pilgrimage Archives - Nadine Walks

Day 10 on the Camino Primitivo, Boente to Lavacolla, 38km

October 10, 2021

Day 10 on the Camino Primitivo YouTube Video

Sometimes birthdays on the road are wonderful and magical, and sometimes they’re a little tough. My day 10 on the Camino Primitivo was an all-around not super great Camino day, and I suppose if it hadn’t been my birthday I wouldn’t have thought much of it, just chalking it up to the so-so days you have sometimes. But a birthday adds a certain kind of pressure, and today just didn’t give me the ingredients for a magical day.

For starters, I’m now on the Francés, and it is the weekend, and it is August. And let me tell you, it was the pilgrim superhighway! I know to expect a lot of pilgrims in the final stretch leading up to Santiago, and in some ways I think it’s kind of magical: here are hundreds and hundreds of people, all of us with our packs and our sticks and we’re marching along in a line, moving in the same direction, all of us from all over the world, heading to Santiago. It’s pretty cool. But for someone who likes to walk alone and loves having an open path all to myself, this influx of pilgrims was a lot! I’d never seen anything like it, and while it’s been awhile since I’ve walked this path into Santiago, I can’t quite believe how many more pilgrims there were on the way. From the quiet Primitivo to this: groups of friends, and students, and families, and just… people- it was overwhelming.

But I had a nice and quiet morning, I suppose the day started almost perfectly. Up and walking in the dark blue before dawn, one kilometer and then two and then an open bar. I was the only one there, with a huge cup of coffee and and a croissant, and just as I was finishing, Claudia and Jean Paul walked up, two pilgrims I’d met several days before. And, a few minutes later, the two Spanish pilgrims from my albergue last night. We all smiled and waved and chatted, and then I continued on, and for awhile the path was still quiet.

Then, the circus of the late morning and early afternoon, but I made the best of it: stopping again for a tortilla and a cortado, and then, again, for a beer and a small bowl of chips. There was a point when the path of the Camino veered off to the right, but the mass of pilgrims all continued straight: they were walking into O Pedrouzo, I was continuing on for another 10 kilometers to Lavacolla. And just like that, most of the pilgrims were gone, and I was walking under the trees with the path to myself.

And then it rained, light at first, and then harder, and it wasn’t ideal but when it rains on the Camino there’s nothing to really do except keep on walking. And so I did.

I arrived, wet and a little cold, to the albergue in Lavacolla. It was a fine enough place: a big bunk room but with decent space between the bunks, and a beautiful and well-equipped kitchen. Right as I entered I saw a pilgrim I’d met in Ferreira, and she was fine but not quite my cup of tea. She told me how the only shops in town were closed because it was Sunday, but then raved about the great lunch she’d just eaten at the restaurant down the road, and even how the owners had given her a ride back because it was raining. I could feel my stomach start to rumble: it was nearly 4pm, I’d walked nearly 40 kilometers, and while I’d stopped several times throughout the day, I’d never had a proper lunch. It would be too late for lunch now, but I figured I would shower and then maybe set off to explore and see if I could find a place that might be serving food.

I headed back out around 6, after a quick search on my phone revealed that the restaurant down the road would serve food at all hours. A pilgrim miracle! It wasn’t raining when I set out but it was gray and chilly. I walked and walked and when I arrived at the restaurant, I was greeted with a frown, a hostess pointing to a large sign. I needed to prove I was vaccinated in order to enter the restaurant, and of course, I’d left my vaccination card back at the albergue! (This was one of the two times I needed to prove vaccination to enter an establishment; I was walking through Galicia at a time this summer when it was required, but those regulations changed shortly after.) The hostess shrugged, pointed to a table under a canvas tent, and told me that the kitchen couldn’t serve me food until 8pm.

So I sat at a table outside and zipped my fleece up, tucking my hands into the sleeves to warm my fingers, and ordered a glass of wine. I wasn’t sure what I was going to do- two hours would be a long time to wait outside- but I figured I’d have a glass of wine, then walk back to the albergue, pick up my vaccination card, and then walk back to the restaurant for dinner. But just as my wine was delivered to my table, the skies opened up and it began to pour.

I sat, huddled and alone at a table outside because I was the pilgrim who didn’t have proof of vaccination, and wondered what I was going to do. It was then that I started to feel a little sorry for myself, to feel sorry that it was my birthday, and that I was close to Santiago but all alone, tired and hungry, staring out at the rain.

And then the hostess brought me a menu, and told me I could order food. Someone inside that restaurant must have looked out and taken pity on me, or maybe it’s just that the Camino provides, because I was able to order food and I was able to eat, and it was what I needed.

I still had to walk back to my albergue in the rain, but it didn’t matter: once I got back I changed into the only clean and dry clothes I had left, I managed to find the hospitalera so I could ask for a blanket, I chatted with a few French pilgrims, and crawled into bed, warm and dry, with a full stomach.

Some Camino days are “off” Camino days, but at the end of it I tried to remember how grateful I was to be able to be walking at all. Plus, I was just 10km away from Santiago! Bright days ahead.

Day 9 on the Camino Primitivo, Ferreira to Boente, 25km

October 3, 2021

Day 9 on the Camino Primitivo YouTube Video

25km today, and now, of course, my body feels strong and maybe those Camino legs have really kicked in because the kilometers were easy and so of course I felt like I could have walked longer. I did my thing of walking fast and stopping a lot: for coffee, for an Aquarius, for photos, for peering into churches.

There was a stretch with a long, stony path, bordered by green pine trees and tufts of purple heather and what remained of a gray stone wall and this path seemed to go on and on, under a big sky, with Melide in the distance, clouds and sun and no one there but me. I loved it! I’d walked it before- I must have, back in 2015- but I couldn’t remember it at all. As I walked, I thought about how beautiful it was, how I felt as though I would never forget it, and wondered what I’d been thinking about when I walked it 6 years before. Why hadn’t it stuck in my memory? What had been my mood that day? Were my eyes focused on the ground, was the sky dark and stormy, was I walking with someone else? I might not have remembered this part of the Camino the first time I walked but this time, it made an impression. In Melide the Primitivo would merge with the Frances, and so these were the very last kilometers on the Primitive Way. I tried to soak them up, I tried to imprint the path onto my memories. Maybe I did.

And then I arrived in Melide and I was surrounded by new and unknown pilgrims. This happens every time! I should be used to it!! But we’re all pilgrims and I told myself I only have a few days left until I reach Santiago, I can deal with a few more pilgrims on the path. But it makes me think of just how special the Primitivo is- every year and especially this year. What a special, special walk.

I passed through Melide, pausing for a glass of wine with a pilgrim I’d met that morning, then I continued on. I intended to get something to eat but I was flustered by the city so I just started walking, and then another 5km flashed by and I was at my albergue (Albergue El Alemán, Boente). I’d made a reservation just two days before; I’d been nervous about all the pilgrims on the last 100km of the Frances and reports that finding beds in this stretch was really difficult (especially considering I was now walking in the height of the summer), but luckily I had no trouble finding places to sleep. I think it helped that I was staying “off stage” (off of the typical Brierley guidebook stages, anyway), but in any case, I was pleased to not have to stress about where I would sleep.

And this albergue was great! It had been recommended to me by my lovely host back in Vilar de Cas, and everything was just as promised: a beer garden with outdoor picnic tables under a large awning, a tiny restaurant/bar area with some basic pilgrim supplies, even a small pool to dip tired feet into! As I arrived, two pilgrims I’d met the night before were finishing lunch, and they invited me to their table and I ordered my own meal: a big salad, fish and roasted potatoes, cold melon for dessert. Those friends both continued on, and in the end there were only 5 pilgrims- including myself- in the albergue, and incredibly, four of us had been on the Primitivo! Even though I was technically now on the Francés, it felt as though I’d extended the Camino Primitivo by a few more kilometers.

Somehow I managed to eat more food for dinner just a short while later, after giving my feet a long soak in the pool. After eating every last bite of my big bowl of pasta (not only have my Camino legs kicked in, it appears that the Camino hunger has kicked in as well!), I finished the day with a stroll through the quiet streets of the village.

But the real ending was a small commotion I made in the bunk room of the albergue as I was preparing to go to bed. While trying to close the blinds of the window across from my bunk, I accidentally pulled the entire thing down and it fell with a crash. A Spanish pilgrim came over to see what the noise was and together we managed to get the blinds back in place, but there were little plastic pieces, broken, on the floor. I gathered them up in my hand and the pilgrim said- “Destroy the evidence!” and the hospitaleros had already turned in for the night and I couldn’t tell them about the window. So if you stay at the Albergue in Boente and the window shade falls down in the night, it is not a ghost!! It was just me.

Day 8 on the Camino Primitivo, Lugo to Ferreira, 26.5km (+3km detour)

September 29, 2021

Day 8 on the Camino Primitivo YouTube Video

My day started in what is- for me- the best possible way: a large and creamy mug of coffee and some sort of bready and slightly sweet pastry in an charming old café in the main square of a Spanish city. The sun hadn’t yet risen but the sky was beginning to lighten, the streets were quiet, the espresso machine whirled and there was one other woman in the café, tucked away in the corner. My pack propped against the wall, my shoes laced tight, the hot coffee and a day of walking ahead.

The highlight of today’s walk was detouring to see the Roman Temple in Santa Eulalia de Bóveda, just a couple kilometers off the path of the Camino. I’d only given a cursory glance at what I was going to see, and on the way there I sort of thought I was going to see an old church (I’m going to blame it on the Camino and being in a new place everyday and never quite remembering where you’ve been or where you’re going). I arrived, figured out how to find the tourist office (this makes the place seem like some bustling city… it’s not. It’s a super tiny, deserted village with some houses and a church, and this little room that acts as the tourist information center). Luckily I arrived during their open hours, and I knocked on the door and a woman appeared and said something and of course I was confused and I went to try to find the temple (you’d think it would be obvious- but really, this was a very small, nondescript Spanish village, much like so many others I had seen before. The fact that an ancient temple was tucked away somewhere here was pretty amazing!) and finally I realized it was behind a locked door and I had to wait for the woman with the key.

She opened a door, led me down some steps, and I walked into a dark space and was blown away. This 3rd century Roman temple was only discovered in the 1940’s, and it’s so tucked away (underneath the church!) it’s incredible that it’s there at all, and that I somehow managed to find my way there. And I felt lucky to get to see it- I needed to have known about it, I needed to walk a few kilometers off the Camino, the tourism office needed to be open and staffed, all of it seemed to need to come together to get to be in this pretty special spot.

The rest of the walk felt good, the time passed quickly. It was an overcast day, and cool. There were no services for most of the walk, not until a bar about 7km before the end of the stage, and while I was taking a break there I saw several pilgrims I knew- Kinka was eating a sandwich, Andre walked by with his friends. An American and an Italian came up after I’d arrived and we started talking and just like that, it felt as though I had new friends! The Primitivo has felt really special, and I’m not sure if it’s just a particularly nice batch of pilgrims, or if it’s the unique nature of walking this year. Maybe both. I’ve said this before but the connections happen fast- you can chat with a pilgrim for 15 minutes at a rest stop, see them again in your albergue, and be laughing like you’re old friends.

And that’s exactly what happened: Simone, the Italian, was staying in the same albergue as I was, and we checked in at the same time, got settled into our bunks, took turns taking a shower, and then whiled away the rest of the afternoon in the lounge of the albergue. It had grown cold outside, and stormy, and I was wearing every layer I’d brought with me, but it was warm in the albergue and once again, I’d found another great place: the Albergue Ponte Ferreira, owned by a wonderful Dutch couple, who greeted pilgrims with small mugs of mint tea and an incredible homemade dinner. We all filed into the large dining room when it was dinner time- there were 6 of us- and were treated to a crisp salad with avocado, big slices of cheesy quiche, pasta with a hearty meat sauce, bowls of vanilla ice cream with slivers of banana and a dollop of whipped cream. And wine and bread (of course!). Simone and I laughed and joked and it was like we were old friends, though we had just met earlier in the day, and once again I was with a new group but we were all, mostly, new to each other and it seemed like I was able to fit in easily.

I fell asleep quickly, in my bunk in the corner of the room, under a freshly washed blanket (not all albergues were providing blankets during COVID, but this one was- you just had to request it!). A satisfying walk, a nourishing meal, the easy connection of fellow pilgrims, the knowledge that my Primitivo was nearing its finish, wrapped up and warm in my bed, safe and sound.

Next Post: Day 9 on the Camino Primitivo

Day 7 on the Camino Primitivo, Vilar de Cas to Lugo, 15km

September 21, 2021

Day 7 on the Camino Primitivo YouTube Video

By Day 7 on the Primitivo, I knew I needed a break. Those first 6 days that I’d walked were not easy stages, and each day had seemed to hold some significant ups and downs. I love walking big days, but I could feel how tired my body was. So instead of another big stage, I decided to walk a straightforward 15km into Lugo, where I could rest and explore the city and- try- to take it easy.

I’d had a great night’s sleep in the beautiful albergue in Vilar de Cas, and because I knew I was walking a short day, I took my time in the morning. I lingered over breakfast- toast and coffee and fresh orange juice and a big slice of cake (there’s a name for this- the slightly sweet cake that’s often served at breakfast- but I can’t remember it!) and I sat again at a table outside, and the German girls joined me and then left, and once again, I lingered. I finished breakfast, I packed up the rest of my things, I took pictures and videos of the albergue, I wandered back to the bar area to pay my bill, and Mer was there! She’d already walked 5km that morning, and as she drank down her coffee and ate her cake, she told me that she was in a hurry to get to Lugo so she could make it in time for a city tour.

She left before me, for some reason I was still lingering. Eventually I grabbed my walking stick, said goodbye to my hosts and waved to the villagers and walked out of the village. It was such a wonderful place, and I thought about it as I walked: how safe and taken care of I’d felt there. I was a pilgrim and just passing through, I couldn’t speak the language of my hosts or the villagers, and yet, I felt included. I felt like I was part of something there, that I was seen, that I had a place at the table.

The 15km passed quickly; I tried to slow my pace but I was energized and I walked strong all the way into Lugo. I’d been through here before, on my first Primitivo in 2015, but I never really saw the city back then. I’d moved through it quickly, not wanting to be in a crowded place, wanting to be somewhere quiet. This time, I was arriving at 11am and I had the entire day in front of me. I stopped for a coffee and sat in the shadows of the city walls, and then I walked up onto those Roman walls, a 2km+ path that circles the city. It was incredible, and over and over I asked myself- “how could I have missed this the first time I was here?”

I checked into my hotel room and it was perfect. I’d gotten a recommendation from my hospitalero for a place called Hotel España, a small room with a single bed and a private bathroom with a view of the city walls for only 25 euros! Pilgrim luxury. I’d been walking for a week at this point, staying in albergues, and even though I’d had some rooms all to myself, it was a treat to have a very private space and my own bathroom. I emptied my pack and reorganized my things, took a shower with the hotel’s shampoo and soap (and towel!), washed my clothes and found wire hangers in the wardrobe and hung the clothes from the window so they could dry in the breeze.

Once the chores were done I went back out into the city for lunch. I found a narrow cobblestoned street in the old city with a cluster of restaurants lining the sidewalk, with tables under umbrellas, and settled in at one of them. I ordered a menu del dia: ham croquetas, salmon with salad, quince and cheese, a basket of bread and a glass of white wine. While I ate, a small bird landed on the chair across from me, chirping as I sipped my wine. The German girls walked past, and we smiled and waved at each other.

It was 3pm and I had the rest of the afternoon and evening and a beautiful city to explore, but I decided to head back to hotel for a little siesta. I stretched out on the bed, thinking I might relax for an hour or so, but one hour turned to two, to three, and I knew that what I needed more than anything was rest.

I’d walked a lot in this first week on the Camino. Possibly too much, although in many ways, I wouldn’t have changed a thing. I’d reserved most of my lodging before I left for Spain which is something I typically wouldn’t do, but with the uncertainty of a COVID year and reduced capacity in albergues, I wanted to be safe and assure myself of a place to sleep at night. And when I was planning, I told myself that the long days would be fine, and good. And they were fine, and good, and I loved the people I met and I loved the challenge of the hard days, but there on that bed in Lugo, with the breeze blowing back the curtains and spinning my t-shirt on its hanger, the thick stone of those Roman walls so close I could almost touch them, I decided to slow down. My original plan had me walking several more long days, and I’d already shortened the day’s stage by stopping in Lugo, but I decided to tack on an extra stage, and stretch out my Primitivo by one more day. I suppose that I did it all backwards: walking long days on the most difficult stages, shorter days on the easier days into Santiago. But it felt right, so I didn’t question it. I mapped out a new plan in my journal, sent a couple of emails to see about reserving beds in albergues, and felt settled about the decision.

And I gave myself a quiet night: a quick walk to the nearest grocery store, a packaged salad and a hunk of bread and a cold beer, cookies for dessert. The Olympics on TV, the open window, my laundry and soft white towels and my little nest in the shadows of an ancient city wall. Resting after a week on the Camino, ready for whatever the next week might hold.

Next Post: Day 8 on the Camino Primitivo

Day 5 on the Camino Primitivo, La Mesa to A Fonsagrada, 40km

September 8, 2021

Day 5 on the Primitivo YouTube Video

I walked far today, from La Mesa to A Fonsagrada, just over 40km. It had all been part of my initial plan and I really like walking long days but I kind of forgot that the Primitivo is not an easy route. I was so focused on Hospitales that I told myself the rest of the way would be easier and, well, there are still ups and downs! Lots of them!

But the beginning of the day, especially from La Mesa to the reservoir about 5km before Grandas de Salime, was nothing short of magical. After breakfast in the restaurant at the albergue I started walking, with the sun rising at my back. André- the young pilgrim from Portugal- was the only other walker out on the road and for awhile I could keep my eye on him, far ahead on the hillside. He was keeping pace with a group of bicyclers who were having trouble with the steep hill and I had to laugh, wondering if André would eventually outpace them.

Then they all crested the hill and I lost sight of them and it was just me and my long shadow and I walked. The air was cool and the light was soft and the Camino moved off of the road and onto a path through the fields. I felt high above everything- maybe not quite the heights of Hospitales the day before, but still surrounded by mountains and rolling valleys. My favorite spot of the day was just before the path begins its descent down towards the reservoir- I turned a corner and arrived at a little stone chapel (Chapel of Santa Marina de Buspol). There was a field of cows, their bells ringing and clanging, a wildflower-strewn path, streaking clouds and patches of sunlight on the mountains in the distance.

The path of the Camino descends for quite awhile and then skirts around the reservoir before it climbs back up on the other side. Right at the start of the long (and paved) climb is a little hotel/bar that I remembered stopping at back in 2015. It was open and the terrace views were just as good as they were 6 years ago, and the café cortado and tortilla (my first of the trip!) even better.

But then I entered into the part of the day that felt hard. It wasn’t just the walking- though that was at times tough and I could feel that I was dragging- it was the mental aspect, too. I regretted, just a little, doubling a stage and moving away from all of my friends. I know this is what happens on a Camino when you walk a short day or a long day, and I tried to remind myself that I always run into people unexpectedly here (that a Camino goodbye isn’t always a true goodbye), but I felt wistful as I walked past the albergue in Castro where many of the others would be staying. I’d walked 20km at this point, and there wasn’t another lodging option until A Fonsagrada, another 20km away (which was where I was headed). The albergue in Castro was a nice-looking stone building overlooking a field of cows, at the corner of a very small and quiet village and it all seemed so peaceful, so relaxing. I could picture it: showering and doing my pilgrim chores and then grabbing a beer at the attached bar and settling in at a table for the rest of the afternoon, greeting my friends one by one as they walked up.

I could picture it, and yet, it wasn’t even noon. I thought about sitting around for the rest of the afternoon and I could feel myself grow restless, my feet itching to keep moving. Did I make the right choice by walking an additional 20km to A Fonsagrada and losing the friends I’d made over the first four days? Is there ever a right Camino decision? All I know is that I paused at the albergue, and then I kept walking.

I took a long break on a bench at the church in Penafuente, pulling out all of my snacks and eating as much as I could to give myself some energy. I was only 5km past Castro and still had 15km to go and for the next 10km I really had to push myself, but- as ever- one foot in front of the other. Over and over.

In Barbeitos I found an open bar and ordered a beer and peeled off my shoes and socks and then André walked up. I’d last seen him back in Castro, sitting at the bar attached to the albergue, and assumed he would be staying there for the night. He sat at my table and told me that the night before he’d had a dream, urging him to walk a long day, and so here he was!

We had such a good, long, ‘Camino-esque’ conversation; Andre has walked the Camino before, too, and we talked about what brings us back, what feelings we hope to find, how to find those feelings at home. I lost track of time, realizing with a jolt that it was nearly 6pm and I still had 5km to walk- maybe one of my latest Camino days yet! I said goodbye to André but as I walked realized that it didn’t matter so much that I would be arriving in town so late in the evening. I had a bed reserved, I didn’t need to do much more than shower and find some food, and so I settled into those last kilometers, gliding through (until that cruel, cruel uphill into town).

André had caught up with me and we walked to the albergue together, and it was another nice place: Albergue-Pensión Cantábrico, where I had my own little bunk room plus a fresh towel! Such pilgrim luxury. And then, to continue with the luxury, I went out in search of dinner and found a place where I was tempted by the amazing menu and ordered the “special” pilgrim’s menu which had four courses- caldo gallego soup and a round dish of pulpo and some sort of succulent-melt-in-your-mouth meat and fries and of course bread and a bottle of wine. I ate as much as I could and when I was asked what I wanted for dessert all I could manage was a little cup of espresso but it was perfect.

In walking such a long stage it felt as though I had launched myself into another Camino, with a different group of people, leaving behind nearly everyone else I had met. But the unexpected conversation with André reminded me that we never know what we will find on the Camino, and that one goodbye may lead to a new hello, that new experiences are also waiting to be discovered.

Next Post: Day 6 on the Camino Primitivo

Day 4 on the Camino Primitivo, Samblismo to La Mesa, 28km

September 6, 2021

YouTube Video Day 4 on the Camino Primitivo

Hospitales Day!

We woke up to a breakfast of toast and yogurt and coffee and one by one left the albergue to head into the mountains. I walked this route six years ago, but it felt like such a different Camino then, for so many reasons. And the day I walked Hospitales back then, the weather had been bad: foggy and misty the whole way up the mountain, we couldn’t see anything. But today? Today was glorious. You could argue that I could have had nicer weather; the morning was mostly overcast, so I didn’t get blue sky and sunshine (not until the afternoon). But I had the views, and it was incredible what was up there all along.

This is when the memories really came flooding back, too, from that first walk on the Primitivo in 2015. It was on the Hospitales day that year that I made my three Camino friends, the little family I stuck with for a few days. That time with them- “the kids”, I call them, because they were all in their early 20s- was really special. And it was at the top of the Hospitales route, when I was huffing and puffing up the final big hill, that Nicolas emerged through the fog, sitting on a rock and eating an orange.

This year, as I made that same climb, I could see more clearly to the top, and I could see Nicolas’ rock. I was stronger this time, still a little out of breath as I climbed the hill but my legs felt solid. I’d moved just ahead of Giuseppe and Rudolph and Antonio during the climb and so it was just me at the top, in the wind and the clouds, next to the Nicolas rock and I looked down and I convinced myself that the curl of an orange rind would be here, half hidden in the grass. I looked for it, I looked for the evidence that I had been here before but I suppose the evidence, if we’re lucky, is all in our heads. It’s in the remembering, the recognition of a rock, the whiff of an orange rind on the wind.

My sentimental notions didn’t last long; Rudolf was close behind and he joined me at this little summit and we cheered and laughed because it was so beautiful there. “Most of the climbing is done?” Rudolph asked. “Really? That wasn’t as bad as I feared.” He paused, and reached down deep into a pocket of his bag and pulled out a beer, still a little cold. “You don’t happen to have a cup with you, do you?”

Why yes, in fact, I did! He cracked open the beer and poured some into my camping cup and we toasted, clinking the can and my cup together, a little beer sloshing over the sides, and we cheered and drank deeply and then stood in silence, looking out over the mountains, the clouds rolling below us, the vista stretching and stretching. Soon Giuseppe was here, and then Antonio, and for those moments it was me with my three new friends, triumphant and happy.

One by one we left our celebratory spot, I was the last to leave. I lingered behind, and then- mostly keeping Rudolph in sight- followed more slowly behind. I took my time that day. Sometimes it feels like I’m racing through my days on the Camino and I never actually am… I’m just walking fast, because that’s my pace, and when I’m feeling strong I just naturally settle into a quick and steady rhythm. But walking the Hospitales route, I deliberately slowed myself down, because I needed more time to take in all that was around me, and to just absorb being back here. Rudolph and I flip-flopped as we made our way across the ridge, pausing to take photos and videos and comment on the cows, the little purple flowers.

Just before the path begins it’s somewhat treacherous rocky descent, we all joined up again at a little rest spot with picnic tables, and that’s where we met Kelsey, a young American woman. She’d started her Camino in Oviedo but a few days before I had; she’d recently had trouble with tendinitis and hadn’t taken the Hospitales route because of it (our rest stop was about where the Hospitales and Allende paths meet up).

I could tell that Kelsey was excited to meet another solo American woman, and I suspected that she wanted to walk with me, but I hesitated. Readers of the blog will know that I’m rather intent and protective of my solo walking time, and I wasn’t sure that I wanted to spend some of this beautiful stage walking and talking with someone new, getting to know them. I let Kelsey go on ahead with the others, but eventually I caught up, and I think there’s a Camino lesson in here for me. Kelsey and I walked together for the next hour or two, and while I didn’t get to quietly take in my beautiful surroundings as much as I wished, or sink deep into my own thoughts and memories, the time with Kelsey was good. She was still figuring out the Camino, figuring out who she was on the Camino, and it was kind of beautiful to witness this. She’d spent some time with other pilgrims who hadn’t been very encouraging, who’d passed judgment on the way she was walking, and I realized that I had the opportunity to be the very opposite. I could be positive, and open and welcoming. I could walk with her for a few hours, and in those few hours, could be her friend.

And then we arrived in Berducedo and we stopped to have a drink and it turned into the most beautiful afternoon of pilgrim community. I have to say, after my experience on this stage in 2015 and again this time six years later, I think there must be some sort of magic in these hills. Giuseppe and Antonio and Rudolph were already at the bar, and one by one, other pilgrims that I’d met in the last few days walked up. Karl from La Espina, and André from Cornellana, and then Kinka from Cornellana and then we were this big group, and I was introducing people and we were all smiling and drinking beer and wine and sitting back in our chairs, feet stretched out in the sun, a long and beautiful stage completed, nothing left to be done but eat and drink and be with new friends.

Next Post: Day 5 on the Camino Primitivo

Day 3 on the Camino Primitivo, La Espina to Samblismo, 29km

September 2, 2021

YouTube Video: Day 3 on the Primitivo

I’m settling in, I think. I walked about 28km today and felt good, though I’m tired now (almost 7pm and waiting for dinner) The weather today was almost cool, and I needed to put on my fleece every time I stopped for a break. But I’ve moved into the countryside, full of rolling hills and green forest tunnels and cows and horses and wildflowers. There was road walking, too, there almost always is, but as long as it’s not all day I really don’t mind. I think of this stage as the one where the Primitivo starts to get really, really beautiful. Particularly on the stretch just outside of Tineo, as you move slowly up to a ridge that overlooks a green valley, with views that stretch on and on. It’s just a taste of what is to come! Plus, somewhere in this section, I found a suitable walking stick, which is always a cause for celebration. A Camino is not complete until I’ve found a walking stick!

I also found another monastery. This one was just a slight diversion from the path, in Obona (Monasterio Santa María La Real de Obona), and even more abandoned than the last one (pilgrims can’t sleep here, and that’s probably a good thing, though this time there were no ghost encounters). But as luck would have it, just as I arrived, there was a small group of people who’d pulled up in a car, and one of the men had keys to get inside! He gestured to me to come in to have a look around, and so of course I did. I’m not sure how active the monastery is, if at all, because while there were pews set up in the church, everything was dusty and full of cobwebs. But how incredible to get a chance to see inside!

About 4km before my evening destination I stopped in Campiello for a snack, which ended up being a beer and an empanada. Giuseppe- the man that I met on my first day of walking- was at a table with an Italian woman, and I pulled up a chair to join them and it felt so good to have these sort of Camino encounters again. Easy, welcome, relaxed. The beer and the food went down easy, too, and I sat for longer than I needed to, just soaking it all in, enjoying exactly where I was. Storm clouds were gathering in the distance and moving closer by the minute so I packed back up for the final kilometers, feeling revived and strong.

Really strong. My pace was fast and I must have looked awfully determined because I was stopped twice by locals making sure I knew where I was going and that I wasn’t about to attempt to walk the Hospitals route. I wasn’t- the rugged and wild and isolated Hospitales route would be for the next day, a 24km stretch without any towns or services. I assured both of the men that I was stopping in Samblismo and they relaxed and nodded but I thought to myself- ‘it’s 4pm! Of course I’m not heading off into the hills!’ But maybe I looked so determined, so sure, marching so solidly towards those green mountains that they needed to make sure that I knew where I was going, that I was going to be okay.

Before I knew it I was at the Albergue de Samblismo. Most pilgrims stay back in Campiello (where I had my beer/empanada break), or 3km further in Borres. There are albergues in both villages, but I’d read about a great albergue just 1km past Borres, and right at the Hospitales/Allende split. When I walked the Camino Primitivo back in 2015 I stayed in Campiello and it was fine; there’s a good bar/restaurant and a couple shops there, so it’s easy to stock up for the Hospitales route the next day. This time, I picked up what I needed for the next day when I passed through and continued to Samblismo. The albergue here isn’t part of a village, it’s just a building up in the hills, with incredible views and such a peaceful and quiet vibe. The hospitalero, Javi, is kind and gentle and prepares a communal meal for all the pilgrims. The COVID measures were great here- the albergue has five dorm rooms, most of them with just one or two bunk beds, but unless you were traveling as a pair or in a group, he only puts one pilgrim per room. So I had my own little room, and we all wore our masks inside and we spaced out at the dining room table for our meal.

And what a meal! Vegetable soup and a huge tray of paella and creamy pudding with poached peaches, wine and bread. The air was cool outside and we were bundled up at the table eating hot soup and once again I was with some new pilgrims, just three others: Giuseppe was there, but also Rudolph from Slovakia, and Antonio from Spain. Except for the pair of Spanish friends in the albergue in La Espina the night before, every pilgrim I’d met and shared albergue space with was traveling alone and this felt a little unusual. I always meet other solo pilgrims, but never this many, and there were several who had walked the Camino before, too.

Most of our dinner conversation centered around the route the next day, and almost an obsession over what the weather was going to do. “We’re going to get some sun,” I said, “I know it.” The forecast in the early morning wasn’t great, but Javi thought that the clouds would clear by late morning, and I hoped he was right. When I last walked Hospitales, I was in the fog and clouds for most of the way. It was an incredible atmosphere but there were no views, and I could only just make out the path in front of me. The Hospitales stages is considered one of the most beautiful stages of any Camino, and back in 2015 I told myself that one day, I would come back to walk the Camino again, to try for better weather for this stage. I kept my promise, and now I was back, hoping against hope for good weather the next day.

Next Post: Day 4 on the Primitivo

Arriving in Oviedo and Day 1 on the Camino Primitivo

August 30, 2021

I’m back home from my 2021 Camino adventure! In some ways it all felt like a whirlwind- how can I be home already??- but in other ways my time on the Camino felt just right. Like just what I needed.

I thought I might be able to blog while I was on the walk, but it was about all I could do to post smaller updates to social media, try to go through the dozens and dozens of photos to select a few to share, and attempt to stay on top of the video I was taking. I fell behind on it all, but maybe that wasn’t a bad thing; enjoying the walk was the most important thing, and I think I did a good job of that.

Some of you may follow me on Instagram or on YouTube, so maybe have already seen these updates, but I wanted to transfer what I shared there over here to this blog. I thought I would attempt to do a day-to-day post of my walk this year, and share the photos and ‘travel log’ that I wrote each day, plus the corresponding video. And hopefully add in some extra details too! So, here we go!

July 21st: Travel to Oviedo, for the Camino Primitivo

It all felt a little jarring, to be on public transportation again, the first time since early 2020. I was sitting in the 30th Street station in Philadelphia, waiting for my train to Newark, thinking that already I’d traveled so far when I hadn’t even really left my city! But it felt adventurous in a different sort of way than ever before. A little more nerve-wracking too. I didn’t know how COVID would affect the travel OR the walk on the Camino, I didn’t even trust that I would be able to stay in Spain for as long as I planned. I told myself that I needed to head into this trip with flexibility and take things day by day. Have a plan, but be willing to change the plan if necessary.

But oh, even with the pre-trip nerves and the extra layer of uncertainty that a pandemic added to this trip, I was so excited. Excited to be on a train, excited to arrive super early to the airport and wait around for hours, excited to board the plane and to take off and be flying across the ocean again.

The travel went well; all I really needed to enter Spain- other than my passport- was a QR code that Spain required. I’d downloaded the app on my phone the day before I left for Spain, filled out the necessary info, and got my code. The app worked fine and they just scanned it when I got off the plane, and that was it! I was in Spain again!

But arrival is always overwhelming for me. I don’t sleep well on planes, and to suddenly be in another country, hearing an unfamiliar language, trying to navigate where to go… it truly DID feel like I’d forgotten how to do it all! I was flustered. I found a café and got a coffee and a sandwich for the bus ride, but I somehow ended up ordering a super expensive sandwich and I couldn’t remember the words for anything and I was tired but also just really happy to be there, with my first café con leche and the fancy ham and the jet lag. Then, after a lot of confusion, I figured out where I needed to go to get the airport shuttle to the bus station at the airport. From there I took a 6-hour bus ride to Oviedo (didn’t eat the sandwich on the bus because no one was eating anything and we were all masked and I wondered if maybe it was a new COVID rule). It was a lot of travel, hours and hours and hours, and it would have been easier to have spent a night in Madrid, but I just wanted to get to the Camino and start walking, just get there as fast as I could.

The evening in Oviedo was a whirlwind too, but a whirlwind in a good way. I got to the city and found an Orange store where I could buy a SIM card for my phone, and the woman who helped me was so kind and I walked away with a deal that got me a 28-day plan with a good amount of data that cost only a tad more than my airport sandwich (which I was STILL carrying around because I hadn’t gotten the chance to eat it yet). Then to my albergue- a new and private one just around the corner from the cathedral (La Hospederia Oviedo)- and I checked in and the women working there showed me around and told me that there was a vespers service with a pilgrim blessing starting in 30 minutes. I desperately needed a shower so I rushed through it, briefly met another pilgrim in the albergue and then raced outside, my hair still dripping, to try to find the chapel. I settled into a pew and listened to the nuns singing and despite being exhausted, despite being hungry, despite being overwhelmed with it all- the trains and planes and buses and shuttles and being back in Spain- I felt settled, I felt comforted. I felt like I belonged.

Travel log:

It will never cease to amaze me, that in one moment I can be home, and the next… just like that (in this case it took over 24 hours but time when you’re traveling always feels strange), just like that you can be in a totally different place. One day ago, or two, I was running around home and buying a new rain jacket and my mom was packing me a sandwich and my dad gave me coffee money, and then, a train here and a plane there, I’m in Spain. I forget how to do this. Do I remember how to do this? How to navigate a place, a language? How to recognize a street, how to spot the first scallop shell marker on the ground and nearly cry for joy. Then, truly, shed a tear or two in a church, a little chapel that I made it to just in time for a vespers service, my hair dripping from my shower, the instructions the hospitaleras gave me still ringing in my ears. I’d been traveling non stop and I needed to eat, and arrange my pack, and just get my bearings but this- being in a church and hearings the nuns singing, followed by a pilgrim’s blessing- this I could remember how to do. And this, sitting in a wooden pew, voices echoing off the thick stone walls, the smell of candles and incense, in a large city in northern Spain: this feels like belonging. And I haven’t even started the walking yet.

(PS: It might have been the last thing I did that day, but I finally ate my airport sandwich. And it was really good.)

July 23rd: Day One, Oviedo to Cornellana, 38km

I might have felt overwhelmed the evening before, but in the morning, those familiar Camino routines came back to me quickly: creep out of bed as silently as possible to not wake the other pilgrims in the room, change into my hiking clothes, brush my teeth, splash water on my face. There was a small kitchen in the albergue with instant coffee and toast, so I made myself a quick breakfast before I left for the day. While I was eating, one of the pilgrims in my room had gotten up and sat down at the table to have some coffee. He’d been walking on the Norte but had taken a train to Oviedo to switch to the Primitivo, because finding beds in albergues had been difficult. He asked me about my plan for the day, and had some opinions when I told him that I was planning to walk to Cornellana, 38ish kilometers away. “It seems like you’re doing this for some athletic reason,” he said. “You should be flexible with your plan,” he said. “38km is too long for a first day,” he said.

I’d been excited about my plan; I knew it would, indeed, be a lot for a first day, but then again, this wasn’t my first Camino. And I’d come into this Camino pretty fit, having recently traveled around the American Southwest where I’d done a lot of hiking. AND, there was a monastery I really wanted to stay in.

And, well, I just really wanted to walk. To walk and walk and walk.

I finished my toast, the last sip of coffee, and stood up from the table. I stuffed my things into my pack and laced up my shoes and said goodbye to the pilgrim and pushed his words from my head. Maybe 38km was too far to walk for a first day, but the only who gets to decide that is me.

It was raining, a little, when I left Oviedo, and normally I don’t like walking in the rain but this time I barely noticed because I was just so happy to be walking again. It all felt so familiar, but also as though it had been a long, long time since I’d been on a Camino. Much longer than just two years. As I moved away from the city I could feel myself starting to settle in, to remember what it was like to be on a Camino: to always be on the lookout for the yellow arrows, to get used to the weight of my pack against my back, to greet the cows in the fields, to hope to find an open bar for a late morning café con leche. To put one foot in front of the other, over and over and over, and know that I was moving myself a little closer- with each step- to Santiago.

Travel log:

It’s probably too soon to tell, but this Camino feels like “classic Camino.” Classic like… it’s quiet, with not many pilgrims on the way, but when you DO see another pilgrim you really notice them, and take the time to say hello. Classic in that you make a friend on the first day, someone to walk with for an hour or two, to stop with at a big outdoor terrace with a little hidden door that leads down to the river where you can cool your feet, and then a few steps up back to your table where there’s a fresh tortilla pincho on really great bread, and a small of cana of beer, the perfect size.

Classic in that you walk for a really long time, farther than you should for a first stage (39km!!), but arrive to an 11th century monastery where it’s just you and one other pilgrim who also walked the whole way from Oviedo. You’ve never spoken a word to each other but there you are, high-fiving in the courtyard, beneath the ancient stone. Classic in that you walk to a store together, and buy pasta and a few veggies and take it back to the albergue kitchen (which is open, not many are) and cook a meal and talk about the Camino and about how you got here. Classic in that two more pilgrims stumble in, and you share your food, and the hospitalera brings you small bottles of cider. Classic in that, somehow, you have a small blister from your too long but also just right day, in a place where you’ve never had one before. Classic that it rained on day one, but also that the sun shone, and the hydrangeas were beautiful and you met a nice cat and the villagers said ‘Buen Camino!’ and tried to help when you got turned around in Grado. Classic Camino, let’s hope there are more days like this ahead!

flowers in rain on day one of Camino Primitivo

YouTube video: Primitivo, Day One

Next Post: Day 2 on the Primitivo

Remembering a pilgrim friend

March 5, 2020

I was making my lunch and waiting for my eggs to cook when I glanced at my Facebook newsfeed.

What I saw was incomprehensible.

It was a post sharing the news that a fellow pilgrim/blogger/writer friend had recently passed away. I stared and stared and couldn’t make sense of the words or the photo. I’m writing about it here, in part, to pass along the news to others who may not have already heard, because surely some of my blog readers were also followers of hers: Kat Davis, of Following the Arrows.

There are few details at this time; Kat’s partner, Howard, shared news that she passed on February 28th. There is a thread on the Camino forum, here.

Kat was a young woman who had hiked more routes than you can count: countless Camino paths, two pilgrimage trails in Japan, the PCT in California, all over the UK, and more.

I’d never met Kat, but I feel like I’ve known her for a long time. When had I found her blog? Was it before my first Camino, back in 2014? Or maybe a year later? Whenever it was, it was early-on in my walking adventure days. I remember reading about Kat’s journey on the Camino de Primitivo, and noticing that her blog header photo was a beautiful image from the route. When I left to walk my own Primitivo in 2015, I remember searching for the spot where she took her photo. I think I found it, but my photo was full of clouds and gray skies, with none of the rolling hills and glorious sunshine that Kat was able to capture.

Kat’s beautiful photo

In the last few days, I’ve thought a lot about the idea of community. I’ve been living in my little apartment for a long time, and I know some of my neighbors but I wouldn’t call the people who live in my neighborhood my community. The idea of community has taken on a very different meaning in our digital age, and in these last 5 or 6 years, I’ve come to recognize that my largest and strongest community is my fellow long-distance walkers. The pilgrims, the trekkers. I’ve met many in person, whether it’s been on a trail- in Spain, in France, in the UK-, or in my local APOC Philadelphia chapter. But the larger part of the community exists somewhere else, somewhere behind the curtain. Through my blog, through Instagram, through Facebook groups and Camino forums, I’ve been able to connect with other pilgrims and walkers. And sometimes it’s more than just connection, sometimes it’s friendship.

Photos from a hike: March 1, 2020

The loss of Kat has rattled me. We’d never met, why should I be so shaken? But she was part of my community. We’d exchanged messages: about our travels plans and our photography. Late last summer, as I was coming off of my walk on the Norte and Kat was just about to start hers, she messaged me, asking for advice. I warned her that the trail might be crowded, and sent the names of some of my favorite albergues. A few months before, at the end of June when I was on the Camino Aragones, I received a message from Alan, another Camino friend, who I’d met briefly in northern Spain in 2016. He sent a photo with the note- “Look who I bumped into today…” and it was Kat, the two of them together, their smiles and shining faces. I didn’t even know Alan all that well but did it matter? We were all connected- he and Kat, because of their journeys through Japan… and Kat and I, because of our blogs… and Alan and I, because of the time we overlapped on the Norte.

And it’s this, I think. This interconnection, this invisible thread that binds so many of us. There’s Kat, and there’s all the rest of you, so many of you who are reading this post. We may have never met on a Camino or anywhere in the “real world”, but the connection is there. Losing someone from this community is losing a friend. I feel it as though that thread is tugging at my gut, tugging and tugging, invisible yet felt with a force I didn’t know existed. One falls, and it pulls me down a little, causing me to stumble and miss more than a step or two.

Steps. I’ve often felt that I’ve been a few steps behind Kat, always looking to her blog to learn of new paths, new adventures. The route I’ve planned for my April pilgrimage on the Kumano Kodo was taken point by point from her own journey. I have a document of the trip with my daily stages and accommodations and in more than one place I’ve written her name: “This is where Kat stayed!” I’m planning to walk the Camino Portuguese this summer, and a few months ago ordered the Cicerone guidebook that she authored. Kat’s been one of my role models, as I’ve become a pilgrim and a long-distance walker. I’ve watched her, with respect and admiration, a strong and adventurous woman setting off on paths around the world, alone.

After I heard the news I left my apartment for a walk. I was going to go to the state park where I always hike, to the trails I’ve walked hundreds of times. But I decided, instead, that it was time to try something new. I drove to a wildlife refuge just 20 minutes from where I live- so close, but somehow a place I’d never before explored. I walked down the long path in the sunshine, through a landscape of tidal marsh, the sky so blue, the call of geese shouting overhead. It was beautiful.

To Kat, may I long follow in your footsteps.

Italians and Puppies and 19-year old Knees; Highlights of the Camino del Norte

November 5, 2019

This is the first year that I haven’t written daily journal posts from my summer long-distance walking adventures. Last year’s recaps from the Pennine Way took me nearly 10 months to write (or some incredibly delayed amount of time like that), and that walk only lasted 15 days.

But this summer I walked a total of 29 days on the Camino, and since I didn’t blog in real time, the thought of going back and writing a post for each day feels too overwhelming. It could take me years to write, especially if I also want to be working on other writing projects!

I’ve written a couple of posts from the Camino Aragones, the first part of my walking journey. But I still have 19-days from the Camino del Norte that I haven’t even begun to talk about here. There was a post of my favorite photos (which I loved putting together), but what about the stories?

The Camino has been on my mind lately. This happens every year, right about now. It’s early November and we’re turning the clocks back, the leaves have turned and many have fallen, the temperatures have dropped too, and winter is approaching. My hours of walking are limited and it’s been nearly three months since I came back from Europe. I’m settled back here at home, but that also means that my mind starts dreaming about the next adventure, picturing a time when I can be back on the road.

I’ve been thinking about how to write about the Norte, and I decided to just share some highlights. Maybe it will be one post, maybe there will be several. When I think back to my walk this summer, I always seem to remember the really happy memories: the days when I felt strong, the friends I made, the beautiful landscapes. My walk on the Camino del Norte wasn’t perfect, but right now I’m struggling to remember the frustrating bits (well, aside from all the closed albergues and the race for beds. But that might be a separate post altogether).

Mostly, I had a great Camino, a great return to the Norte. I’ve already written about my experience of repeating a Camino, but for this post I just want to talk about some of my favorite moments of those 19 days in northern Spain. These are the moments I think about when I’m longing to return, the moments that keep me planning my next trip, the moments when I’m stuck inside and missing those long days of walking .

In no particular order:

My Italian Family

“Ecco che arriva l’americano!” I heard a voice from down the pathway, and moments later there was singing, five voices joining together, loud and boisterous and off-key. I walked closer and the voices swelled, and I could see the group of Italian pilgrims that I’d been running into on and off for the past four days. They raised their arms, smiling and singing and cheering.

They were singing a famous old Italian song, about an American or maybe just America. I can’t remember the details, only that their song was one of the best welcomes I’ve ever had on the Camino.

I first met Alba and Ruggero in the albergue in Getaria, after my second day on the Norte. Alba could speak just a bit of English and Ruggero only knew a few words, and so we communicated mostly with smiles and gestures.

And then, we kept showing up in the same albergues- sometimes this is all it takes to make friends on the Camino. After only a few more days, Alba and Ruggero called me their Camino daughter. I only walked with them a little here and there, but they looked out for me and I looked out for them. They’d also befriended another group of 5 Italians, and I just sort of folded myself into the mix.

Italian pilgrim friend on the Camino del Norte

We were all together, the seven Italians and me, in Islares, where we stayed in bungalows at a large campground (this was when I had my serenade). I ate a long dinner with them, at a restaurant overlooking the sea. From time to time Gloria or Alba would try to translate the conversation but it was mostly all Italian, and I didn’t really care that I couldn’t understand. I was sitting in the middle of this warm and friendly and kind group of people, feeling like I belonged.

Camping bungalows in Islares, Camino del Norte

I lost Alba and Ruggero when I stayed in Güemes and they continued on to Santander, and afterwards, even though I started to walk longer days trying to catch up, I never could. We’d send each other text messages and notes through Facebook, updating our location and where we were staying, but I just didn’t have enough time to try to catch up with them again.

It’s funny- I walk alone, and I always think that Camino families are for other pilgrims. It’s so important for me to have my freedom on these longs walks that I never fall in with a group and stick with them until the end, which always makes me think that I don’t form “families”. But this year, I had to laugh when the truth hit me over the head. Alba and Ruggero called me their Camino daughter, and in return, I joked that they were my Camino parents. What’s more of a Camino family than that? I might not have stayed with them- or the rest of the Italians- until the end, but they had become my friends.

A Poem by the Sea

One of the best parts about the Norte is that, often, the route follows the coast. But a frustrating thing about the Norte is that sometimes the route veers away from the coast, continuing parallel to the water but a kilometer or two out of view. There are various alternate routes that leave the official Camino and continue along the coast, and I tried to take these as much as possible. But something else I did was to plan some of my stages so that I would end in a town or village by the sea.

One of these stops was at Caborredondo, a very small village between Santillana Del Mar and Cóbreces. The albergue here (Albergue Izarra) was small and charming and offered a communal dinner, but the best part of the experience was my late afternoon walk to the coast. The hospitalero pointed me in the right direction, and after a kilometer or two I found myself on a narrow pathway that ran along dramatic cliffs that dropped sharply down to the water. I looked to my right and to my left and there wasn’t another person in sight.

I found a flat rock and settled down on my perch. At first I was hot, and restless, and preoccupied with whether I was walking this Camino in the way that I wanted. I’d walked about 25 kilometers that day, but when I arrived in Caborredondo, I hadn’t been ready to stop walking. I’d felt stronger than any previous day, the kilometers were flying by, and I just wanted to walk and walk. But days before I planned to try to stay at this particular albergue because I’d heard good things, and sitting there on the rock along the beautiful coast, I was still conflicted over my decision. I didn’t know anyone else in the albergue, I’d lost Alba and Ruggero a few days before, and I was feeling lonely. All of that, and my body had wanted to keep walking, but I hadn’t listened.

You’d think I’ve walked enough long-distance trails at this point to know how to go about the whole thing, but the same challenges are always there: walk alone, or stay with others. Plan ahead or be spontaneous. The lessons of this Camino were no different than nearly every previous one.

So I sat and I sat, and eventually the thoughts in my head quieted. And once they did, other sounds appeared. The waves crashing against the rocky coastline. Insects in the grass. A whistle of wind, a spray of water.

Something made me think of the Wendell Berry poem called ‘The Peace of Wild Things‘.

“Ah,” I thought. “I’ll memorize a poem. I’ll memorize this poem.”

I looked it up on my phone and hunched over so that my body blocked the glare of the sun and I could see the screen. I read the words, over and over and slowly, I worked through each line, repeating the words aloud. Over and over and I put the phone down, closed my eyes, said the words. I checked the lines again, then I put the phone away. I sat on that rock, alone but no longer lonely, just me and the sea and cliffs and the birds and the insects and the rough grass and a new poem, a poem that I recited out to all the wild things.

The Peace of Wild Things, Wendell Berry

When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting with their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.

The Knees of a 19-Year Old

When I saw that a massage therapist was offering massages at the albergue in Güemes, I was tempted. I’ve never actually had a massage before, not by a professional, but of all times when I thought I could use one, it would probably be in the middle of a really long walk.

I was talking about it with a pilgrim I’d met a few days before, Astrid, and together we decided that since there wasn’t much else to do, we might as well wait in line and see what it was all about.

We sat on the pavement behind 6 other pilgrims and waited nearly two hours. In that time I started to grow a little nervous. Everyone coming out of the small room was smiling, their legs shining with oil, their posture relaxed. “It’s great,” they said. “Worth the wait.” I knew that there was nothing to be nervous about, and yet, I wasn’t sure I wanted someone touching my legs and my feet.

When it was my turn I went inside and met the massage therapist, a Spanish man named Miguel. “Please,” he said, gesturing to the table. “Please lie down.”

I stretched out my legs and waited. Miguel moved around the table, looking at my feet, staring at my feet. He was silent, still looking at my feet, and I grew worried. I knew there was something wrong. I’ve never really liked my feet: they’re wide and my toes are stubby and finding proper fitting shoes has been an ordeal for my entire life.

I could feel my heart start to beat harder and I was about to hop off the table and tell Miguel to forget about the whole thing but then he looked at me, and smiled, and said, “You have the perfect feet for walking.”

I laughed. “It’s true,” he continued. “They are perfect.” He looked at them again, touching one lightly and moving it a little to the right, then the left. “Do you practice yoga?”

I shook my head ‘no’. “A shame,” he sighed. Then, all at once, he clapped his hands and started the massage.

He continued to say that my feet were perfect, which was when I decided that this massage thing might not have been a bad idea after all. He massaged my calves, telling me that it was amazing that I walk these long distances day after day, but I have completely relaxed muscles. I wasn’t really sure what to say, because I wasn’t doing anything special, at least I didn’t think I was. I was just walking.

Then he got to my knees, and when he started in on the right knee he suddenly stopped, and looked up at me in disbelief.

“What, are you 19??” he asked.

I laughed again and he did too. “I know you’re not 19,” he said, “But you have the knees of a 19-year old.” He shook his head. “Incredible.”

Maybe he was just being kind and flattered everyone with observations like these, but I like to think that I really do have the perfect feet for walking, and knees of a 19-year old (even though I’m twice as old), and that maybe this combination will keep me walking for years and years to come.

I’m counting on it.

A Swim in the Sea

There was a lot working against me when I decided to go for a swim at the beach in Pendueles. For starters, I hadn’t brought a bathing suit on this Camino. Then there was the fact that the little beach was tricky to access: there was a very steep and narrow dirt path that required using the provided rope to get up and down. The beach itself was rocky, with no comfortable place to sit, and the water was chilly (I’m a bit of a wimp when it comes to cold water).

But the day had been one of those really good Camino days. I walked an easy 19km from Serdio to Pendueles, taking a gorgeous alternate path along the coast for the last few kilometers. I arrived at the albergue over two hours before it would open, so I went to a nearby bar and ordered a large salad and a cold beer and took my time eating. When I got back to the albergue (Albergue Ave de Paso), I talked with two Italian girls and a group of Spanish college students- they’d all made reservations for the 14-bed albergue, and were alarmed when I told them that I hadn’t. “What if it’s full?” they asked. I shrugged; I was feeling relaxed that day, and had a good feeling that I would get a bed. But even if I didn’t, I knew there was another albergue in the village that I could try.

When the albergue opened and Javier checked us in, he announced that there were 13 beds already reserved and just one free one left… for me!

So it had already been a good day and I knew that there was a beach nearby. The Italian girls changed into their bathing suits and headed out, so did the group of Spanish students. I stood at my bunk, thinking. I knew I wanted to go to the beach, and the day was sunny and warm and the idea of taking a dip in the water was appealing. I looked through my very limited clothing options and decided that I could fashion a bathing suit from the thin pair of shorts I wore for sleeping, plus one of my buffs.

One of the buffs I was carrying is the one I’ve had since my first Camino, but the second was gifted to me by an Italian pilgrim, just before I took a bus up to the start of the Norte. He’d been going through his pack and removing things to ship home, and he was insistent that I should take his buff. At the time I wanted to be polite but I also wasn’t sure if I would ever need it; now I had the perfect solution. A bathing suit top! (It wasn’t perfect, but it worked).

When I arrived above the beach I clutched the rope and slowly made my way down the steep hill. The Italian girls weren’t anywhere to be found (turns out they missed the beach and walked two kilometers back to another one), but I could see the group of Spanish students, gingerly putting their toes in the water.

I left my shoes and bag in a small pile on the rocks then carefully made my way down to the water. It was cool, but not cold. I waded further in, up past my knees, then took a deep breath and dove under. And after that first shock of cold it felt perfect. I swam a little, back and forth, and then just floated for awhile.

I’ve walked the Norte twice now (or at least parts of it twice), and this was the first time that I’ve gone swimming. If I ever return to the Norte for a third time, I’m definitely going to pack a bathing suit and get in the water a lot more.

A Sunset on a Hill

The day I stayed in Piñeres, I walked 40km when I thought I’d only be walking 33. I’m not sure where the mistakes were (could have been one of the alternate routes I took, and getting stuck in a field with no clue how to get out and walking in circles for awhile). In any case, I was tired when I arrived in Piñeres. The first albergue I tried was completo, so I had to continue another kilometer up a long hill to the Casa Rectoral that purportedly had more beds.

I wasn’t sure what I was going to find at this albergue. Most of the group in Pendueles, where I’d stayed the night before, had made reservations at a new albergue in Villahormes, about 6km back. I’d passed by and the place looked attractive: an outdoor terrace with strings of white lights, colorful signs advertising ice cream and coffee and beer. There were a few pilgrims sitting at a table when I walked by, and I lingered, wondering if I should see about a bed. The race for beds on the Norte had been a distraction, and for the most part I’d resisted calling ahead and making reservations. Sometimes I get a feeling when I’m in a village or town, urging me to stay or else to continue walking. Nothing in my gut was telling me to stay at this albergue, and yet I worried that if I passed it by, I might have trouble finding a bed later. But I continued to walk, trusting in my gut, trusting that there would be a bed ahead.

The first albergue in Piñeres was full, so all I could do was trudge up the hill to try the next one. But in the middle of walking up that hill, I suddenly stopped, overcome with a strong memory from my previous pilgrimage on the Norte. It was on this hill that I took a selfie with some cows, green mountains in the background, and I remember feeling really happy. I’d been alone for a few days, not running into many pilgrims or anyone I knew (and I would continue to be mostly alone for another day or two), but I’d settled into the solitude and was loving the walking. So this time, when I realized where I was, I smiled. I looked up the path and saw two buildings at the top of the hill, and realized that one of them must be the albergue. Already the memory from my 2015 pilgrimage felt like a good omen.

Camino del Norte 2015

The Casa Recotral had plenty of beds. The building was old and quirky, but the location was amazing. The building next door was a church with a small cemetery, and otherwise there was nothing around as far as I could see. The hospitalero was kind, and when I was making my dinner from items I’d bought earlier that day, he offered me a huge piece of watermelon. I took my food outside and sat at a table and watched as the sunlight changed the color of the mountains. I chatted with some pilgrims- a few that I knew, a few I’d never seen before- but mostly it was quiet and peaceful.

As the sun dropped and the mountains glowed pink, I started to gather my things to head into bed, but then wondered if I might be able to see a sunset. So I walked over to the church and then along a path next to the cemetery, and was greeted with the most stunning sky. My view stretched across the hills and I realized that I could see straight out to the sea, and sure enough, the sun was sinking down below the water’s horizon. And just as the sun dipped down, the church bells started ringing 10pm, and I listened to the bells and watched the pink sky, and a small cat wandered out of the grass and brushed against my leg.

It was an unexpectedly magical night.

Puppies!

My walk on the Norte this summer provided lots of puppy encounters. There were other animals, too, but the puppies were my favorite. I said hi to a couple on my first day, about 30 minutes after I left the albergue in Irun. Then there were two more outside of a farm on the way to Deba (these two came sprinting over to me as I walked up, so excited and happy). And then there were four more at the albergue in Pozueta. After I showered and washed my clothes, I sat down and pulled one of the puppies into my lap, and wondered if I could somehow tuck him into my bag and walk the rest of my pilgrimage with him.

The Walking Stick

When I walked my first Camino- the Camino Frances, in 2014- I bought a walking stick in a tiny shop in St Jean Pied de Port, right at the very start of my pilgrimage. But for each long walk since then, I’ve always waited until I was on my way to try to find a piece of wood that would work as a walking stick. Sometimes I’ve had to walk several days before I find something. Some sticks are perfect, some are a little short, or a little tall, or have a quirky bend.

But this year, I got my stick from a pile in the back of the gîte in Oloron-Ste-Marie, where I started my pilgrimage on the Camino Aragonés. I’d noticed the pile of sticks the night before, and as I was eyeing them up I thought one or two might make a perfect walking stick. Before I left the next morning, I asked the hospitalera if I would be able to take one, and she was thrilled to be able to pass one over to me.

So my walking stick was with me every step of the way on this pilgrimage, and like all the walking sticks that have come before, I grew very attached to this one.

On my last day, as I walked into Oviedo, I met a Spanish pilgrim. We walked together for about 30 minutes, he had just started his pilgrimage the day before, and would be continuing from Oviedo on the Camino Primitivo. He was eager to talk to me: asking questions and telling me why he was on the Camino. Already, he had blisters, and his pace was slow and labored. I had to really slow down to stay next to him (remember, I was on my 29th day of walking!), but even so, I think he had to quicken his pace to stay next to me.

I was feeling distracted, knowing I only had another hour or two left of my summer Camino. What I really wanted was to be walking alone, and thinking about the last kilometers of the walk, and thinking about the last month, and trying to process it all… not walking really slowly and trying to make conversation with a new pilgrim.

At one point he looked at my stick. “That’s nice,” he said.

I also looked at my stick, the part at the top rubbed smooth by the palm of my hand, the bottom that was covered in dirt. I looked at the stick and then looked at the pilgrim. “When we arrive in Oviedo, if we are at the same albergue, I’ll give it to you.”

A little later I continued ahead, and had the last hour of the pilgrimage to myself. And later still, in the municipal albergue in Oviedo, I found the Spanish pilgrim, and presented him with my stick.

“This is for you,” I said. “It’s helped me on my walk, and I hope it helps you on yours.”

He was thrilled, smiling and thanking me and telling me that I might have saved his Camino.

Sometimes I just need to leave my stick when I finish a Camino: in Santiago I left it resting against the cathedral, on the Chemin Le Puy I left it tucked into the corner in an albergue. After my first Camino del Norte I was so attached to my stick that I shipped it home (and now it’s on the mantel above my fireplace). But this ending felt the best: putting it in the hand of the next pilgrim. Maybe it continues to be passed from hand to hand, maybe it’s still out there now, walking someone to Santiago.

Hopefully I’ll be back with more soon… more posts from my summer, more thoughts and musings about life and writing and walking.

Camino Aragonés Guide: Essential Info to help plan your walk

September 1, 2019

I can’t remember when I first heard of the Camino Aragonés, or when it became a walk that I added to my “list”, or even when it moved to priority status. I just know that at some point, somewhere, I must have read more about it and thought, “Huh. Sounds like a pretty good Camino.”

I’ve already written about why I found the Aragonés to be a nearly perfect Camino, and if you haven’t already read that post, I think it makes a good companion piece to this one, especially if you’re considering planning a walk. But for now I’ll say that yes, indeed, it was a pretty good Camino.

This Camino Aragonés guide post will attempt to delve into some of the more practical considerations, and I hope it will give you a sense of what the walk is like, useful tips, and some inspiration to add it to your list. (Otherwise, sit back and enjoy more photos!)

First of all, the basics

I love taking a good alternate route, and it turns out that the Camino Aragonés (or, the Aragonese Way) can be considered one long alternate to the beginning of the Camino Francés. Rather than starting in St Jean Pied de Port and crossing the Pyrenees into Spain by ending in Roncesvalles (as you would on the Camino Francés), the Aragonés begins at the pass in Somport- which sits on the border of France and Spain- and continues for 170km until it rejoins the Frances at Puente La Reina.

But this is a route that has a long history, a route that was popular in the Middle Ages and served pilgrims who were walking the Via Tolosana (the Arles Route), which begins in Arles and continues to Somport (and the Via Tolosana was one of the four major pilgrimage routes cited in the Codez Calixtinus, a sort of first “guidebook” to the Camino written in the 12th century).

The Aragonés, beginning in Somport (border between France and Spain) and ending in Puente La Reina (Spain) is typically divided into 6 stages (more on that below). It is possible to extend this Camino by beginning in France somewhere on the Arles route, or continuing on the Camino Francés once you reach Puenta La Reina.

A great Camino map; look towards the top right for the path of the Aragonés (dark gray)

Why would someone choose to walk this route, rather than begin where everyone else does, in St Jean Pied de Port?

This is a great question. The Camino Francés is typically the first Camino for most pilgrims, and for those who choose to cross the Pyrenees, they do so by starting in St Jean. I did this too, when I first walked in 2014. At the time, while I vaguely knew that there were other Camino routes, I had no idea that there was an alternate Pyrenees crossing that would eventually lead me back to the Francés.

So I think for most pilgrims who find their way to the Aragonés, it is not their first Camino. It is often a pilgrim who has already walked the Francés and is coming back for more- and has maybe returned to the Camino a second, or third, or fourth time- who discovers the Aragonés and decides to see what it is all about.

On the other hand, during my walk on the Aragonés this summer, I met pilgrims who were embarking on their first Camino. One had chosen the Aragonés because he’d studied Spanish history and wanted to walk through Jaca (a city along the route). Another because she’d heard that the Camino Francés could be very crowded, so preferred to have a quiet experience to start.

I think the Aragonés could be a great option in either case: whether you’re returning for a second, or third, of fourth (or more!) Camino, or if you’re walking your very first. For a first Camino it may take some additional planning, and beginning in Somport won’t give you the same sort of Camino fanfare as beginning St Jean would, but it would make for a special and very unique experience.

In a nutshell, what is so great about this route?

You can refer to my last post, where I go into more detail of why I loved the Camino Aragonés. But to sum it up: the scenery is varied and beautiful. The route is quiet but you probably won’t be totally alone, and you’ll build a nice pilgrim community with others on the path. There are well-spaced albergues that provide just enough infrastructure to make you feel like you’re truly on a Camino (unless you want to make shorter stages, there is no need to stay in hotels or pensions. Although you certainly could opt to stay in other lodging!). Locals aren’t used to seeing crowds of pilgrims, so you’ll experience kindness and openness and maybe even some curiosity.

What is the way marking like, am I going to get lost?

I thought the waymarking was very, very good on this route. If you begin in France you’ll want to follow the white and red stripes of the GR-653, and in Spain there are the traditional yellow arrows and scallop shells (though you may also continue to see the white and red stripe markings).

Overall the signs and arrows are plentiful, and I honestly can’t remember a time when I got confused. Well, aside from when I walked for an hour in the dark (due to a heatwave), but that’s no fault of whoever painted the arrows along that section of the path. They were there, I just couldn’t find them with my flashlight.

And speaking of finding your way, is there a guide to this Camino?

That’s another good question. I didn’t use a guide for my walk, and instead just referred to the Gronze stages (a Spanish website that gives information for various Camino routes, including basic maps of each stage, an elevation profile, and albergue information, as well as where to find food and other services). I thought that the Gronze stages- even without knowing Spanish- were sufficient, and along with some prior browsing and note-taking on the Camino forum, I never needed a guidebook.

However, there are a few guidebook options out there. I can’t speak to either of them, but I’d imagine they’d only give you more information than what you’ll find online. The first, The Confraternity of St James’ guide, Arles to Puente La Reina, is in English. You’ll want Part 2, which is ‘Toulouse to Puente La Reina‘ (this will include the Aragonés). There is also the Miam Miam Dodo guide (in French), which includes the Aragonés. I used a Miam Miam Dodo when I walked the Chemin du Puy and while I can somewhat understand French, I found that you don’t really need a grasp of the language to get what you need from the guide. The maps are easy to read, and icons will show you where there are albergues and restaurants/bars.

I keep hearing mention of the Pyrenees; how difficult is this route?

If you begin in Somport- also referred to as the Col du Somport or the Canfranc Pass, and sits at an elevation of 1632m- the most difficult part of the entire route will probably be the walk down to Canfranc Estación. The path drops over 400 meters in about 7km, and some parts can feel steep and may be tough on the knees. I didn’t think it was particularly challenging, and just went real slow at times (then again, climbing hills has always been more difficult for me than descending them), but if this descent is a concern you would always have the option to begin the pilgrimage in Canfranc Estación, or Jaca. Otherwise, the path of the Aragonés is often flat, or else has you climbing relatively small hills- not unlike anything you would find on the Camino Francés.

If you begin back in France, and decide to walk up to Somport, then be advised that you will be ascending quite a bit on the final stage from Borce to Somport (the final 6km of the 17km stage have you ascending approximately 600 meters, and the total elevation gain for the stage is nearly 1000 meters). This basically means that you’ll be climbing, and climbing through the Pyrenees. I was pretty intimidated heading into the day’s walk: I’d been alone in the albergue (gîte) in Borce, didn’t pass another pilgrim for the entire day, and walked mostly in the rain with sometimes poor visibility. Aside from snow, those were probably the least ideal conditions, and yet, despite all of that, it wasn’t as bad as I feared. It helped that 17km isn’t a huge distance, so I had plenty of time. There was one point when I was only a few kilometers from Somport (and high in the mountains) when I worried a bit because I hadn’t seen a way marker in awhile, but as soon as I started to worry I found one. The rain wasn’t fun, but then again it never is, and I can only imagine how wonderful that stage would be in clear conditions.

And the bonus of the day was finding some Camino magic: someone had set up a little pilgrim rest area under some pine trees by their home. There were tree stumps to sit on, a tin with biscuits and tea bags, a stack of mugs, and a thermos with hot water. I had what might have been the best cup of tea in my life, huddled there under the dripping trees, chilled from the rain, all alone in the middle of a long climb. The tea warmed me up, the notebook where I signed my name reminded me that I wasn’t totally alone.

What time of year should I walk?

I’d say spring, summer or fall; winter will likely have snow up at the pass and what I can imagine would be dangerous conditions down to Jaca. I’d also be careful in late fall and early spring, where there would also be a chance of walking through snow.

Are there any special sights along this Camino?

Yes!! Here are what I consider the ‘Big 5’:

1. Canfranc Estación. 7km into the Aragonés you will enter Canfranc village, where it is hard to miss the ruins of an enormous old railway station. It’s been abandoned since 1970 but recently there has been renovation work and a plan to restore the building to its former glory (and, I believe, restore the railway line). It was officially opened in 1928 and serviced the Pau-Canfranc line, which crossed under the Pyrenees, and had quite an interesting history during World War II. I believe it’s possible to take tours of the station, though I’ve read that they need to be booked online and in advance, and that the tours will only be in Spanish (and possibly French). I didn’t take a tour, and it seemed like the station was only accessible if you had that magic tour ticket, but it was still such an impressive sight.

2. Detour to Monasterio de San Juan de la Peña (Saint John of the Cliff). There are two monasteries here: old (10th century) and new (17th century), and while the new monastery is worth a visit, it’s the old one that’s the real reason to detour from the Camino. The incredible building is camouflaged against the cliffside, some rooms carved directly into the stone. There’s an impressive Romanesque cloister and even a legend that the Holy Grail was sent here for protection!

A note on getting here: Don’t do what I did. This was the thought continuously running through my head as I climbed a series of mountains on narrow, steep, extremely rocky trails. It took me a long time to reach the monasteries after some pretty challenging hiking, and once I did, I was told that the old monastery would be closed between 2:00 and 3:00 (I arrived at 1:40, and I still had a 1/2 mile walk to reach the old monastery). I had still had a fair amount of walking to to do after I finally toured both monasteries (in order to reach Santa Cilia), and overall it was a long day. Worth it, but long. There’s a detour that’s listed in Gronze’s stage that I followed, and there’s a sign along the path of the Camino that points out the detour 5.2km from Jaca. DO NOT FOLLOW THIS UNLESS YOU WANT SOME LONG AND STRENUOUS HIKING, UP AND DOWN AND UP AND DOWN THE MOUNTAINS. I walked 36km and some of that was very slow going. Instead, there are a few other options.

-After leaving Jaca, you can continue along the Camino (past the sign for the turnoff to the monasteries) to a turnoff on the left about 10km in, just before the Hotel Aragon. From here it’s about 6km to Santa Cruz de la Seros, which is a beautiful little village. I’m not sure what this path is like and I suspect it may be a bit challenging, but it’s got to be better than the 12.5km of mountains that I went through. There’s no albergue here (oh, if only!) and the only accommodation was a hotel- Hosteleria Santa Cruz de la Seros- that was a little too expensive for me (45 euros in high season for an individual in a double room. It’s still quite reasonable but when compared with the 10 euros or less I was paying for the albergues, it becomes a significant difference. However, I heard it’s great). But if you want to splurge this would be a great place to stay: you can drop off your bags at the hostal and then continue up to the monasteries, the old monastery is 3.5km up a rather steep path (or you could follow the road for 7km; because of the difficulty of the path the time distance is roughly the same). Tour the monasteries and then return back down the path or by road to Santa Cruz. It would be a long day, but I think a bit easier than what I attempted.

-The other option is what the hospitalero in my albergue in Jaca told me to do, but I didn’t listen to him. And that would be to stay in Jaca for an extra night and take a bus (or taxi) to the monasteries and then back down to Jaca. I suppose you could take the bus up to the monasteries and then just walk the rest of the way down to either Santa Cruz or further to Santa Cilia too. The albergue in Jaca had information and time tables for the bus, as well as the tourism office.

This all sounds really complicated and I tried to think of an easy way to explain it, but it’s tough. There’s simply not an easy way to walk to the monasteries AND to stay at an albergue, unless you want a very long day (I didn’t arrive to the albergue in Santa Cilia until 7pm, which is very late for the Camino). But it’s an incredible place and despite the effort it took for me to walk there, it was kind of magical to arrive on foot.

3. Detour to the Foz de Lumbier gorge. This is a detour that’s just a few kilometers after leaving Sangüesa (2.4 km into the walk, you’ll want to bear right off the path of the Camino. If you’ve reached Rocaforte, you’ve gone too far). I intended to take this detour but because of a heatwave had left early and was walking in the dark, and completely missed the detour. But I’ve heard that this is a beautiful part of the Camino, taking you to a narrow gorge that’s cut by the river Irati, and the footpath leads you between steep rock outcrops and through a tunnel where a headlamp or flashlight could come in handy.

4. Church of Santa Maria de Eunate. I wrote about this in my last post, but the 12th century Romanesque church with a unique octagonal plan is not to be missed! (It’s right on the path of the Aragones, and a 4km detour from the Frances).

5. Puente La Reina bridge. In the 11th century, Queen Doña Mayor (wife of King Sancho the Great) had this bridge built in order to help pilgrims cross the River Arga on their way to Santiago. (Puente la Reina means ‘Bridge of the Queen’). 1000 years later the bridge is still being used, and is one of the iconic images of the Camino.

Any advice on how to get to the start of the Aragonés?

Travel to the Somport pass isn’t simple, but it’s certainly not impossible. If traveling through Paris, your best option is to take a train down to Pau, and then transfer to another train to Oloron Ste-Marie, then a bus to Somport. (Or, if you have the time, I’d recommend starting the walk in Oloron; it’s three days up through the Pyrenees to Somport, a really beautiful walk! You can even begin walking in Pau if you have more time).

Coming from Barcelona, you’ll take a bus or train to Zaragoza, then a bus (from the same station) to Jaca, and from here another bus or taxi to Somport.

These are some links to bus and trains that may help you plan your journey:

ALSA (Spanish bus company)
http://www.alsa.es/en/

Renfe (Spanish train)
http://www.renfe.com/

TER (French regional rail)
www.ter.sncf.com/aquitaine

Typical Stages for the Aragonés:

This walk is usually completed in 6-days, though pilgrims who detour to the monasteries of San Juan de la Peña will likely add an extra day. If you want to walk shorter distances (for instance, the first stage from Somport to Jaca is 32km!) it is often possible to find additional albergues, hotels or pensions. *Note, some of the albergues between the typical stages aren’t exclusively for pilgrims, but you will often find other pilgrims staying there.

Day 1: Somport to Jaca, 32km.
Day 2: Jaca to Arrés, 25.4km
Day 3: Arrés to Ruesta, 28.4km
Day 4: Ruesta to Sangüesa, 22km
Day 5: Sangüesa to Monreal, 27.2km
Day 6: Monreal to Puente La Reina, 30.6km

Below are my stages, including where I stayed. The first three stages were on the Voie d’Arles, and beginning in Somport I crossed to the Camino Aragonés. My detour to the monasteries of San Juan de la Peña added a day to my itinerary, so with 3-days on the Arles route and 7 on the Aragonés, I walked for 10-days total.

Day 1: Oloron Ste-Marie to Sarrance, 20.6km
Accueil Pèlerins Le Relais du Bastet (*where I stayed in Oloron… very good)

Accueil Pèlerin Communauté des Prémontrés (*where I stayed in Sarrance… must-stay!)

Day 2: Sarrance to Borce, 22km
Gîte communal de Borce

Day 3: Borce to Somport, 17km
Albergue Aysa

Day 4: Somport to Jaca, 32km
Albergue de peregrinos de Jaca

Day 5: Jaca to Santa Cilia, 36km (with detour to monasteries)
Albergue de peregrinos de Santa Cilia (*very good albergue)

Day 6: Santa Cilia to Arrés, 10.2km
Albergue de peregrinos de Arrés (*this is a must-stay albergue!)

Day 7: Arrés to Ruesta, 28.4km
Albergue de Ruesta. (*very good albergue)

Day 8: Ruesta to Sangüesa, 22km
Albergue de peregrinos de Sangüesa

Day 9: Sangüesa to Monreal, 27.2km
Albergue de peregrinos de Monreal

Day 10: Monreal to Puente La Reina, 30.6km
Albergue de los Padres Reparadores

What is your packing list like?

I brought the same things on this Camino that I have on my others, and you can find my pretty comprehensive packing list here. For this Camino I’d definitely recommend walking poles or a walking stick, particularly for the stretch between Somport and Jaca. A wide brimmed hat to protect your face and neck from the sun would also be helpful; much of the route was open and without tree-cover.

Tips for the Camino Aragonés:

-Be prepared for solo walking. If you’re looking for a Camino where you’ll meet a lot of people and always have someone to walk with, then this may not be the Camino for you. I nearly always walked alone during the day, and rarely saw other pilgrims. In the afternoons and evenings, however, I always met up with the same 10-15 pilgrims, staying in the same albergues. This lent a beautiful and small community feel to the Aragonés, but it will certainly not be the boisterous and sometimes party-like atmosphere that you can find on the Francés. It is possible that you may not encounter many pilgrims in the evenings, either, so be prepared for a quiet Camino.

-I’d recommend loading your phone with a local SIM card, if you’re traveling from the States or a country outside of the EU. There isn’t always wi-fi in all of the albergues, and because there were days when I didn’t encounter another pilgrim on my walk, I felt secure in having a working phone on me. I never needed to use the phone to call the albergues when I arrived (which I’d been worried about), though I think the first pilgrim who arrived in Sangüesa needed to call a number on the door to notify the hospitalera that we were there. I don’t think a SIM card is necessary, but I was glad to have one. Especially because I was able to help a fellow pilgrim when she dropped and broke her phone; she was able to use mine to communicate with her parents and figure out some transportation options (this was at the monastery in Sarrance, where the monk in charge didn’t have a smartphone).

This link takes you to a thread on the Camino forum that has good advice about setting up a SIM in Spain. The Orange Holiday SIM (which I’ve bought at Charles de Gaulle in Paris) has always worked well for me.

-On the stage from Arrés to Ruesta (28.4km), the only services available are in Artieda. If you’re not sleeping in Artieda and walking all the way to Ruesta, there’s a shortcut that avoids the climb up the hill to Artieda. You might be tempted to take this- and certainly could (because that hill looks big!)- but this will be your only stop for food and it might be the only fountain on the day’s stage as well. I’d recommend walking up there, filling up your water, and finding the Casa Rural that has also has a restaurant/bar. I had one of the best sandwiches of my Camino there.

-If you stay at the albergue in Arrés, you’ll probably get a village tour from the hospitalero/as. Take them up on this offer, and if they don’t mention the best spot in the village to view the sunset, ask them. And then go see the sunset. I had a mostly cloudy evening but still got such a peaceful and beautiful view.

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I hope this little Camino Aragonés guide helped show you more of what the route is like, and that it could be useful to you in planning your own walk. Let me know in the comment section below if you have any questions, or email me at nadinewalksblog @ gmail.com. I’d be happy to tell you more about my experience! In the meantime, I’m going to be dreaming about when I might be able to return to walk the Aragonés again.

Why I think the Camino Aragonés is the Perfect Camino

August 19, 2019

What is a perfect Camino? Can such a thing even exist? In late June I walked the Camino Aragonés, a 10-day pilgrimage from Oloron-Ste-Marie, France, to Puente la Reina, Spain. Technically, the first three days of my walk were on the Voie d’Arles, a route in France that runs from Arles to Somport, but for the sake of simplicity I’m including those three days when I say I walked the Camino Aragonés.

First, some basic info. The Camino Aragonés is a 160km route that begins on the border between France and Spain in the Pyrenees, and continues down through the Aragón region of Spain, crossing into Navarra where it joins with the Camino Francés just east of Puente la Reina. This distance is typically walked in 6 stages. If you begin in Somport- the beginning of the route- you are at an elevation of 1600m and the initial descent on the first day can give your knees a pounding. Some prefer to begin in Canfranc Estación or Jaca (end of the first stage and 32km from Somport), to avoid the initial descent (or because transport to Somport can add some extra steps). Others, like me, choose to begin walking a little further back, in France, where you have the chance to walk up and into the Pyrenees.

The Pyrenees at Somport pass, Camino Aragones

And this brings me to my first point on why the Camino Aragonés is the perfect Camino. The scenery! Even if you don’t choose to tack on a few extra days in France, you will still get to experience the Pyrenees mountains if you begin in Somport or even Canfranc Estación. I had one day of bad weather walking up to Somport, and one day of beautiful and clear weather walking down to Jaca, and each of the days were stunning. And I found both to be a very different experience to walking through the Pyrenees on the Camino Francés. The terrain isn’t so different- it’s the same mountain range, after all- and that makes it difficult to articulate why I found it different. I didn’t encounter a single other pilgrim or hiker on the day when I walked up to Somport, so maybe that was part of it; the mountains felt a little more wild and raw, the peaks higher, more jagged. It was just me, taking on the mountains, and that was exciting and adventurous in a different kind of way than I’d experienced on the Francés.

But then, very quickly, the landscape changes. All that saturated mountain green is replaced with colors more subdued, bleached and faded by the sun: dusty whites and deep golden yellows and soft browns with tinges of orange. The terrain evens out, flattens, and you can see a white road stretching and curving until it fades into the horizon. Fields of wheat, dotted with red poppies, wave in the wind.

Red poppy in a wheat field, Camino Aragones

This is similar landscape to what you see on the Camino Francés, and so for me, this is classic Camino. In fact, you might be thinking that what I’ve described so far is very similar to the Camino Francés, and you would be right! I think this is one reason why I’m calling the Aragonés a perfect Camino. Ever since I first walked the Camino Francés in 2014, I’ve been chasing after that elusive “Camino feeling” that I experienced on that route. Other Camino paths- the Norte, the Primitivo, the San Salvador, the Chemin du Puy- certainly were wonderful and unique in their own ways, but each felt very different than the Francés. I think I was searching for some particular combination of landscape and community and Camino magic, something that I felt on the Francés. It’s hard to articulate or define, I just know I felt it again on the Aragonés.

It was the landscape, but it was the community too. Sometimes other routes can feel too crowded or too isolated, but the Camino Aragonés felt just right. There was a sort of core group of about 10-15 of us, the numbers shifting a bit each day but mostly everyone walked the same stages. 15 pilgrims on any given stage is certainly not a lot, and unsurprisingly, I often didn’t see other pilgrims during the day’s walk. But in the afternoons, we’d all arrive at the same albergue, and so after only a few days you got to know everyone else. This is certainly the experience on other Caminos as well, but it was so easy and natural on the Aragonés. Because there weren’t so many albergues, it was difficult to walk different stages from the other pilgrims. And because there were only ever about 15 others walking the same stages as you, you got to know the group fairly quickly.

And for me this was perfect. I think the numbers can certainly fluctuate- in Arrés, the hospitalera told us that there had only been two pilgrims the night before!- and I suppose the time of year can influence the number of pilgrims walking, as well. So maybe I lucked out, though from reading through posts on the Camino forum, it seems that others tended to meet up with at least several pilgrims each night. But it’s this: the combination of quiet and solo walking during the day, with a known and comfortable little community in the evenings, that make a Camino so special to me. I worry that if I walked the Francés again, it would feel too crowded. Even the Norte, a route much less populated than the Francés, felt a little crowded when I walked it again this summer. So a combination of solo days and social nights on the Aragonés was just right.

There was an ease that developed among my Camino Aragonés cohort; for a few days we were walking through an intense heatwave, and everyone checked up on each other. We ran into each other during café con leche breaks. I gave some shampoo to the two young Spanish girls. I went grocery shopping with Micky, from Japan. One night, Javier cooked his famous tortilla for the whole group. In Sangüesa, we propped our cameras against an old stone wall and set the self-timer and gathered together for a photo. But there was a looseness, too, it wasn’t like we had purposefully picked each other to be part of a “Camino family”. We were just all walking the Aragonés at the same time. That was enough. That made us family.

The fact that the Aragonés isn’t a popular route may lend a little extra “Camino spirit” to the experience. Sometimes I wonder if, on more populated routes, there can be this sort of monotonous feeling, like it’s one more day and one more big group of pilgrims, and towns and villages are used to it, they absorb the pilgrims, it’s all sort of normal and automatic.

Maybe it’s like this on the Aragonés too, but it didn’t feel like it. It all felt special. Like the route was a secret, one that had been around for a long time, and those of us who walked were lucky to find ourselves on it. There was a sense in many of the villages that I was popping in to very local spaces. In one town, I’d arrived just at 9am, and was walking through the quiet streets looking for an open bar. I ran into a man who started asking me about my pilgrimage, and then he walked me to the bar and said that we were arriving just at opening time. He waited with me until it opened, then went in and had his usual: a café solo and a croissant. He drank his coffee at the bar while I sat at a table, but when he left he nodded and smiled and wished me a Buen Camino and it all made me feel- even though I was just passing through- that I was welcome there. Even, maybe, that I belonged there.

And then there are the albergues. There are just enough on this route that you never have to stay in a hotel or pension, and while there aren’t so many that you can stop whenever you feel like it, I think there are enough that you can walk reasonable distances. There are other Camino routes in Spain that I’m interested in walking- in particular the Invierno– but the lack of albergues on that route have made me hesitate. I’ve heard that it’s a wonderful Camino and I’m sure I’ll check it off my list at some point, but being able to stay in albergues has always been a huge draw of walking a Camino.

Some of the albergues on the Aragonés are really special. At the albergue in Santa Cilia, there were two clean and small bunk rooms: one for peregrinos, one for peregrinas. I was the only female pilgrim that night, and so I had the room to myself! In Arrés, the two hospitalerars were volunteering on a two-week stint, and they took us on a tour of the village before preparing a big dinner. We ate outside, crammed around two long tables: there was wine and water and juice for the kids, and a big green salad and pasta salad and soup and bread and melon for dessert. We toasted, one of the French pilgrims sang “Ultreïa!”. In Ruesta, the albergue is part of a crumbling, abandoned village; if there weren’t signs pointing the way, you might walk right by. There was a communal meal here, too. In Sangüesa, the albergue was simple and the kitchen was small, and while there was no organized communal meal, we made our own.

What else makes this a perfect Camino? After the descent to Jaca, the majority of which is during the first 7km on the first stage, the path mostly evens out and the walking isn’t very difficult. The way-marking is thorough and the only time I got a little confused was when I was walking in the dark at 5am (this was during the heatwave), and I had to wait for others to catch up with me to figure out where to go, because it was hard to find the arrows in the dark.

There are a couple of alternate route options that lead to incredible sights: the detour to the Monasterio de San Juan de la Pena, and the detour to Foz de Lumbier gorge. I’d intended to take the Foz de Lumbier variant but that was the morning I began walking at 5am, and I completely missed the turnoff. Other pilgrims who walked showed me their photos, and it looked stunning. But I did take the variant to the monasteries and it was probably my toughest day on the route- I went the long and difficult way, not paying close enough attention to notes I’d made from pilgrims who’d done this before. I plan to write more about this in a future post, outlining what I recommend and do not recommend in terms of getting to the monasteries. But in the end the effort was worth it: the old monastery is tucked away deep and high in the mountains, carved into a cliffside. You almost can’t believe it’s real.

And then, just before the Aragonés ends by joining up with the Francés before Puente La Reina, the path runs right by the fabulous Church of Santa Maria of Eunate. I’d been here before, back in 2014 when I walked the Francés, and that little detour was one of my favorite parts of the entire walk. I turned away from the other pilgrims, heading left into the fields of Navarra, and in a remote location with seemingly nothing else around, out of the fields rose the 12th century Romanesque church. Its octagonal design and free-standing cloister, along with its remote location, make this a truly unique sight. It had been closed the day I detoured there in 2014 (a Monday), but this year I passed by when it was open. This felt really special to me- not just seeing the church again, but walking the path that leads straight to it. When I first walked the Camino and detoured to Eunate, I’d been vaguely aware that I’d crossed onto another Camino route, but it was something I’d just pushed from my mind. Back then, the Camino Francés was the Camino, nothing else seemed to matter much.

But now, having walked all over northern Spain and through parts of France, I have a different perspective. Pilgrims walked to Santiago from all over Spain but from all over Europe, as well. The Francés is just the most popular route today; in the Middle Ages and over history, it was a different story. And by walking the Aragonés and stopping again at Eunate- where scallop shells have been discovered among the remains of what are believed to be pilgrims, lying beneath the church- I felt even more connected to the history of the Camino.

Finally, the Camino Aragonés ends in Puente La Reina, which is a wonderful town on the Camino Francés, with storks in their nests high in the church towers, and an iconic 11th century bridge. With daily buses to Pamplona and beyond, this is a convenient stopping point. Or, if you have more time, you could continue walking on the Francés, as some pilgrims do.

There’s so much more about the Camino Aragonés that I want to share, and I anticipate writing a round-up post of planning and walking tips, to help future pilgrims. But for now I’ll end by saying what I’ve said at least a dozen times: this felt like a nearly perfect Camino. I’m not sure why more people aren’t walking this Camino. Maybe, at just 6 stages, it feels too short (although by starting a few stages back in France, or continuing on the Francés past Puente La Reina, you could make this into a longer Camino). Maybe it’s because it doesn’t end in Santiago. Maybe it’s just that not enough people know about it, or are uncertain of what they’re about to walk into.

I hope that I can help spread the word about the Aragonés. Yet, even with an increased awareness, I don’t anticipate flocks of pilgrims suddenly descending and flooding the path. But I do hope more come to walk this way. The infrastructure is there, the beds are waiting to be filled, the locals are ready to greet you with a ‘Buen Camino’ and a great big smile.

Add this perfect Camino to your list. I’m so glad that I did.

15 Photos that will make you fall in love with the Camino del Norte

August 13, 2019

I’ve returned home from my European summer adventures, and have so much to share. I’d had good intentions of blogging while I was away, but it seems that in the last few years, “live” blogging from my Camino has become quite difficult. I love capturing the photos and notes and details while I’m in the moment, but I’ve moved away from doing that on the blog (if you aren’t following on Instagram, you can go over there and scroll back a bit to see some photos from my walk!).

But I do have a slew of post ideas now that I’m back. I also have thousands of photos that I’m not entirely sure what to do with (well, I suppose in this digital age we ALL have thousands of photos that we’re not quite sure what to do with). My new camera was a great success; before my trip I bought myself a Fujifilm X-T20 Mirrorless digital camera with a 35mm lens, and while I still have a lot to learn, the Camino was an excellent training ground. I wore the camera around my shoulder every day as I walked, and alternated between using that and my iPhone to capture and record my Camino.

So with all of these photos in mind, I thought I would start with a post that captures some of my favorite images from the Camino del Norte. This was the second time I walked a section of the Norte (this year I walked from Irun to Oviedo, a total of 19 days), and the coastal scenery reminded me again why I love this Camino. It’s the coastal walking, yes, but as I’ve begun to go through my photos, I realize that there’s so much other beauty, too. I had a lot of gray and rainy weather, but I also had beautiful, soft mornings when the mist created magical blankets and the sun filtered through the clouds and created golden rays of light. I look through my photos and I’m reminded again that the Norte provides lots of animal encounters: cows and horses and goats and sheep and cats and dogs (and this year, lots of puppies!). There are rolling hills and the outline of mountains and vibrant cities and sleepy towns.

And there’s the coast, the blue and wild and often empty coast, rocky and jagged and windswept.

I doubt I’ll write detailed daily recap posts from this year’s walk on the Norte (you can start here to read about my past walk, in 2015); but I do want to share parts of this trek. So for now, I’ll begin with 15 photos that will make you fall in love with the Camino del Norte. These are 15 photos that I look at and I find myself in love all over again, already wanting to return, to walk a third time, to just walk it again and again and again. I’m not sure if and when I’d ever return- there are just too many other walks out there and my feet are itching for new terrain- but in the meantime I have these memories.

Here they are, 15 photos that will make you fall in love with the Camino del Norte!

1. Horse on a hill outside of Zumaia (Day 3); in the far right corner of this photo you might be able to see the sea; the views were incredible here even under gray skies, but it was this horse, grazing on the slanted hillside, that caught my eye.

15 photos that will make you fall in love with the Camino del Norte; horse on hillside

2. Archway in the Monastery de Zenarruza, Ziortza (Day 4). There is an Albergue at this monastery, where I stayed in 2015. Because it was one of my favorite places to stay on the Norte I made sure to stop here again, and it did not disappoint. The location is stunning: set up high in the hills, isolated and quiet, with a long terrace and a peaceful cloister, a communal meal and artisanal beer brewed by the monks.

Monastery de Zennaruza, Camino del Norte

3. Strutting rooster and pilgrim laundry (Day 5). Just a typical late afternoon albergue scene on the Camino! This was Caserio Pozueta, an albergue 5.3km past Gernika. Not only were there chickens and roosters roaming around, but there were four 5-week old puppies! This was a private albergue where the family lived in one part of the building and ran an albergue in the other. Their young boys helped show pilgrims to their bunkrooms, and the communal evening meal was one of the best on my Camino.

Strutting rooster at Caserió Pozueta, Camino del Norte

4. Walking out of Bilbao (Day 7). I often find large cities on the Camino to be overwhelming, and sometimes I find myself passing through rather than staying the night. But my favorite thing about staying in cities might be leaving the next morning: the streets are quiet, people are still sleeping, the air is soft and the city is yours. There are several Camino route options when leaving Bilbao, and having taken two of them, I’d highly recommend walking with the river to your left. This photo was taken looking back on Bilbao as I walked away; further ahead I would pass the stunning building of the Guggenheim, and later would get to take a transporter bridge across the river to Portugalete.

Walk out of Bilbao on the Camino del Norte

5. Goat on coast (Day 8). Another animal photo, but I couldn’t help it, I’d just be walking along, another heavy cloud day on the coast, and then I’d see a goat, and then another, and they’d just be set so perfectly against that great blue water that I had to take photo after photo.

15 photos that will make you fall in love with the Camino del Norte; goat on coast

6. My favorite stretch of coast, before the descent into Laredo (Day 9).

Coastal views on Camino del Norte, before descent to Laredo

7. Pilgrim still-life on beach (Day 10). This rock with the big yellow arrow is on the beach that leads to Noja, just after you descend the steep Colina de El Brusco. Beach walking on the Camino del Norte is the best! And that includes getting sand in your shoes (although what’s also best is taking off your shoes and socks, feeling the sand between your toes, and walking in the water for a bit).

Yellow arrow on beach in Noja, Camino del Norte

8. Soft morning light, countryside after Guemes (Day 11).

Sunlight through trees, Camino del Norte

9. Sunrise leaving Santander (Day 12). Another beautiful and quiet morning as I left a big city; I took a coastal alternative out of Santander and while this wasn’t an official Camino route and the added kilometers set me a stage back from many of the pilgrims I’d gotten to know, most of the day was full of the stunning views and so much beauty.

10. Sunrise cobwebs (Day 15). I think the mornings were my very favorite time on the Camino; on this day, leaving Serdio, I had the most beautiful, soft light and a hovering fog that burned away once the sun fully rose.

Morning cobwebs on fence, Camino del Norte

11. Coastal alternative to Pendueles (Day 15). This was also the Camino of alternate routes; I took as many as I could if it meant that I could walk along the coast.

Alternate coastal path to Pendueles, Camino del Norte

12. The bougainvillea on the church wall in Llanes (Day 16). I love this landscaping, I love the contrast of the purple against the white, I love the twisting roots and the old stone wall.

Bougainvillea on church in Llanes, Camino del Norte

13. Another photo of a horse, because there hasn’t been an animal photo in awhile (Day 17).

A friendly horse; 15 photos that will make you fall in love with the Camino del Norte

14. And another shot of the coast, because it’s the Camino del Norte and many believe that the coastal walks make this the most beautiful Camino of them all! (Day 17)

Coastal path before La Isla; 15 photos that will make you fall in love with the Camino del Norte

15. Early morning in Oviedo, with cathedral enveloped in fog (Day 19). I ended this year’s Camino in Oviedo, which is quickly becoming my favorite city in Spain.

Oviedo cathedral in morning fog, Camino del Norte, Camino Primitivo

So those are 15 of my favorite photos from this year’s Camino del Norte; there are many more to share and hopefully I’ll weave them into more blog posts soon. In the meantime, if these photos did encourage you to start planning a Camino, you can check out these past posts:

Which is better? The Camino Frances or the Camino del Norte?

Favorite Albergues on the Camino del Norte Part One

Favorite Albergues on the Camino del Norte Part Two

Like a Rolling Stone: Day One on the Camino del Norte, Irun to San Sebastian

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Surefooted

June 20, 2019

Today as I walked I thought about the word ‘surefooted’. I thought about it as I was descending a small, steep path in the woods that was covered with stones, some of them wet. I had to watch the ground, I had to be careful about where I placed each step, how my foot landed, making sure not to slip or stumble.

All the hiking experience in the world can’t always prevent you from taking a fall, but I do think experience counts for a lot. I’m not so nervous stepping on/over/around rocks anymore. When I first started hiking, before my first Camino, I was slower and shakier. I wasn’t sure where to place my feet, my steps were hesitant.

But sometime in these last years I’ve realized that I’ve become surefooted. I know where to step (most of the time!). But it’s my ease, too, my confidence and competence when I’m hiking. Inside, I can often be full of small worries and concerns, but when I start walking, the worries and concerns seem to quiet down.

Today’s hike required lots and lots of surefooted-ness; the path ran up and down through the woods, on often uneven and muddy ground. The trail was narrow, sometimes hugging the side of a steep slope. Parts were overgrown with thorny branches (wore my long pants- best decision of the day!), sections were covered with thick black slugs, and I nearly stepped on the absolute largest toad I’d ever seen (so maybe that’s not the best example of being surefooted…)

I began to feel tired today, the muscles in my legs started aching, my feet demanded a break. But this is being surefooted, too: knowing when to take a break, knowing that despite the fatigue I’ll be able to carry on.

Now it’s night, I’m alone in the gîte in Borce, I cooked a dinner of spaghetti and tomato sauce, I’m wrapped in blankets in my bunk bed. Inside, again, worries are starting to nag: tomorrow will be a day of steady rain. I have a difficult and long climb up to Somport. What if I’m tired, what if there is no place to stop for a break, what if my feet get soaked and I get blisters?

But then I remember that, when I walk- in the sun or wind or rain, through moorland or meseta or mountains, on pavement or grass or mud- I am surefooted.

So bring on the mountains and the rain, I’m ready.

A ribbon and a monastery

June 19, 2019

I promised myself I wasn’t going to commit to any long posting while on the Camino (for fear that without enough time I wouldn’t post at all), so I’m here with a photo and just a little story. I want to share all the details: how I went the wrong way when leaving town this morning, how my pack feels heavy but not too heavy, how I found the perfect lunch spot, how I met two friendly dogs who wanted to walk and play with me, how I’ve moved closer and closer to the mountains and am now in the mountains.

There was all of that. And, also, I made my first Camino friend, a young woman named Alodia, from Spain. She began walking the Arles route four years ago and has continued in bits and pieces since then. She started one day before me, and planned to walk just 4 days into Jaca, where her pilgrimage would end. We met last night in the gîte in Oloron, then ran into each other in the Carrefour (grocery store), then had dinner together back at the gîte.

She left early this morning- by 6:30- so I didn’t see her until I arrived at the monastery on Sarrance, where we’re both staying for the night. As soon as I saw her I noticed something was wrong. She’d dropped her phone and it broke, and she decided to catch a bus in the morning and end her pilgrimage early.

I think she wrestled with this decision, but ultimately didn’t feel comfortable walking into the mountains alone without a way of contacting help if she needed it (I decided to get a Spanish phone number for this very reason!). And once she decided she needed to end, her mind was made up.

“Something is telling me that I need to end,” she said. “I don’t know why, but I have to listen.”

We spent some of the afternoon and evening together, and just now, she knocked on the door to my room to say goodnight.

“I have something for you,” she said, and held out her hand.

In it was a blue ribbon that she’d received in Zaragoza, at the Church of Our Lady of Pilar. Inside the church is a pillar that is topped with a statue of the Virgin Mary; brightly colored ribbons, 15-inches long (the length of the statue) are offered to visitors and represent protection and blessing.

“The tradition says that whoever gets the ribbon from the church is supposed to pass it on. It has walked all across France with me, and now you have it to carry onward.” Alodia passed the ribbon over to me.

I’ll hang it from my pack tomorrow, and I’ll think of the protection it offers. I still have a very long way to go, and these mountains are tall, and the forecast calls for rain. And, it’s been several years since I’ve walked this great of a distance. I know I can do it, I’m excited to do it, but standing at the beginning, the way looks very long.

So goodnight from my bunk room in a monastery in the mountains; more soon.

Ready for the Next Round: Summer 2019

May 26, 2019

My new hiking shoes arrived in the mail yesterday, another pair of my beloved Keens. This can only mean one thing, and you must know what it is: I’ll be on another long walk this summer!

In some ways, I feel like my adventures of last summer are still so fresh, and maybe it’s because I’ve only just finished writing about my Pennine Way walk. Immersing myself in those recaps kept my heart in England through the fall and winter and even into the spring. And it’s only been very recently that I’ve let myself think about my plans for this summer.

“What are those plans for this summer?” you might be asking.

It may come as no surprise that I’m embarking on another long walk, and more specifically, another Camino!

While technically I did squeeze in a very quick, three-day Camino last summer (I still haven’t written about the three stages of the Chemin Du Puy that I walked in August, but I am posting those photos over on Instagram, so go over and have a look!), it only gave me a small taste of a pilgrimage. And yes, I walked for two weeks on a fabulous trail in England, but a long-distance walk is different than a pilgrimage. And I’ve been craving that pilgrimage experience lately, so I’m going back.

And I’m going back to Spain. The last time I was there was 2016, when I walked the Camino de San Salvador, and then continued from Oviedo onto the Norte to (almost) walk into Santiago. That trip both does and doesn’t feel all that long ago and it’s funny what time can do. It’s only been three years since I’ve been to Spain, but suddenly I am nervous again. I’m nervous about the language, mostly, but also all those other little cultural differences that I may have forgotten. I know it’s going to be okay, and I know that after a few weeks or even just a few days I’ll remember some basic words and gain the confidence I need to communicate (because all that is really required is an honest effort and a smile).

But I don’t really think it’s about the language and communication, not really. I guess these are the same ol’ nerves that tend to hit several weeks before I leave for a big trip. If you’ve been reading for awhile, you’ll probably remember me saying something along these very lines each year!

So yes, I have another big walk coming up. The first ‘leg’ of the walk is going to be the Camino Aragones, a 160km route that begins in the Pyrenees and ends in Puenta La Reina (one of the early stages on the Camino Frances). The Aragones technically begins in Somport, which is on the French/Spanish border, but I’m planning to start a few days back in Oloron Sainte-Marie, so that I can spend several days walking up into the Pyrenees which, in good weather, should be breathtaking.

After the Aragones, I have some options. Since the route ends in Puenta La Reina, it would be so easy to just continue for awhile on the Frances (the first Camino I walked, back in 2014). But for some reason, I’m not ready to repeat the Frances. I’m sure there are lots of reasons for this (that I won’t get into in this post), but unless I change my mind when I finish the Aragones, my plan is to take a bus up to Irun, which is the start of the Camino del Norte.

Ahh, the Camino del Norte. I’ve walked this one before: I did most of it in 2015 (from Irun to Oviedo), and the rest in 2016. I’ve loved all the Camino routes I’ve walked, but it’s hard to compare them, or say which one I liked the best. They’re each special in their own way.

And the particular aspects that make the Norte so special have been tugging at me for the past year or so. Last spring I starting putting together some notes on the route, marking new albergues or alternates that I didn’t walk the first time around. I was tempted to walk it again last summer but settled on the Pennine Way instead.

But this year? I think I’m ready to go back.

But this wasn’t the easiest decision. My summer planning felt very delayed this year, and it took me a long time to decide exactly what I wanted to do. A retreat at La Muse (which I’m doing again, after my Camino) and a long walk somewhere have sort of become what I do in the summer. I haven’t even had to think about it in the past; I knew that this combination of walking and writing were how I wanted to spend my summers.

I still want this particular combination, but I want other things, too. I finally bought a new (to me) car in February, and it’s made that dream of a cross-country road trip a strong possibility (now that I have reliable transportation that won’t break down before I even get to Pittsburgh). I want to go to Africa, I want to try to climb Kilimanjaro. I didn’t quite feel ready for either of these options this summer, but I think the fact that I’m being pulled towards other kinds of travel made me hesitate about another European summer. I have my health, I have my freedom, I have my time, I have the means to travel and I’m so grateful for all of this but, as always, I don’t know how long this will be the case. Is it maybe time to try something new, while I still have the chance to try something new?

Maybe, but maybe I do want one last European summer, for this stage in my life. One more long walk, one more retreat in the mountains of a small French village.

So this is what I’m doing, and I leave in about three weeks. I’m curious about how I’ll feel once I’m there, if I will strap on my pack and head off into the Pyrenees and breathe deep and say, “I’m back”, and if I will feel really good about that. I’m curious if I will feel restless on the Norte, knowing that the route isn’t new and unknown, or if I will feel thrilled about being back on a trail that showed me so much beauty that I still think that some of it must have been a mirage. I wonder if I can dive back into my writing when I’m at La Muse, if I can sink into the editing of this book I’ve been working on for the last four years, if I can move myself forward and feel ready to take the next steps. I wonder if Homer will be around, if he will remember me and want to take walks with me. I’ll be passing through Paris, and I wonder if I will cry when I see Notre Dame. I wonder who I will meet, if I will see any old friends, I wonder at all the new connections I might make. I wonder if I will get a blister, if I will find a suitable walking stick, if I will drink red wine or cold beer (or both?), if I will take beautiful photos, if I will walk steady, if I will walk strong.

I hope to write a few more posts before I leave for my trip, but in case I don’t, here is what I hope you can expect. The Pennine Way took me so long to write about that I don’t anticipate doing long, daily reports from the Norte (and besides, I already wrote ‘live’ posts from that walk, you can read them here). Instead, I’m going to try to do a daily or almost daily post, with just a photo and a long caption. I want to just capture a moment and write about that moment, and in doing that, tell the story of my Camino. I’ll plan to write more in-depth posts about the Aragones after I finish the walk, especially since this is a relatively little-walked Camino route and I think the information could be helpful to future pilgrims. But it is my hope to blog at least a bit while I’m on the Norte, because I’ve loved doing that in the past, and it adds so much to my experience.

I’m also hoping to create a little extra content for my wonderful supporters over on Patreon (if you’ve been meaning to check out my Patreon or curious about what it is, just follow this link!). I’m thinking some additional real time photos from the walk (and if I buy a fancy new camera like I’ve been wanting to do for years, then those photos might be extra special!).

Okay, that’s the update from these parts. My porch door is open and a pleasant breeze is blowing in and through the room. I’ve got my feet propped up and some soft music playing and it feels like summer is just around the corner, waiting for its entrance. Soon it will be here, soon. I hope you’re all well, maybe also enjoying porch breezes and soft music and anticipating upcoming adventures, big or small. More soon.