Nadine Walks

stories of trekking and travel

The Last Bad Day; Day 3 on the Camino Del Norte (Cadavedo to Luarca, 15km)

I’m now several days behind on posting, so because I know what happens in the next few days and you don’t, yet, I’ll give you just this little preview: things get better. I say that because this is going to be another sort of downer of a post. And before anyone starts thinking that I’m having a no-good, horrible, unfortunate Camino, have no fear. Things start looking up, and soon.

But lets go back to Day 3 of the Norte. In the comments of my last post (thank you, by the way; your words of understanding and encouragement were such a needed booster), a few Camino friends urged me to stop in Luarca. A charming port town only fifteen kilometers from Cadavedo, it would make for an easy day giving me plenty of time to rest and explore and eat ice cream.

Oh, Camino.

The day started out overcast, and a light rain began to fall around 9am. It was just enough to be a nuicance, but by the time I got to Luarca it was falling heavier and I was a wet pilgrim mess when I entered a warm and cozy looking bar. But, no matter: the walk still hadn’t felt easy (my pack continued to feel heavy and my legs like lead, my sickness was zapping all my energy), but it hadn’t been long. I ordered a cafe con leche and orange juice and settled into a table. It was eleven thirty, the albergue would open at noon, I was in no hurry. The day’s walk was done.

But then I heard the urgent tone of a frantic pilgrim. “The albergue is already full. People have called ahead and reserved.” He was talking to two pilgrims at another table, and they, too, had looks of panic on their faces. “And everything else is booked in this town,” he continued. “You can try the albergue and see if they have suggestions, or maybe the information center in town.”

I sat back in my seat, feeling rather defeated. The last thing I wanted to do was scramble all over town, trying to find a place to sleep. The next albergue listed in the guidebook had closed, and the albergue after that was… far. And it was raining.

(A note on the shortage of beds: the best I can guess is that this is a bad stretch of the Norte for albergues. I’d run into this problem once last year, aroud Llanes, and had to stay in a pension. From what I’ve heard, there are currently a lot of pilgrims on the Norte, and to make matters worse, this is high tourist season, so it’s difficult to find a free bed in a hotel or pension. And when you do, often the prices are a lot highter than they’d normally be).

So I went over to the pilgrims to talk over what I had just heard, but didn’t come up with any solutions (one of the pilgrims had injured his foot and proclaimed this to be “the worst day ever”). I went back to my table, and finished my drinks. For some reason- maybe I was just tired of things not working out- I wasn’t too worried. Because for as much as things didn’t seem to be working out well, I had a feeling that I’d figure out a plan. I was in a large town, I wasn’t isolated. I could always just take a bus or a train… somewhere. Further ahead on the Norte, or maybe just all the way to Finisterre where I could find a room and stay for a week and recuperate and write. That plan was starting to sound better and better.

I weaved my arms through the wet sleeves of my raincoat, hoisted my drippping pack onto my back, and headed back out. I made my way over to the albergue to see what the scene was like, and the only one around was a female pilgrim in a long, draping skirt. She called to me from across the street, “Albergue is full! But come over here, we’ll figure something out.”

Enter: my Camino angel. Beatrice, from Sweden. 

She has more energy than nearly every other person I’ve ever met, and I would find out later that she averages at least 40 km days on the Camino, always. She did the San Salvador in 3 days, the Primitivo in 8, the Frances in 23. Her “not walking” energy is high, too. We ducked into a hotel across the street, found out it was full, but used the shelter of their lobby to look for other options. She whipped through her guidebook, called a number, and in muddled Spanish managed to secure us a double room for 60 euros, coming out to 30 a piece. I’ve been spending a lot on this Camino with all the unexpected private rooms, but standing there in Luarca, all I could feel was relieved that I had a place to spend the night.

We spent the rest of the day together- luxurating under the powerful water pressure of our shower, wandering through town in the rain to find a place to eat, holing up in a cafe for tea and pastries. I was happy to have some long overdue company, but I was also exhausted, and it was hard to keep up with Beatrice. I should have just told her that I wanted to go back to the hotel and take a nap, but this was the first sustained human contact I’d had in awhile, and besides, I also needed to eat, and find a grocery store (and on the plus side of things, I realized that my appetite was slowly starting to return. I was craving a plate of calamari, and it felt good to be craving something other than orange juice or Sunny D or Fanta).


But I coughed all through the afternoon and the evening, and for as much as I wanted to be attentive to Beatrice and participate in the conversation, I knew I was only half there. It didn’t seem to matter though, and I was relieved for that, too. Beatrice just kept talking and telling me stories, and even though I was essentially sharing this day and this hotel room with a stranger, the Camino makes things like this easier. 

But I went to bed thinking that this Camino wasn’t much fun, not much fun at all. And the question that had been lingering for the past few days continued to burn through my thoughts: Should I stop doing this? Should I just stop walking?

Somewhere in Spain, Walking and Coughing; the first 2 days on the Camino Del Norte (Salinas to Cadavedo)

I’m sipping a cup of tea in the little kitchen of the albergue in Cadavedo right now; this albergue is old and worn, small and basic. The kitchen is a sink and some plates and utensils, but there’s also one of those things that heats up water, and several boxes of leftover tea. Perfect for me with this lingering cough. And with a long wooden table filling the room, the perfect space to catch up on some writing.

I’m two days into the Norte now (two walking days that is), so lets backtrack to where I was yesterday morning. I woke up in my hotel room in Oviedo, and I felt… still not great. But I didn’t want to sit still any longer and I figured I’d try to walk, just to see how it would go. There’s no way I have enough time to make it to Santiago- I did the San Salvador in 5 days and not 4, like I originally thought I would, and I lost a day due to being sick (plus I’m going to have an extra day in Scotland because of flight logistics, which took off yet another day off of my Camino-ing). So basically this means that I need to do some trimming, and I thought that the best place to begin would be at the beginning. My guidebook has this to say about the link between Oviedo and Aviles: “… this is not the most pleasant of walks- you’ve only just passed the industrial outskirts of Oviedo before joining the highway into Aviles…”. So yesterday morning I took a bus from Oviedo to Salinas, a small town about 7km past Aviles, and began walking from there. But before I could start walking, I was instantly stopped by two young Germans, sitting on a bench. “Do you speak English?” the girl asked me. She and her friend had gotten off track, and worried that they had lost the Camino.

I had just stepped off the bus and hadn’t quite figured out where I was yet, myself, but together we figured out the route. I let them walk ahead of me because almost right away, I could feel that walking was going to be a strain. Not as bad as the day into Oviedo, but I wasn’t feeling as good as I hoped. The day was sunny and bright- thank goodness no rain!- and while I knew I wasn’t far from the coast, unfortunately this day’s route didn’t allow for even a glimpse of the water. The day felt uneventful and long, though that was probably because I still wasn’t feeling well. Mostly I just wanted to arrive at my destination. I toyed with the idea of trying to find my own room again, knowing that getting good rest was still so important, plus I didn’t want to bother anyone with my coughing. But in the last few kilometers I didn’t really care if I had my own room or if I was in an albergue; once again, I just wanted to arrive.

And when I did arrive, to El Pito, where my guidebook promised there’d be an albergue and a couple pensiones, there was “no room at the inn”. The woman running the “albergue” (I’m not sure what it was, more like a hostal and it wasn’t just for pilgrims I don’t think, and it took reservations and it was sort of expensive), she wasn’t very helpful. She just sort of looked at me and said,  “sorry” and told me that I could just keep walking to the next town with an albergue, which was 12 kilometers away. At this point it was already after 4:00 and I wasn’t feeling well and the thought of another 12 kilometers just made me want to sit down. There was another pilgrim there- who had made a reservation- who tried to help me, and I was so grateful for it. She sort of bounded over to me, stuck out her hand and said, “I’m Marcia Jane, from Germany” and then we sat on the ground and looked through her phone for ideas of where I could stay. It was good to be in the company of another woman, and someone who was kind.

We didn’t find much, though both Marcia Jane and the owner of the hostal thought that I could give the camping sites a try. And I started to walk towards them- in the opposite direction of the Camino, under a still burning sun- I walked and walked and then thought, “What in the world am I doing? I don’t feel well, and I don’t even have a tent. I don’t want to do this.”

So I just decided to keep following the Camino. My guidebook said there was a hotel in another 2 kilometers, and when I arrived there, lo and behold I found an available room. Hurray!! This place was in the middle of nowhere, there was nothing else around, but I had a room and it had a bed and much like the day when I walked into Oviedo, I took a shower, washed my clothes, and then fell alseep.

Middle of Nowhere to Cadavedo

As I slept in that big hotel room in the middle of nowhere, Spain, I had strange dreams. Or maybe they weren’t so strange- I dreamt that I was back at my apartment, then back at my parents’ house for a few days. It was a little reprieve from the Camino, just a little time to rest up and figure out what to do. It’s what I had fallen asleep thinking about- if I continue to feel sick, if I continue to be isolated, do I want to keep going? And if not, where do I go, and what do I do?

I woke up this morning feeling as though something had shifted. I definitely wasn’t totally better, but I felt like I had a bit more energy, and that was definitely true as I walked. Not my normal Camino energy by any means, but I didn’t feel like I was dragging myself along quite as much.

It was a long day, 34 kilometers, but there weren’t many (or any!) options on places to stay until I arrived in Cadavedo. The walk was bookended by brillance- I walked just at the edge of gorgeous, secluded beaches, a sprinkling of sunlight falling through the tree branches, just enough to make everything feel like it was glowing.



But in between? It felt like 30 of the day’s kilometers were under a gray sky, on a narrow track that was advertised as the coastal route, but which stayed too far from the coast, and always up up up and then down down down. Then repeat. And repeat. And repeat. There’s beauty around me, I know there is, but it’s been harder for me to see it. Everything feels a little harder than it used to be.


This Camino feels different. I’m not even sure what I’m comparing it too- I wonder if it has anything to do with just starting in the middle, feeling as though I’ve been plucked down into something totally foreign and strange. Or that I haven’t figured out how to belong here yet, but since I’m here I have to just go, but I don’t really know what I’m doing. I see a few clusters of pilgrims throughout the day, and everyone smiles and greets each other, but I’m not part of anything or anyone. I don’t know these people, not yet. Many of them already know each other. Or maybe I’m still in the mindset of the San Salvador, where there were no other pilgrims, it was just me and the path and that was different, but ultimately, it was good.

In any case, when I arrived to Cadavedo, I was worried that the albergue would be full. It had taken me the full day to walk, and I arrived at 4:30 (which is a bit late in the day, especially when there are lots of pilgrims on the path). When I rounded the corner, following a sign for the albergue, the only building I saw looked old and faded and my first thought was, “Oh no, this albergue has closed.” Turns out, it’s just an old building. There were some young Spanish guys sitting out in the back and a woman washing her clothing in the yard, and when I went upstairs I saw a sign posted that the hospitalera would be back at 6:30, and to take a bed in the meantime.

There were several beds open (and the albergue never filled up) but despite being around other pilgrims, it was still a very quiet night. The Spanish guys kept to theselves, and there were only a few others. I chatted with Yoko, from Japan, and later with a girl from Madrid, but everyone mostly did their own thing.

Was it like this for me last year? I’m trying so hard to remember. Somehow this feels very different to me, but last year, there were definitely evenings when I felt rather alone, or when I shared an albergue with people I didn’t know. And besides, I’m not feeling well! Of course that throws everything off- the walking, the eating, my connections with others.

So, everyone, that’s the recap on the last two days. Definitely a different sort of Camino experience for me- one that’s more challenging, not quite as fun, not quite as carefree. At least for now. But you know, as I was walking today, I asked myself, “Would I rather be home?” And I think of the dreams I had last night, of how nice home would be, just for a few days. But only a few days, and then I would be restless, knowing that I had more of summer to be off exploring and having adventures.

These days are adventures- maybe not the sunny, laughing kind (fingers crossed those come soon), but they’re important adventures to me all the same.

To Summer, To Travel, To Time

The great summer trip of 2016 begins in less than a week, so I thought it was about time that I check back in here with an update. And the only update I really have has already been said: I leave in less than a week!

Does time seem to be moving fast for anyone else? Like, really really fast? Until only a few days ago I was convinced that it was still May, that I had over a month to plan and prepare for my trip, that the days are continuing to lengthen, that summer was still far off.

But all of a sudden it was summer, and work had ended for the year, and the only thing that was looming before me was my big trip. I should be used to this by now, it’s been my pattern for the last three years: work ends around the middle of June, and I promptly hop on a plane for Europe.

So why does it feel like this trip is still weeks and weeks away? Last year, on the first day of summer, I was doing this:

I’d already been walking on the Camino for a few days, life at home felt like it was another world away.

My trip begins a bit later than usual this year, maybe that’s part of it. Or maybe it’s just that life is speeding by so fast that I yearn to hit a pause button, and give myself some time to catch up.

But there’s no stopping time so here we go. I think that finally, in these last few days, I’ve accepted that summer is here. I’ve gone to a baseball game and drank a coke slushey and had a dish of ice cream and spent a day at the beach. I’ve stretched in the lounge chair on my porch with my feet in the sun and read a book that I was too busy to finish months ago. Two days ago I went on a 10-mile hike; tomorrow I’ll try for 12-miles. This is the most hiking I’ve done in a long, long time, and well, it’s about time.

And then next week, I’ll leave for Europe. My first stop is England, something I don’t think I even mentioned in my Summer 2016 blog post. It sort of got lost in the shuffle of my mind, and stayed lost until just a couple days ago. But- oh yeah!- I decided to fly into London because it’s been a solid 15 years since I’ve been there and I thought it could be nice to do something a little new.

This photo is from my last trip to England, all those years ago:

My friend reminded me that our original plan was to spend a few days in London, then head to Stonehenge. But in 2001, Stonehenge was closed for 5 1/2 weeks because of foot-and-mouth disease, so we went to Liverpool instead (and honestly, this was probably my vote all along… Long Live Ringo!).

It’s a bit crazy to think back to that trip- parts of it that feel like a lifetime ago, other parts that are so recent in my memory I could swear that I was just there. Wasn’t I just there? Leaving notes for our friends on scraps of paper at the hotel lobby because this was just before any of us had a cell phone; crossing the street at the wrong end of Abbey Road (and causing quite the pile up of traffic in order to get a photo); battling a cold on the train to London and the endless cups of tea to soothe my throat; noticing that a small magnolia tree was growing in the front yard of the house where George Harrison grew up.

These memories are creeping in because I finally sat down and planned some things for my three days in England. I focus on these details for a moment- there’s a Jane Austen Centre in Bath! I can finally make it to Stonehenge!- but then an email pulls me into another part of the trip. It’s from the writer’s retreat in southern France- our host has forwarded a suggested shopping list so that we’re not overwhelmed when we arrive and are whisked off to the grocery store. And then I think back to my time there three years ago, and how I was overwhelmed, and didn’t buy quite enough food. Will that happen again? What will the village be like- will it be just as I remembered, or will there be changes?

And what am I like, this time? Three years wasn’t all that long ago, and yet, I know that I am different. And certainly, I’m different than I was 15 years ago, on that first trip to London and Liverpool.

Different, and yet… still me. Always me.

There’s more, too: another Amazon package arrived at my door, it’s a guide to walking the West Highland Way. And then I need to push the days in England and the writer’s retreat from my mind, and focus on Scotland. Scotland! I know nothing about Scotland! Shouldn’t I learn something, shouldn’t I do some research? A friend warns me about the haggis, and I wonder if I will try it.

And then, finally, in the very back corner of my mind, I remember that I’m also walking a Camino. That I’m returning to Spain. I’ve barely given it any thought, because this is the thing that feels the most familiar, the most comfortable. Other than breaking in a new pair of shoes, I haven’t done much in preparation. I have all my gear, I know where I’m going; this is the thing that I don’t have to plan for.

But remember just two years ago? My fretting and my fear in the weeks before I left for Spain that first time? Wasn’t I just memorizing the Spanish words for ‘I’m allergic to nuts’ and wondering how, exactly, I was to go about hand-washing my clothing?

Ah, time. I still don’t know what to make of it, of how quickly life is streaming past, yet of how far I’ve seemed to travel in what feels like very fleeting moments. I know that in August, I’m going to be back here at my computer, in my apartment, marveling over how fast the summer just went by.

Of course I will. But I’m not at the end yet, I’m only at the very beginning. So, here’s to summer! May it be the best one yet.

Solo Travel on the Camino

The school year is ending and summer is approaching and that means I’ve been asked, a lot, about my summer plans. I find myself explaining to a whole crop of new people that I’m going to walk the Camino. “What’s the Camino?” they ask.

It’s always the first question.

And the second question, once I’ve explained that it’s a long walk across Spain, is invariably this: “Who are you going with?”

But I had a strange experience the other day: I was talking to a principal at one of the schools I work at, he was telling me that he and his wife and kids are doing a big cross-country road trip this summer. He asked me what my plans were, and I started like I normally do. “Well, I’m going to Europe, to do a thing called the Camino de Santiago.”

His eyes lit up. “The Way? Seriously?”

Turns out he knew all about it, and we got into a long conversation about the outdoors and hiking and the beauty of moving yourself across a great distance.

But it wasn’t until I was driving home from work that I figured out what really struck me about the conversation, more than the fact that he actually knew what the Camino was. He didn’t ask one question about who I was going with, if I was doing it alone. It hadn’t even seemed to matter.

And I really loved that. I get why people want to know if I’m going alone or not, but sometimes I get a little tired of all the explaining I have to do. Like, “It’s actually really safe, you meet loads of other people, there’s always someone walking nearby.” Even with these explanations, people still sometimes give me a look. They’re confused, they feel sorry for me, they look at me as if I’m a bit strange for wanting to do something like this alone.

But after two 500-mile treks across Spain over these last couple of summers, I have to say, I’m beginning to think it would be difficult to walk with someone.

There are lots of benefits, certainly, to have a walking partner, or a small group to go with. Even I have to admit that sometimes, I’m a little envious of the friends that come to the Camino together. I’ll pass them, sitting tight around a table at lunchtime, bottles of wine and beer and baskets of bread and they’re laughing and joking. They get to share this great experience with someone who knows them really well. I think that would be a cool thing to do. And sometimes- even in a crowd (most especially in a crowd, perhaps)- the Camino can feel lonely. There were a few nights on my Norte last summer when I envied the pilgrims who never, ever had to worry about eating dinner alone, who always had a companion with them.

And there’s the safety issue, too. To be honest, I very, very rarely felt unsafe on either of my treks across Spain. Nervous, sometimes, when a dog barked loudly. Anxious when I hadn’t seen a yellow arrow for a long time. But never unsafe. That’s not to say that bad things can’t happen on the Camino, and as always (and especially as a woman), I needed to keep my wits about me, to be observant and aware, to do my best to not put myself in a compromising situation. And I continue to do that, any time I travel.

But these points aside, I really love my solo-Camino time. In some ways, it feels like one of the most special things I can give to myself at this time in my life, and I know how lucky I am that I can spend a month being totally and completely selfish. I walk when I want to walk, I stop when I want to stop, I can walk a 50+ kilometer day and I don’t have to try to convince anyone to do the same.

A solo-Camino might not be for everyone, but I think it’s a wonderful experience to have. Two summers ago, when I started walking away from St Jean Pied de Port, I was so scared. I’d barely slept the night before, I froze in my bunk because I was too nervous to get up to close the window because I thought I would disturb the person sleeping beneath me, the clothes I’d washed hadn’t dried, I wasn’t even really sure how to get out of the town and onto the path of the Camino. But then I started walking, and that first day still goes down as my absolute favorite Camino walk. It’s hard to describe the sense of achievement, bravery, energy, love, peace, pride, solidity that I felt as I moved myself across a mountain. Others who had come alone were already pairing off, walking in groups, finding their “Camino Families”, braving the Pyrenees together.

I walked alone.

I eventually made friends, and there were times- especially on the Camino Frances- when I felt like I wasn’t as alone as I would have liked. But here was the beauty of coming into this experience myself: at any time, whenever I wanted, I could separate myself. I could walk with others, I could walk alone. I could take a rest day, I could walk a great distance, I could eat french fries for twelve days in a row and no one had any idea.

And it wasn’t just being alone whenever I wanted, it was the ability to be with others. I still think that a solo-pilgrim on the Camino attracts others in a way that pilgrims in pairs or groups don’t. Many, many people approached me to say hi, to start a conversation, because I was alone. And I, in turn, approached others when I was feeling a bit alone. You’re going to meet people on the Camino regardless of whether you’re alone or in a group, but the opportunity for new friends increases, I think, when you’re solo.

People help you, too. They look out for you, they take care of you, when they know it’s just you (well, they help you if you’re in a group too- Camino angels help everyone). On the Frances, I had so many mothers and fathers out there. I even had a little sister and a little brother, and someone who reminded me of my own grandfather. People who asked me how I was doing whenever they saw me, asked if I was wearing my sunscreen, made sure I had a place to sleep, that I had enough to eat.

One time, on the Primitivo, a Spanish guy had been walking ahead of me. We’d left a cafe at the same time and he was fast, and soon he disappeared down the path. But a little later I saw him standing off to the side of the trail. He was waiting for me, and he explained that there was a large dog up ahead. “I didn’t want you to be afraid, so I waited for you, to help you pass,” he said. The same thing happened a few days later- a different guy, and this time, a cow.

I wish I could explain about all of this, when anyone seems concerned that I’m going off to Spain alone. I wish I could explain that I’m never really alone out there, that in fact, I think the Camino Frances is probably one of the safest places in the world for a female to travel solo. And I wish I could explain that going alone isn’t so bad, that actually, it’s quite wonderful. That sometimes it’s good to do things by ourselves, to learn what we’re capable of, to remember what we’re capable of.

I’ve got another Camino coming up- soon- and once again I’m going alone. One of these years I’d love to share this experience with someone, and I have no doubt that I will. But for now I’m solo, and I couldn’t be happier.

8 Things I Loved About the Camino del Norte

I’m going back for my third Camino this summer, but if we’re being technical about it, it will actually be my 4th. I walked the Camino Frances in the summer of 2014. In the summer of 2015, I walked two-thirds of the Camino del Norte and all of the Camino Primitivo. And this summer, I’ll finish the Norte and also tack on the small Camino del Salvador. Which makes four Caminos, in three summers. All in Spain.

There are other great Camino paths to walk in Spain, and beyond; the Le Puy route in France is #1 on my dream list, and I have a friend on the Camino Portuguese as we speak (and reports from the trail are stunning).

All this to say: if you want to walk a Camino, you have options. Lately, the Camino feels more popular than ever, but maybe that’s because it’s spring, and maybe because it’s been such a big part of my life for these past two years. I have lots of Camino friends, read lots of Camino blogs, am part of a Camino group in my area. So, it’s on my mind. But it sort of feels like people are flocking to the Camino, like it’s becoming more well known, that it’s become this ‘thing’ to do (then again, I could be totally wrong. Whenever I talk to someone about my summer plans, they stare at me blankly when I mention a pilgrimage in Spain).

In any case, popular or not, I’m here to write a post about the Camino del Norte, to talk about what I loved, and to give you some reasons to consider this route. A few disclaimers: first, this is not at all a comprehensive guide to walking the Norte. I’m undoubtedly leaving lots of things out. And this is also not meant to convince you to walk this route, or that any of this means that it’s the ‘best’ path to walk. Every person, every pilgrim is different, and no two roads are the same, either. And no two times on the same road are the same!

But, all that being said, I thought the Norte was pretty great. I’ve gotten a few emails from people who have stumbled across this blog, and they’re curious about the Norte. There’s a lot of information out there (the Camino forum is a great, great place to begin), but I thought it could be fun to highlight a few of my favorite things about this northern route across Spain. So here are 8 things I loved about the Camino del Norte.

1. It’s not crowded!

I have to start with this: the Norte is not crowded. At times, it feels rather isolated, like you’ve got the whole great thing all to yourself. I had a couple days when I didn’t encounter a single other pilgrim (though, keep in mind, I like walking alone and so would purposefully start before or after other pilgrims, or sometimes stay under the radar in towns/villages). But even if you walk with others, this path feels open, in a way that the Frances often didn’t. There’s a lot of quiet space to let your mind wander, and sometimes it’s amazing to feel like you’ve got the place to yourself.

Also, word from the pilgrim’s office in Santiago is that the Camino Frances is PACKED right now. The Pope declared 2016 a Year of Mercy, which doesn’t happen that often, and this means that there are many, many more people opting to take a pilgrimage this year. I’ve read reports that albergues are quickly filling up, that people are being forced to call ahead for reservations, that the crowds are unbelievable. Whether this is true or not is a bit up in the air; before my own Camino Frances in 2014 I read that summer was the worst time to go because it was sure to be crowded and I would have to race for a bed and that wasn’t my experience, at all (not until I got close to Santiago, but that was to be expected). But in any case, with more pilgrims on the Frances, the Norte could be a nice option for those seeking a quiet and contemplative pilgrimage to Santiago.

Path leading to the sea, Camino del Norte, Spain

2. Despite the uncrowded nature of the path, there is opportunity for great community.

I personally think the Norte has the best of both worlds: days of quiet walking, and evenings of pilgrim community. The Norte isn’t crowded, but it’s not completely empty, either. In 2015, it was the third most popular Camino route (behind the Frances and the Portuguese), walked by 6% of pilgrims who arrived in Santiago (compared to 65% on the Frances, 16% on the Portuguese). Six percent doesn’t sound like a lot, but here’s the thing- it’s just enough to feel like there’s a great community of pilgrims who are walking with you. Because there aren’t so many people, you tend to recognize the same faces over and over, you really get to know your group. On a few of my Norte evenings I was in an albergue with just a couple other people (and again, that’s because I was often doing my own thing), but mostly I was within a pilgrim community of a few dozen others who I either knew or recognized. For me, this was a perfect balance: quiet days of walking, evenings sitting around a table drinking wine with familiar faces.

Communal dinner on the Camino del Norte

3. That beautiful blue water (and beaches!)

Since the path of the Norte runs mostly along the northern coast of Spain, this means that there are days of walking next to or near the water. My heart would always sink a bit when the Camino path dipped down and away from the coast, but it went back enough to keep me satiated. Before I started my Camino I imagined that I would have multiple days of lounging on the beach after a long day’s walk, and while this wasn’t the case for me (lots of factors influenced this, including not bringing a bathing suit or beach towel), I walked on many stretches of sand, and knew of other pilgrims who spent time on the beach. But mostly, I just loved when the path of the Camino ran close to the coastline, sometimes even hugging the coastline. It was a special kind of beauty.

Hiking along the coast, Camino del Norte

4. The animals!

Was it just me, or were there many more horses and cows on this path than on the Frances? And not just like, “Oh look, there’s a cow off in the field,” but “Oh look, there’s a cow standing directly in my path, blocking the way.” Not just once, but many, many times. Horses, too, several of them, just sort of standing around as if they were waiting for me to pass by. Goats, too! At some point, I even began to say, “Hola la vache!”, a confusing jumble of Spanish and French but the cows didn’t care, they just blinked at me lazily and swatted their tails against the flies.

Baby cows on the Camino del Norte

5. The food!

I’m probably not the person to be talking to about how to eat well on the Norte, but the thing is, I know it’s very possible. Overall, I think there are just more opportunities for pilgrims to eat better on this route (compared to the Frances, in any case). The towns and villages along the way don’t really cater to pilgrims like the Frances does, and while this has its drawbacks, it also means that when you sit down in a restaurant, you’ll be eating what the Spaniards are eating (rather than the hunk of meat and mound of fries that often define the pilgrim’s menu). And in the north of Spain, this means lots of fresh seafood. I’m fairly easily satisfied when it comes to food, and often preferred to eat simply on my Camino (think: coffee, bread, cheese, fruit, ham, wine). But I also had some beautiful salads and salmon and calamari and things I don’t even know the name of but that tasted oh-so-good. If you’re a foodie and want to walk the Norte, do a little research, and I bet you can eat very, very well on this pilgrimage.

Menu del dia, Camino del Norte

6. The route, especially the beginning of it, is challenging.

So, this might be a drawback for some people, but it was an important part of my pilgrimage. Walking 500 miles is going to be difficult no matter how you do it, but after the Frances, I found that I wanted something that pushed me a little harder. And maybe it was because I responded to the physical challenge of the Frances in a way that surprised me: my favorite days were the difficult ones: over the Pyrenees, the alternate Dragonte route, my 40+ km day into Leon. So when I set out on the Norte, I welcomed the challenge. And boy oh boy, did those first two weeks challenge me. I walked with a huge blister on the bottom of my foot and the muscles in my legs groaned and I can’t count the number of times I stopped in the middle of a hill, looked up to the top, and muttered, “You’ve got to be kidding me.” Sometimes it just wasn’t fun, but the overall feeling I’m left with? I feel accomplished, and strong. And now I want to walk higher hills, I want to climb other mountains. The Norte helped me learn that I’m stronger than I think.

Climbing a hill on the Camino del Norte

7. Fun, alternate forms of transportation

On the Frances, I considered myself a bit of a Camino purist (a standard I tried to hold to myself, and myself only). As long as I was able to, I wanted to walk every single bit of it, and I did. But on the Norte, I think I was on a bus after the first day of walking. Not to skip a section of the path, but just to get me back into San Sebastian from the albergue which was on the outskirts of the city. I did the same thing in Bilboa, but it wasn’t just those little bus trips. The Norte is just full of strange transportation options to help you navigate the trail. You’ve got to take several short ferry rides, there’s a cable car, there’s an elevator, there’s even a moving sidewalk. Also, many pilgrims take a short train ride to bypass a rather risky section of the trail. Buses, trains, ferries, cable cars, elevators, moving sidewalks… this time, I used more than my feet to move me across Spain, and I was totally okay with that.

Ferry ride to Santader, Camino del Norte

8. An opportunity to practice my French

This is not going to apply to most people who walk the Norte, but for whatever reason, I was often surrounded by French pilgrims. Maybe the French are numerous on this route? Or maybe it was just when I was walking? But I often found myself in a group of French pilgrims, and this meant that I spoke more French than I have in probably the past 15 years, combined. It was a bit challenging, but it was also wonderful. I worked hard to learn a second language for a reason, and it was great to dust it off and to be able to communicate with pilgrims who couldn’t speak much English.

French pilgrims, Camino del Norte

Ahh, just writing this has me excited, all over again, to return to Spain for another Camino. What will walk #3 have in store for me? Hopefully all of the above, and much more.

Round Three.

Plans for Summer 2016 have been made! But here’s the truth- I’ve hesitated to talk about the long, long process of figuring out what I wanted to do and where I wanted to go. There are probably a few reasons, but none more than this: it feels a little ridiculous to spend so much time (publicly) fretting over how to spend my two months off. Because… I get two months off! Every year that I stay in the job I currently have, I am increasingly grateful that the work I do affords me time off in the summer. It’s a luxury that most people simply don’t get. I was pretty intentional about choosing this particular job in order to have the two months off, and like nearly everything in life there are trade-offs. But I still recognize how lucky I am, and for having this job at this particular time in my life: my family is healthy and I am healthy, I have no kids and no commitments or obligations that keep me state-side. And, for better or for worse, I have no partner to worry about. I can do exactly as I please.

It’s an amazing opportunity, but sometimes I feel a little self-conscious talking about yet another summer in Europe. But I work hard, and maybe never harder than I have this year. And for vast stretches of time during the 10 months of the year that I’m not traveling, my life is pretty simple. I have hermit-like tendencies. I am very, very careful about money; if I weren’t, I’d never be able to travel like I do.

Where am I going with this? I’m starting to ramble again. I’ve missed blogging, but as ever, it’s because my focus has been so wrapped up in writing this book. I’ve slipped just a bit from my weekly word-count goal in the past month, and I blame spring and sunshine and all those blooming trees out there. Makes it hard to get my butt in the chair. But here I am, with a simple and easy lemon cake in the oven and the last few fingers of wine in my glass and I am going to tell you about my summer plans, the ones I’ve worked hard for, the ones that I sometimes agonized over.

Here is my main problem this year: I want to do it all. I already wrote a bit about maybe buying a new car and driving across the country, I wrote a big list of travel goals that included Guatemala and writer’s retreats and long hikes. I want to do it all! (and don’t we all?) I tell myself not to think too big, that I can’t possibly do so much with only two months off, that I shouldn’t try to do it all, that there will be time for it all, one day.

But still, I couldn’t settle down or settle into a decision about this summer. I took the cross-country trip off the list, Guatemala too, but the other things were still up for grabs. I knew that I wanted to spend some of the summer focused on my book, so a writer’s retreat was high on the list. But- and if this comes as a surprise then you need to go back and read more of this blog, maybe from the beginning– I wanted to do another Camino. How could I go to Europe and not also go on a long walk?

I figured out a way to do both of these things, a very doable way to do a writer’s retreat and a Camino, and I thought that I should have been satisfied, that I immediately should have scooped up a flight. And, can we talk for a moment about flights? About the deals that I saw come and go? About the $500 round trip flight between Philly and Milan that pretty much worked with my schedule? Every day for over a week I checked to make sure that the deal was still there, until it wasn’t, and I never bought the flight.

Because something was holding me back. In the past few years, a little travel bug has nudged its way into my head and my chest and most certainly my legs and my feet, and I have a growing list of places to go, things to see, paths to walk. So while another writer’s retreat in France and another Camino in Spain would make me happy beyond belief, I still hesitated. I wanted something new, too.

All those thoughts of not trying to do it all, having time ‘one day’? One day is right now. I’ve been telling myself this for a long, long time, but it always bears repeating. One day is right now.

This isn’t leading up to anything epic or earth-shattering. I’m not quitting my job, the book is nowhere near finished, no radical changes (not yet anyway). But I’m going to try to do a lot this summer, a combination of things that seems just right, so right that now I certainly am happy beyond belief, at the thought of getting the chance to do it all.

There are three parts to Summer 2016. The first is another writer’s retreat, which takes me back to La Muse, the same place where I spent three weeks in 2013. When I was there the first time, I had that deep and knowing feeling that one day I’d return. But I also knew that in order to return, I’d need to be in a different creative place. That first trip was simply about learning to call myself an artist. I didn’t have a dedicated project to work on while I was there, I knew I loved to write and take photos but I’ve never really been serious about it before. So those three weeks in southern France were more about the experience of entering a different kind of world, a world where I could start to consider myself an artist, where I could learn what it takes for me to feel inspired and focused, to give me confidence moving forward.

And in the past three years, I’ve moved forward. Slowly, slowly, one small step at a time. I’m returning to La Muse as a writer, who is working on her book.  How great does it feel to say that? Pretty great.

During my last retreat I would spend a few hours a day writing, but otherwise I was out in the mountains that surrounded the small French village of Labastide-Esparbairenque. I took long hikes and hundreds of photos, and more than anything soaked up the inspiration and beauty of where I was. This time around, there will surely be more hikes (photos too), but I also have a big project to work on. I’m excited to see what kind of progress I can make on the book with three solid weeks to do nothing but write.

Terrace-La-Muse-Labastide-Esparbairenque-France

Terrace of La Muse, July 2013

 

The second part of my trip will most likely be another Camino. Nothing is set in stone yet, but that’s also the beauty of a Camino… nothing really needs to be decided until I arrive. I’ve gone back and forth dozens of times on this, too: if I walk another Camino, which one do I want to walk? Return to the Frances? A path in France? In Portugal? My thoughts ran in circles until finally I stumbled on something that felt just right. Start in Leon (a city about two-thirds of the way towards Santiago on the Camino Frances), and walk about 5 days on the San Salvador, a short Camino that extends south to north, from Leon to Oviedo. I passed through Oviedo last year, when I left the Norte to go down to the Primitivo. So now, I’ll make my way back up to Oviedo on the San Salvador, and from Oviedo will continue north up to the point of the Norte where I veered off last year. If the timing works out well, I should have a dozen or so days to finish the Norte and arrive in Santiago.

I’m sure that explanation was super confusing. Basically, all you need to know is this: I’ll have roughly 17 days to walk a Camino, I’ll be back in Spain, I will drink cafe con leches, and it will be beautiful.

Map of Camino del Norte

This map doesn’t show the San Salvador, but imagine a line extending from the Frances up to Oviedo. From Oviedo I’ll follow that dotted line to Aviles, and then continue on towards Santiago.

 

And finally, the third part of the trip gives me something brand new. My return flight to the states is out of Glasgow, Scotland, and I’m leaving about a week at the end of my trip to walk the West Highland Way, a popular long-distance footpath in the Scottish Highlands. This area of Scotland is rugged and remote (though the path itself could be crowded in August), there could be lots of rain, and there will definitely be lots of midges (small flying insects that will certainly be a pain). But what I’ve read and seen of this 96-mile route is nothing short of stunning. I’m only going to have 5-days to walk this path, and while it’s doable it’s also going to be challenging. But after a summer of hiking in southern France and walking a Camino, I hope that I’ll be in tip-top shape for the Highlands.

west highland way

Photo by Bart vanDorp  / CC BY

 

Big plans, exciting plans. Plans to do it all, at least all that I want for this moment in my life. And I can’t wait to share it all here.

My favorite albergues on the Camino del Norte

(Updated November 2019; I first walked a section of the Camino del Norte in 2015, then finished in 2016. Three years later I returned again and walked from Irun to Oviedo, and on this second go-around I discovered a few new favorite albergues. They’re included in the second half of this post!)

There’s so much to do when preparing for a Camino: researching and trying on and buying all of that gear. Backpacks! Shoes! Socks! Highly absorbent, quick-dry, micro-fiber towels! Purchasing flights, figuring out train tickets and bus schedules, devising a training plan, learning how to take care of blisters, learning how to tell your friends and family what you’re about to do.

Before I left for Spain to walk my first Camino- the Frances- there were dozens of things that I never got around to doing. I’d wanted to learn some Spanish, to take a closer look at my guidebook, to study some of the history of the regions I’d be walking through. And I also wanted to make lists of can’t miss highlights along the way: churches and art and restaurants and albergues.

As I read through Camino blogs and posts on the Camino forum, I’d occasionally see recommendations for great albergues. I’d make a mental note to come back and jot down the particulars, but it never happened. When I walked the Frances, I figured out where I’d stay as I arrived in a town or a village at the end of my walking day. Some albergues were great, some weren’t so great. Sometimes, I was really, really envious when I found out that a friend had stayed in a clean and quirky albergue with a fully stocked kitchen and rooms with only 6 bunks a piece. Meanwhile, I’d be just down the street in the same town in an albergue with 80 bunks in one room.

That’s part of the experience of the Camino though, and I developed a love/hate relationship with those, ahem, basic albergues. For me, it was part of being a pilgrim.

But before I left for my second Camino- on the Norte/Primitivo- I decided that I wanted to do a little albergue research before I left. So I dug around and asked former pilgrims for recommendations, and I left with a guidebook marked up with decent albergue possibilities.

There were albergue hits and misses on the Norte just like there were on the Frances, but I think I had a few more hits this time around. Since I’ve been home, several people have asked for my own recommendations, and I decided to put together a little list. It’s important to remember that, as with anything, a lot of an experience with a place is personal, and can be influenced by so many different things- the people you’re with, the mood you’re in, the weather that day, how much your feet hurt.

But I definitely had my favorites and here they are, my favorite albergues on the Camino del Norte!

Relaxing at Albergue Piedad, Boo de Piélagos

1. Albergue St Martin (just before the town of Orio)

This is where I stayed on my second night of the Camino del Norte. Stopping at this albergue after staying in San Sebastian the night before makes for a short second stage, but do yourself a favor and go easy on your feet at the beginning of your pilgrimage. This albergue is situated in the middle of truly majestic, rolling hills, has a wonderfully warm hospitalera, and a sloping green lawn with lounge chairs and tire swings. The bunks are tucked away into semi-private sections of a much larger room, and the showers are clean and spacious. A separate building sits out on the hillside, with a kitchen and a large dining space, as well as an outdoor table on the terrace.

For an additional cost, pilgrims have the option of a communal, home-cooked dinner. I’d already eaten a large lunch and had bought my own supplies for dinner, but I heard from other pilgrims that the meal was outstanding.

Tip: If you’re lucky, the hospitalera’s granddaughter will be around to give you a tour of the treehouse.

To Know Ahead of Time: This albergue sits at the top of a hill, just before the town of Orio. To get to the town, you need to walk an additional kilometer (that’s a guess) down steep streets. The town has several supermercados and restaurants, and if you continue walking, you’ll come to a small beach. But remember that you’ll need to walk several kilometers (uphill!) to get back to your albergue.

Albergue San Martin, Favorite albergues on the Camino del Norte

2. Albergue Eskerika

This was my hidden gem albergue. About 10km past Gernika, few pilgrims stay here or even know of its existence. It’s tucked away just off the Camino in a very rural area, and not much is around. But walk through the gate of the property and enter into a little paradise. The first floor of the albergue has a dining area and two private bathroom/shower combos. Upstairs is the spacious bunk area; from the wooden beamed ceiling to the shelving units by each bunk to the piles of spare blankets, the sleeping area was one of the most comfortable on my Camino.

But the best part of this albergue was the outdoor area: a covered, open-aired kitchen space, hammocks and lounge chairs, and a little dog named Lola who will gladly cuddle up on your lap. I felt so at peace and relaxed here, and it helped that there were only 6 of us here the night that I stayed.

Tip: Buy food in Gernika because there is no supermercado nearby; if you don’t have food, you can purchase basic items from the hospitalero (pasta, select fruit/veggies, canned fish). Beer and wine also available (though I believe the prices here are more expensive than what you can find at a supermercado or tienda).

Albergue Eskerika, Favorite albergues on the Camino del Norte

Albergue Eskerika, Favorite albergues on the Camino del Norte

What a beautiful spot to do laundry!

3. Guemes (La Cabana del Abuelo Peuto)

A lot has been written about this albergue in Camino forums, and for good reason: I’ve never stayed at another place remotely like it. It’s not just an albergue, it’s an entire “Camino of Life” compound: dozens of bunk rooms, a large dining space, circular rooms with cushioned benches, a library, a chapel, a wide lawn and lots of room to relax and reflect. There’s an agenda, here: a community meeting before a communal meal, and after the meal a talk in the chapel. We learned about the history of the albergue and the on-going purpose of the space; it was like a pilgrimage lecture that I hadn’t realized I’d signed up for. But it was also an incredibly unique experience, and I loved getting to sit around a room with 30 other pilgrims and laugh and learn and- later- eat a hearty meal and make new friends.

Tip: If the day is warm, find a quiet spot on the lawn and take a nap. Preferably with the resident dog.

Bonus tip: If you like bunk beds, go for the very top of the three-tiered bunk, a rarity on the Camino.

Guemes albergue, Favorite albergues on the Camino del Norte

napping at Guemes, favorite albergues on the Camino del Norte

Napping at Guemes

chapel at Guemes, Favorite albergues on the Camino del Norte

Chapel at Guemes

4. Santa Cruz de Bezana (Albergue La Santa Cruz)

This might have been, overall, my favorite albergue on the Norte. It helped that I loved the people staying there, and it helped that two of those people were content to drink wine and eat cheese with me for hours under an umbrella in the back yard. But whatever it was, Santa Cruz de Bezana was beautiful and charming and relaxing. The hospitalera, Nieves, was the most welcoming hostesses on the Camino- she and her family live in one half of the building, and the other half is the albergue. There’s a wonderfully stocked kitchen where Nieves prepares a home-cooked meal each evening, and with only 5 of us in the albergue, we gorged on tortilla and salad and goat cheese and bread and wine until we couldn’t eat another bite. Nieves spoke with us after dinner about the next day’s walk, and provided maps and options for a tricky section. I felt so safe and taken care of here, and it felt very much like a little oasis in an urban section of the Camino, on the outskirts of Santander.

Tip: The largest supermercado (that I found, anyway) on the Camino is just down the street from the albergue; stock up here for an afternoon picnic, or snacks for the next day’s walk.

To Know Ahead of Time: I thought this albergue was a little tricky to find. It’s around this section of the Camino that there are several alternate routes and my guidebook didn’t do a good job outlining them. My friend and I walked much further than we thought we needed to in order to find this albergue, and this included stopping a few times and asking for directions (no one seemed to know that this albergue even existed). And be warned, the albergue isn’t situated in the nicest area, but I swear it’s a like a small oasis when you step inside.

Details: Donativo, communal dinner, breakfast included.

Albergue La Santa Cruz, Favorite albergues on the Camino del NortePicnic at Albergue La Santa Cruz, Favorite albergues on the Camino del Norte

5. Pendueles (Albergue Aves de Paso)

I’m noticing a theme with my favorite albergues: communal meals and gracious and loving hosts. Pendueles is no exception, on either front: David greeted me warmly when I arrived, told me to put my dirty clothes in a basket and said he would have them washed and dried for me, then provided all the guests with an excellent dinner and a standard Camino breakfast the following morning. It might have helped that when I arrived at the albergue, I had just walked nearly 40 kilometers and was exhausted, and David was able to provide just about everything for me. All this tired pilgrim had to worry about was claiming a bed and taking a shower, and the rest was effortless. Note: the bunk room felt a little crowded and tight, but that’s a small price to pay for the hospitality.

Details: Donativo, communal dinner, breakfast and laundry (!!) included. Reservations accepted. Link for additional information.

(Update: I stayed here in 2019 as well, and I think this might be my very favorite albergue of the Norte. This year’s hospitalero was Javier but he seemed familiar, so maybe it was always Javier (which makes me wonder where I came up with the name David?). In any case, Javier was kind and gentle and funny and patient, and I marveled at how he hosts pilgrims, day after day after day, with such good humor and grace. He claims that he can only cook one meal (and that’s the meal that he serves every night for dinner), but it is an excellent vegetarian soup and pasta salad. He still washes everyone’s laundry- t-shirts, underwear and socks- and does it with a smile. The albergue just feels safe, like a little temporary home on the long road of the Camino. I’d stay here time and time again).

Albergue Aves de Paso, Favorite albergues on the Camino del Norte

And now, a few favorite albergues from my second time on the Norte, in 2019!

6. Albergue Izarbide (4km past Deba, typical 3rd or 4th stage of the Norte)

The typical ending stage of Day 3 on the Camino del Norte is Deba (where there is an albergue above the train station in town, which is pretty fun!). This year, I knew I wanted to continue a few kilometers past Deba to make the next day’s stage a bit shorter, and after 4km (some/a lot of it UP), I found Albergue Izarbide. This is a private albergue and accepts reservations, but with 32 beds it’s a decent size and even in the middle of a very crowded stretch this summer, the albergue didn’t completely fill up (almost, but not completely).

They offer a communal meal (for around 12 euros, I think), along with the option of ordering a packed breakfast for the next morning- to eat in the small kitchen or to take with you to-go. The cost of the albergue (in 2019) was 13 euros, so altogether this is a slightly more expensive Camino stay, but I think it’s worth it.

For starters, there’s a large field across the road from the albergue, with picnic tables and lounge chairs and a view out to the mountains. After I arrived, claimed my bed, showered and washed my clothes, I ordered a beer from the little bar and headed for a lounge chair, where I spent nearly two hours resting my feet, writing in my journal, and staring off into the rolling hills.

The communal dinner is fun and delicious: two long tables were set and we all crowded around to eat a colorful salad followed by a huge platter of roasted chicken and poblano peppers. I try to jump at the opportunity for communal albergue meals when on a Camino, and this one did not disappoint.

Details: Private, communal dinner available, packed breakfast available, washer and dryer (but also one of those spin dryers that you can use for free, that get SO much of the water out of your clothes. I love these!). Link for contact information.

view from Albergue Izarbide, Camino del Norte

7. Albergue de peregrinos del Monasterio de Zenarruza, Ziortza (7km past Markina, typically the 4th or 5th stage of the Norte)

I stayed at this monastery back in 2015, too, and at the time it didn’t quite make the cut of my top albergues. But this around I thought it deserved a mention, not least because I felt pulled to stay there again. If walking from Deba this is a long stage of about 32km (this time around it was 28km since the night before I’d stayed in Albergue Izarbide, past Deba), and the last few kilometers are up and up a long, ancient cobblestoned road that will have you cursing your decision to have kept walking. But the payoff is worth it, if you like quiet and beauty and peace. The monastery is tucked into the hills with nothing else around. The facilities are simple- this isn’t going to be the nicest shower of your walk- and while there’s a communal dinner, this is simple too. But the opportunity to stay in a monastery is a special one, and there’s a vespers service at 7:30 with a pilgrim blessing.

Another highlight is that the monks here brew their own beer, available for purchase in the tiny gift shop around the corner from the albergue. Look for a fridge tucked away in the corner, where you can choose from a variety of brews (they are differentiated by various letters on the label of the bottles, I have no idea what any of them meant, but sampled a few and they were all pretty good). A beer on a terrace at a monastery with a view of the mountains- that’s a little bit of Camino perfection if I’ve ever known it.

Beer brewed by the monks at the Albergue de Peregrinos del Monastery de Zenarruza, Camino del Norte

Beer, monk, laundry

Sunrise and coffee at Albergue de peregrines del Monastery de Zenarruza, Camino del Norte

Sunrise with morning coffee

8. Albergue Caserío Pozueta (5km past Gernika, typical 5th or 6th stage of the Norte)

Pozueta is about 5km past Gernika, and this albergue is the perfect option for pilgrims who might not want to stay in a city, or want to add several kilometers to the day’s stage. A further 3km on is the great Albergue Eskerika (number 2 on this list), and I’d planned to stay here a second time until I discovered it was unexpectedly closed for the day. I assumed I’d have to stay in the municipal albergue in Gernika instead, but when I arrived there and stood in a long line of pilgrims, I knew that I wanted something a little more peaceful. My Italian friends phoned me right around this point, telling me that they were going to make a reservation in a small private albergue about 5km away, and could they make a reservation for me, too?

I love serendipitous Camino moments like this. I continued walking and when I arrived at the albergue I knew I was in the right spot. A family lives on one side of the property, the albergue is on the other. The building is rambling and long, but inside the rooms are new and clean and the bathroom was one of the most modern I’d seen along the way. I was shown to my bunk by one of the boys of the family- he couldn’t have been more than 8 years old (kids always charm me on the Camino!)- and I was in a room with only two bunk beds that I shared with my Italian friends. There were puppies and chickens in the garden, lounge chairs under a large and shady tree, a fabulous communal meal (this is a private albergue; dinner and breakfast will cost extra but pilgrims can opt out of either or both), and wonderful and generous hosts.

Details: Private albergue, communal dinner and breakfast available for extra fee (28 euros for bed, dinner and breakfast in 2019). Link for additional information.

a puppy at albergue caserío pozueta, camino del norte

Tree in morning light at albergue caserio pozueta, camino del Norte

9. Albergue Piedad, Boo de Piélagos, between Santander and Santillana Del Mar

I’d chosen to walk a coastal alternative route from Santander (not an official Camino route, but navigation wasn’t too difficult if you mostly kept to the coast); I ended my 35km stage in Boo de Piélagos (this only would have been about 13km if I’d followed the Camino route from Santander). Santander is a fun city but I think staying in Boo de Piélagos is a great option if, again, you’re avoiding large cities, or if you want a shorter stage from Santander.

Albergue Piedad was sparkling clean with modern touches in the rooms; it was an all-around comfortable option in a tiny village along the Camino. There is a kitchen that pilgrims can use to make their own meals, but the hospitalera offers an evening meal and it was incredible. But even more incredible was the morning breakfast, which was seriously the best breakfast I’ve ever had on any Camino, ever. My only regret was that I ate in a bit of a hurry, rushing off to catch the 6:47am train out of Boo (this section of the Camino requires a short train ride because it is now illegal to cross the bridge- an option I took a gamble on back in 2015). But I managed to eat as much of the amazing spread as I could: toast and 2 kinds of melon and coffee and juice and some sort of homemade cake (there were two different kinds of cake, I only had room in my stomach for one). There were bowls of little packaged cakes, too, and three kinds of cereal, and you could start eating at 6:00 am if you wanted an early start. Marvelous!!

Details: Private, reservations accepted. 14 euros for bed and breakfast (as of 2019), additional fee for dinner. Link for additional information.

Feet stretched out on bed in Albergue Piedad, Camino del Norte

Breakfast spread at Albergue Piedad, Camino del Norte

10. Marejada Hostel, La Isla (between Ribadesella and Colunga)

This stay wasn’t technically in an albergue, but it was close enough. I was nearing the end of my second jaunt on the Camino del Norte, and I knew I wanted one more night near the coast. I saw on my map that there were lodging options AND a little beach at La Isla, so I decided to find a place to stay. The hostel there- Marejada-  was the cheapest option, so I called ahead to see about prices. I don’t speak Spanish and can only understand a little bit, and I couldn’t figure out if the woman I spoke to said that the bed would be 15 euros, or 50. I showed up anyway, and was relived that I would only have to pay 15! (this is a discounted rate for pilgrims). You can stay in the main hostel, but if it’s filled, there is overflow space (which seemed exclusively for pilgrims) in a hórreo-type structure off to the back of the property. It’s a rickety old building that was rather precarious- some of the floorboards were unstable at best- and the bunkbed was the shakiest I’d ever slept in (I felt bad for the poor guy sleeping in the bunk beneath me), but it’s such a unique stay that I had to include it here. I felt like I was in a treehouse, and the view from the little balcony running around the structure was nothing but the sea. I could even see the water from my bed! And the proximity to a beach was perfect: exit the hostel, walk across the street, and you’re at the beach.

Details: 15 euros for a bed (in 2019), additional fee for dinner (16 euros). Option to buy breakfast, but the start time was late- 8:00am I think?- and so I opted for a packed breakfast instead and was a little disappointed (only a bottle of water, a piece of bread and a small packet of jam, and a little package of cookies. No coffee options unless you wait until 8:00am!). Link for additional information.

Marejada Hostel, La Isla, Camino del Norte

View from Marejada Hostel, La Isla, Camino del Norte

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Bonus albergue: If you decide to branch off from the Norte to walk the Primitivo, then there’s an excellent albergue about 15km before Oviedo that I highly recommend: the Albergue de Peregrinos in Pola De Siero. Amazing hospitaleros- one gave me a glass of coke and a Camino pin when I arrived, and another brought over maps and albergue information for the Primitivo. The albergue itself is modern, clean and spacious, and there’s even an elevator to a handicap accessible room, which I thought was awesome. There’s a beautiful outdoor space with large picnic tables and wide umbrellas, and a basic kitchen (refrigerator and microwave). The albergue is just at the edge of town, and only a few minutes’ walk to bars and grocery stores. (7 euros for a bed).

Albergue Pola De Siero, Favorite albergues on the Camino del Norte

These are my favorite albergues on the Camino del Norte, but I’m curious to know what you think. If you’ve walked the Norte, were there any albergues you loved that are not on my list? Any of these that you didn’t have a good experience in? Any of these that you loved, like I did?

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

“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.

Madonna in the Pyrenees, Camino de Santiago; the Frances or the Norte?

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.

Walk to Pendueles, Camino del Norte

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.

Orisson, Pyrenees, Camino de Santiago

Coastal route, Camino del Norte; the Frances or the Norte?

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

Don’t Stop Me Now; Thoughts on Strength and the Camino

I was surprised the other day when I looked at a calendar and realized that I’d been home from the Camino for a month. A month already! It doesn’t quite seem right, especially since I just started working again, but even these work days aren’t “normal” yet. My days, for now, are spent working from home: sitting on a couch, or lounged out on my porch with my legs in the sun, or maybe spread out on a blanket in the park. I take breaks to walk to the library, to jog around my neighborhood, to drink more coffee. These are the slow, easy, waning days of summer. After Labor Day things will return to normal and maybe then I’ll feel like the Camino is far, far away. For now, it feels as though I only just stopped walking.

A few of my friends have commented on how I look exactly the same. “Sometimes I think that I should look at you and see some sort of difference,” one says. “Show me your calf muscles!” another says. But there’s nothing much to see: my body, that felt so very strong in the last few weeks of my Camino, looks the same as it ever did. Maybe the muscles that grew and strengthened on the Camino are still there- I suspect they are- but they’re hidden. They might even be slowly fading away. They must be; after all, it has been a month since I’ve done much long-distance walking.

These days I’m running instead, and when I say ‘running’, I mean ‘jogging’. And whatever jogging I’m doing is of the very, very slowest variety. But it’s a different motion than walking, and uses different muscles, and I can feel my body working, hard, to figure this out. And despite never enjoying running and despite still being convinced that this won’t last very long, I like the feeling of my body working hard once again.

I learned this on the Camino Frances, last year, but I really learned it this year. For those of you who followed my blog while I was on the Camino del Norte/Primitivo this year, you’ll know that I walked some very long days, especially at the end. I’m still a little surprised when I jot down the distances and add up the kilometers and see the amount I covered in my last week of walking. It wasn’t something I had planned on doing- at least, not until a day or two before- and I didn’t feel like I had anything to prove. I just wanted to walk. And to be very honest, I suppose I loved feeling strong.

A Camino conversation that I see come up from time to time- in facebook groups and on message boards- is “the pilgrim who walks really fast”. Sometimes there’s criticism and judgement around this topic; inevitably, someone will say, “I don’t understand why anyone would want to walk so fast. You miss so much of the beauty of the walk! This is not a race- why move so fast to get to a destination only to have to wait several hours for the albergue to open? Or, why walk huge distances only to arrive in the evening and then have to go to bed and do it all over again the next day?”

I understand these comments, sort of, but they always make me a little uncomfortable to read. Because I’m one of the fast walkers (though I had my days this year when I was the slowest in a group). Sometimes, when I’m walking fast, I worry that others will see me and think these same things- that I’m just flying through the experience, not stopping to smell the roses, not slowing down to enjoy the journey.

But it’s not true, and at some point along the way, I stopped worrying about what anyone else might think.

I love the way I walked my Camino, especially this year’s Camino. It took me a solid 10 days to find my footing and to rediscover my Camino legs, and even once I did, I still had a few very difficult walking days when I felt sluggish and tired. But something happened to me in my last two weeks of walking: I felt strong. Really strong. Stronger, maybe, than I did last year. The Norte and Primitivo were more challenging routes than the Frances, and this year I had to cope with a large blister and walk through pain (plus, walk through a few days of bad weather). But once the blister was gone and my legs started to get used to those hills, I often felt like nothing could stop me.

And it’s so hard to describe this feeling, but this is what I felt when I was moving so fast down the trail: I felt a bit like I was flying, like my mind was almost detached from my body and I didn’t have to really think or work to move my legs and my feet. The walking became automatic and almost effortless- even, at times, when I was climbing up hills. And when I felt like this, I didn’t want to stop, sometimes I think I couldn’t stop, even if I wanted to: I just powered on, usually under a hot sun, sometimes with music blasting in my ears, feeling free and strong.

It’s why I walked so many of those long days, in the end- I felt so good that I didn’t want to stop. And why stop if I was still feeling so good? So I kept going. My last day, the 52 kilometer day, that was maybe a little bit about proving something to myself, proving that I could walk a longer distance than I ever had in my life. I was curious- could I do something like this? What were the limits of my strength? And even on this last Camino day I continued to experience and learn new things: that my body could walk 52 kilometers, but it wasn’t effortless. My strength was waning, the steps were not automatic, I wasn’t smiling and dancing and laughing down the trail. I was trudging down the path, moving slowly, pulling myself up small hills, focusing- in the end- on what I had told myself from the very beginning: one step at a time.

I needed a break after that 52 kilometer day- and the multiple 40km days that preceded it. For a good two weeks after my Camino ended, I didn’t feel a strong need to walk. I still did walk, a bit, but not like I tried to last year. This year, I was happy to let my body rest.

But I love remembering how strong I felt, and I’m beginning to really miss that feeling. I’ve talked a little about how I might not feel a need to rush back and do another Camino next summer, but that doesn’t change the fact that I miss the walking: those entire days of walking, the flow I felt when my legs were strong, the joy of moving myself across a vast space.

And I have these moments, lately, when I take a break to go for a short walk around my neighborhood, and I listen to the music that I played on my Camino. Queen’s “Don’t Stop Me Now” begins to play and I swear I can start to feel the Camino again. I start to feel my legs grow stronger and I begin to move a little faster. And suddenly, before I know it, I’m flying.

Crossing water on the Camino del NorteHappy and free, Camino del Norte

Next Post: Camino Frances vs Camino del Norte

The things we can’t leave behind: the story of my walking stick

My walking stick was my constant companion on the Camino. I thought about this a lot as I moved through my walk: the cities and towns would always change, the scenery would change, the people would change- nothing on this Camino seemed to stay the same. Nothing except my stick.

It might seem a little ridiculous- and probably is- my attachment to a piece of a large branch that I found in the woods several kilometers past Deba on my fourth day of walking the Norte. But after I spent the first hour with that stick in my hand, it felt unnatural to walk without it. And it was my companion, it was this thing that helped me, day in and day out, the thing that was always by my side, the thing that I would never, ever, leave behind. (Some people might describe an actual person in this way- a real companion- but for a solo-walker like myself, I think a walking stick takes on a pretty significant role on a long distance journey).

I didn’t actually find the stick, it was Richard, back at the beginning of the Camino when he was part of my first (but brief) Camino family. Have I already written about this? I had told the others about wanting to find a walking stick, and had spent a good part of the morning’s walk looking off to the side of the trail as we passed through wooded areas, hoping to find the perfect fallen branch. And Richard found one, cut it to my exact specifications, shaved off the ends with his pocket knife and even put a ring around the top.

The stick became so perfect to me during my walk- the oils from where my hand grasped the stick caused the wood to become smooth and shiny. The stick was straight and strong, and more than once, people mistook it for something I bought in a shop, rather than something I found in the woods.

Others on the Camino named their sticks, but I never did. Or, rather, I just called it ‘Stick’ (clever, I know). A few times it got stuck in between large rocks and it would tug me backwards. I’d feel a quick shot of panic, that the end might snap off, that my stick could get hurt in some way. “Stick!” I would exclaim, before extracting it from the rocks and moving on.

But it remained perfect, all through my Camino, all the way until the end. It pulled me forward up that last hill in Muxia, when I was tired and exhausted and finished. That stick was part of my Camino.

At some point, I knew I would take it home with me. I’d had a walking stick last year, too, one that I bought in a shop in St Jean Pied de Port, one that look remarkably like a stick you might find in the woods. I loved it, and it was incredibly hard to leave it behind in Santiago at the end of my Camino. I’d considered trying to bring it home with me, but somehow it felt right that I leave it behind.

I’m not sure what was different this year (I suspect one reason is that I walked a more difficult Camino, and the walking stick aided me so much more); in any case, I was determined to bring it home. I strategized with others, I talked with a post office employee in Santiago, I got a list of companies that could ship things throughout the world. In the end, it seemed that the easiest way to get my stick back to the US was to simply check it as a piece of luggage on my flights.

So at the airport in Santiago, I walked over to a stand that wraps and secures luggage. I presented my stick to the man working there, and he laughed. He pulled large sheets of fluorescent green cellophane from a giant roll and carefully wrapped my stick in multiple layers. I’d payed extra for a checked bag, and dropped the stick off at the check-in counter. And when I arrived in Paris, there was my stick, sitting with a few other pieces of over-sized luggage, in the corner of the baggage claim area.

It was easy, and I was delighted that I’d found a simple way to bring my stick home. So I didn’t think twice about checking it on my flight home to the US- but this time, it wasn’t quite as easy. When I made it up to the check-in counter in Paris, the man looked at my stick and said, “You want to check that?” He seemed doubtful, and then gestured over to a blue cart that was far, far across the crowded room. “Put it on there,” he said.

The cart was empty and after confirming several times with other employees that this was the over-sized luggage cart for American Airlines, I laid my stick across the cart and I walked away. I had a heavy feeling, and wondered if I would see the stick again.

So when I arrived in Philly and stood with the other passengers of my flight at the luggage carousel, I was not surprised when I didn’t see my stick. Everyone else got their luggage until it was just me, watching an empty conveyor belt circle around endlessly. A kind employee was helping me- someone who seemed genuinely concerned about my lost ‘luggage’- and he spent a lot of time checking all the possible places where my stick could have gotten held up. Finally he looked at me with sympathy. “It must still be in Paris,” he said. “You can go downstairs and file a claim.”

Arriving back home after being away for 5 weeks should have been exciting or, at the very least, a bit comforting. But instead I went home feeling like I’d left something important behind. “It’s just a stick,” I told myself. It’s one of the lessons of the Camino- that our possessions don’t actually matter that much, that we need far less than we think, it’s the experiences that count- blah blah blah (I do think all of that is important, but when you lose something that’s important to you, even if it is just a piece of wood, it’s okay to feel sad and to feel that our possessions do, in fact, matter a bit).

Things have been a whirlwind since I’ve been home. I stopped at my apartment briefly but then headed right back out for a long road trip to South Carolina, to go to a good friend’s wedding (and I just need to note: the distance I spent 9 hours driving in one day equaled the distance I spent walking for one month). It was when I was in SC that I got a flurry of emails and phone calls about my walking stick. It had been found, made it on a flight to Philly, and was now being delivered to my apartment by a driver named John. He left me a message to confirm that he would be dropping off my ‘luggage’ (when he said luggage he laughed); I called him back and he asked if he was delivering a walking stick to me. “Yes, it is a walking stick!” I told him. He said that all the guys were trying to guess what it was.

An hour later I received a text from him. “I dropped it off by the mailboxes.”

So I sent a text to my landlord, asking if they could look for it and bring it inside, keeping it safe until I made it back home.

I knew I wouldn’t feel completely settled about it all until I was back to my apartment and had that stick in my hand. I finally came home last night, and when my landlord saw me, waved me over so I could get the stick.

He handed it to me- it was definitely my stick, still wrapped in the bright green cellophane- but when I held it I instantly knew something was wrong. The stick wasn’t straight. Back in my apartment I began tearing off the wrapping, worried that I would discover that it had been snapped in two. But when I finally uncovered the stick I realized it wasn’t broken at all. It was just warped. Really, really warped.

I have to laugh about it- all the care and worry about getting that stick home with me- and now that it’s here, it’s not the same, perfect stick that I walked my Camino with. It’s no longer straight at all, but bows out at the bottom half. It’s crooked, it’s changed. It’s my stick, but it’s different.

It’s propped against the wall now, in my living room. I like that I have it back, even though now it’s simply a souvenir, no longer a fully functioning walking stick. And I suppose it’s okay that it’s changed. Part of me wonders- was it meant to be left behind all along? Or, perhaps, maybe it served its purpose, and now it’s done. Finished, retired. “You weren’t meant to walk another Camino with me,” it’s saying. “Find another adventure, and then find another stick.”

stick and pack, Camino del NorteAirport stick wrappingWrapped walking stickPilgrim shadow, Camino de Santiago

Next Post: Crepes and Cathedrals

You can sleep when you’re in the pencil case; Day 31 on the Camino, Muxia to Santiago (by bus)

(I wrote most of this post while I was still in Santiago, but I’m finally getting around to posting it just now, a full week later. I’m back in the States and this is sort of the last of the ‘live’ Camino posts, but there will be more to come! Including the saga of getting my walking stick home…)

It’s 6:00pm and I’m sitting at a cafe tucked around the corner from the cathedral in Santiago- at an outdoor table under a large white umbrella. I’m steps away from the main square of the cathedral but this tiny corner of the city is very tucked away, down a set of stairs that not many people notice. The day is chilly and the coffee is good and strong. I feel rested and relaxed. Satisfied.

I had another early start this morning, every morning has been an early start on the Camino. Even though I wasn’t walking I still had a 7:30am bus to catch back to Santiago, so I dragged myself out of bed and wondered, again, why in the world I had walked so much yesterday, why in the world I had stayed up so late drinking wine with Honza. But then I remembered something we’d talked about the night before, the expression, “You can sleep when you’re dead.” He told me about one that his girlfriend says, and I’m not sure if it’s a Czech thing or just his girlfriend’s thing, but in any case, it’s this: “You can sleep when you’re in the pencil case.” Same concept, but funnier and stranger. I might start using it.

So yes, I can sleep when I’m in the pencil case. And since I’m not there yet, I have no regrets about pushing myself really hard in this last week: the long, long days of walking, the late nights talking with friends, the early mornings when I sacrificed sleep in order to sit outside and drink coffee with Nicolas or Christine.

Besides, I found my rest today, almost against my will. On the bus ride back to Santiago I closed my eyes for a moment and then opened them to discover I was back in the city; this afternoon I took a nap (the first nap of my Camino! And on my first day of not walking in a month!).

This is my first rest day and my last day in Spain, tomorrow I fly to Paris. My experience of Santiago is so different than it was last year, but not in a bad way. I still feel like I belong here, I’m a pilgrim and I walked here and even though this year’s walk didn’t feel as much like a pilgrimage, Santiago was still, always, the destination.

But like the rest of this year’s Camino, this final day in Santiago is calm and relaxed. But also filled with beautiful moments. I’d arranged to meet Moritz in the morning; I hadn’t seen him in about four days, since Castroverde. He took a slightly different route to get to Santiago and only arrived early this morning, planning to stop for an hour or two and then pass through and continue on towards Finisterre. When I realized that I could make it back from Muxia in time to see him, and that he would wait for me, I was so happy. It meant that I’d been able to say goodbye to the four people I’d grown closest with on this Camino: Christine, Guillemette, Nicolas and Moritz. And that was a special thing, considering we’d all parted and were arriving/leaving Santiago at different times.

So Moritz and I had coffee and filled each other in on what had happened since we’d last seen each other. We lingered, continuing to talk, already reminiscing on the days we had spent together. We said goodbye in exactly the same spot that Christine and I had parted, giving each other a strong hug and promising to keep in touch. I could feel a small lump in my throat as I watched him walk away, and I thought, once again, about how lucky and grateful I was for the people I met this year.

I stopped by the pension I’d stayed in on Thursday night to see if my room was ready, and it was. This time it all felt easy: I knew exactly where to go, I was given the same room, and when I walked inside I felt like I was back in my little home. After dropping off my pack and my stick I hurried over to the cathedral for the 12:00 mass, and stood quietly in the back of a very packed church. After about 10 minutes two men passed by and I realized I knew them- it was Jose and another Spanish man, the guys who had been at my dinner table in Bodenaya. It was a classic Santiago greeting: the looks of surprise and happiness on our faces, the hugs, the congratulations (all in hushed tones, since there was a service going on). I hadn’t seen them since the Hospitales route, the day that I tacked on an extra stage. Jose told me that they were the first to arrive in Santiago, the rest of the people we’d been with in Bodenaya were a day or two behind.

I shook my head and joked, “No, I’m the first of the group to arrive!” He wagged his finger at me. “You’re in your own group.”

I had to smile at that, because maybe I AM in my own group, or maybe, actually, I’m in a lot of groups. I come and I go but always, it seemed as though I found people to be with.

Just as the mass ended and I was saying goodbye to Jose, I heard someone exclaim, “Nadine!!” I turned and it was Jill, an American girl from Chicago who I’d met at least two weeks ago in Pendueles (when I was still on the Norte). She threw her arms around me and gave me the longest, strongest hug I’ve maybe ever had in my life. I’d probably only ever talked to her for an hour but, again, this is the Camino: when you see people again, especially when you think it’s impossible, it’s a special thing.

We’re going to meet for dinner tonight, maybe with a few others as well. I’m hoping I can run into other people I know- I’m still holding out hope that others from the Norte are here, as well- but even if I don’t find anyone else, it will be okay. In many ways I’ve been given more than enough on this Camino- more friends, more connections, more time alone, more time to feel pain, more time to feel alive- than I ever expected. It’s been a good, good month.

(later)…

I never did run into anyone else from the Norte; I’d arrived in Santiago too soon, they had more time to walk, or maybe they were somewhere in the city, and I just couldn’t find them. I did, however, run into one more person, one last Camino encounter that felt strange and special.

I was walking back to my pension after dinner, it was nearly 11:00, the night was dark but the city was still alive, with pilgrims streaming through the streets, eating and drinking and celebrating. Just before coming to the street that I would turn onto for my pension I saw someone familiar walking towards me: it was Andrea, the Italian man who I had helped in Arzua (he had been looking a little lost and I told him to come with me to find an albergue). We greeted each other and he was so pleased to see me. “Come have a beer with me,” he asked.

At first I declined. I was tired and I didn’t know Andrea at all. I’d spent a total of 15 minutes in his company, that day in Arzua, and in that moment, all I wanted was to return to my room and climb into bed and fall into a deep sleep. I felt like my pilgrimage, my Camino, was over.

But Andrea pleaded. “It wil be fast,” he said. “I wanted to buy you a beer in Arzua, after you helped me find a place to sleep, but I went to the pharmacy and then you were gone. But now here you are, and I am so glad.”

I heard his words and then I heard Honza’s words, from the night before: “You can sleep when you’re in the pencil case.”

So I agreed and Andrea and I found a place nearby- a small bar on the corner where we took a table outside and ordered beer and talked for an hour.

It’s hard to describe the conversation we had, but all I can say is that it was such a Camino conversation, and in some ways, the perfect way to end this trip. Andrea told me how much I had helped him, that day in Arzua. To me, I hadn’t thought much of it- he had looked tired and I also needed to find a place to sleep, so it made sense to have him come along with me. But Andrea had really been struggling: he had tendenitis and was in a lot of pain. He was tired and frustrated and feeling like his Camino might have to end, just 40 kilometers before Santiago.

But then I appeared, and he said that when he saw me, I had a smile on my face. That he could feel my positive energy, and that being able to follow me to an albergue helped his spirits and his outlook so much.

We talked about this, and about what the Camino can give you, about how it is really just one small part of a journey through life. How the real Camino begins when you go home. It’s something I’ve thought about before, but it’s been so much more on my mind during this trip. Last year, when I came home from the Camino Frances, I was upset that I wasn’t still on a Camino. I wanted to walk all day, I wanted to be outside all day, I wanted to be meeting people from all over the world, I wanted to feel free, all the time.

It’s a big reason that I came back to do another Camino: I wanted those feelings again. I wanted to keep walking. But this year, at least right now, my feelings are different. I’d still love to walk all day and meet people and feel that freedom, but I don’t think I need it in the same way. So many of the friends I made on this year’s Camino have asked me: What will your next Camino be? When will it be? And I don’t really have answers, other than it will probably be somewhere in France, and it probably won’t be next summer.

Because I’m ready for other things, now. I think I will always want to be on a Camino, and I have no doubt that I will do another Camino (maybe many Caminos) in my life. But I’m also ready to really live my days, wherever I am. To try to be present with each day and not always be dreaming about my future, about what I want to do when I have time off. I want to say to myself, “I can sleep when I’m in the pencil case” a little more than I normally do in my regular life. When people walk up to me, I want them to see my smile, to feel my positive energy. I want to see what other parts of the world I can explore, what other things in life I can experience. I want to feel more alive and free in my day to day life, which I know is a challenge… but it’s something I want to try.

So that last Camino conversation, with Andrea, it was perfect. Because it was all about this kind of stuff. He talked about how the Camino will always be with him, that he can carry it within him wherever he goes, in whatever he does. I thought this was a powerful message to hear on my last night in Santiago, and the words repeated in my head as I walked back to my pension, as I finally climbed into bed, as I drifted off into that much needed, very deep sleep.

The Camino is always with me.

  

Next Post: The Things We Leave Behind

You’ll never walk alone; Day 30 on the Camino, Vilaserio to Muxia

I learned something about myself today: 52 kilometers is a bit over my limit. But… I did it! 2 days from Santiago to Muxia. I would never do it again and maybe it was worse because I had three 40km days leading up to Santiago, which means I did just a tad more than 200 kilometers in 5 days (and I don’t know that I would recommend this to anyone)… but I’m happy to have done it.

Part of this crazy plan of walking really long days was so that I could try to do it all: make it from Irun to Santiago, then be able to walk to Muxia, and then make it back to Santiago and have a little time to try to find people that I’d met along the way. I didn’t realize that I would want to spend time in Santiago after a trip to Muxia until I realized that most of my friends were behind me, so when I began to consider doing Santiago to Muxia in two days, a big reason for that was so that I could have extra time in Santiago at the very end of this journey.

But also, I wanted to see if I could do a 50km day. Last year I’d wanted to break 40km, and I did, and it was plenty. But this year I happened to hang around with some young guys who loved to walk really big days, and the idea began to stir around in my head- maybe I could do it, too. I think it was Simon who said to me, “Don’t you want to go for 50km, to see if you can do it?”

So I did, and I can do it. But not well. You should have seen me on the last 10 kilometers of the walk today: I was literally dragging myself to Muxia. And wondering why in the world I ever thought this was a good idea. And wishing that these weren’t the very last kilometers of my Camino this year- spent in the rain, small pebbles rolling around in my shoes, mud slinging up on my calves, nearly every muscle of my body aching, my eyes heavy because I need more sleep. If there had been a bar 5km or even just 2km away from Muxia I would have stopped for some coffee, just something to power me through. But I powered myself through, ending with a small, steep hill up to the albergue. I stopped in the middle of the hill, partly because I was exhausted, and partly to take a moment to recognize the end of my Camino. Despite my fatigue, I said to myself, “This was a good Camino.” And it was. And, honestly, not a bad way to end this Camino. It started with a steep hill in the rain and was ending with a steep hill in the rain, but the in betweens had been glorious.

The day started really well. I had been the last to bed the night before but the first to wake up in the morning (and this is EXACTLY the reason for my heavy eyes today). I was ready to go in 25 minutes, which I think is a record for me. 5:30am I was on the (dark) road, walking. And even though I walked in the dark for an hour, I didn’t get lost once, or even momentarily confused. My guidebook had decent directions, and I was vigilant about shining my flashlight around to look for arrows and waymarkers. I walked until 7:00 and stopped at the first open bar for a cafe con leche and tostada, and took a few moments to watch the sunrise, something I haven’t seen much on this Camino.

The bar I’d stopped at was also an albergue, and the hospitaleros looked at me as I drank my coffee. “You didn’t stay here last night,” they said to me. “No,” I replied. When I’d entered the bar there were lots of other pilgrims around, getting ready to start their day. It felt kind of good to have already been on the road for 90 minutes. I felt kind of tough.

That feeling lasted for awhile- I walked for a few more hours then took another coffee break. I ran into a German guy I’d met very briefly the day before, and later, passed him on the trail. “Wow, you’re fast!” he told me. I looked at him over my shoulder as I walked away, “I’m fast now, but maybe not so fast later.”

Truer words have never been spoken. After another hour it started to rain, and then my body sort of said to me, “I’ve had enough.” I pushed myself through until I could find a bar, and soon after I arrived the German guy and an Australian girl came in. We all sat and ate sandwiches and the goofy barman tossed rubber eggs at us. I get so confused sometimes because I don’t understand Spanish, but I don’t think this was a language thing, I think the barman was just a bit odd. He had a couple of rubber eggs and I guess they were a joke but maybe I was too tired to really get it. And I WAS tired- too tired for the barman with the rubber eggs, too tired for the good looking German guy who was telling me that he just finished a degree in counseling. I could have handled this at the beginning of my Camino, I could have handled this a few days ago (even yesterday!), but today? All I wanted to do was lay my head on the table and fall asleep.

And then, as I continued to walk, any toughness I’d had in the past few days disappeared. I hobbled through the last kilometers to Muxia, arriving around 6pm, and told myself that I was glad to not have to walk tomorrow. I pulled off my shoes and socks to discover another small blister on the ball of my foot (something I suspected was forming during the last 10 kilometers of the day’s walk… and how’s this for a Camino message? The blister was perfectly formed in the shape of a little heart. Love and pain and all of that… lots of symbolism here- the Camino’s final mark on me was a heart, and I had to laugh when I saw it). I arranged my sleeping bag over my bunk and went to take a shower only to discover that the stalls didn’t have doors. Second time for me on the Camino, but this time I was not the only woman in the albergue. I was not amused but what can you do? At least the water was hot.

I took a walk through the town and over to the end of the little penisula, where I walked over the flat rocks to stand facing the water as it crashed against the shore. It was rough and a bit wild, windy with dark clouds swirling behind me. But ahead of me, far out over the water, the sun was shining (I think another metaphor, perhaps). And as I walked on the rocks and climbed up a hill around the church, the sky began to clear and the evening became beautiful.

Walking back to my albergue I didn’t recognize anyone (and really, the only people I would know in this town were the German and Australian I’d met that day). I wasn’t sure how I felt about being alone; part of me craved it, wanting to just cook up a nice meal and do some writing back at the albergue. But the other part of me was wistful and a little sad- knowing that I was completely finished with my Camino, having just walked over 50 kilometers, wanting to somehow celebrate it, wanting to not be alone.

Back at the albergue I opened a bottle of wine and cut up some vegetables and settled in at a table to do some writing. Moments later, a guy walked downstairs and I squinted when I saw him. From where I was sitting, he looked an awful lot like Honza, the Czech guy from the night before. He looked at me, and then we both grinned and shook our heads. It was Honza, and I was really, really surprised to see him in Muxia.

“You didn’t walk the 50km today, did you?” I asked as he walked over.

“Oh yes, I did. And it was because of you, you put the idea in my head last night.”

I looked at him, worried about whether he hated me for putting the idea in his head.

He smiled. “And on the walk today I wanted to thank you, because I’m really happy I did it.”

So just like Simon had put the idea of a 50km into my head, I’d put the idea in Honza’s head. And as I stood talking to him, I realized that I wouldn’t be alone tonight after all. Honza was a new friend, but he was a friend who had also just walked 50 kilometers to get here.

We made a meal together- pasta and a sauce with chorizo, bread, wine. After we finished eating we took the wine up to the second floor terrace of the albergue, where others were gathered to watch the sunset. As we’d been cooking we’d found two candles in one of the kitchen drawers- a 5 and a 0. While surely someone else had celebrated a milestone birthday, Honza noted that these candles were also meaningful for us. So we stuck the candles into the top of two bottles of wine and held out our cameras to take a photo- the ocean and the sunset in the background. A way to commemorate our 52 kilometer day.

We sat on the ledge of a stone wall, Italians next to us, some French in chairs below us. Drinking wine and talking with a new friend as the sun set and the stars came out, I couldn’t have predicted that this would be how I’d spend the night of my last day of walking the Camino Norte/Camino Primitivo. But, in some ways, of course this is how it would finish: I always struggled with whether I wanted to remain on my own or to be with others on this Camino, and in some ways, the Camino wouldn’t let me be alone. I knew it back on Day 4, when I walked away from my first Camino family, passed under that bridge and saw the graffitied words: “You’ll never walk alone.”

And it was true, because even though I spent so much of the actual walking time alone on this Camino, the number of people I met and the short, but deep connections I made astounded me. I would walk ahead or behind but always, there were others just ahead or behind, as well. Nicolas or Honza, Guillemette or Christine. Moritz or Nicole or Richard or Elissa. And dozens of others. I never knew when I would run into my friends or run into someone new or keep walking alone but this is the Camino (and life, too): in the end, I think we never walk alone.

          

Next Post: Day 31 on the Norte/Primitivo

A Bittersweet and Beautiful Walk; Day 29 on the Camino, Santiago to Vilaserio

My day started perfectly; maybe the whole day was perfect, in fact. 

I woke up, alone in my room in a pension in a quiet corner of Santiago- not needing to worry about my alarm bothering anyone, not needing to worry about making noise or keeping my things contained in a tight, small space. I could get changed in my room and not in a cramped bathroom stall, I could brush my teeth in peace.

Packing my bag is now so routine that I can do it quickly; I was out the door and into the cathedral square in no time. The square was quiet, only a few pilgrims were standing there and looking up to the cathedral. I went to the far end of the square and took a seat against the wall and hoped that I hadn’t missed Christine. I was ready to head to Muxia, and I had a long 40km ahead of me. Already it was almost 8am and normally I would have already been walking for an hour.

But trying to find Christine was worth the delayed start. And just when I thought I missed her she walked into the square. She came from the wrong direction- not on the Camino- and I knew she had already been to the square and had probably gotten her compostela. She was walking slowly, looking around, smiling at other pilgrims, still carrying that enormous green pack and her two very worn walking sticks.

I walked over, reaching out to touch her arm. When she saw me she blinked and said, “Ce n’est pas vrai.” I’m sure she expected that I would be on my way to Muxia by now. We embraced and took a photo and went to find a bar to have breakfast. Our conversations have always been pretty basic, since my French isn’t so good, and this morning I wished so much that we could speak more easily. I had so many questions for her: what it felt like to be in Santiago, what it felt like to end this journey, was she happy or sad or overwhelmed or tired? We talked about some of this, and Christine seemed more subdued than usual. But in the end she told me that she was happy- she was in Santiago, she had seen me. We walked out of the bar and to a corner where we would head in different ways- we hugged again and I struggled to not get too emotional, to not start to cry.

I felt full as I walked away, across the square in front of the cathedral and over to the Camino route; full of happiness and love and excitement for the next few days of walking. And just before I turned left to leave the square and walk out of the city, I saw a familiar figure standing against a wall- with his blue pack, gray cap, smoking a cigarette and holding a small styrofoam cup of coffee. It was Nicolas- of course it was, because it’s the Camino and things like this usually happen. I walked over and when he saw me he smiled. He had just walked through the night to get to Santiago, losing his friends somewhere along the way, losing himself somewhere along the way as well.

“I walked- I don’t know- 60 or 80 kilometers.” He frowned, and squinted at the cathedral. He hadn’t been looking forward to Santiago, or the crowds- he and Pierre planned to walk from Santiago down to Portugal, and Santiago was never the destination for Nicolas. I could tell that he was dazed and tired and probably wishing he were some place else.

But still, I smiled at him, and gave him a big hug goodbye. Whether he was happy or not in that moment, I was happy. I’ve said it already, but it’s worth repeating: on the Camino you don’t often get to really say a goodbye. Last year we joked about the “Camino goodbye”, how you’d think you’d never see someone again, try to tell them goodbye, then see them a day or two later (or even a week or two later). But sometimes you don’t say goodbye, thinking it’s inevitable that you’ll run into them somewhere along the Camino, only to never see them again. It’s good practice for life- people come and go all of the time- but it’s always been hard for me to not have closure on the relationships that have been important to me.

So on this Camino, seeing Guillemette the night before, finding Christine this morning, and now seeing Nicolas, moments before I was about to walk out of the city… it meant something to me. Leaving is always hard, but a hug and a goodbye help to ease that bittersweet ache.

I walked out of the city feeling just that: a bittersweet kind of ache, which I think was exactly the way I wanted to feel. I WAS leaving something behind when I left Santiago- I was leaving people and connections I had made- but it was right to leave. This was the end, and leaving was always going to be hard.

But today’s walk? Oh man, it was great. It took me a little while to get going, and for a lot of the first 20 kilometers, I could feel the effort it took to walk up the hills, I could feel a constant hunger in my stomach (despite the multiple coffees, croissant, toast, banana that I had eaten).

So after I arrived in Negreira, the typical first day stopping point for many pilgrims on the way to Finisterre/Muxia (and where I myself had stopped last year), I found a place to eat, and settled in for a nice, long lunch. Last year, my friend Sonal and I had eaten here- a bar/restaurant just across the street from our albergue, and I had been amazed at the quality of the food. It wasn’t typical for the bars I usually stopped at in Spain: inside, this one had a saloon type feel, with big wooden booths, a few pool tables in the back. Last year I’d eaten an amazing bocadillo (sandwich), and I ordered one again this year, along with a plate of fries. The food that was delivered to my table made my jaw drop: I’d only ordered half a sandwich but the thing that was placed before me was larger than most full sized bocadillos. I laughed at all of the food, the woman who brought out my food laughed with me, and then I dug in.

It had taken a long time for the food to come out so I was at that restaurant for nearly an hour- sitting at an outdoor table in the shade, my shoes and socks off, writing postcards, sipping my coke, munching on french fries. When I finally left, I felt so satisfied and energized, that I knew it would be no problem to keep walking.

Just as I was on my way out of the city, a young man stopped me. He looked like a pilgrim- one who had already checked into his albergue and showered- and he warned me that the municipal albergue was already full (this albergue was outside of the city, so I think he was trying to prevent me from walking out of the city only to have to come back and look for another place to stay).

His kindness made me smile, but I said to him, “Thank you, but I’m planning to keep walking.”

He looked doubtful. “The next town with an albergue is 13 kilometers away.”

I looked back at him. “Clearly, you don’t know who you’re dealing with.”(No, I didn’t actually say this. What I really said was more like- “I know, but it’s no problem.”)

He laughed and shook his head a little, then wished me a Buen Camino.

And a buen camino it was. That sandwich and french fries and long break powered me through those 13 kilometers. It was a late day- when I left Negreira it was already 3:00, and on the very outskirts of the city was a marker that said Muxia was 65 kilometers away. I tried not to think too much about it- 65 kilometers was an awful lot to walk between now and tomorrow- and I pushed on. Once again the sun was out and the afternoon was hot, but when I arrived in Vilaserio, 13 kilometers away, I still felt good.

A pilgrim sitting outside a bar waved me over and said I would need to go inside the bar to check into the private albergue, if I wanted to stay. I lingered there for a minute, and a few other pilgrims started talking to me. One was an American girl, the other a German guy. The German wanted to make it to Muxia tomorrow as well, and was considering walking further that day. The American girl was staying. I stood there, leaning on my stick, telling the others about the long days I had walked. “You’re crazy!” they said. I knew it was crazy, but I was still feeling good. And I wasn’t sure whether to keep walking or not. It was nearly 6pm, and I had another 7km to go before the next albergue. It could walk it tonight, arrive late, and only have about 40 kilometers to walk tomorrow… or I could stop now, shower and sit at this bar with these friendly pilgrims, and have 52 kilometers to walk tomorrow.

So I decided to stay. And I’m so glad I did, because it was a great Camino night. After settling into the albergue I sat at the bar with a drink and talked to Juliette, a woman from England. Together we walked over to a place just down the road that was offering food and drinks (it’s hard to describe this place; I’d actually stopped there last year for a break during my walk, and I think described it as a little oasis: it’s a family’s home, and they have this beautiful outdoor space for pilgrims: picnic tables and adirondack chairs and hammocks. They cook food in their kitchen and they told us, this year, that they hope to soon open their own albergue).

When we arrived the American girl, Meredith, was sitting there, along with a guy from the Czech Republic, Honza. I’d seen Honza on my walk that day- he’d left Santiago just before I had, and for most of the morning was just ahead of me. We settled into comfortable chairs on the outdoor terrace, and stayed there for hours: eating salad, soup, bread, their house-made wine (the owner of this place warned us about the wine: “Be careful,” she said, “It is strong!!”). Juliette wandered in and out, but Meredith, Honza and I stayed and talked. Like so many people you meet on the Camino, these two felt like my friends in no time. Eventually we were joined by a group of Italians, and a guy and girl from Denmark. Everyone pulled up chairs and sampled the wine and talked about the end of the Camino. It was such a beautiful night- we sat until the sun went down and the stars came out. I knew that I should have had an early night- I wanted to get a really early start for my 50 kilometer day- but it was just so hard to leave that terrace. The others knew about my plan to walk to Muxia the next day. Meredith and Honza both seemed intrigued. “You’re maybe inspiring me to try to walk this,” Meredith said. “Yes,” Honza agreed, “It’s an interesting thing to consider.” We laughed, we finished our wine, we walked back to the albergue.

I marveled, again, at how amazing the Camino is: I’d left Santiago, leaving everyone I knew behind. But within just this one day I’d found people to sit with and eat with, to talk with and laugh with. It was such a beautiful day, and such a beautiful night.

            

Next Post: Day 30 on the Norte/Primitivo

A Camino Twilight Zone: in the in between; Days 18 and 19 on the Camino del Norte/Camino Primitivo, Sebrayo to Pola de Siero to Oviedo

It’s now three days later and already my memory is foggy: where exactly was I for the past few days?

The two days after Sebrayo were an ‘in-between’: I left the Norte sometime during the day after Sebrayo, and took the link from the Norte to the Primitivo (which officially starts in Oviedo). So until I left Oveido, I wasn’t really on any Camino at all: not on the Norte, not on the Primitivo. I was just in-between.

And I felt it. There were points when I asked myself, “Am I doing something wrong? Does everyone else know something that I don’t?”

After I left Sebrayo I walked almost totally alone. I saw a few pilgrims ahead of me on my morning’s walk, but when I arrived at the point where the Camino’s split (there’s a marker that leads straight on for the Norte and turns to the left for the Primitivo), the other pilgrims continued on the Norte. As I turned onto the Primitivo, I was all alone.

I had some hesitation about taking the Primitivo. I knew that I wanted to walk this route, but I could feel, with a finality, that I was leaving behind everything that I had experienced for the past 18 days. The coast and the towns and the solo-walking and, most importantly, the people. Really, I had left everyone days ago, but there was always a chance that they could catch up with me. But most of my friends from the Norte are continuing on the Norte; by branching off to a different Camino, it is sure that I have lost them.

But I turned left. It was always what I was going to do- the other night, Reto from Switzerland said to me, “I know you, you are going to walk the Primitivo” (then he hesitated and said, “Well, actually, I don’t know you at all, but I know enough to know that your mind is set”).

And he was right, the Primitivo is what I want to do, even if it means needing to meet new people and starting a new Camino. But when I turned onto the Primitivo, I was very alone. The only other pilgrims I saw on my walk were two men who were coming from the opposite direction, who had already been to Santiago and now were headed back.

I arrived at the albergue in Pola de Siero and it looked like a great place. It was on the edge of the small city, and the property looked ideal- a small building with a yard enclosed by a big stone wall. Once I was inside, things got better: the hospitaleros were outstanding (one of them handed me a glass of coke minutes after I arrived, and later gave me a detailed map of Oviedo as well as info on the Primitivo), the facilities were modern, the bathroom looked brand new, I was given sheets for my bed, and the outdoor space was better than I could have imagined: picnic tables and umbrellas and benches under large trees. It was an oasis on the outskirts of a small but bustling city.

The only problem with the albergue is that, at 4:30pm, I was only the second one there. I talked with the girl who was resting in her bunk (Aranca, from Mexico), and she echoed my sentiments: “Am I doing something wrong? Why am I the only one here??”

I showered and washed my clothes, then headed into town to find a grocery store. I didn’t have to go far, and I picked up just a few things: a small chunk of cheese, a new pack of gummy bears for the coming days, a yogurt for the morning and a can of Austurian stew for dinner (the “kitchen” was, like in other places, just a couple microwaves and a fridge. So my cooking options were limited).

I came back to the albergue and Aranca and I were still the only ones there. She had gone out for a drink so I settled in at the picnic table out back- I poured a glass of wine and cut up some cheese and an apple and started to write in my journal.

First, a note about the wine. I had bought it 40+ kilometers back, in a town just before Sebrayo. I had been anticipating a complete lack of facilities in Sebrayo and wanted to have some wine to celebrate the end of the Norte. I thought that maybe Richard would be at the albergue, and maybe others, as well. But in the end I had eaten at a restaurant alone, and had plenty of wine there. I wasn’t sure what to do with the bottle I had already carried for 10 kilometers… I’d spent a solid 6 euros on it which, for the wine here in Spain, is a lot. 2 euros is typical so 6 euros means a really decent bottle of wine. There was no way I was going to leave it behind.

So I carried it for 30 kilometers today… up a really, really big hill and I could feel the weight with every step. I didn’t want to keep carrying it with me, so even though I was alone at the albergue in Pola de Siero, I opened it.

And, almost perfectly, Guillemette appeared. I’d thought she had ended her day earlier, but here she was: the third person in our albergue. She sat outside with me and shared the bottle of wine, we ate our dinner and we talked for a few hours. Even though I’ve seen Guillemette on and off since Bilboa, we haven’t been close. But on this night, it felt so good to sit with her and share the evening- a quiet, quiet evening of an in-between time.

In the end it only ever WAS the three of us that night. I had my best sleep yet on this Camino: no one snored, no one tossed and turned, we kept a window open for fresh air and we all went to bed around 10:00.  

       The next day, Day 19 to Oviedo, was a short one. More than that, it almost didn’t feel like I was on the Camino. The walk was fast, I arrived in the city and stopped by the tourism office for some information. I was directed to the new albergue (which I think just opened 5 days ago because the other had a roof leak… if I got the information right). The albergue opened at 1:00 and I was the first one there. I showered, washed my clothes and headed back out to the city. 

Normally I don’t really spend a lot of time sight-seeing on the Camino- there’s just too many other things to focus on- but I’d wanted to get to the city early because my friend from college, Lani, was coming up from Leon so we could hang out. 

Seeing her was just what I needed, the timing was perfect. I’d just spent several quiet days either all alone or with only a few others, and I was craving the company of someone I could be at ease with. And the next day would be my official start of a new Camino, so stepping outside of the Camino for an evening to see an old friend felt like a good separation between the Norte and the Primitivo. 

And the evening was so, so good. Lani is a friend who I don’t see too often but who I can pick things up with as if no time has passed. We spent hours moving from one bar to the next- for drinks, for food. The night was wet and chilly but it didn’t really seem to matter, we stayed indoors and settled in at our tables and talked and talked. 

It was 9:30 and we were in the middle of a meal when I realized that I would need to hurry if I wanted to make it back to my albergue before 10:00, and not get locked out. I gave Lani a fast hug and ran through the wet streets of Oviedo, back to the albergue. I made it with 5 minutes to spare and once inside it was like I had entered another world. The place was packed, and I didn’t recognize a single person. Part of me- a large part- wished I could stay with Lani, and part of me wondered if I really wanted to start a new Camino. There was something so very comforting about being with an old friend but now here I was, surrounded by 20 strangers. I went to to bed and wondered what the next days would bring.  

   

Alone in a bar, alone in an albergue (almost); Day 17 on the Camino, San Esteban to Sebrayo

I’m sitting at a wooden table outside the albergue in Sebrayo; with me are Carlos and Guillemette and Charles, and a German guy named Teto. It’s just the 5 of us in this albergue; compared to this afternoon though, it’s a crowd.

I arrived at the albergue just after 3, and the place was deserted. I looked at a sign on the door saying it opened at 3:00, and to come to house #7 for the key. I stood around for awhile, trying to decide what to do. My visions of a big Camino reunion with all the friends I’d met over the past weeks were dashed- clearly, the others who had been ahead of me on the path had passed this place and continued on. And I wasn’t sure how far back the others were, but I had a feeling I had gained a stage, and that they wouldn’t catch up.

This place is similar to where I stayed last night- just a building on a road surrounded by a few houses and not much else. After the past few quiet days, it would be nice to be surrounded by more- if not a busier town, at least a busier albergue.

So to reach this quiet building on a quiet street in the middle of fields and cows and horses… it felt too still, too isolated. I opened my pack and pulled out my guidebook, put the guidebook back, opened the pack again to check the guidebook one more time just in case I missed something. I didn’t have any good options- the next big town was about 6km away, which was do-able, but there were no pilgrim albergues and I didn’t want to spend more money to stay alone.

So I decided to stay here. Once I found the hospitalera and she let me in the albergue, she explained that yesterday, by 3:00, the 16 beds were full- people had been waiting at the door for the place to open. I picked my bunk and took a shower and washed my clothes and still no one else had shown up.

I decided to walk up to a restaurant 800 meters away; it was more than I expected since my guidebook warned that there were no provisions in town, only a food truck that came by in the evening. I had brought food with me and planned to cook a meal in the small kitchen, but it was 4:30 and I was alone and it seemed like a potentially long evening ahead.

The restaurant was a little bar that sat on the side of a small highway. The waiter asked if I wanted a menu del dia so I figured why not? A large salad with hard boiled egg and tuna, battered fish and french fries, rice pudding and bread and another bottle of wine.

It was just a strange afternoon, this Camino continues to throw different things my way. It was almost funny, being in the middle of a very no-where kind of place in Spain, all alone. Very alone- I think there is a large group of pilgrims ahead of me, a large group behind me, and in this middle place, this no-where kind of place, it’s empty.

I walked back to the albergue, down a long pebbly hill, and I saw Guillemette talking to the hospitalera. Behind her were Carlos and Charles- the three of them have been walking together for the past few weeks. They are all very young, in their early twenties, and ever since Carlos bought a tent in Santander, they’ve sometimes camped out. I figured they were at least a day behind me but this is always what the Camino does: it brings people to you that you think you may never see again.

I’m not sure what my feeling is about being in an albergue with this group. I had a nice night in Santillana del Mar with Guillemette and Carlos, but I could sort of feel my age with them- I felt like I was young enough to hang out with them, but too old to really fit in. I like them, but I’m not completely at ease around them, and I think that feeling is probably mutual. And it’s the same with Charles, maybe more so- I don’t feel comfortable around him and he notices and it makes me more uncomfortable. It’s fine when there are other pilgrims around, but now it’s just us, along with a young German guy.

But this night has been fine, and right now- 10:30 and the sun has set and the clouds are clearing and the sky has a pale purple tint- it is beautiful. We’ve been sitting at this picnic table for the last 4 hours- it is scattered with breadcrumbs and small chunks of chorizo, bits of cheese, empty beer cans, the stubs of several dozen cigarettes. Charles is reading a book and Carlos is smoking his last cigarette, Guillemette has already gone to bed. There are horses in the field just next to us, and two cats have just appeared. They sit just in front of us, on the road, as if they were drawn here. And I think how strange and wonderful this is, because we- myself and Carlos and Charles and Guillemette and the German guy- we were all drawn here as well. To the Camino, to the Norte, to this very spot, to this quiet albergue. For tonight, and only tonight, this is where we are.

    

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

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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Inspiration

 

“A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.”

-Lao Tzu

 

 

“… For a time I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.”

-Wendell Berry, The Peace of Wild Things

Camino Packing List

Nadine and backpack on beach, Camino del Norte

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