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Nadine Walks

stories of trekking and travel

Lost and Found; Day 13 on the Camino del Norte, Santillana del Mar to Comillas (back to Santillana and then back to Comillas…)

July 2, 2015

I’m in Comillas and I like this town. Santillana del Mar, where I was yesterday, was great too, but in a different way. It was like this perfectly preserved medieval village that is now one big tourist attraction (but I read that as recently as 20 or 30 years ago, it was “undiscovered”, and cows roamed the streets. Maybe that’s an exaggeration, but I definitely didn’t see any cows on the main drag).

Comillas is not as polished, not as quaint… but it’s still got cobblestoned streets and a beautiful old church and great architecture. There are tourists here, but there are locals, too. I’m sitting on the outdoor deck of a quiet bar/restaurant with a drink, and I have a view down a long street where I can see the corner of the church and the spire of another off in the distance.
It’s only 6pm, and I feel like I’ve done everything today. I started walking at 7am (which is pretty typical for me on the Norte, and sometimes I don’t start until 7:30, once not until 8:00. It’s later than on the Frances, when I would start by 6:00 or 6:30). I walked for 30 minutes then passed a bar, where all the pilgrims were stopping for coffee. I had my cafe con leche and some toast, and I tried to linger there a bit so I could space myself out from the other pilgrims. I wanted to walk alone today.

But after another 30 minutes of walking I saw Jenna (New York) sitting by the side of the road, and as I approached, I wondered if she was waiting for me. We’ve gotten to know each other a bit in the last few days, and the group of people she had been walking with have either ended their Camino or bussed ahead, so she’s back on her own.

I asked Jenna if she was okay and she admitted to having a bad morning, and asked if she could walk with me for awhile. I hesitated, just a bit, but then immediately said ‘sure’. I know how some days on the Camino can be hard, and it’s not always about blisters or knee pain. Often the hard days are because of emotional reasons, and sometimes that can be harder to deal with than the physical stuff.

So we walked and talked for about 40 minutes, and even though it wasn’t part of my “plan” for the day, when Jenna lingered in a small village and I walked away, I felt happy. We had talked about how sometimes on the Camino, you give what you can: if you’re a nurse or a doctor, you might give medical advice or help. If you can speak Spanish, you might help translate. If you have extra food, you share what’s in your bag. In my case, I think the thing that I can sometimes give is my company: when someone is lonely, when someone is struggling, when someone needs a smile.

I’ve always been good at this- it’s why I became a counselor. So in my life, I do this a lot. But as I’ve walked these Camino’s I’ve been so focused on what my own needs are, what I want from them, how I need to do things in my own way. That is still my priority here- nothing is more important to me than being able to feel free and able to walk my own way. But that doesn’t mean that I can’t sometimes put my own plans to the side for a moment, and help someone out. And it doesn’t mean that I want to stay solo for the whole walk- sometimes it’s good to sit with someone and have a coffee, sometimes it’s good to have a meal together, and sometimes- even for me- it’s good to walk with someone.

After I left Jenna I had a good, strong walking day. The terrain was pretty easy, with just some slight hills but mostly flat walking. The views were decent but not incredible, though most importantly the day was overcast and felt 20 degrees cooler than yesterday. So I sailed along, not wanting to stop, and not stopping until I reached my destination for the day, Comillas.

I arrived just after 12:30 and found Richard sitting on a bench in the main square, finishing an empanada. The albergue didn’t open until 3:00 and he was going to continue walking. I stood around for awhile, trying to decide what to do. The town looked great and judging from my guidebook, there wasn’t any place too interesting to stay in, in the next 10 or 15 kilometers.

So I said goodbye to Richard and settled in at a small bar where I ordered a beer and fried calamari, and I pulled my day bag out of my back pack and reached inside and discovered that my money wallet- with my money, bank cards, and passport- wasn’t inside.

I could feel my heart start to beat really fast and I felt a quick panic, but I let it pass. I took a deep breathe and told myself that I just needed a plan, and that I would figure things out. There were 30 euros in my pocket and I knew that I could figure out the phone number to the albergue where I stayed last night, I could find a taxi to take me back to Santillana, I could track down a familiar pilgrim and ask for help to make a phone call or to borrow money.

So I drank the beer and ate the calamari and looked in front of me and saw a line of taxis, waiting for passengers. It seemed perfect. I paid my bill and walked over to ask how much a trip to Santillana would be. We stashed my pack and my walking stick in the cab and drove off, back to where I came from, and the drive took 15 minutes.

15 minutes!! During the drive I would point to places I had been, hours before. An entire day of walking seemed to be erased as I backtracked, and backtracked quickly.

Everything worked out perfectly- I went back up to the room I had stayed in last night and new pilgrims were just checking in. They pointed to the woman who was cleaning the room and she had my money wallet in her hand; she had just found it moments before. I think I said “Muchos gracias” about a dozen times then I ran back out to the cab, who was waiting for me. 15 minutes more and we were back in Comillas, and I was deposited at the door of my albergue. It was now 2:30, I still had 30 minutes before the albergue would open. Just before he left, I think the cab driver suggested getting coffee, but I’m not really sure since I don’t speak Spanish. I just smiled and waved and lugged my pack over to the albergue.

I had just been thinking that it was great that I hadn’t lost anything or left anything behind so far on this pilgrimage; and then I forget the most important thing. I was so lucky that everything worked out okay, and now that wallet is glued to my side, at all moments (which it usually is, but I just wasn’t careful enough this morning).

It was kind of amazing and awful to take that taxi ride; I’ve walked about 350 kilometers over the past 13 days, and it feels like I’m really moving and making progress. I am, and yet, when an entire day’s walk was reduced to a 15 minute cab ride, it made me feel that what I’m doing is an awful lot of work.

The albergue is another good one; an old building that used to be a lady’s prison; 5 euros for a bed, there’s a “kitchen” (really just a sink, a fridge and a microwave but that’s better than nothing), it’s in a great location of the city and the building has a lot of character.

I was the fourth into the albergue, so I picked a corner bed in the room upstairs and went downstairs to take a shower. When I returned, I found a young, good looking Italian man spreading out his things on the bed next to mine. Oh, Camino. A reward, maybe, for the stress of the lost passport…

All jokes aside (because really, I AM joking), there are a bunch of people I know at this albergue: Jenna and the French-speaking Spanish couple and the drink-offering Austrians and Fernando and the German couple. Jenna and I are going to make a big salad for dinner tonight, and I told the Austrians to come and have some wine with us.

I’ve been out to explore the town, and took a tour of the Capricho de Gaudi, a private residence that was one of Gaudi’s first important works. I’ve seen the church and have had a drink, and will sit with some of my pilgrim friends tonight for a little food and conversation. All of this, AND a full day’s walk plus returning to the town I started in to retrieve my passport. I’m amazed at how much life is packed into these days.

    

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Tagged: art, Camino de Santiago, camino del norte, community, Gaudi, hiking, pilgrimage, Spain, travel, walking

The Camino of Life; Day 10 on the Camino del Norte, Santona to Guemes

June 29, 2015

I didn’t get my own room last night after all; three Spanish bikers showed up around 9pm. I knew it seemed too good to be true!

My walk today was… just okay. The beginning was amazing but right from the start I felt sluggish. Sometimes I just know that I have good energy or am feeling strong, and I just didn’t feel this today. By the end I was moving so slowly, and it wasn’t even a super tough walk. Maybe it’s just the accumulation of all of these miles, all the ups and downs, all the blister woes, all the rocky terrain.

But the first several hours of the day- despite feeling a little weighed down- were like a dream. I got to walk on the beach! It’s just such a beautiful aspect of this Camino- the coastal views, the beach walking. It’s an incredible thing to get to experience. After the first beach I climbed steeply up a hill and then followed an equally steep descent back down to a second beach. I roamed around the rocks, searching for sea glass and finding a few small pieces. And then I walked on the hard sand for several kilometers into Noja, where I stopped for a cafe con leche and a tostada con tomate (a first for me on the Camino, but something I’ve wanted to try: just a large piece of toast, covered with tomato, a little salt, and olive oil. It was delicious). I ate this breakfast at an outdoor table with a view of the beach, tourists at the tables around me, but no other pilgrims.

The rest of the walk was long, and I just wanted the kilometers to pass by quickly. I took a lot of breaks, including a nice long one for a lunch of a grilled chicken sandwich and a coke. My eating habits have been a little strange on this Camino; yesterdays’s lunch ended up being a large scoop of ice cream (great, but maybe not quite enough). By the time I arrive at my destination it is usually too late to find a restaurant for a good menu del dia (the Spaniards usually eat their midday meal between 1-3), and the evening meal is too late for my pilgrim schedule, not served until 9pm or sometimes 10. On the Frances this wasn’t a problem, the route catered so much to pilgrims that it was rare to not find a bar or restaurant serving a pilgrims’s menu, at pilgrim hours. Here, it’s different.

So I think I need to make more of an effort to carry back up food with me in case I can’t find a place to eat. But today, it wasn’t a problem. I ate well at breakfast and lunch and then arrived at the albergue in Guemes, a place I’d heard about from multiple past pilgrims. Even my guidebook calls this albergue the best on the Norte.

And having just finished my evening here, I can see why. I was greeted with a glass of water when I walked in (my peregrina friend Nicole was also offered cookies… not sure why I missed out, hmm…), I was asked if I needed to eat lunch, I was shown to my room which is set up a bit like a cabin, with a pitched roof and wooden bunk beds. I took a took a top bunk gladly because for the second time on this Camino, the bunks were in tiers of three! And these were even better than the beds in Islares!

This place is almost like a compound; Ernesto is the owner and we were told about his history and the history of this place during a community meeting just before dinner. If I remember correctly, construction on the property took about 33 years and it has offered beds to pilgrims for 16 years. But we were also told that it’s not really an albergue for the Camino de Santiago, it’s an albergue for the Camino of life. Anyone who is working to help others, to help take care of the earth, who is trying to make the world a better place… this is their home. I liked that.

There are probably about 20 of us here tonight, and we sat at two long tables for a wonderful communal dinner: two different kinds of soup (sopa de ajo again, and an amazing vegetable purée), a dish of potatoes and chorizo, fruit, bread and wine. All around me were people I’d met in the past 10 days, and a few new faces as well. Not long after I’d arrived this afternoon I saw Richard walk by- I haven’t seen him for almost a week and assumed I wouldn’t see him or the others again. I hoped to also see Iria and Amy and Misako but Richard explained that they were all further back. Still, it was good to see Richard, and it felt like this was the sort of place that could reunite you with old friends.

After dinner Nicole and I wandered around the property; after a day of mostly overcast skies and still air, the evening felt cool and fresh. A soft light was covering everything- the buildings of the property, the big green lawn, the lone towel that hung on the clothesline.

So this is the end of my day 10, as I finish typing out this blog post from my perch high above the others in the room. A beautiful morning walk on the beach followed by a tough journey to my home for the evening… but what a home it is. It was worth every step to get here.

              

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

June 28, 2015

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

          

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

June 27, 2015

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(A few days later)…

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

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

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

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

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

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

       

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Tagged: Bilbao, blisters, Camino de Santiago, camino del norte, community, friendship, Spain, travel, walking

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

August 23, 2014

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nadine.”

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

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

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

“A boy told us.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, I like to write,” I replied.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

IMG_5298

courtyard, San Nicolas

Maria cookies and journaling, San Nicolas

Interior of San Nicolas

Details, San Nicolas

Pepe and Alice, San Nicolas

San Nicolas, setting sun

Leave a Comment / Filed In: Camino de Santiago, Writing
Tagged: albergue, Camino de Santiago, community, hiking, home, journey, magic, san nicolas, traveling, walking, way of st james, writing

Welcome! I’m Nadine: a traveler, a pilgrim, a walker, a writer, a coffee drinker. This is where I share my stories, my thoughts and my walks. I hope you enjoy the site!
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