camino san salvador Archives

The things we carry; Day Two on the Camino de San Salvador, (La Robla to Poladura; 25km)

July 30, 2016

My thoughts, at the moment: My pack is heavy. I’m alone in the albergue. My forehead hurts because I was stung by a bee.

But lets go back to last night. Turns out I wasn’t alone after all; a Spanish biker showed up, then a Spanish walker, then two more Spanish bikers. The guy who walked could speak English, but otherwise I was just gesturing and smiling at the others. And I didn’t spend much time with them; I had just started cooking dinner when the first arrived, and had finished by the time the others showed up. One by one they all left to head into town to find something to eat, and I was in bed, asleep, whenever they made it back.

So I’m not counting on being alone in this albergue, it’s very possible that other bikers will show up, and maybe the guy from yesterday (who seemed quite surprised that I had walked so fast- even though yesterday didn’t feel very fast to me). And there may be others- two men just walked up, they look like pilgrims and at the very least are hikers, and I can hear them sitting outside and talking to a few villagers but it’s all in Spanish, of course, so I can’t understand a thing.

The next two days are going to have some hard hiking, but I have to say, the most difficult thing about this Camino is not being able to speak Spanish. I sort of felt that on the Norte, a bit, and that was mostly because villagers wanted to talk to me as I passed through, and it was frustrating to not be able to have a conversation. But there were always other pilgrims who spoke English so it never felt too isolating.

I actually don’t mind how isolated this Camino is, but the Spanish I really need is the kind that can communicate some basic needs. I’ve managed to understand what I need to, but it just makes things a bit complicated. Like, yesterday, the hospitalero told me that if I wanted to eat dinner in the only place that sold food in Poladura (where I am now), I’d have to call in the morning the next day to let them know I was coming.

That’s well and good, but I don’t speak the language and even if I did it wouldn’t matter, my phone doesn’t have international calling. So I strategized, and in the only town I passed through today that had any facilities, I tracked down a pay phone, and attempted to call. A woman answered, I asked if she spoke English, she said, “No.” So then I did my best to throw out enough Spanish words that might make sense… like “pilgrim”, “dinner”, “reservation”, “tonight”. She spoke back, real fast, and I didn’t understand a thing. So I just sort of repeated myself a few times and then I heard some clicking on the phone and the line cut off and I didn’t have any more change.

Unsure if I had actually communicated that I hoped to have dinner tonight, I walked around Pola de Gordon in search of a supermarket, figuring that even though I was carrying food with me, I could buy a couple more things in case I didn’t have any dinner options. I found two supermarkets, both were closed. I didn’t want to wait around until they opened- who knows when they would open- so I went into a bar that had a line of the biggest, airiest croissants I had ever seen. I asked for one to take with me, and then the man disappeared into the back for awhile. When he finally reappeared, he set down an utterly pretty package: the croissant was on a gold plate and then two cardboard arcs crisscrossed over it so that the paper wouldn’t press against the sugar on top and it was all wrapped up in brown string.

My backpack was filled to the gills; I’d had to get creative about how to string clothing off the back so that I could fit my extra water bottle inside. There was no way I was going to be able to find a spot for the croissant, so that meant that the pretty package dangled from my hand as I walked up a mountain.

The last ten kilometers of the day were stunning. I’ve now moved into the mountains and there was a stretch when I stopped about every minute to take another photo. The climb wasn’t easy, but it wasn’t awful either. I can feel how strong my legs are from all that hiking in France, but my heavy pack and the hot sun threatened to do me in. But I just took it slow and it didn’t seem to take so long to reach the top (where I had my victory croissant).

Then a not-so steep descent, and then a path that wound gently around a mountainside. Despite the heat and some soreness in my feet, I was feeling happy and energized- I stopped to take a photo and heard a buzzing around my head, and when I moved I must have hit the bee (or whatever it was), because all of a sudden he swooped down and stung me on the forehead. What a way to end the day, it felt like someone jabbed a very sharp needle straight into my head, which needless to say is not a welcome feeling.

But despite bee stings and croissants and loaded packs, I made it. The walk today was about 25 kilometers, and it was just enough. I arrived in Poladura, a small village of houses, a church, this albergue, and a small inn (which is where I hoped to find food). A tractor rolled through the streets, a black dog jumped to put his front paws on the fountain so he could take a drink, a kid rode a bike down an alley. Otherwise it was totally quiet, but the albergue door was open, so I went inside. I did my best to read all the signs, I took off my shoes and left them downstairs, then I put my things on a bed and took a shower.

The normal Camino routines, but it feels strange to do them in a place where I haven’t checked in with anyone, haven’t spoken to anyone. But before too long a woman and man showed up, with two kids on bikes. The woman was Maria, the hospitalera, and she spoke a bit of English. I realized then how relieved I was to be able to confirm things with someone, to ask about whether I could get dinner or not (she called to the inn and it turns out that I had communicated well enough that they were prepared to cook for me). She had the keys to the church and she said she has to open it once a day, because it gets so musty inside. I walked in with her- the chapels and churches along the Camino are nearly always locked, so it’s rare to be able to go inside one- and her 6-year old neice, Celia, trailed along behind me, staying close and giggling because I couldn’t speak any Spanish. I think she thought it was both the strangest thing, and the best thing ever.

I also confirmed with Maria about a sign I’d seen on the door to the albergue… that the albergue in the next town I’d planned to stop in was closed (as of today, of course, it’s having “some problems”). This is the most remote area of the San Salvador so there aren’t many villages or places to stay, but I still have two options: turn my planned 15 kilometer day (not much but it’s a very challenging 15km!) into a 30km day, or stay in a room above the bar in Pajares, the village with the closed albergue. Maria didn’t seem to have much information about it but I figure I’ll try for the room at the bar, or at least see what the situation is like. If not, then I keep walking… One way or another, and even if it’s not easy, I’m sure I’ll find a place to sleep.

In these last two days I’ve mostly just felt like I was hiking through Spain, and not on a Camino. But then there are these moments that remind me of the particular nature of the trail I’m on, that there is so much significance and history of this route. Every once in awhile I’ll pass a small altar, usually set up in the branches of a tree. There is always a bench or a chair underneath and I’ve been stopping and taking a rest, welcoming the comfort and feeling like I’ve found something special.

And then yesterday, I passed by a little pilgrim oasis. I was about 18km out of Leon and the last 10 of those kilometers had been climbing up and down an often rocky path, and whenever I was in the shade small flies would swarm around my head. I didn’t have my back up water supply yet and I was just at the point where I was trying to conserve the water I did have but wishing I weren’t because I was awfully thirsty, when the oasis appeared. It was set to the side of the trail under a small grove of trees. There was a wide picnic table, a trash can, a metal container that held a pilgrim registry and a basket full of blister-healing supplies, and- the best yet- a fountain pouring out fresh, cold water.

And today, just when I entered the last village before heading into the mountains, two men passed me. “Una peragrina!” one said to the other, sounding excited. I turned and tried to answer his questions, and soon switched to French when I realized that he knew some. “It’s a beautiful day to be in the mountains,” he said. I smiled and then he wished me a Buen Camino and my smile became wider. Every time I hear it, it’s like I have an extra charge in my steps. “Have a good way,” they’re saying, and it’s said with such genuine care that I believe it, every time.

Solitude and Cheap Red Wine; Day One on the Camino de San Salvador (Leon to La Robla; 27 km)

July 29, 2016

Alone in an albergue, drinking from a 1 euro box of red wine.

Welcome to the Camino, my friends.

This is my Camino #3, and I suspect it’s going to be yet another strange, wonderful, unexpected and challenging journey. I started today- Camino guides say my distance was 27 kilometers but my phone tells me it was more like 34 (though this was with a couple small detours and some back and forths), and this was the easy day on the Camino de San Salvador. Didn’t feel so easy.

But lets back up for a moment, just so I can feel like I’m sort of filling in all the gaps with my travels. I left La Muse on Monday morning and it was tough. I was up at Le Roc for one last visit and it was so hard to pull myself away, and when I finally stood to go, I started to cry. It caught me a bit by surprise, but then again, it was probably the most natural reaction I could have had. I love the mountains around Labastide, I love La Muse, and I really loved the group I was with this year. Leaving something that wraps its arms around you, holds you close and whispers, “This is where you belong, here, and with us,” isn’t easy. Not easy at all.

On the Jeep ride down the mountain, on the train ride to Lyon, I tried to remind myself that I have such exciting things coming up- a Camino! A trek in Scotland! These things help, but I needed the entire day of travel to just let myself feel a bit sad, and to wonder why I was leaving.

I went from the peace of a small French mountain village to the whirlwind and energy of 14 hours in Madrid. I slept for a solid 8 of those hours, and much of the rest of the time was spent visiting the Prado, and looking at yet more art that I’ve only ever seen in text books. It was wonderful.

Then a train to Leon where my college friend, Lani, met me at the station. Lately, we’ve been reuniting in Spain (her work brings her here for the summers) and I really like that. We ran some Camino errands- shipping extra luggage, getting a credential- then joined her family for late night tapas in the square. It was midnight when I got back to my hostel, and I vaguely wondered about how the next day was going to go. What was I going to do? I was going to walk? On the San Salvador? How much do I actually know about this isolated, challenging route?

It’s difficult for me to move from one thing to the next, to the next, without time in between to process what I’m doing. So all of a sudden, there I was, leaving Leon in the early morning hours under the light of the moon, listening to a crane’s clacking high in her nest, stopping by the first open bar for a cafe con leche. Wait, I’m on the Camino? This is the Camino? I followed yellow arrows through Leon to the Parador, where the path splits. One direction continues towards Santiago- and this is the way that all the pilgrims go- and the other heads up to Oviedo. This is the way I went.

I think I was the only one who walked the first stage of the San Salvador today. The San Salvador is a relatively short Camino of 125 km, running from Leon to Oviedo. It’s about a 4-5 day walk (or, as I’m finding out, maybe more like 5-6) and it runs through some remote, mountainous area. I’ve heard it’s difficult, I’ve heard it’s stunning, I’ve heard that not many people walk it. This first day wasn’t so challening, all things considered; aside from a few quick uphill/downhill bursts, the route was fairly flat. But man, it felt hard.

Maybe because it’s my first day- I’ve had some practice in the mountains of southern France, but aside from one long day, my hikes were mostly in the range of 1-3 hours. And maybe it’s my pack- when did it get so heavy? I’ve already done two Caminos so you’d think that I know what I’m doing when it comes to pack weight, but this year… maybe I got a little too confident about what I could handle, maybe I suddenly thought that my pack could hold several more liters than it actually can. Because my pack is full, and it’s heavy. And I even forgot to stock up on a big water bottle (my back up supply), so I have no idea how I’m going to fit that in- or carry its weight- tomorrow. Or how I’m going to carry all the snacks and lunch supplies I bought (this being a remote route, I don’t want to be caught without food).

These were pretty much the thoughts running through my head as I walked today, about 30 km totally alone, not passing one person: “What in the world is in my pack? Why does it feel so heavy? I’m not even climbing up a mountain, how am I going to do this? Why did I decide that this was a good idea?” I was also thinking how amazing it was to be back in Spain, to be walking a Camino again. Towards the end of the day I found a good, solid walking stick, I went a bit off route to find a bar and order a bocadillo (sandwich), my eyes became accoustomed, once again, to searching for yellow arrows.

I thought I might try to walk a bit further today (and attempt to do the San Salvador in 4 days), but I was tired. The sun was hot, my feet were starting to hurt, the sunscreen and sweat and dirt felt sticky and thick against my skin. So I knew that when I reached La Robla (a small town with a few restaurants, a grocery store, an albergue), that I was going to stop. This means that I’ll probably stretch the San Salvador to 5 days (which gives me one less day on the Norte), but I think that will be okay. The albergue was shut up and locked when I arrived, so I went to the tourist office to ask about how to get in. The woman working there called, I went back to the albergue and waited, and a man showed up and gave me the tour.

It’s a new albergue- so clean and spacious and it has the best kitchen I’ve ever seen on a Camino. The man only spoke Spanish and there were a dozen questions I wanted to ask, and so much of what he explained to me is a bit muddled. But what I do know is this: he gave me a key to the albergue and instructed me to lock up when I leave in the morning, and slip the key in a mailbox.

I arrived here around 3:30 and I thought there could be a chance that others would come, but now it’s nearly 7:00 and I think I’m the only one. So I went back into town and found the grocery store and stocked up on supplies and now I’m back here, at my own private albergue; sitting on the porch in the shade, listening to the wind, drinking the 1 euro boxed wine (which surprisingly isn’t that bad), keeping a watch for other pilgrims walking down the street but I know there won’t be any. I wonder- will I be totally alone for the next 4 days? Will I be able to navigate through these mountains? Will I be able to sink into this experience, when so much of my mind is still back in France?

I’m excited to find out. But for now, more wine, then some pasta and tuna fish (an old standby), and an early night. Let’s see what tomorrow brings.

Round Three.

April 25, 2016

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.

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.

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.