Nadine Walks

stories of trekking and travel

My Camino Legs Are Back; Day 14 on the Camino del Norte, Comillas to Pendueles

Today was a big walking day. When I woke up I wasn’t sure how far I wanted to go; the forecast was calling for rain and others were planning to do shorter stages: 15 kilometers, 20 kilometers. My guidebook laid out a 28 kilometer stage that would end in Colombres, but from what I could see there wasn’t a pilgrim albergue there (only a youth hostel or a private albergue, which can be hit or miss and tend not to attract the pilgrims walking this route).

So I sort of had my sights set on an almost 40 kilometer day, wanting to end up in Pendueles in an albergue I had heard good things about. When I started walking this morning (after a “cafe con leche” in a plastic cup from the vending machine in the albergue kitchen, and a little later a croissant I took to-go from an open bar on the way out of Comillas), a very light rain was falling. It was more of a mist, and it lasted for about an hour and then the rest of the day was just windy and overcast. Perfect conditions, it turns out, for walking a whole lot.

Yesterday I’d felt really good on my walk, and that feeling continued today. I felt strong. I’ve had my moments here, but so many days drain me. And some days I just don’t feel strong at all, and I can really feel the effort it takes me to get to my destination. Last year was completely different, I flew through so many of my days, never really wanting to stop walking. So to be feeling strong again, feeling like I’ve really got my Camino legs under me… it’s a good thing.

I think I knew I wanted to go for the 40kms after walking about 10. I’d only really seen one pilgrim on my walk, and otherwise was completely alone. And I loved it. It’s been several days since I’ve been away from all the other pilgrims, and it just felt so freeing and wonderful, the kilometers ticked by and I could just relax and settle into my thoughts.

And so much of the day felt strangely perfect: really needing to use a bathroom and walking next to a highway and then suddenly this little hut appears, seemingly in the middle of nowhere, with open toilets (except for a couple of times in a park, I’ve never seen anything like this on the Camino). Later, after walking for awhile, I knew I wanted to sit somewhere, take off my shoes, and eat some of my bread and cheese. And lo and behold, a few minutes later I came upon a small park area, with picnic tables and a fountain.

With 10 kilometers to go, I stopped in Colombres for fries and a coke, then continued on for the last stretch. And what a stretch it was: a rugged coastal route leading to Pendueles. For most of it I was completely alone, not another person was in sight, and I got to walk sometimes within just feet of cliffs that dropped down to the sea. The sky was gray with heavy, low hanging clouds, the area felt wild and vast. I passed through a group of cows, climbed up and over fences, stared out over the cliffs. I ate the last of my gummy bears and trudged into town around 5:30; a 10-hour day of walking.

The albergue I wanted to stay in had 4 beds left, and when I walked in I saw Richard and also Nia, who I haven’t seen since Day 2 (she has skipped ahead a bit, but I figured we were far apart from each other and I’d never see her again). Jill was sitting there too, an American from Chicago who I’d heard about a few days ago. Upstairs in the bunk room were all new people to me; I’ve just walked ahead of most of the people I know, so it might be time to make a few new friends.

Today felt a little like a victory, it was a good, hard Camino day. I was totally alone and I loved it, but what makes it so good is that I can settle into an albergue and share a communal meal and be surrounded by people. It’s a good balance. When I was walking today a local man stopped me to talk. I can understand just a bit of Spanish now- in any case, we were able to communicate a few things. He (along with several others), asked if I was walking alone, and wanted to know if it made me sad to be alone. I think maybe for some people this could be hard, to not see another pilgrim for hours or for an entire walking day, to spend hours with your own company. But this is part of what I was looking for on this Camino- to just go off and have this adventure and know that I can do it. So to be alone? It doesn’t make me sad at all.

I also have my walking stick with me, and that helps. I’ve been wanting to mention it, I’m already quite attached: I’d been searching for one a few days into the Camino and found it on the day when I walked with Richard and Iria and Amy out of Deba. I saw a group of good looking sticks up on a hillside so I climbed up a steep slope and tried to break one off of the large branch they were attached to. Other pilgrims walked by as I was trying to do this, laughing at me a little, as I struggled to find the perfect stick.

While I was battling with the branch, Richard walked ahead about 10 feet, pulled a perfect looking branch from the ground, and asked if it would be okay. It was. He cut the branch to the size I wanted it to be, and smoothed off the ends, carving two rings around the top. I’ve had the stick with me every since, and having it in my hand as I hike is natural and good. It’s a strange kind of company to have- me and my stick- but somehow it’s important on this Camino. My stick was important to me last year, too, and I was really sad when I left it behind in Santiago. This year? I think this stick has to come home with me (any advice/thoughts on how easy or difficult it will be to ship the stick home once I arrive in Santiago?).

Also, my blister is fine. Actually, it’s non-existant, which is the very best thing I could have hoped for. I had a couple of tough walking days with that thing, but lately my feet have been feeling great. In fact tomorrow, if the weather is nice, I’m thinking of doing a very short day (14 kilometers), and staying in a town close to a beach. I might go down and walk in the sand, something I hadn’t really been able to do earlier on the Camino because of that blister. Since the Primitivo is coming up in only a few days, I want to enjoy the coast while I can.

I know I’d mentioned this earlier on the blog, but here’s a refresher: in Sebrayo, pilgrims have a choice of continuing on the Norte, or branching off south on the Primitivo. Both routes lead to Santiago and take roughly the same amount of time. The Norte will continue by the coast for awhile before heading down through Galicia, and the Primitivo immediately leads off the coast and through the mountains. Everyone says how beautiful and wonderful the Primitivo is, and even though walking by the coast has been one of the greatest things… I really feel that I want to walk the Primitivo. A lot of the pilgrims I’ve met so far want to as well, though some will decide when they have to.

But for now, being by the coast is rejuvinating. Tomorrow’s walk is supposed to be beautiful, and I plan to take it slow: soaking in all the beauty, lingering in a spot with a view of the water, maybe hanging out on a beach for awhile.

      

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

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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Bridge Crossing! Day 12 on the Camino del Norte, Santa Cruz de Bezana to Santillana del Mar

I’m still sitting here in this bar in Santillana del Mar, finishing a beer (what?? Not wine? Maybe I had my fill yesterday, and needed a change. But this, too, has been something that’s a bit different for me on this Camino: normally I don’t really choose beer if wine is available, and last year I think I had one glass of beer on my entire Camino. Not the case this year).

Anyway, this town is amazing, but also super, super touristy. I arrived here with Jenna and Guillemette and we stood around, trying to find the albergue, and two women came over and asked if they could take out picture. “Pilgrims, they’re real pilgrims!” I sort of felt like I was part of the tourist attraction: this is a medieval village with cobblestoned streets, narrow and winding. Even though I’m a modern-day pilgrim, people stared at me like I was from another world (but there was part of me that liked this. This pilgrimage to Santiago IS medieval, it’s modern but it’s also from another time, and I kind of felt like I represented that. In some ways, I feel like I belong in this town more than the tourists do, even though that’s probably not true at all).

I said goodbye to Nicole this morning, and it wasn’t easy. Nicole had planned to walk the Norte in April but broke her foot just before, so she delayed her pilgrimage by a few months. She knew that the decision to walk was a bit risky and that she might not be able to make it all the way to Santiago, and for the past couple of days her foot started to hurt. Last night she told me that she needed to stop walking, and she was pretty upset about it (but also handled it beautifully). In any case, even though I felt like we’d only really become close in the last few days (and even though I only met her a week ago), she already feels like a close friend. It doesn’t seen right that I’m continuing to Santiago and she’s not. And it reminded me a little of saying goodbye to Mirra, last year: a strong hug in the morning, holding back a few tears, wishing that my Camino friend could continue all the way to Santiago with me.

But I walked on, because that’s the Camino: you make these beautiful connections, and then you walk away. Or they walk away. Sometimes you see people again, sometimes you never see them again. I had a lot of practice with this last year but I have to say- it doesn’t get easier. I still wish that I could take all the people I’ve met on these journeys and carry them with me to Santiago, I wish I could fill the cathedral with all of them, to sit at the end with them. Them, and maybe everyone I’ve ever known and loved in my life. Saying goodbye, losing people, it’s hard. I still wish that I could hold on.

The walk today wasn’t great- there has been a lot of pavement walking in the past few days, and an entire day of it today. I walked a lot of the morning with Jenna (from New York), and together we navigated the short cuts explained to us by Nieves last night.

We had a decision to make at the train tracks over a bridge: hop on the train in Boo and take it to Mogro (the safer option), or risk walking on the narrow footpath next to the tracks. This option was explained to us multiple times: in Guemes, in Santa Cruz, by a local just before the bridge. Everyone said this: there is plenty of room to walk, and it is safe if you are not foolish.

I don’t really like walking along train tracks, and I don’t like risk, at all. If I had been alone today, I would have taken the train. But I approached the bridge with Jenna, and a German man was just ahead of us. And as we looked at the bridge and debated crossing it, a train appeared in the distance. We let it pass by, and knew that we had 30 minutes until the next train would arrive. Crossing the bridge took about 2 or 3 minutes, and I wasn’t worried for a second (well, maybe just a bit. I walked fast and was kind of relieved when I made it to the other end).

So that was the adventure of the day: as Christine and I have been saying, everyday brings something new.

After the excitement of the bridge crossing, the day was just tough. And I continue to think: this is definitely a different kind of Camino for me. The actual walking wasn’t hard- it was all on pavement but mostly flat. What got us today was the heat. It’s been hot here, but today was something different. I don’t know the exact temperature, but it was stifling by 9:30. After stopping for a coke with Jenna and running into Guillemette and Carlos, we all walked for about 5 kilometers and stopped at the first bar we came across. We all sort of dragged ourselves in and got bottles of water, and let me say- that cold water was the best thing I’d ever tasted. We continued on and I wasn’t having any fun, just walking until I could get to my destination.

But I’m here and before finding an albergue, Jenna, Carlos, Guillemette and I had a long lunch in a shaded courtyard. We found an “albergue” (it has a couple rooms for pilgrims and then rooms for everyone else), there are 4 of us in the room right now and it only sleeps 6. We have our own bathroom and a little terrace and wi-fi so it sort of feels luxurious. I met two more Austrians out on the terrace (Austrians are quickly becoming my favorite pilgrims on this Camino!), and I spent an hour wandering through the town, taking photos.

Carlos, Guillemette and I had a small dinner together- just bread, wine and a cheese plate- and we talked about the Camino and what brings us here, who we were before and who we might hope to be after. We stayed outside late and if it had been a clear night I might have been able to see the stars.

   

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

        

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Endless hills, endless beauty; Day 3 on the Camino del Norte, Orio to Deba 30kms

Today was the best day, but it was also maybe one of the hardest (although the hospitalero here in Deba just told us that tomorrow will be much harder than today, oh boy).

Last night, Elissa, Eva, Nia and I were discussing today’s walk, and strategizing about distances and stopping points. We were told that there were two options: walking to Zumaia (17km) or to Deba (30km). The others were up for a shorter day, and for good reason: to rest aching bodies, to slow down and explore the towns. But after a 14km day, I just didn’t want another short day to follow. 30km is a lot for a third day, but I was trusting my experience last year and how strong I felt throughout the Camino. I trusted that a 30km day this early would be no problem.

And you know, I don’t think it would have been a problem if I hadn’t decided to take an alternate and strenuous route for the last 7kms. What is it with me and taking the alternate path? Last year it was often to get away from the crowds on the Frances, but this year I don’t need to do that. This year, I think, is all about the beauty.

And oh man was today beautiful. For 85% of my walk I was convinced that, aside from the first day walking through the Pyrenees on the Frances, this was my very favorite Camino day. And maybe after I forget the pain of the last few kilometers, I’ll still think that. So far, this Camino is difficult, but it’s like I forget about having had to climb straight up a pile of rocks the instant blue water appears. This coast is beautiful, and for much of today I was walking on pathways high above the roads and towns, with a view that was almost nothing but green fields and blue water. But then I would look to my left and often see rolling mountains- both views were incredible.

I didn’t see a single pilgrim on today’s walk, and I was out from 6:30am to 4:00pm. And that, too, was pretty great. There were lots of locals out enjoying the trails so I wasn’t completely alone, but somehow it felt a little more adventurous to not be clustered in a group of pilgrims. I felt like a wanderer, a roamer.

Perfectly placed in time for my lunch break was a park with picnic tables and bathrooms, so I settled in at a table in the shade and ate a ham and cheese sandwich. Just as I was finishing a woman came over to ask me something; realizing I only spoke English she called her son over, and running over with him were two other boys. They were probably all between 10-13. For the next five minutes we attempted to communicate and I regretted that I hadn’t worked a bit harder at learning Spanish. Eventually I realized that they hoped to use my picnic table after I was done, and we all laughed once this was figured out. 10 minutes later, as I was leaving, one of the boys ran by and said, “Thank you!” Several seconds later, as I walked down the trail, I heard him shout, “I hope you have a good time!!”

His wishes for me quickly came true, and I spent the next few hours practically dancing down the trail. I took the alternate route and it lead me to a beach where I found a piece of sea glass. But that’s where the fun ended; it took me about two hours longer to reach the town of Deba than I anticipated. The alternate route was a series of steep ascents quickly followed by steep descents, and this happened over and over and over. By the end I was laughing, that’s how ridiculously slow I was moving. By it reminded me again of how a walk like this is done: one step after another. Just keep moving. I’d look at a series of stone steps that seemed to have no end and I just took them one at a time. With every hill I faced, I made it to the top. It wasn’t pretty, but no one was around to witness it, except for a group of cows that suddenly appeared on the top of the last hill. They stared at me as I walked around in circles trying to get back on track after peering through the window of a small chapel; they probably watched me and thought, “That tired girl is going the wrong way.”

But I made it to Deba and as I entered the city a man directed me to where I had to go: down two elevators, to the tourism office and if that is closed to the police station to get the key for the albergue which is in the train station. Confusing? You bet. But I found my albergue too, needing to only ask one person for directions, and my lodging for the night is indeed in the train station (the albergue is on one side of the building, and out the bathroom window you can see the people down below, waiting for their trains. This is a taunting situation, for pilgrims to be housed in a train station: we watch the train to Bilbao pull up and we realize that an hour’s train journey will take us 3 days).

I’ve done nothing more tonight than sit at a picnic table outside of the station, and the others sitting with me were just as tired. We split a bottle of cider and as soon as we were finished Iria asked, “Does this mean the night is officially over?” It was 9pm and the sky was still a bright blue but we all eagerly hobbled inside to get ready for bed.

Tomorrow is going to be another hard day- even harder because there are no towns or villages to pass through where we can stop for a rest or a bite to eat. This means that I need to find an open bar in the morning to have coffee before I go! My morning coffee is still one of the biggest priorities of my days.

I feel like I’m really beginning to get into this Camino, to understand how it is similar to the Frances but how it differs. When I walk I feel essentially the same as I did last year, and already there’s a happiness that is spreading through me that I recognize from last year’s walk. But I feel more tired than I ever did last year, and I don’t feel the same kind of energy from the other pilgrims. This may change, and soon, but in many ways, for now, this is a quiet pilgrimage. Peaceful.

So day 3 is done: one of the most beautiful and most challenging days I have walked, yet. I must have taken at least 100 photos of the coastline- here are a few…


            

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Only the second day; Day Two on the Camino del Norte, San Sebastián to Orio, 14km

I’ve finished my walking for day two and I’m not sure the exact number of kilometers/miles that I walked, but it wasn’t much. 15km, maybe? Which is about 9 miles. Only a couple more miles than the ‘short’ training hikes I’d been doing, so in many ways this doesn’t really feel like a “Camino day”. It feels like a long morning walk followed by hours of relaxation in a beautiful place… which I’ve got to say, is not a bad thing. I think back to what I said when I was planning for this Camino, and I wondered if I would just find some beautiful spot and settle in for awhile and write.

And where I’m staying tonight is the kind of place where I could imagine doing just that. It’s a small albergue in San Martin, just on the edge of the town of Orio. The town is a careful walk down steep, sloped streets, and if you walk past the end of town and in the right direction, you’ll arrive at a beach. But I’m staying up on the hilltop, in a beautiful building with a family’s home on the top floors and an albergue on the bottom floor. The entrance to the albergue faces a large yard with a stoned terrace, two long tables and lots of wicker chairs. And this set up faces an incredible sweeping view of the mountains.

The day is beautiful and the sun won’t set until 10pm. After a long, long walk in the rain yesterday, a short walk followed by an afternoon and evening with my legs propped on a chair and stretched to the sun sounds like just the thing to help me adjust into this Camino.

Only women are staying at this albergue, so far, and that seems nice too (if for nothing else other than the chances of snoring go way, way down). It’s a little strange to have a quiet day on the Camino this early on (it’s only day 2!), but I’ll welcome it. Who knows what will come next.

I can’t help but compare this Camino to last year’s, especially in these early days. Some of this- a lot of this- has been second nature. Especially strapping on my pack and walking. The terrain is different and the views are different but the action is exactly the same. All I have to worry about, really, is walking. It’s a simple task, but a big one.

The small things have already fallen into place, it’s coming back quickly: exactly how I pack my bag, the order in which I do things when I settle into an albergue, the snacks I like to buy to carry with me throughout the day, how to greet someone and slowly start a conversation.

Yesterday evening, in San Sebastián, reminded me so much of my night in Pamplona last year. Only a few days into the walk, wandering through a city with new friends, eating tapas and soaking up the experience. The rain had finally stopped and after we hunted down the best tapas in the city (I’m not sure if what we had was the best, but it sure was good), we walked through the streets as the sun broke through some dark clouds and made the buildings glow.

With me were fellow blogger Elissa (California), Misako (Japan), Iria (Spain) and Richard (France). Last year, the people I spent that night in Pamplona with turned out to be some of my closest Camino friends: Mirra, Ibai, Ji-Woo. So I wonder what will happen to this year’s early connections- whether I will see these people again, whether I will become closer to any of them.

Elissa and I had a long talk over a slow and decadent lunch today (a menu del dia for me: goat cheese salad, fried anchovies, a piece of cheesecake and a bottle of cider. Way too much, but it’s the kind of mid-day meal that I’d love to have more of this year). As we ate we talked about the differences between this Camino and the experience last year. This is a Camino, no doubt about it, but it’s not the same road I walked last year. And I suppose it shouldn’t be.

And the walk itself, today, was beautiful. The only thing lacking for me was a bar to stop at for a cafe con leche and some pan tostada- it was a solid stretch of 14 kilometers without a break. But what a stunning stretch- coastal views and rolling green hills. The guidebook says that today’s walk might feel like a bit of a let down after yesterday but in our case- with all the rain- we could hardly see a thing. So today was great.

It’s now about 10pm, and I’ll head to bed soon. By right now I’m sitting on a bench facing the mountains, with Eva on my right and Nia on my left. A thin crescent moon is hanging in the sky just above us, the sun has just disappeared behind a mountain. We sat for hours outside- sipping wine, eating bread and cheese and jamon flavored potato chips (only in Spain?). The air is cool and we’re all wearing fleeces, most of the others have gone to bed but we can’t leave just yet- the night is too beautiful. Eva talks of how she decided to walk this Camino just on Monday, less than a week ago, and how incredible it is to be here, how she has to tell herself that this is only the second day.

It’s only the second day. I have to say this to myself, too: it’s only the second day. But already I think I’ve seen beauty that can’t be matched, stayed in the best albergue, met people who I’m not quite ready to say goodbye to.

Only the second day: today I climbed out of a city and walked on dirt tracks with a view of the coast. I walked through the sand and dipped my toes in the cold water. I talked with a new friend over a long lunch, I sat at a table with a view of the mountains, I climbed into a treehouse with the hospitalero’s granddaughter, and we sat on swings and pumped our legs up towards the tree branches.

The Camino offers so many opportunities to live and to enjoy life, and I had more than my fair share of this today. What a good day.

        

Previous Post: Day 1 on the Camino del Norte

Next Post: Day 3 on the Camino del Norte

“Like a Rolling Stone”; Day One on the Camino del Norte, Irun to San Sebastián, 27.6 km

So I think I left off saying that I would be back with photos from the gorgeous views that I was bound to get from the first day’s walk on the Norte. I’d been checking the weather for a week, and Friday in Irun and San Sebastián looked sunny and clear. The perfect weather to start a Camino!
Well, I couldn’t have been more wrong. I walked in rain for the entire day- it started as a mist and then became a steady rain, and it was worse- way worse- than anything I walked in last year. I think every inch of me was wet by the time I hobbled into the hostel in San Sebastián.

Buen Camino, and welcome to the Norte!

I arrived in Hendaye, France yesterday evening, and after I walked out of the train station I wandered towards a bridge that would take me across to Irun, Spain. I could have stayed on the train and gotten off in Irun, making the trip just a bit shorter and getting to the albergue easier but the thing was, I wanted to walk into Spain.

Having been up for over 24 hours, I was exhausted. I knew that adding a couple kilometers to the end of my travel day probably wasn’t the smartest idea, but I ignored reason and started walking across a bridge. I kept my eyes peeled for the marker that indicated the line between France and Spain, but I didn’t see one, and suddenly I was in Spain. And I started seeing yellow arrows.

Oh man, to see those yellow arrows again! I had a big grin on my face as I started to follow them, as I once again walked through a beautiful Spanish town. I had a spring in my step, I was snapping photos left and right, I no longer felt tired.

But then I realized that I wasn’t sure where I was going. I was following the arrows, but the arrows weren’t taking me to the albergue. They were taking me, I suspected, straight out of town, heading west. It took me awhile to figure out where I was and to find the albergue but I made it.

Walking into the albergue was strange. All of last night was pretty strange, in fact. I felt overwhelmed and flustered, and shy and uncertain. I was back on the Camino (well, almost), but it didn’t feel like the Camino yet. And I didn’t like that. Maybe I expected a continuation of my journey from last year, that I would step into Spain and step right back into my first Camino experience.

As soon as I walked into the albergue I ran into Elissa, a fellow Camino blogger whose writing I’ve been following. She walked the Frances last summer and, like me, was gearing up to do the Norte this year. About a month ago we realized that we would be starting the Norte on the same day, and so we knew to look for each other in Irun. And seeing her was also strange- great but strange. Because here’s this person that I kind of know, but don’t actually know, another American, meeting her in Spain. It was a lot to wrap my mind around, and my mind was tired.

The hospitalero put us into a double room when she realized we knew each other (a double room! What luck!!) and I sat on the floor and opened my pack and took out some things and just stared at it all. I wasn’t sure what to do. The routines weren’t back yet. Do I set up my bed? Do I shower? Do I try to meet people? Do I find wi-fi and check in with family?

I sorted myself out but there were a few moments when I wondered what I was doing. I was sitting in a bar around the corner from the albergue, a tinto de verano in front of me and local men playing cards at the table next to me. It was a scene out of last year’s Camino but it was different. I didn’t feel comfortable, not like I did last year. I wondered if maybe I was wrong, if maybe the Camino magic really only happens once, if the Frances was where I belonged.

But then Bob Dylan’s ‘Like a Rolling Stone’ started playing in the bar: “How does it feel? To be on your own, with no direction home, a complete unknown?” This song was like an anthem to me when I studied abroad in France all those years ago. And I felt the lyrics deeply this time, too. How does it feel? Honestly? Even though I’ve already done this once, it feels a little scary. A little crazy. A little exciting. A little freeing.

So lets jump to today’s walk, while I still have time before we go out for pintxos in San Sebastián tonight. All at once, the Camino came back to me. And of course it came back in almost the instant that I started to walk. Out of the city and past farms with grazing sheep and ponies. Uphill, following the yellow arrows. I passed a Spanish girl who was putting on her rain coat and she said, “I feel like I’m home” and I could understand what she meant. It felt familiar again. It felt good to be walking.

So, walking in the rain. Oh boy. Lets just say it was a completely different experience than anything I had last year. On the way to Finisterre I walked in rain, but this was a different kind of rain. At times it was a driving rain, a soaking rain. I chose to do the ‘high’, alternate route, which I’m pretty sure everyone would have done if it was a clear day. But as it was, other than three Irish guys who passed me while I was wringing out a pair of socks, I didn’t see a soul. I could barely see in front of me, and at times I wondered how wise the decision was to take this path. Up, up, up a mountain and then along a ridge, every once in awhile stone ruins would suddenly appear, practically on top of me. Sheep appeared too, and cows, blocking my path. I would hear their bells before I could see them.

When I stood on the summit of the mountain, the rain blew into my face, the wind pushed back the hood of my raincoat. And I felt so free and so alive. In that moment I didn’t care that it was raining, I only marveled that I was able to get myself back here, back to this place where I could walk for hours everyday, surrounded by beauty, feeling energized.

And then I started the descent, and things went downhill (ha!). I realized that my socks were soaked, I could feel the water squishing out of them with each step I took. I was walking slowly, nervous about slipping on the wet rocks or sliding in the mud. I planned to stop in a town before San Sebastián, making this day a short one, and all I could think about was getting there as fast as I could and getting out of my wet clothing.

When arriving in this town (my guidebook’s not on me and I’m forgetting it’s name), I saw that the albergue didn’t open for another 5 hours. Pilgrims were gathered in a bar and everyone decided to keep walking. I drank a large cafe con leche and ate a slice of tortilla and I felt my energy coming back. The walk into San Sebastián was stunning, and that’s WITH fog and rain and grey skies. I think I’m going to love walking by the water.

The last hour of my walk was with Amy, from London. It felt a little like meeting Mirra, last year- falling into step with someone at the end of my first day of walking. We stopped for a coffee in the center of town and then walked together to the youth hostel. It seems like most pilgrims are here, already I’m recognizing faces. I’m still very curious how the social part of this year’s walk will compare to last year, and it’s hard to put my finger on it, but it seems like it’s going to be very different. We’ll see.

But for now that doesn’t really matter. Now, I’m showered and clean and dry. I’m finishing up this blog post and sitting at the table with me is Eva, from Germany, who’s writing in her journal. Elissa is here, too, and so is Amy and a French guy whose name I don’t know, and in an hour we’re heading into the city for some pintxos (what tapas are called in this region).

It was a good day one. Very challenging, lots of up and down (and the ascent when I started the alternate route? Lets just say that at one point, I turned around, looked at what I had just hiked up, and said to myself, “Nadine, there’s no way you can climb back down that without sliding or falling in the mud.”) Squishy shoes. Wet underwear. Pants so weighed down by the rain that I was afraid they would fall off.

But also so much beauty, so much energy, so much excitement for what’s to come. It’s good to be back, Camino, it’s good to be back.


    

Next Post: Day 2 on the Camino del Norte

But I would walk 500 miles, and I would walk 500 more…

In about an hour, I leave for my second Camino. A few weeks ago, even a few days ago, I figured that this blog post wouldn’t be written until I arrived at the airport and settled in to wait for my flight. Or maybe it would be written on the flight, or else on the train ride from Paris down to Hendaye.

But instead, I’m ahead of schedule. I’ve been ahead of schedule these last few days, and it’s throwing me off a bit. Where is the scrambling, the rushing, the panicked feeling that I don’t have everything done and I’m not prepared and that I’m going to forget something?

A small part of me worries that there’s something I’m not remembering to do, but mostly, I’m on top of stuff. It’s strange. I know I’m still going to have that feeling of “what am I doing??” when the plane takes off and, better yet, when I arrive at the train station in Hendaye and set off to cross the bridge from France to Spain and into Irun, my first official steps of the Camino del Norte.

But right now, this sort of feels ‘old hat’. I did a small training hike the other day with my pack ‘Camino loaded’, and as I was stuffing things into compartments, it all came back to me: how the sleeping bag fills out the bottom, how my soap and toiletries come next, topped with my rain jacket and ziplocs filled with clothes, how my bag with electronics and cords settles in at the top. Without having to think, my hands just moved along, filling my pack in the way that I used to last summer.

I’m at my parents house right now, where I’m leaving my car for the next month. I only arrived here yesterday, having spent most of the day finishing up work for the year. I imagined that I would spend my evening with maps spread out in front of me, jotting down notes, sending off emails, doing all of those last minute, pre-trip things. But instead, I went for a stroll around my neighborhood and saw lightening bugs blinking across the corn fields. I sipped a coke slushey and watched Apollo 13. I had one of the most relaxing summer evenings that I could imagine.

And now I’m sitting in my old bedroom with my Camino things spread out before me, not quite fully packed. My outfit is arranged on my bed, I’ll change into it shortly: a long pair of hiking pants, a deep blue t-shirt, underwear, socks. I remember this moment so vividly last year, how I was struggling to take a deep breath, panicked about what I was about to get myself into.

This year I feel so calm, and I love it. I think I’ve been ready to get back on the Camino for months, and now it’s here. Round two. The weather is supposed to be beautiful for my first day’s walk on Friday, so stay tuned for some gorgeous photos of the northern coast of Spain. Here’s a photo of a map of the route, taken from my guidebook (so pardon the poor quality of the map… but you’ll be able to see the route, which is the most important thing).

map of Camino del Norte

The solid red line is the route I’m walking this year, the Camino del Norte which branches off to the Camino Primitivo; the dotted red line is the Camino Frances, which I walked last year.

So here we go, 31-days on the Camino del Norte and Camino Primitivo… 500 more beautiful and strenuous and magical miles through Spain. Stay tuned!

Next Post: Day 1 on the Camino del Norte

10 days, Calm and Ready

A year ago I wrote a blog post called ’10 Days, rain, and stress’. I was- as you can guess- 10 days away from leaving for my Camino, and my days were consumed by- as you can probably also guess- rain and stress. I felt mildly panicked about everything: I hadn’t trained as much as I wanted, and for some reason I thought that I wouldn’t be remotely prepared for the physical part of the Camino if I didn’t get a chance to practice with back-to-back 15-mile hikes. I can’t remember what my longest training hike even was, last year; if it was 15 miles it only happened once, and it wasn’t with a loaded pack.

The rain was getting me down, I had two huge work presentations that were scheduled for the days just before I left for Spain, and I was terrified of walking the Camino. I was excited, too, but terrified: the Camino was calling me, loud and clear, but I didn’t know if I could handle it. I was so intentional about the decision to walk and the preparations and the training but suddenly, with 10 days to go, it felt a bit absurd- what in the world was I thinking? I was about to walk 500 miles across Spain??

This year is different. 10 days to go, and I feel… calm. Mostly. I actually don’t feel like I’m about to leave for Spain to walk another Camino, and maybe it’s because the stress and the fear isn’t there in the same way that it was last year. It just doesn’t feel real, but then again, things like this never feel real until I’m sitting in the window seat of a large aircraft, with my pack stowed above me and my journal open to a fresh page. That’s when it really hits- the excitement and the fear. I’ve had moments of each but I think they’re going to hit hard, and all at once, when I’m sitting on the plane.

But for now, everything feels controlled and calm. I’m not exactly sure who this person is, sitting here, writing about how calms she feels about a month-long trip to Europe to walk across a country… because months ago, I suspected that I would be a bundle of nerves at this point. Second-guessing everything, wondering if I was fit enough, worried that I would be too shy to make friends, worried about everything that could go wrong.

Instead, I feel settled. Despite spending hours, day, weeks, (months?) earlier this year, struggling to figure out the ‘best’ thing to do this summer, I think I always knew that I wanted to walk another Camino. And I can feel that, now. I feel it strongly: walking another Camino is exactly what I want to do this summer. I wrote about wanting to be ‘open’ on this Camino, and it’s been like a very tiny mantra that I repeat to myself every day, as I organize my gear, as I climb up small hills in a park: “Open. Open. Open.”

I’m ready for it NOW. Yesterday I hiked 15 miles with a loaded pack and I felt good. Tired at the very end, but mostly strong. Not everyday will feel like this, and I still worry that this Camino will be tougher on me than the walk last year… but I’m ready. After my hike, I bought the last few items I need for my trip: a bar of soap, a fresh t-shirt. My pack isn’t put together yet, but I have everything I need. No scrambling for last minute items. I’m ready.

Last year, I asked myself- what do I want out of my pilgrimage? I had some ideas, but I wasn’t really sure what the experience would be like for me. On the plane ride to Iceland, I wrote these words in my journal: “Connection. And fun.” Sometimes it shocks me that I was able to identify what I needed, because those were, perhaps, the two things in life that I needed the very most at that time. To feel strong connections, and to have fun. And man, did the Camino ever provide those things to me.

This year, I kind of want everything- sunshine and beach days and endless cafe con leches and Javier Bardem. And time to myself and time for connections and fun. But I expect nothing. If my days are beautiful and I meet incredible people and I have amazing days full of laughter and joy… then it will be a good Camino. And if I walk in nothing but rain, if I walk alone and stay alone, if I spend more time writing than socializing… then it will be a good Camino. My only goal, I think, is to be open- to accept what’s before me, to talk to the people around me, to take each day as it comes, with whatever it brings.

I still suspect that my next blog post, the one just before I leave or the one I write on the plane ride over, will sound completely different than what I’ve just written. That I’ll be saying things like, “What in the world am I doing?? This Camino is more isolated and it’s more challenging and WHAT IF IT RAINS EVERY DAY???” But right now, I’m not saying those things. I’m saying this: Camino #2, I’m ready for you.

Training hike, Ridley Creek State Park

Camino #2 shoes

Some of you expressed interest in the lacing advice the ‘REI guy’ gave me: see the right shoe. I was amazed that I could hike with a shoe laced like that, but I can! And it feels great!

A Rather Unrealistic Wish-List for my Second Camino

I’m just over two weeks away from leaving for my second pilgrimage, this time on the Camino del Norte/Camino Primitivo. Two weeks!! Sometime before I leave I’ll post a map of my route(s); I always meant to do it last year and it was probably one of the most asked questions by my family and friends: “Where in Spain will you be walking?” My guidebook should be arriving any day now, and then I’ll have a better sense of where I’ll be walking. Someone, it might have been my mom, seemed a little surprised that I would be bringing a guidebook. “Didn’t you have a great experience after you lost your guidebook last time?” And I did- I practiced letting go of planning, I learned to fully embrace the openness and possibility of my days in a way that I wasn’t quite able to when following a guide.

But at times, I missed the Brierley guide that directed me along the Camino Frances. I missed learning about the detours (which I loved taking), I missed being able to read up on albergues, I missed learning some of the history of the places I was walking through. So for this walk I’m going to use a guide, and I’m going to do my best to make sure I don’t accidentally leave it in the folds of a blanket on my bunk bed. I’d still like to follow the same approach that I learned on last year’s Camino: walk until I’m tired or, walk until I stumble upon a beautiful place. There are some things I’d like to plan (already I have a couple albergues that I’d like to check out), but more than anything I want to leave my days open to chance and possibility.

Along those lines, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about what else I’d like from this year’s Camino. It’s a big topic, and I’m still processing last year’s pilgrimage: the things I wanted, the things I received, the things that surprised me, the things I was learning. I think that more than anything, I want to be very open to this experience, and to whatever it brings. That’s the third time I’ve used this word- open- in this post. Maybe because this second pilgrimage feels so wide open. I already know what a Camino is like, there aren’t quite as many question marks, not the same kind of fears and anxieties. But I’m also not clear on what I want, which leaves the possibilities open: Do I want to form deep bonds and find a Camino family that I stick with until the end? Or do I want to be totally free and unattached, able to walk as much or as little as I want on any given day? I wanted both of these things, often simultaneously, on last year’s Camino. I still didn’t quite have it figured out when I arrived in Santiago, and I felt like I needed at least another 500 miles to find my answers.

Putting the bigger questions aside for a moment, lets talk about some of the things I’m dreaming about for this second Camino. I already have some guarantees: I know that I’m going to meet some incredible people. I know I’m going to savor those mugs of café con leche and glasses of vino tinto. I know I’m going to love waking up every day and putting on my shoes and walking. But now lets talk about the dreams, the fantasies, the things that could happen but probably won’t but (who knows) maybe will…

1. Making it to Muxia

Emma, the Canadian-born, London-based friend we made on the way to Finisterre last year, said it best: “Five years ago, walking to Santiago was the end. And Finisterre was like this little secret that not everyone knew about. Now, walking to Finisterre is the end. And adding on a day to get to Muxia is the secret that not everyone knows about.” Muxia is a small coastal town about 30km from Finisterre and today, indeed, many pilgrims walk here, in addition to Finisterre, after arriving in Santiago. Muxia is part of the ‘Costa de la Muerte’ (Coast of Death), named after the many shipwrecks resulting from its rocky coastline, and it is beautiful. At least, that’s what I heard from friends who made the trek last year. Because of timing, I could only walk to Finisterre, but I wished I had extra time to make it to Muxia as well.

And this year? Getting to Muxia is a pipe dream. I have exactly 31 days to walk, and that’s not exactly a long time for the roughly 840km between my starting point of Irun and my ending point of Santiago. At best, I might be able to make the journey in 30 days, giving me a day to bus over to Muxia, but I’m not sure that’s how I’d want to do it. I really think I’d like to walk to Muxia, and that’s a minimum 3-day journey from Santiago.

But who knows- maybe if I’m totally going at my own speed, not attaching myself to anyone and feeling really strong, I’ll walk some long days, and get to Santiago way ahead of schedule. Maybe.

2. Taking black and white photographs along the way

I considered this before last year’s Camino: should I lug my old and heavy SLR camera and a dozen rolls of film over 500 miles in order to take some nice photographs? Ultimately I decided not to, and it was a good decision. But this time? Oh man, I’d LOVE to have that old camera with me. I’d love to have several rolls of film from this trip, to one day be able to make a few beautiful black and white prints that I could frame and hang on my wall. Or print enough to have a small exhibit somewhere… (I’ve been so focused on writing lately, but the photography dreams are always lurking just beneath the surface).

And speaking of writing…

3. Blogging every day

Blogging on last year’s Camino gave me so much joy, and continues to give me joy when I go back and read through my posts. But I just couldn’t do it all: couldn’t walk the long days AND spend time with the people I’d met AND explore the towns AND blog every day. But this Camino is a different Camino, and I just might have more time on my hands. Unless #4 happens…

4. Meeting a Javier Bardem look-alike in Oveido

Ha! Last night I watched Woody Allen’s Vicky Cristina Barcelona (a movie that I never seem to tire of), and I paid close attention to the scenes in Oviedo, a city that I will be walking through/staying in if I detour from the Norte to the Primitivo. Maybe the Camino will offer up some good-looking Spanish/European men again this year…

So that’s my wish-list for now. Along with perfect weather, lots of opportunities to lounge on the beach, and perfectly placed café con leche stops.

I think the reality is going to be just a bit different… but only two and a half more weeks until I find out!

Hiking in Ridley Creek State Park

Only time for a few more training hikes…

Camino Magic in the Real World; Continuing to Follow the Yellow Arrows

As I was driving out of the park yesterday, I saw two little fox cubs playing on the side of the road. I’d just finished a 7-mile hike and I was feeling good; I started off slowly, weighed down by the humid air and hot sunshine, but soon found a rhythm and was marching along with strong legs and solid steps. Lately, my hikes have been good, almost the kind of good that I felt when I was on the Camino last year.

And then I saw the fox cubs. At first I wasn’t sure what they were- whether it was one animal or two, whether it was a large cat or a dog with an orange coat, or some other animal all together. I pulled up alongside the cubs and slowed my car to a stop. One of the foxes ran off into the grass, but the other just sat there, staring at me.

“What are you doing, Little Foxy?” I asked.

He seemed to tilt his head a bit, as if he were listening.

“You’d better move off the road, it’s dangerous for you here.”

I probably would have kept talking to him but I noticed that there were a few cars lined up behind me- but they, too, were peering out the window at the small foxes.

A fox sighting is always a little thrilling to me, and seeing two fox cubs felt really special. It felt like a good omen.

I’ve gotten several good omens lately, and it makes me think of last summer, and my moments of “Camino magic”. On the Camino, good omens or moments of magic seem to happen all of the time, and by the end of my walk I truly believed that wonderful things not only happen on the Camino, but they happen a lot on the Camino.

Yellow arrow, Camino, Galicia

Losing sight of Camino magic back in the real world is a common thing. We usually don’t call it ‘magic’ here, I’m not sure what we call it. Good omens, perhaps. Luck. Coincidence. Signs from God. Or sometimes we might not call it anything at all because we don’t notice it: too much routine and task and obligation get in the way of the tiny magical moments that are still probably happening every day. Or could be happening, if we open ourselves to the possibility.

Lately I’ve wondered if my ‘good omens’ have anything to do with my approaching Camino. Knowing that another Camino is close has put me in the “Camino frame of mind”; is it possible that this slight shift in attitude is helping to bring good things to me, or helping me notice the beautiful things around me? Sometimes I think of these magic moments or good omens as signposts, indicators that I’m moving in the right direction. As if the little foxes were there to acknowledge my strong hike. “We like it out here, too,” they seemed to be saying.

Green door, yellow arrows

Several weeks ago I was hiking in the same park and stopped by a picnic area to use the bathroom. Balanced on the very top of the corner bathroom stall was a book- it caught my eye right away because I usually don’t see anyone or anything in the park bathrooms. So I picked up the book and looked at its cover: The War of Art by Steven Pressfield (the book’s subtitle is: ‘Break Through the Blocks and Win Your Inner Creative Battles). I’ve heard about this book a lot, especially in the last few years and especially as I’ve been focusing on my writing. I flipped open the book at random and saw the words ‘Resistance and Fear’, things that I’ve been thinking about a lot in this past year. After I left the bathroom and looked around the deserted picnic area, I stashed the book in my pack. Maybe the owner would come back to look for it, or maybe not. In any case, it sort of felt like that book had been placed in my path.

You might remember my last post, the one I wrote a few weeks ago about not being able to get a reservation in my favorite Parisian hostel, the MIJE. I wondered where I would stay, I wondered how a different ‘home base’ would change my experience of Paris. When I woke up the next morning and checked my email, there was a message from the MIJE. “Thank you for the kind words in your post,” they said. “When do you need to stay in Paris?”

So I’ll be staying at the MIJE this summer after all- in a shared room but if a single opens up, my name is on the waiting list. How is it possible that this even happened? It all feels a little magical; even though I know how easily information can be shared these days, it feels improbable and unlikely that anyone from the MIJE would have seen or read my post, and taken the time to write to me. I was already a huge fan of their hostels, but now they have me for life (luckily, even though they are youth hostels, there is no age limit. So the MIJE is stuck with me for years to come!).

And this, too, feels a bit like a message. Keep traveling. Get to know places. Settle in. Come back, again and again.

So I think that these are some of my yellow arrows. On the Camino the yellow arrow is a signpost, the symbol that directs you towards Santiago, and they are everywhere. At home, they are much harder to see. But suddenly I feel like they’re all around me, and it makes me want to keep my eyes open for more.

Yellow arrow and walking stick

Thank you, Camino, for my (now) flat feet

My latest visit to REI had me sitting in the shoe section, right foot propped up against that sloped wooden bench thing, an employee across from me, looking down to my feet.

He paused, considering. “Have you always had sort of flat feet?”

This was when I knew that my ‘shoe’ problem might not be a shoe problem at all, but rather, a foot problem.

I wasn’t sure how to answer him. My feet have always been wide, but to my knowledge, never flat.

Never flat, that is, until the Camino.

The Camino has the potential to change many things in your life. But at this point, 10 months after the end of my pilgrimage, I assumed all the changes would be the inner ones. Shouldn’t the physical changes have happened on the long walk?

Well, they probably had, it just took a new pair of shoes for me to recognize the changes to my feet. A month ago I bought the same pair of shoes that I’d used on my first Camino, and promptly began breaking them in with some steep hikes in the mountains of Virginia. Almost immediately I felt a pressure on the top of my right foot, but I continued to walk, thinking that it would probably go away. It didn’t go away, and instead only became more insistent with each walk/hike I took. A simple stroll through my neighborhood had the top of my foot muttering at me after about a mile. So I slowed down, and took some time off from the new pair of shoes.

I grew antsy, so I went back to my old pair of Camino shoes and continued to walk. The pain in my foot gradually faded, and about a week ago I went on a 12-mile hike and I felt amazing (tired, at the end, but strong throughout).

So I returned to REI, hoping that there was some defect in the shoe I had bought, thinking I could simply replace them with a new pair and try it all over again.

But the instant the REI employee asked if I had ‘sort of’ flat feet (whatever that means), it was like something clicked. I didn’t know for sure that my feet had changed after the Camino, but there have been times in these last months when I’ve looked at my feet and thought, “You guys look a little different.” It’s probably my imagination, because all of my shoes still fit just fine, and I’m not sure that any change in my feet would be even remotely visible. And yet, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something had changed.

I still don’t have any concrete answers, but what the REI guy said made a lot of sense. After 500+ miles of walking, my feet had probably flattened out a bit. And my Camino shoes changed their shape along with my foot (if you remember the photo I attached in this post, the old shoes look so different from the new ones). My feet adjusted very gradually to the 500 miles of the Camino, but what they couldn’t adjust to quite as well was the new pair of shoes, with their high arches.

It seems as though the solution is a simple one, thank goodness. Just tie the laces in a different way. So far I’ve been on two hikes with these new shoes laced in a different way, and my foot feels fine. I’m not out of the woods (haha) yet, but I’m hopeful that these are the shoes I’ll be taking on my next Camino. And I’m hopeful that I’ll be able to walk pain free (except for the normal Camino pains, of course).

So this slight foot/shoe issue aside, preparations for my second Camino are coming together. I’m picking up a few items that I need to ‘refresh’ since my last walk, lately my training walks and hikes have felt great, and I’m getting that grin-on-my-face feeling of excitement again. About four more weeks to go!!

Final steps to Finisterre, Camino de Santiago

My final steps on the Camino, in Finisterre

The Good and Beautiful Days of Patience

I’m sipping a glass of wine (a tempranillo, got to prepare for my Camino!), and eating a small bowl of potato chips. At some point along the Camino, potato chips became my go-to snack (I don’t think this counts as tapas) to go along with a glass of wine. I think it was my friend Mirra who first introduced me to this combination, when we took a bottle of Rioja and a bag of papas fritas down to the banks of a river in Najera, to sit and talk and stretch out our legs after a long day of walking.

In the last week or so, I’ve been consumed with memories from the first portion of my walk on the Camino. I think it’s because everyone’s on the Camino, these days: blog friends and Philadelphia Camino friends and even a real-life Camino friend, from last year. They’re posting blog posts and photos- “I made it over the Pyrenees!”, and “Here’s Belorado in the rain” and “Passed through the small, quaint village of Ages”.

I’ve loved seeing these updates; I click on every photo so it enlarges on my screen, and I press my face in close to examine the image for the tiny details that I might have forgotten, to peer at each stretch of road, knowing that I walked the same path nearly a year ago. It almost makes me want to return to the Frances, to walk that road again.

But it’s too soon to go back to that particular path, not yet anyway. The Norte is still my plan for June, although I have to say- this year’s preparations and anticipations are completely different from what I experienced last year.

Maybe that’s one reason this blog has been a little quiet. I assumed that by now, I’d have a lot to write about- my training and the things I’ll be packing and my thoughts and impressions of a second Camino. I’ve had so many thoughts, but they’re all still muddled up there in my head. Sometimes, I still wonder if I shouldn’t be spending the month in France, writing, instead of walking. Sometimes I worry that I’m going back to look for something I never found on the first Camino, something I can’t even identify. Sometimes I think I want a re-do of certain aspects from the end of my Camino. Sometimes I think that if I had figured out more about my life in this past year, I wouldn’t feel the need to go back for another Camino.

But a lot of those thoughts are based in fear and control, aren’t they? I still want to choose the exact, perfect thing to do this summer, the thing that will help me out the most in my life, the thing that will point me in the “right” direction. Nothing I do this summer will really give me that, of course, and finding direction is just about taking steps towards something- anything- and then figuring it out as you move along. And in this past year, I’ve been doing that. I just need to keep moving, and practice some patience.

So that’s been my word, lately. Patience. I tell this to myself as I sit in a long line of traffic on the way to work. I tell this to myself as I hurry through the last miles of a training hike, my voice saying, “Slow down. Not amount of rushing will bring this Camino any closer.” I try to practice patience as I look through photos of friends on their Camino, envious of their days spent walking through Spain. I try to practice patience with my writing, as I wait to hear back about an essay I’ve submitted, as I wait to find the right words to say something.

And maybe the biggest is this: practicing patience about the direction of my life. I’ll get to wherever I’m going, I’m sure of it. I want to be there NOW, I want to have all the answers to so many of the questions. I know that I’m going to be okay, and yet, I just want a flash of an image from my life, 5 years from now, of the 39 (yikes) year old me. Just a little reassurance that the decisions I’m making now, the things I’m testing out now, are going to lead me somewhere good.

So in the meantime I’m just going to keep trucking along- drinking my wine and eating my potato chips, hiking miles through a park, practicing Spanish phrases, writing my essays and making to-do lists for my next Camino. Despite the unknowns, these are such good and beautiful days.

April shadowsYellow trail, Ridley Creek State Park

Taking the Road Less Traveled on the Camino Frances

I approached the church from the side, walking down a pebbly street that was bordered on both sides by open fields. The road was quiet and so was the area around the church, so quiet that I soon realized something was wrong. Not another person was in sight, there wasn’t a single car in the dirt covered lot. And then I saw the sign: “Eunate. Closed on Mondays.”

The walk to Eunate, a 12th century Romanesque chapel between Pamplona and Puente La Reina, was my first detour on the Camino de Santiago. It had been an easy decision, made the night before as I rested in my bunk bed in the large municipal albergue: this alternate route would add only a few kilometers to the next day’s stage, and would take me to what many consider to be a gem of the Camino Frances. The purpose of Santa Maria of Eunate (or, Saint Mary’s of the Hundred Doors) is unknown, but one of the theories is that it was once used as a funerary chapel. It’s octagonal floor plan is compared to the Church of the Holy Sepulchre of Jerusalem, and pilgrim remains have been discovered in the nearby grounds (how do we know they were pilgrims? They were buried with their scallop shells!). But Eunate continues to remain a bit of a mystery, with ties to the Knights Templar and with its isolated location- nowhere close to a village or a town, surrounded only by wheat fields and rolling hills.

Taking detours/alternate routes was something I came to love doing on the Camino, and it was all because of this first experience at Eunate. Leaving Pamplona, I was accompanied by Ibai, and we were soon joined by Paulo, an Italian, who’d just begun his Camino that morning. This was only my fourth day of walking, but I felt like I’d been on the Camino for weeks. And I also felt like I’d rather be walking alone. But soon Jorge joined our little group, and then we fell in step with a Spanish father and his young son. We traveled in a pack for awhile, sometimes walking single file down a narrow path bordered by bales of hay and fields of young sunflowers. I loved starting my days on the Camino alone, but I also loved the strange groupings that seemed to just happen, the easy nature of meeting people and walking by their side for awhile.

As we climbed up a large hill towards the Alto de Perdon, I moved ahead of Ibai and Jorge and the Spanish father and his son. But Paulo matched my pace. He was young and tall and athletic, so outpacing him wouldn’t be easy. And after we all stopped for lunch at the top of the hill, with the windmills to our backs and the metal pilgrim sculpture below, I lingered and Paulo waited. Later on the Camino, I would learn how to let someone know that I wanted to walk alone, but I hadn’t figured it out at this point. So Paulo and I walked together for much of the afternoon; at some point we were separated but soon enough I found him waiting for me, leaning against a low stone wall, next to a wooden sign that spelled the word ‘Eunate’.

“This is your detour, I think.” He pointed off to the left. Earlier on our walk I’d told him that I’d planned to take this detour, and now, as he sat against the stone and in the shade of a curly-branched tree, he squinted down the path, tired. “I don’t think I’m going with you.”

So when I took that left and walked down the long road towards Eunate, I was finally alone. And not just alone on the fairly populated Camino path- where eventually you will catch up to someone ahead of you or be caught by someone behind you- but alone. Very alone. I have at least one hundred ‘top’ memories from my Camino, but this is surely one of them: walking and dancing and singing and skipping down that path, under a bright hot sun, feeling far away and free. It’s when it all clicked in my head- that I was actually in Spain, and actually walking the Camino de Santiago.

The road to Eunate, Camino de Santiago

The road to Eunate

There was something spectacular about the approach to Eunate; spectacular because of the quiet and peace and calm of the afternoon, and of seeing the chapel appear, if out of nowhere, in the very middle of an empty field. So when I realized Eunate was closed, it didn’t seem to matter. In fact, if anything, I preferred it that way. Closed meant that no one was visiting- not any other pilgrim (at least when I was there), no tourist or local. No one.

I jumped up onto a low wall that ran parallel to a circle of arches enclosing the chapel, and I walked around and around. My backpack and walking stick had been dropped somewhere in the grass behind me, and I stretched my arms out as I walked along the wall. Later, I sat on a bench and ate a bar of chocolate, softened and melting from the hot afternoon sun. Relaxed and rejuvenated, I continued to walk, and soon returned to the main path of the Camino.

I would take other detours in the month that I walked the Camino, but this was the first, and my favorite.

Eunate, Camino de Santiago

Eunate, Camino de Santiago

Photo of the Week #7: A Return to Hiking!

A few weeks ago I drove out to my trusty state park to check out the conditions of the trails, and found that they were still covered in snow. And because I’m not a fan of walking over snow and ice, I’ve been sticking to a 4-mile paved trail that runs in a loop around the park. It’s a nice option for outdoor walking, but it’s just not the same as a wooded trail. I was anxious to get back into the woods, so to speak.

And this week felt like a turning point. It helped that I spent the first part of the week in western Virginia, where the weather was a little warmer and there were mountains almost at my doorstep. I took advantage of this beautiful area of the country and went on a few hikes: the first, an 8+ miler to a decent overlook, and the second, a 3+ miler straight up a mountain to a 360 panoramic view of the countryside (this is the hike that tortured my legs).

This part of the state is home to a section of the Appalachian Trail. Hiking the AT isn’t something that I think I’ll be doing any time soon, if at all, and yet… every time I’m on the trail or near the trail, I think about what it would be like to spend 6 months walking through the woods. There’s something immensely appealing about it- to spend all of that time almost entirely in nature. Moving slowly up a country (not unlike what I’ve done on the Camino, just a much greater distance), carrying not only my possessions on my back but also my food and my home… and doing nothing but walking. The Camino was such a great accomplishment, and I can’t even imagine what it must feel like to walk the entirety of the Appalachian Trail.

But for all of the trail’s appeal, there’s a lot about it that doesn’t appeal to me. Namely, wildlife. Specifically, bears. And snakes. And anything that moves during the night. And the fact that I can’t routinely pass through towns and indulge in cups of coffee and glasses of wine. So for now, I’ll stick with the Camino.

In any case, my 8-mile hike this week found me on the Appalachian Trail, but just for a mile or two. I was hiking the John’s Creek Mountain Trail- or at least, I was trying to. Supposedly, I would be on the trail for about 3.5 miles and then link up to the AT, where I would hike for another mile over to Kelly’s Knob, a ridge offering a decent view of the New River Valley. Except I couldn’t find the trailhead for the John’s Creek Mountain Trail. I drove up and down the mountain roads until I finally pulled over in a clearing that led to a wide, flat, dirt covered track. The track meandered up the mountainside at a very slight incline, and a sign indicated that no motorized vehicles were allowed through, but that foot travel was welcome.

After a few miles I came across an orange blazed trail, and for once my navigational instincts were correct: I turned right on the trail (which was indeed John Creek’s Mountain Trail), and after a mile hit the Appalachian Trail. I’m not sure where I went wrong and missed the trailhead, but I’m glad that I did. The mountain track was an easy way to start the hike, and as it wound around the mountain, I was frequently treated to beautiful views and blue skies.

So here’s the photo of the week, from what felt like my first real hike of the year:

Somewhere near John's Creek Mountain Hike

My legs are not what they used to be

So just yesterday I was writing about how calm and confident I feel as I plan for my second Camino. And while that is mostly true, I have a small confession: I’m nervous about how physically prepared I’m going to be for the long walk on the Norte.

I know, I know, I was worried about this last year, too, and the training that I thought wasn’t nearly enough proved to be almost more than enough as I set off on the Camino Frances.

But the Norte isn’t the Frances, and if anything, I’m afraid that because of my general confidence with this whole Camino thing, I’m going to relax too much on the training, and start my Camino completely unprepared (which isn’t true because I’m already somewhat prepared… but fear is a funny thing). I’m afraid that I’m going to be in the same boat as so many of the pilgrims I walked with last year: aching legs and sore hips and tired feet and generally just a lot of pain.

I understand that this wouldn’t be such a bad thing- it’s a 500+ mile walk, after all, and what’s a pilgrimage without at least a little pain?

This fear is recent: just two days ago I was talking about how I’m in better physical shape than I was at this same time last year. But already, I’m starting to question that. I did a 3-mile round-trip hike in Virginia earlier this week, up Sharp Top, one of the Peaks of Otter off of the Blue Ridge Parkway near Bedford, VA. At this point, 3-miles is like a warmup to me, so I didn’t think this hike would be particularly challenging.

Path up Sharp Top, Virginia

Well, tell that to my aching legs. The 1.5 mile ascent was tough. Compared to some of the days on last year’s Camino, the hike up to Sharp Top would probably be considered only moderately difficult. Nothing compared to the first day’s walk through the Pyrenees, or up and down the three mountains of the Dragonte route.

But here’s what I’ve learned: while I’ve still been walking somewhat regularly and continuing to wear my pack, my legs are not what they once used to be. Somewhere along the way, I lost my Camino legs.

I don’t think I would be so nervous if I were walking the Frances again. I still have over two months to train and it’s not like I was hiking up mountains every day last year in preparation for my Camino. But the Norte is going to be tough: up and down mountains, sometimes day after day. One reason I loved my Camino so much last year was that I wasn’t in too much physical pain, and I think that allowed me to completely embrace my experience, and everyday I felt so grateful that I got to be outside, walking. I’m afraid that this year, if I walk with pain, I’m going to have a very different experience.

But this is part of it, right? I think this is the beauty of an experience like the Camino- we can prepare and prepare, but we never fully know what we’re going to walk into. And we get to work through whatever challenges we face while on the journey: we have time and space and help and understanding. In many ways, it is the most perfect kind of environment to face fear and challenge.

So if one of my challenges this year is a physical one, I know that I’ll be able to face it. In the meantime, I’m going to keep walking and hiking, but I’m going to try not to stress. I’m going to try to follow one of the great Camino lessons: enjoy the journey. And that means enjoying the preparation part of this journey as well, even if it means sore calves and aching feet.

Summit of Sharp Top

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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