhaps, my separation a few days ago means it was the last time I’ll see the people who had become my friends here.

I was thinking about this a bit today, as I walked: how others have formed little groups, how they’ve found their people to stick together with, how they travel together even though they came alone. So many people do the Camino this way, but like last year- and even more so this year- I’m going my own way. And I’m happy that I’m walking in this way, even if I’m sitting here, now, sort of wishing there was someone familiar to talk to. I feel such great freedom when I walk, and lately my walking days have just been so good. But also, I’m seeking that balance, wanting some company in the evenings and wishing that I had a little group who would magically appear in the same albergues as me. Sometimes it happens, sometimes it doesn’t.

My plan had been to stop at Casa Belen for the night, about 13 kilometers back. It’s another albergue I had heard wonderful things about: a couple who have opened their home to pilgrims, offering beds on a donation basis, cooking a communal meal for dinner. When I walked by this afternoon, it was barely 1:00, and I wasn’t sure what to do. I lingered in the yard of the property and one of the owners came out. She told me to sit for awhile and rest, and decide if I wanted to stay or not.

And it was a tough decision. The property was beautiful, with tables and lounge chairs in the back, a view of the mountains from the yard, a small shed which had been turned into a “chapel”, lots of flowers and a garden and a few chickens and a white cat. I sat, ate some cheese and a few cherries, and tried to figure out what to do.

The house was practically in the middle of nowhere; there was no town nearby, no bar or restaurant, no little grocery shop. It was only 1:00 and not another pilgrim was in sight. I’d been feeling really strong on my walk, and wishing that Casa Belen were at least 10 kilometers down the road; I wanted to keep walking.

So I listened to that urge, because it’s what I’m here to do. I kept walking. It makes what was going to be another nearly 40 kilometer day tomorrow only 25 or so, which is very do-able and probably more practical. And the place I’m staying in now is decent- nothing outstanding, but nothing I can complain about (the hospitalera will order food for us from a menu and then the nearest bar, which is about 3 kilometers away, will deliver it here tonight. But there’s also a small kitchen, so if pilgrims have food with them, they can cook).

On my walk today I was also thinking about how the people I’m with on this pilgrimage changes a bit, every few days. First it was Elissa, then it was Richard and Iria and Amy, then it was Nicole, then an evening with Carlos and Guillemette, then a few days with Jenna. There were a few days I ran into the Austrians, and also a few days with a kind German couple. And for the last few days, I’ve felt like I’ve been on my own.

I think this variety has been good for me, and in some ways it’s what I might have sort of asked the Camino for: practice being with lots of different people, practice being on my own. Practice being comfortable with it all. I’m getting better at it, I think; it’s easier, maybe even easier than last year, to walk up to someone and start to talk. And it’s been easier for me to feel more open to the possibility of making new friends, every day. It’s also been easier to accept the times that I’m on my own. After a day and evening pretty much on my own yesterday, I’m ready for some company today. I don’t have it right now, but being alone is okay too.

So, those thoughts aside, lets talk about the walk today: it was another good one. The first 5 kilometers were a bit tough because they were done without coffee, and it still amazes me how different I feel once I have that first cup in the morning. I had been dragging myself along, each step feeling sort of heavy, and then I drank a small-ish cup of coffee and suddenly I was flying down the road, smiling, happy, awake and alive.

I passed an old abandoned monastery that used to house pilgrims, probably hundreds of years ago. It was a 5 minute walk from a small beach and right along the Camino route; tucked away just a bit in a large clearing at the base of a mountain. I walked around the crumbling buildings and tried to imagine what it looked like before it was abandoned, I tried to imagine what it would look like if it could be fixed up.

And then I started to dream, that I could buy this old monastery and live there, open up part as an albergue, run a writer’s/artist’s retreat in another part. There would be room for a large garden and fruit trees, long outdoor tables, benches under the large trees.

So check back with me in 5 years or so (or 10 years, or 20 years), and maybe I’ll be running an albergue in a monastery in Spain.

On the beach, a few minute’s walk from this monastery, I found another piece of sea glass, this one a deep emerald green, one of the most beautiful colored pieces I’ve ever found. A coffee by the beach, a walk surrounded by open green fields, a warm sun with a cool breeze; it was another beautiful day.

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Walking slowly over wet sand; Day 7 on the Camino del Norte, Bilbao to Pobena

June 27, 2015

I’d heard rumors that the walk out of Bilbao would be awful. My guide outlined several different route options to get out of the city, going so far as to suggest that pilgrims take a metro from Bilbao to Portugalette, skipping the worst parts of the industrial area.

Even though I’m much more open to a different kind of Camino this year, even though I’ve said that I’m not against skipping parts of this walk… I just couldn’t bring myself to take a metro. Maybe it would have been the smart thing to do- after all, the blister on my foot wasn’t feeling any better- but I wanted to walk. I may be more tired and worn out on this Camino, but one thing hasn’t changed. Every day I wake up and want to walk.

So I chose the best looking option out of the city- a walk along the west side of the river. Christine and I spent some time pouring over our guidebooks to figure out the route, and we left the albergue together. After 10 minutes of walking she realized she forgot her socks, so turned around to get them. She urged me to go on, and I did. Maybe I should have waited for her, but I still resist spending my whole days walking with someone. And Christine’s pace is just so fast, and I knew I wouldn’t be doing my blister any favors if I tried to walk fast on the hard pavement.

I got a bit turned around trying to find the Camino route; I asked two guys for directions and I think they started arguing about which was the best route out of the city. Finally one of them walked me over to a corner, pointed ahead, told me to go right and walk by the river.

And the walk was pretty great. It’s nothing compared to the beauty of so many of my other days here, and nothing changes the fact that much of it was spent in urban sprawl. But all along the river were pathways for pedestrians and runners and bikers, which was a lot better than I expected. And the walking was flat, and it was on smooth pavement, which meant that I didn’t need to take my blistered foot over stones. It was a relief, actually.
I sailed along. I listened to music which always helps, and after a lot of kilometers, I stopped in a shaded area with picnic tables to eat a yogurt, to take off my shoes.

Just as I was finishing my break, Christine and Nicole (Austria) walked up. Christine started waving and cheering when she saw me- she got turned around in the city as well, and came by a different route. Nicole got turned around as well, and was on yet another route (and at one point was on an entirely different Camino, headed towards Burgos). We all laughed that we had eventually ended up in the same spot even though we had walked three different ways. Christine and I left Nicole in the park and continued on towards Pobena.

The afternoon walking is hard. That’s been my experience nearly every day; I finish my days late, around 3 or 4, and the last few hours are difficult. Even more so because of my blister. Every step was painful, though once I got going I didn’t notice the pain so much. But towards the end of the day I couldn’t ignore it. Plus the sun was beating down and Pobena just never seemed to arrive.

But finally it did, or rather, it’s beach did first. Christine and I arrived in the town about an hour before the albergue opened, so we chose to walk the last kilometer on the beach, with our feet in the water. It’s an amazing way to end a day of walking, and I just wished I could have enjoyed it more. When I took off my socks and shoes and put on my flip flops, I hobbled and limped across the sand. I couldn’t walk normally, I couldn’t even take off my flip flops to put my feet in the sand. Walking through the water helped, but as Christine and I slowly made our way to the albergue, I really started to worry about my blister. Clearly, ignoring it and hoping it would heal on its own wasn’t the answer.

Pobena was barely a town, although it reminded me of something out of the Camino Frances: an albergue a stone’s throw from a small square filled with bars and a couple restaurants. I spent the afternoon talking to Nicole and getting advice about my blister. In the evening we walked over to one of the bars and found an outdoor table; we drank wine and tried to write, but ended up talking to each other instead.

Eventually Daniel, a Hungarian guy, joined us, and before we knew it, it was 9pm, we hadn’t eaten dinner, and the albergue would close at 10. We raced over to the only restaurant serving a pilgrim’s meal, split one, and took our half finished bottle of wine back to the albergue with us. As we drank we were joined by Carlos (Spain), and a young French guy whose name I still don’t know but who I met at the monastery. Carlos pulled out a pack of cards (Spanish cards, with gold coins and sticks and swords instead of hearts, diamonds, etc), and he tried to teach us a game. We stayed up late, the hospitalera warning us to keep the noise down and asking if we could turn off lights when we were finished.

The night was fun, and it felt like early days on the Camino Frances, when we were all started to get to know each other, when we’d stay up late with a glass of wine, talking and laughing (did that happen much on the Camino Frances? I can’t even remember, but it seems like something that happened a lot).

I didn’t mind staying up late, because I was planning to have a really short walk the next day. I was worried about my blister, needed to find a pharmacy, and saw an advertisement for a nice looking private albergue only 12 kilometers away from Pobena. I knew I would lose all of the people I’d just spent the evening with, but I consoled myself with thinking I could maybe meet up with Iria and Richard and Amy again.

Day 7: a not-so-bad walk out of Bilbao, making new friends, blister pain, cards and wine.

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I Found Myself in Paradise: Hiking and Relaxing on the Islas Cies

February 8, 2015

This post is taking us back to late July 2014, in the days after I finished my Camino and arrived in Santiago. I spent several days exploring Galicia before continuing on to Finisterre; the first post about my time in A Coruna is here, and read on to hear about how I found myself on a beautiful island.

It was when I was still on the Camino that I first heard about the Islas Cies, an archipelago off the coast of Vigo in Galicia. I’d been asking Ibai if he had any recommendations for me during my gap of time between arriving in Santiago and leaving for Finisterre. I’d been thinking about dipping down to Portugal but paused when Ibai started talking about these islands. “It is the most beautiful place, you won’t find a more beautiful beach in Spain.” The thought of hanging out on an island and resting my weary feet was very, very appealing.

So weeks later, after I’d explored the northwestern city of A Coruna, I took a train down to Vigo. When I arrived in the city my first stop was the tourism office, and the woman working behind the desk said, “If you hurry, you can catch the next ferry to the islands.” I bought a ticket and with maps and brochures in my hand I went running to dock, and before I knew it was on a large ferry heading off for the Islas Cies.

There are technically three islands in this archipelago: the south island- San Martino, the north island- Monteagudo, and the middle island-do Faro, which is linked to Monteagudo by a stretch of sand known as Rodas beach (which, in 2007, was named as the world’s most beautiful beach by The Guardian).

I was headed for the small dock at Monteagudo, and after the 45-minute ferry ride I disembarked with crowds of Galician families toting small children and giant coolers and umbrellas. It was a beautiful day and Rodas beach was already packed with sunbathers. I headed off to the right, and after consulting a large map at the information booth, picked a trail that headed up to a lookout. These two islands have four walking trails, and being fresh off of the Camino, I wasn’t too interested in spending my entire day being still.

These islands were given a National Park status in 2002, which has helped preserve the landscape and ecosystem by restricting the affects of human activity on the land. And thank goodness. After hiking for ten minutes, I was far removed from the crowds at the beach and I felt like I had the island to myself. When I arrived at my first destination- Alto do Principe- I shared the lookout with several other groups, but it was in no way crowded. I stood at the top of a flat rock and looked out over the island and couldn’t believe that I was in a place like this. Only a month before I had been crossing the mountains from France into Spain, and after walking myself across the country, I was standing on this beautiful island. It was incredible.

From this first trail I connected to another, and walked across the north island until I couldn’t walk any further. I’m not sure about exact distances, but I think I walked about 3 miles between the first trail and this second one (so it would be about 6 miles, round-trip, from the information booth). This trail was even more isolated than the first; just me and the seagulls.

As I’d been hiking I had noticed several little inlets, and on my way back towards the dock I decided to explore a bit. What I found felt like paradise: a tiny beach that I had all to myself. I kicked off my shoes and wished that that I was better prepared for a beach day. I rummaged through my Camino pack and pulled out my sleeping bag, which I stretched out over the sand. I propped my head against my pack and my Icelandair pillow (I finally got to use it!!) and stared out to the water.

I think I could have spent days exploring these islands and lounging on the beach. There is a camping option and if I ever return to this area I would definitely reserve a campsite and spend the night sleeping by the ocean (there are sites were you can pitch your own tent, or, for an extra fee, you can rent one of the tents already on the site). There’s a restaurant near the campsite, along with restrooms and showers, but other than these buildings and a small snack shop near the dock, the island is unspoiled.

My day on the Islas Cies was one of those magical travel moments: when nothing was planned but everything worked out better than I ever could have imagined. It was just what I needed after my pilgrimage on the Camino: a day of peace and quiet in a beautiful setting, with a little walking and a little relaxing. After this day, I felt ready to return to Santiago and begin my walk to Finisterre.

“We’re going to see a sunset”; Day 35 on the Camino, Cée to Finisterre

October 6, 2014

It’s a late afternoon, early fall October day, 65 degrees of cloudless skies and warm sunshine. I’m sitting at a picnic table in a local park, a cup of Starbuck’s carmel apple cider within arms reach. I’ve got my “Camino writing setup” here: wireless bluetooth keyboard connected to my iPhone. I haven’t used this keyboard since the Camino, and my fingers are getting used to typing on it, again.

It’s fall in Pennsylvania, and these might be the last days of sitting outside in the sunshine. The last days until next year, that is.

I had an entire summer of sitting outside in the sunshine, typing away with a drink by my side. Actually, if anything was missing from my last day on the Camino, it would have been more sunshine. But I did have the sun when I most needed it, and here’s that story (the very detailed, extremely long story. You’ve been warned):

I can’t remember what time I woke up and started to walk on my last Camino day. Early, I think. Even though we didn’t have far to go- only 11 km to Finisterre- there was a lot I wanted to do with the day. I wanted the early start not only to keep up with my routine of the previous 5 weeks, but also to enjoy as much as I could. To soak it all up, because I didn’t know when, if ever, I would be back.

Which meant, of course, stopping as soon as we could for the first cafe con leche and croissant of the morning. Emma had left before us so it was just Sonal and I as we walked away from Cée: through the town, past the beach, and over to the other side of the little cove, to Corcubión. Less than a 2km walk, and the perfect time to stop for coffee. As we were leaving the cafe and walking back to the Camino route, we saw our hospitalero from the night before coming towards us. We greeted him with a smile and he stopped directly in front of us with a stern look on his face. Reaching his arm out and opening his hand wide, he muttered, “The key, please.”

Whoops. We’d been given a key when we checked in the day before, and I’d been in charge of it. We’d never needed to use it and I’m still not sure why we had it, but I’d forgotten all about it. Sheepishly I routed around in my pack and placed the key in his palm. “Gracias,” he growled, and walked back to his car. The night before, Sonal, Emma and I had been convinced that he knew we’d taken wine glasses to drink by the water. It seemed as if he’d been waiting for us when we’d gotten back to the albergue, watching us with a suspicious eye.

Sonal and I walked away quickly. “How did he find us?” Sonal whispered. “Do you think he was driving along until he saw us?”

“I don’t know but I feel like he’s always watching. Lets get out of here!”

Giggling, we left the town of Corcubión, climbing up a steep, narrow track, through tall trees. We walked along a road for awhile, then noticed a small path leading down to some sand. Taking a detour we explored a tiny, private beach, where the blue-green water lapped onto the shore, where I found smooth pieces of emerald sea glass.

We headed back to the road, following the Camino onto a path that hugged the side of a hill, leading us on a high route that paralleled the water. Parts of this walk had great blackberry bushes lining us on either side, and we stopped every few steps to pick the ripest berries, their juice dripping down our fingers.

Closer now to Finisterre, we talked about stopping again for coffee if we passed a cafe. About 2km from Finisterre we ran into Emma, who was sitting on a stone wall on the side of the Camino, just before a beach.

“I was waiting for you guys,” she told us. “I decided that I didn’t want to walk to Finisterre alone. Is it okay if I join you?”

“Only if you’ll agree to stop for some coffee, first.”

Just ahead was a bar that overlooked the ocean. We grabbed seats outside and drank our cafe con leches and ate our tostada, and waived Mo-mo and Silka over when we saw them passing. When we finished we took off our hiking shoes and our socks, and walked down to the sand. The beach would take us the final two kilometers into Finisterre, and I couldn’t imagine a better way of finishing the walk: in my bare feet, walking next to the ocean.

The day had become increasingly cloudy, and as we posed for photos, standing on the sand with our packs and big smiles, we worried about the chances of the day clearing up. It’s tradition for pilgrims to head to the lighthouse once arriving in Finisterre, and camp out on the rocks to watch the sunset. “I think we’re going to see a sunset,” I said. The others nodded.

We finished our walk on the beach, wiping the sand off our feet and putting on flip flops, and then walked up to the road. All at once, I remembered that I had a note in my phone about a place to stay in Finisterre. I’d read about it on a blog months before, and I’d copied the information down, stored it in my phone, and had completely forgotten about it until that moment. I don’t know what made me remember- Camino magic? Albergue do Mar was the name, and we walked up the road, rounded a corner, and there it was, looming in front of us. Three stories, big balconies, right next to the ocean. We walked in, doubtful about the chances of there being any beds left. We were early- it was only 11am- but this was the kind of place that filled up fast.

We asked about beds and what do you know? There were four left. “We’ll take three of them,” I said with a smile. We were lead upstairs and into a room and given the two sets of bunk beds closest to the floor-to-ceiling windows that had a view that was nothing but ocean. This time, for the last time, I requested the top bunk. After spreading out my sleeping bag and climbing up the ladder, I laid on the bed and stared straight out onto the ocean. A 10 euro view. Amazing.

We changed into bathing suits, thinking we might go to the beach if the sun would ever come out, and then walked into town. We found a bustling seaside restaurant and sat down to one of the best meals I’d had in Spain: a menu del dia lunch of pulpo, fresh seafood paella, ice cream, more baskets of bread than I can count, and two bottles of wine. We were at that table for at least two hours- I think we waited for our paella for nearly an hour- but it was perfect. This was the end, we had walked to Finisterre, the ‘end of the world’, and there was nothing more that I wanted than to sit there with my legs stretched out, sipping a glass of wine, and talking to my friends.

And then, just as we were paying the bill, Emma looked up at the sky. “I see blue. I see blue! The sky is clearing!!” We immediately headed out and walked 20 minutes to one of Finisterre’s beaches, the clouds moving out as we moved towards the ocean. And five minutes away from the beach, the sun came out for the first time that day. We cheered, and when we got down to the beach, we sat on the sand and let the warmth of the sun wash over us.

“This might be just what I need to be able to go into the ocean.” I walked down to the water in my bathing suit, not convinced that I would make it in. The day, despite the sun, was cool, and the water even cooler. But standing at the water’s edge, feeling the sun on me and looking out to the expanse of the ocean, I knew I had to do it. So before I could talk myself out of it, I jogged into the water, to my knees, to my waist, and then I dove under.

I’ve always loved the ocean but this was about something more. When I dove under and let my feet come off of the ground, it meant that I had walked until I literally couldn’t walk any further. It was something I didn’t realize I needed to do until the day before, when I saw the ocean. Not only was I walking to the ocean, but I was going to walk into the ocean. My final Camino steps.

I popped out of the water, sputtering. Sonal and Emma were on the shoreline cheering, and then just as quickly as I went into the water, I ran back out. Too cold! I dried myself off as best as I could with my super absorbant, super small REI towel that didn’t even fit around my waist, and then sat on the sand and watched as Emma swam in the water. And then, as if timed just for us, clouds rolled back in and the sun disappeared.

We headed back to the albergue and showered. While the others rested I took my journal and headed out to a bar around the corner, where I ordered a cafe cortado (an espresso shot with a dollop of milk, it was my first of the trip and I think it will be my afternoon coffee drink if I ever make it back to Spain), sat outside, and wrote all of my thoughts about the last day.

I’d told the others I would meet them back at the albergue at 7:30, and that I would pick up some food that we could take up to the lighthouse. I stopped by a small supermercado, picking up two baguettes, a bar of dark chocolate, a bag of potato chips, three peaches, and two bottles of wine. When I met up with Sonal and Emma they nervously asked about the wine I bought (in only a few days with them I’d earned the reputation of being frugal- why buy a 6 euro bottle of wine when you can get a perfectly good one for 2 euro?). But on this night I splurged: 12 euros for a bottle!

I loaded up my pack with all of the food and wine, plus most of my other things. Even though I’d taken my ‘last steps’ when I ran into the ocean, we had another two kilometer walk up to the lighthouse. I still wanted to feel like a pilgrim. So with my walking stick in hand, we set off, climbing on the path that ran alongside the road, walking through fog and mist and thick, heavy clouds.

Every five minutes or so we would turn to each other and say, “We’re going to see a sunset.” Doubtful, dubious looks on our faces, but we kept repeating those words. “We’re going to see a sunset.”

Closer and closer and then we were there, at the 0.00 kilometer marker. We posed for more photos, nothing but thick clouds behind us where there should have been an ocean. The lighthouse was just ahead, and around the corner we’d find the rocks where pilgrims set up to watch the sunset.

I looked to the others one last time. “We’re going to see a sunset.”

We walked past the lighthouse, Emma anxiously climbing the stone steps up the side of the rocks. I looked at her face when she got to the top and she was beaming. Sonal and I arrived behind her, and there, out across the ocean, was the sun. It was straddled by thick lines of clouds, but it was there, a band of glowing, orange light spreading out over the water.

We settled on the rocks and opened the 12 euro bottle of wine, poured it into small plastic cups and stretched our hands out to toast, everything illuminated by the golden light. We broke our bread and talked about the Camino: about our experiences, the things we learned and the things we would take away from the journey. And then, as the sun began to dip down towards the horizon, we became quiet.

At first so much ran through my mind: my first, nervous steps out of St Jean Pied de Port. Those beginning days of walking, the people I had met, the friends I’d said goodbye to. The wonderful moments and the harder moments. Arriving in Santiago. It was all spinning around in my head and then it stopped, and all I thought about was something Rudy from Chicago said to me, about three weeks before. We’d just sat down to dinner in San Nicolas, and I swept my hand around the church. “Can you believe this?” I asked him. “How did we get so lucky? To sit here, in this amazing place, with these beautiful people, to eat an incredible meal. Why do we get to do this? Why do we get to be here?”

Rudy’s face was beaming and he nodded as I spoke. Then he tilted his head back and looked upwards, up to the heavens. “All you can do,” he said, “is be thankful.”

I sat there on the rocky cliff at the edge of the world, watching the sun set over the ocean. Lower and lower and just as the last sliver of sun disappeared, I smiled.

“Thank you.”