blisters Archives - Nadine Walks

Camino Frances vs Camino del Norte: which is “better”?

September 9, 2015

“Which Camino did you like better- the Frances or the Norte?”

It’s a question I started to get a lot as this year’s Camino was ending, and oh boy, what a question. But people want to know, they want to know how these Caminos compare to each other, which I liked better, what I preferred about each of them, how they are different.

And it was too difficult to figure out an easy way to answer. Eventually, I began to answer like this- “I’m so glad that I walked the Frances first.”

But I don’t think that’s much of an answer at all. How can I compare? Both Caminos were wonderful, and in very different ways. I’m not sure that I would have loved each as much had I not done them in the order I did (and I wonder how the timing would have affected my experience, had I let more time go by in between the two walks).

This is how I look at these two Caminos: it was all, actually, just one big pilgrimage. When I arrived in Santiago at the end of the Camino Frances, all I could think was that I wanted to keep walking. I wanted to walk for at least another month, for another 500-miles. I felt like I was just beginning to reach deeper into the experience of my pilgrimage, just starting to identify the lessons that the journey was showing me, just starting to practice some things that I suspected I’ve long needed to practice. I felt like I needed to go back.

The Camino Frances, for me, was sort of like the guidebook for how to do a pilgrimage. It was the start, it’s what I needed to do first. It showed me a little (sometimes a lot) of everything: a physical challenge, social interaction, time alone, art and culture, religion and history. I was thrown into it all, and I sort of waltzed through: this dizzying, swirling, laughing dance down a long trail. I moved through the Frances with so much energy, and overall I felt like I had incredible good luck- a charmed experience, in a way.

But the meat of my pilgrimage? I think I got that this summer, on the Norte and Primitivo. I certainly got bits and pieces of it on the Frances, but it was almost like I needed the lessons of the Frances in order to be able to practice them on the Norte. And that experience- feeling like I was able to quickly settle into a ‘meaty’ pilgrimage and have hundreds of miles to walk and think and face challenging situations and practice being strong and independent- that made my 2nd Camino beautiful. It made it so, so special to me, in a different way than the Frances was special. I felt like I shared the Camino Frances with a hundred other friends; I felt like the Norte and Primitivo were all for me.

However, had I started with the Norte, I think I would have had a completely different kind of experience. I’m certain that I would have loved the scenery and the walks along the coast. I would have loved the interactions with other pilgrims. And if I had signed up for this Camino thing in order to have a long walk- a trek across a country- the Norte would have satisfied that expectation completely.

But I decided to do the Camino for a little more than that. I wanted the spiritual journey as much as I wanted to trek across a country, and in some ways, I think I needed to walk the Frances first. The Frances is the Camino, and I could feel the mystique surrounding it: words like ‘magic’ and ‘aura’ and ‘fate’ and ‘angels’ kept popping up. So many people connected to and noticed the magic of the Camino, and the more we talked about it, the more we experienced it. Every day had this energy to it, this feeling that anything was possible, anything could happen. It was a spiritual journey for me: I stopped in churches, I said little prayers, I thought a lot about what it would mean to arrive in Santiago.

The Norte and the Primitivo were somehow more… real. Immediate. Grittier. Dirtier. More painful. I felt like I was trekking, in a different way than I did the year before. My friend Elissa and I noticed this instantly, after the first few days of walking. “This is not the Camino Frances,” we said to each other. While on the Frances I had gone to bed thinking, “What magic will await me tomorrow?”, on the Norte, my bedtime thoughts were either, “Will my blister feel better tomorrow?” or “When will the walking start to feel easier?”

This was a true physical journey for me, with rain and blisters and very long days of walking. And it was an isolated journey- I walked alone and stayed alone for so much of the Camino. I treasured this time, especially the entire days when I wouldn’t encounter a single other pilgrim. It made the pilgrimage feel like mine- it made it both more beautiful, and more challenging.

But after saying all of this, I understand that everyone’s experience is so unique: many, many people get into the meaty stuff of the pilgrimage on the Frances. In the end, I think I needed a good, solid 1,000 miles for the pilgrimage experience I’d hoped to have, but for many, 500-miles is more than enough. 100-miles is more than enough.

So to answer which I liked better- the Frances or the Norte? I don’t have an answer, not a real one. And they are so difficult to compare, but I will say this: both were incredibly beautiful. I just spent a minute looking through my photos from my walk out of St Jean Pied de Port and through the Pyrenees, and I marveled, all over again, and how majestic that day was. And then I look through some of those coastal shots I took on the Norte. Is one route more beautiful than the other? Is one route better than the other? They are impossible to compare.

For others who have walked multiple Caminos- what are your thoughts? The Frances or the Norte? Do others ask you which route you preferred? Do you prefer one route to another?

Next Post: Writing, Hiking, and Dreaming

Walking without pain!; Day 9 on the Camino del Norte, Islares to Santona

June 29, 2015

Last night ended beautifully. I walked back to the albergue and saw Christine and the “French mom” sitting outside (I’d briefly met this woman earlier in the afternoon, she is walking short days with her 12-year old son). They invited me over and Christine poured me a glass of wine. We talked for awhile (in French! I think I’ve mentioned it already, but lets say it one more time: I’m doing a whole lot of French speaking here. There are tons of French pilgrims, and even though a lot of them know English, it’s just easier for me to speak with them in French. I can already tell that my French has improved in this past week, and the French mom complimented me on my accent. “It is very good for an American!”).

The two Austrian men walked over to join our group and the five of us sat outside, drinking wine and beer and whiskey (those Austrians sure do have a stock of alcohol with them!), blustering through the conversation with a mix of languages. Herman began talking about the Camino and how it was a chance to live, to really live life.

“Do you know my memory from today?” he asked us. He looked at me. “It is of you, standing far away on a beach, looking out to the sea. I saw you and I thought, ‘She is so happy.’ And that is the Camino, being in these moments.”

I went to bed with these thoughts in my head, that I wanted to take all the beautiful moments and try to live them as fully as I can while I’m here. Even the not so beautiful moments- the pain and the fatigue, even the loneliness- I want to really feel it all.

And on today’s walk I think I did. I started walking with the Austrians but eventually left them when I chose the longer route to Laredo. They stuck to the highway, cutting off about 6 kilometers from the day (but needing to do mostly road walking).

As usual, I was so happy to be off on my own. And boy, was I alone! After 16 kilometers I ran into a few pilgrims in the first town with a bar, but otherwise hardly saw a soul. I would walk for long, long stretches without seeing a single person, and it was beautiful. Parts of my walk were tough, since I was again climbing through the mountains, but it wasn’t as bad as other days. And the views were so beautiful… I sound like a broken record with this, but I’m not sure what else to say. I continue to be amazed that I get to be here and that I get to see the things that I do.

But as ever, the last hour of my walk was pretty awful. I lost the Camino as I was going through Pobena, but I just stuck to the promenade along the beach and knew that I would join up with the Camino eventually. But the promenade went on forever. Forever. It was endless. And hot and there was no shade and my foot, which had been feeling really, really good all day (it’s amazing how wonderful it is to walk without pain!), was starting to maybe redevelop its blister. Finally I got to the very end of the peninsula and took a ferry over to Santona. I knew that Christine would be there, and Annalisa too (an Italian woman I’ve gotten to know a bit over the past few days). I ran into them and a few others just in front of the albergue: they had all taken the short route and had been in town for a few hours, finishing up the last bits of a meal in the square.

But I don’t regret taking the long road today, it was incredible. The albergue is pretty great, too: La Bilbaina, a private one right in a busy and beautiful square in the city. Right now there are 7 of us: the 6 others arrived together and are all in one room, and I’m in a separate room. Fingers crossed that no one else shows up and I get it to myself!

I’ve found some quiet time for myself in a bar next to the albergue, and soon I’ll head back to look for the others any maybe scrounge up something to eat.

Day 9: a good, solid, Camino day. Beautiful walking, a bustling beach town, a comfortable albergue.

Previous Post: Day 8 on the Camino del Norte

Next Post: Day 10 on the Camino del Norte

Drinks on a beach with Austrians; Day 8 on the Camino del Norte, Pobena to Islares

June 28, 2015

I’m sitting at a table outside of a bar in Islares. It’s a weird place- not really a town at all, just a few long streets of houses, a big camping area, a few bars/restaurants and then a small beach. It’s basic and rustic, very down to earth and almost a little gritty. But it’s okay, it’s good, actually, and this continues the trend of every day being very different here.

The albergue is small, with 16 beds and an area in the back full of tents, where overflow pilgrims can camp. Thank goodness I was the 5th one here- I’m not against camping if I have to, and I love that some albergues provide this option, but I like having a mattress to sleep on.

And speaking of mattresses to sleep on… it’s finally happened. I’m on the top bunk of a tier of three. A triple bunk bed! I immediately jumped at the chance to take the very top bunk. I took one by a window, and once I climbed up and looked out, I realized that I had a view of the sea. So even though the albergue is… basic… (one shower, we wash our clothes in the bathroom sink), I like my sleeping situation.

A few minutes ago I was writing in my journal, and the guy at the table across from me called over. “Are you writing a book?” he asked. I think he’s a local, I’m not sure. In any case, I remember being asked this last year, too, when I was writing at San Nicolas. I can’t remember how I answered then, but this time I said, “Maybe. But right now I’m just writing in my journal.”

The guy nodded, and then a minute later said, “This is how Ernest Hemingway started.”

I liked that he said this- last year I felt sort of connected to Hemingway after passing through Zubiri and Pamplona. Later in the year when I was in Venice, I tracked down a cafe where he used to write. Spending all of this time in Europe, lately, makes me think a little of the expat artists who spent time here: to be inspired, to write, to paint.

And man, is this area inspiring. On my walk this morning I passed through Onton (I think), and it was just this winding street with old houses and overflowing gardens. Just before the houses I had stopped by a small “beach”, but really just this rocky little inlet. I walked around it for a few minutes collecting tiny pieces of green sea glass, and the area was deserted except for one man who passed by me, dragging a kayak.

Later, when I walked up through the streets, an old woman had just pulled leaves of lettuce from her garden. Her arms were full of vegetables as she was slowly walking back to her house, and when I passed she wished me a ‘Buen Camino’. Then she began speaking, in Spanish, giving me directions for the Camino. From what I could understand, there were two different ways I could walk, and she was trying to tell me which route was better.

As I walked away I thought about what it could be like to stay there, just for a month: if there could be a spare room in one of the houses, where I could spend my days writing and sitting on that little beach, kayaking around the water. I saw a food truck stopping by the homes, to deliver groceries. Maybe a fresh loaf of bread could be delivered to my door every day.

So those were a few of my thoughts as I walked today. I loved so much of the walk: right along the coast, winding around curves and bends, staying close to the water. There were a few pilgrims ahead of me and one behind me, but we were so far spaced out that I felt very alone. It was a good morning walk.

I passed by a second beach today, this one was a little larger but at 10:30, only a few people were out. I walked over the stones and down to the sand, where I took off my backpack and peeled off my socks and shoes. Two Austrian pilgrims were just behind me, and when they saw that I was taking off my shoes to walk in the water, they did the same. They took a photo of me and I took a photo of them, and then later, when we were drying off our feet we talked about where we were from and how many days we had been walking.

They were continuing on to Islares, and I told them about the blister on the bottom of my foot and wanting to walk further, but most likely needing to do a short day. They nodded in sympathy, and then went off to retrieve their packs.

Just as I was about to leave, one of them came over. “My name is Herman,” he said, “and here is something for the pain.” He held out his hand, in it was the cap of a bottle, filled with a clear liquid. In his other hand was the bottle, a flask of alcohol. He was offering me a shot.

I laughed and accepted the drink, and the other Austrian pulled out his camera to take a photo of me with the drink. I held the cap up high and then swallowed the liquid quickly, hoping it would spread through me and down to my feet, where it could work it’s magic and heal my blister.

My blister hurt throughout the day, but here’s what I do know: that drink helped. It was one moment- out of a dozen moments- of kindness and generosity. I’d taken a shot of alcohol from two Austrians on some tiny beach on the north coast of Spain. Just over a week ago, this kind of situation was so, so far out of my reality. But here, things like this can happen all the time. It still amazes me how kind and open people are: Christine gave me her bottle of foot cream last night, Nicole gave me an extra needle and thread (for that blister, iiieeee!), Annalisa gave me half of her banana at breakfast this morning. And the Austrians gave me that drink.

Last night and for so much of the day today, I felt the Camino. I felt it so strongly: recognizing pilgrims in Castro-Urdiales (the big town before Islares), going over and sitting with them and having a coffee, talking about making a meal together in the albergue tonight, planning out stages and talking about blisters. Walking alone, walking a bit with Christine, feeling comfortable here, finally settled into the routine.

I didn’t do my small day after all; I totally missed the albergue I wanted to stay in, I was in Castro-Urdiales before I knew it, and decided to just push on another few kilometers to Islares.

I still haven’t seen my other friends, my “Camino famly”- Iria and Richard and Amy and Misako. I think they are probably at least a day behind me, and while I wish they could be here, now, I also see the beauty in this: a town behind, a town ahead, the town I’m in: I know people in all of these places. I think I can always find time alone, but I also know that my friends are all around me. And if I stop in a place where I don’t know anyone, I will make a new friend. I really felt the community of the Camino today- last night and today- and it’s made me so happy.

So, that’s Day 8, the start of my second week on the Camino del Norte. A big blister (which I doctored up this afternoon so hopefully it will be better tomorrow), lots of community and friendship and kindness. And beaches! It’s good to be back on the coast.

Previous Post: Day 7 on the Camino del Norte

Next Post: Day 9 on the Camino del Norte

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.

Previous Post: Day 6 on the Camino del Norte

Next Post: Day 8 on the Camino del Norte

Alone in a bar, together in an albergue; Day 6 on the Camino del Norte, Albergue Eskirika to Bilbao

June 27, 2015

Well, today made me miss the Camino Frances, and all of the great information about that route. I’m using the Cicerone guidebook, and while it’s helpful in some ways, it’s lacking in others. For instance, this whole Bilbao thing.

I’m at the albergue in “Bilbao”, but really it’s this old building up on a hill in a rundown area far away from the city. Well, maybe not that far, but it’s definitely on the outskirts and there’s not much around. It’s not even open yet, so I left my pack there with some other pilgrims who were waiting and I made my way to a small bar to sit inside and have something cold to drink.

Here was my plan: my albergue last night was about 25 kilometers from Bilbao, so I planned to walk to the city, maybe eat a real lunch in a restaurant, walk around the city in the evening. I knew that the albergue wasn’t in the city center, but I underestimated just how big Bilbao is. The route I took through the city bypassed the historic region, so I didn’t even see anything too great. I kept walking kilometer after kilometer, passing by nice bars and restaurants (and other not so nice bars and restaurants), hoping the albergue would be close. Eventually I noticed some other pilgrims and I said hi, and asked if they were headed to the albergue. They were, so I walked with them, grateful for some company after navigating the complicated waymarking in the city.

We climbed up and up and the area was becoming pretty sparse, and I started to worry about my plan of checking into the albergue and then finding some food. When the others told me the albergue didn’t open until 3, I almost turned around. But the walk had already been so long, it was so hot, the blister on the bottom of my foot was making my every step painful. So I continued on, we reached a clearing that looked out over the city and I realized just how far from the center I was. Far.

What poor planning today. I’d eaten just about all of my food last night and on the walk today, and I’m not really sure what the food options might be like at this albergue. Judging from the outside of the building, it doesn’t look good. But one of the women said that they might cook a meal there, so we’ll see. Otherwise, I have a loaf of bread and some chorizo that I picked up in a tiny shop nearby. (That, along with Maria biscuits and gummy bears, will make a fine enough dinner).

The others waiting there are all Spaniards, they met each other in Irun and have been sticking together for the last week. They started one day ahead of me, so at some point I think I got a bit ahead. The girl said they had become a family, and feeling a little sorry for myself I began to wish that I hadn’t separated from my own friends.

But I’m reminded of something I learned on last year’s Camino. It’s just one day, just one night. The beauty of this is that tomorrow I can move on. And I should end up in a town near the coast tomorrow night, and maybe- hopefully- it will be better than where I am now. Maybe people I know will be there, maybe it will be beautiful, maybe I will have a sit-down meal in a restaurant.

So this Camino continues to throw me some curveballs, some unexpected situations.

(A few days later)…

I wrote that part of the post in the run-down bar near the albergue on the outskirts of Bilbao. At the time, I was feeling kind of down about how the day had been working out, but by the end of the night I was amazed at how, once again, the Camino managed to come through. And how I need to practice letting go of expectations for this pilgrimage.

Christine, the French woman, showed up a few hours after me, and we took the bus back down into Bilbao. It was a quick trip because we had to be back up at the albergue by 8:00 for a communal meal. We walked around the city center and did a quick tour of the cathedral, I bought a few postcards, we stopped by a shop for some fruit.

And then once we made it back to the albergue, we saw a bunch of people we’d met at the monastery. I started talking to a girl named Nicole, from Austria, and eventually we all sat down to one of my favorite meal experiences on the Camino. The albergue is donativo, and what one day’s pilgrims donate is used to cover costs of the meal for the next day’s group.

There were large platters of salad: lettuce, onions, tomatoes, cucumbers, peppers, tuna. Then garlic soup (sopa de ajo), melon for dessert, bread, wine, beer. There was so much food and so much laughter; a dozen different times someone stood and raised a glass and we toasted. There was singing and different languages shouted across the table.

I went to bed thinking about how different my experience turned out to be, how unlike what I expected when I arrived at the albergue. It reminds me to keep an open mind on this trip, to not judge a place- a town or an albergue- by how it might initially appear, to not write off an experience because I don’t know anyone.

Day 6 was a slog into the city, some low spirits and feeling a bit lonely, but then a surprising end to the evening with so much good food and good company.

Previous Post: Day 5 on the Camino del Norte

Next Post: Day 7 on the Camino del Norte

First training “hikes” and first blisters

March 14, 2014

Last weekend I hopped in my car and drove out to a nearby state park to do some hiking. The weather was mild and sunny- it was the first warm air I’d felt in what seemed like years (this has been such a long, cold winter). I was excited to be outside and to get on a trail, and to actually begin my training.

I’ve been to this park many times before, and I know its trails inside and out. There are four ‘wooded’ trails that provide about 13 miles of hiking, and a 5-mile paved “multi-use” trail that loops around in a circle. In the past I’d always hiked the trails that run through the woods: there are several hills, and few people hike them, which I like. I never really measure my distance when I hike (though this is about to change), but I’d guess that I typically hike 4-6 miles.

I got to the park and realized that the trails are almost completely covered with snow. Of course. If I were walking the Camino at a different time of the year, I might have considered hiking through the snow, but since I’ll be in Spain during June & July, there’s no need for me to attempt to snow-shoe it through the park.

I was bummed, at first, but then realized that I could walk the multi-use trail instead. It’s a paved trail, and that’s probably a good thing; a portion of the Camino (I’m not sure how much… 1/3 of it?) is on paved roads, and it’s probably good experience for my ‘training’ to include all types of surfaces.

So, I walked. I’ve been out to the park multiple times in the last week, walking 5 miles, 9 miles, 6 miles, 7 miles. My feet hurt, a bit, but by the next day they usually feel better.

And then there are the blisters.

I have a few, and they’re not bad. If anything, I was sort of glad to see them (probably the last time in my life that I will say something like that). I don’t have the shoes I’ll be taking on the Camino yet, so these blisters don’t tell me too much… and yet, it’s a good reality check. If I’m not careful with my feet, I will get blisters on the Camino. Once I get my Camino shoes, I’ll hopefully be able to figure out where the problem spots on my feet are going to be. In the meantime, I’m getting some practice treating blisters/practicing better prevention.

So as I sit here, early on a Friday morning, drinking some coffee before heading into work, I’ve got a couple small blisters on my toes and a dull ache in my legs. But I don’t mind. Signs of things to come.