The Counter-Camino Kids

I broke down and bought a shell the other day. Most pilgrims have these scallop shells attached to their packs. They´re the symbol of the camino because St. James´s alleged grave was supposedly surrounded by scallop shells since his so-called body had to travel overseas. Do I sound skeptical? Neither Luke nor I had gotten a shell yet... I figured any Saint with ¨kill¨as a part of his nickname was suspect and did not deserve to be venerated on my pack. I really liked the salesman, though, so I broke down. Now I´m officially part of the pilgrim club.

There are actually a lot of ways our general attitude and trip runs counter to that of most pilgrims. For example, I love purchasing items and adding weight to my pack. Granted, I ditched Don Quixote on the first day, but otherwise I'm not incredibly conscientious about kilos. Cute bag? Meh, why not. Book of Neruda poems? Sure. My perceptive friend Meghan Cox pointed out that buying hiking sandals in addition to tennis shoes added weight... it´s true. I have to admit I did feel a little silly today when I passed a Dutch woman who´d hiked the Camino 4 times and was only wearing a fanny pack and a tiny backpack. The important thing here of course is that I passed her. Ha.

I think our most rebellious act yet is going to be skipping out on Santiago completely (gasp!) We just didn´t give ourselves enough time to finish, and we were planning on taking a bus a few days early to see the city. At this point, though, our bodies feel so good and we´re loving these small mountain towns so much that we don´t want to stop walking. When we stop, we´ll be about a week outside of Santiago, but we´ll head straight for Madrid. It´s kind of sacriligious... but also a great excuse to come back! Tomorrow, we´re hiking to Vilafranca, and that will be our last day. Then, we´ll take a day to go from Ponferrada to Madrid, and spend a day in Madrid before we fly home.

Hopefully I can get in one more entry about all the wisdom I´ve gained, but if not, see you all back in the States soon!

Mountains = calm + exhileration

The night before we left Leon, we were blessed by nuns. The verdict is still out on whether nuns are actually happier or more peaceful than your standard Bridge group or Bingo bunch. From what I´ve seen so far, I don´t think so. In the States, the Red Hat Ladies are much more joyful... the convent should take notes. The nun that gave us the blessing was super cute, though, and she made sure to emphasize (in Spanish, to a group of international pilgrims) that the camino is a spiritual journey and not a tourist experience. They separated the men and the women by a floor and locked the door at 10pm just to remind us.

On our way out of the city, we could finally see mountains in the distance. There´s something about being surrounded by mountains that alters my mental and even physical state. I feel more calm - like I´ve just crawled into bed and pulled my comforter around me after a tough day. There´s also a touch of exhileration in not knowing what´s on the other side. Maybe it was the nuns´ blessing or the plate of protein-filled tapas we´d eaten, but I think it´s most likely that the mountains caused my sudden spurt of energy as we left. I was actually excited to be walking again.

Looking through the blog, I realized that I haven´t written much about the landscape or our actual time walking. That´s partly because so many thoughts run through my head during the day that it´s hard to distill them at the end. I also like leaving that bit a mystery so you´ll think I´ve been having cathartic experiences and not just making up songs about Tio Pepe and Silver Fox. (Insert photo of Luke making a thumbs up in front of Silver Fox HERE). I do have to tell you about the wildflowers, though.

The red poppies are my favorite because they´re so resilient. They pop up out of concrete, between barley, and sometimes take over entire hillsides. There are also these yellow bushes that line the paths and almost emanate enough perfume to cover the smell of sweaty pilgrims. We´ve seen fields of daisies that look like snow... O.K., I´ll stop and just add pictures here because it´s too hard to avoid cliches.Maybe that´s why I haven´t written much about the landscape. Seriously, though, we´ve been walking through nature-calendar land.

Luke´s European Floor Conversion

Today while we were walking, Luke was explaining to me how it´s O.K. for him to smooch a 19 year-old Dutch girl even though his age floor in the States is 21. Here, I´m going to let him explain...

ok normally i have an age floor of 21. but i have decided that while in europe one has to factor in the conversion rate. since the euro is so strong currently, there is a 1.3 conversion rate. this means that my 21 age floor actually in europe is closer to 18. cheers.

This is what I have to put up with.

On Yellow Arrow Dependency and City Reunions

The 18k (roughly 12 miles) into Leon yesterday was pretty ridiculous. There were some points where the camino stopped and we were just walking alongside the highway. It´s very strange entering a large city on foot especially after having been in the middle of a desert for a week. My senses were totally overwhelmed by horns and exhaust fumes, and eveytime a large truck drove by, I was worried I would blow over backpack and all. Luckily, I made it off the highway and into the city streets.

It was the first time I had entered a city on my own. The group was lingering at a picnic area, and I was feeling spry and eager for a hot shower, so I charged ahead. Luke had our guidebook, so I was completely dependent on the yellow arrows to guide me into the center of the city. You know how hiking trails have marks on trees to show you where to go? Well, the camino is blazed with yellow arrows painted on sidewalks and signposts, and the occasional bronze seashell embedded in the road. Sometimes bars or other businesses will use the arrows to guide you into their establishments, so it can get kind of confusing.

So, there I was, completely on my own, senses reeling, following yellow arrows blindly into the city. Of course, I got lost. Finally, I just began asking people where the cathedral was and hoping I would meet up with the group there. Just as I was about to step into an icecream shop to make myself feel better, Luke jumped out from behind a wall. YES! We headed towards our hotel and had the best showers of our lives in a tiny one-star tub. Then, we wandered the city for tapas, saw the cathedral´s amazing stain glass, and ate Indian food with the British brothers for dinner.

Oh, I forgot to tell you we ran into the British brothers again. In fact, all the characters we´d surpassed by going at such a quick pace across the meseta caught up with us in the city. We´ve been reunited with the Silver Fox, an adorable Dutch couple, and Bridget, a fellow W&M grad who we met in Belorado. It´s part of the charm of the camino the way we form attachments with people we´ve only seen or exchanged a few words with.

Since we spent all of today in the city rather than walking on, our companions will shift again. The "boy band" (our nickname for a couple of gap year kids from England) broke up when one decided to leave today. We´ve got 5 days left in the Camino of our Lives, so things could get interesting...

Most OCD Pilgrim Ever (revised)

My hiking companion Luke has opted not to read this blog while we´re on the trip, so I get to tell you about all his quirks before he has a chance to censor... ha! Let´s begin with the fact that every morning, about 5 minutes into the walk, he asks me to check his pack for his passport. This happens every morning without fail. He´s only remembered to check for it once before we start walking. Actually, let me go ahead and give you an entire play-by-play of Luke´s day, which is entirely predictable at this point:

5:45am: Luke wakes up to the sound of old men rustling in their bags and awesome banana hammock views

6:00am: Luke rolls up his sleeping bag and then wakes me up. While I am getting my stuff together, Luke has a minor panic attack because he hates waiting. He is ready in 5 minutes every morning because all of his clothes were pre-packed the night before in separate Ziplock bags.

7:00am: We head out on the trail. By this point, all Luke can think about are chocolate croissants. In the first town we come to, he´ll buy at least one and eat it en route.

circa 11:00am: Luke buys a Coke and drinks it.

throughout the day: The group takes multiple breaks. Luke stops and sips his water, then decides to walk on... because he hates waiting.

an hour ahead of the rest of the group: Luke arrives in town and has another mild panic attack while trying to figure out where we will stay, how everyone will find him, and how responsible he is for making sure everyone gets a spot.

once accomodations have been arranged: Luke has a beer. (Our friend from Luxembourg observed that Luke really likes beer, which would be funny to anyone in the States since there, Luke never drinks).

Another one of Luke´s most entertaining tendencies is to partly remember a Spanish word or phrase and then hurriedly throw it into conversation. Some of my favorite examples are:

- Asking "Quisiera helado?" instead of "Te gusta helado?"
(Or, "Would you like icecream?" instead of "Do you like icecream?")

- Asking "Necesitas Ignacio?" instead of "Necesito firmar?"
(Or, "Do you need Ignacio?" instead of "Do I need to sign?")

- My all time favorite was when he asked for a sopapilla (a Spanish dessert) instead of a sepillo (a toothbrush)

Most High Maintenance Pilgrim Ever

Now that we've been walking for over two weeks and have gone over two hundred miles, I think I can tell you about my Job day without worrying the Mom too much or sounding like a big wimp to the rest of you. Every injury I have ever had has re-appeared at some point during our walk. On day nine, not only did I have a raging cold (thanks 70-person rooms, thanks) and tendonitis, but we also had to make a decision about whether to stay with the group or take a bus and skip the upcoming desert-esque section. If there's anything I hate more than sniffles and soreness, it´s DECISIONS.

It´s sort of funny the way that our group has come together. We´re an unlikely bunch, but also like-minded and intrigued by one another. Group dynamics and finding beds has been interesting, but on the whole it´s been fun to find out about Dutch gypsies, Mexican politics, Luxembourgish humor, and new English words from the Brits (there are now 5 Brits among us!) Plus, I think Luke and I would drive each other crazy if it was just us and the Cuckoo birds. So, it was tough to think about leaving all that behind to skip to a week ahead on the trail. We figured we wouldn´t have time to finish the whole thing, though, so something had to be cut.

I was mulling over this conundrum as I hobbled and sneezed my way into Burgos - and it was a lonnng way beside factories and fourteen-wheelers. We had to walk all the way through the city to get to the Albergue in a park on the other side. The poplars in the park were in full bloom, so their buds snowed down on us upon arrival, a sort of surreal shift from the city streets. I spent the day prostrate in my sleeping bag with John Brierly (the author of our mystical and spiritual guidebook). He made it sound like the first few days of the desert meseta were pretty beautiful, so we decided to stay with the group and walk.

BEST DECISION EVER. (I´ll insert photos of the meseta views and most glorious moment of my life later)

Over the past week, we´ve been able to go at a quick pace since the meseta is so flat. I found a brace for my tendonitis, and some CalmaGrip and honey for the cold that have done wonders. As long as I can get my coffee and croissant in the morning, I´m up for the early morning walking. The first few days were incredible, and it hasn´t been as boring as it could have because the endless wheat and barley fields are sort of tranquil (as long as we´re not walking by the highway).

Also, we get to our final destination super early and have lots of time to sit around. We walk 30k in the morning, end up in a one pub town, and sit around drinking wine and washing socks ´til it´s time for the pilgrim menu (delicious, cheap 3 course meals with all the french bread you can eat). At times, it feels like the camino is more of a glorified pub crawl than a spiritual journey. Take that John Brierly. Tomorrow, we´lll arrive in Leon and have decided to spend a couple of nights there. It´s time for a break.

Tales Along the Camino

The camino is paved with stories. Several towns along the way are named after pilgrims who stopped, dedicated their lives to those following behind, and became Saints. There are the stories of those we walk with daily - and the books that brought them here. We can thank a recent bestseller in Germany for the Deutsch voices that fill our rooms (the first we hear in the afternoon and the first to leave in the morning... tight schedule, those Germans). Paula Coelho is responsible for the chorus "Todo bene!" that rings out everytime the Brazilians enter town with their video cameras and wide smiles.

One of the first questions fellow pilgrims ask when they come up alongside one another is, "Why did you decide to do the camino?" Everyone has a story. I find that my answer changes often depending on how tired I am and how well my fellow walker speaks English. Towards the end of the afternoon, waxing philosophical or claiming a touristy motivation seems weak, so I simply say: purgatory points. Honestly, it´s kind of strange to be doing something so out of the ordinary and at times challenging without any really "good" reason... but it's also surprisingly O.K. You just keep walking.

There is one guy whose whole life is the camino. He just walks back and forth barefoot, looks a bit like Jesus with dreadlocks, and has learned multiple languages from fellow pilgrims. Another older Spanish man has been hiking it in sections. He only carries a tiny backpack, and every morning he walks zipped up in his sleeping bag like a papoose. It cuts down on warm-weather wear I suppose. We had dinner in Logroño with a couple from Germany that started walking together after finishing chemo. They told us about one of the trail's most famous legends:

Hundreds of years ago, a German family was walking, and they stopped at an Inn in Santa Domingo. The Innekeeper´s daughter hit on their son, but being the good pilgrim he was, he refused her advances. She was so insulted that she hid a golden cup in his bag. The next morning, she told her father he had stolen it, and the town brought him back to determine his punishment. They decided he should be hung.

Accounts vary, but some say his parents kept walking (like I said, tight schedule... Germans haven't changed much). Others say they stayed for the hanging. Either way, they went out to the woods where he had a noose around his neck and found that he had survived. When the parents went to tell the priest, who was eating dinner, he exclaimed, "Your son is as dead as the rooster on my plate!" Suddenly, the rooster got up and began dancing on the plate. The son was freed, and camino justice was carried out. In Santa Domingo, they keep a rooster and chicken in the church in memory of the tale.

Last night, we had dinner with another German guy who told us all about the story of the Knights of Templar. Several of the towns and churches we've passed by on the meseta have been named after the knights, but neither Luke nor I knew much about their history. It's fascinating the new stories we hear everyday, the old ones we pass through without even knowing it, and the small steps we are taking to come up with our own. (Agh, too much John Brierly... I´ll try to avoid cheesy concluding sentences in the future).

Haikus for the Camino

The French

Silver Fox*, so buff

won`t speak any language but

French and snores: you suck

*Silver Fox is one of our nicknames for a fellow pilgrim who looks like a body builder, wears spandex, and is friendly if somewhat ridiculous.

Wheat Fields in Wind

Look like oil sliding

down roads, hordes of cheering fans,

quick clouds, a stampede

By Luke, who smells

Jen is disgusting*

Burping all the time, my God;

Thank God for Dutch girls

*I am NOT gross... I`m just trying to convince our friend from Luxembourg that American girls drink Coke and burp all the time...

Belorado: The enchanted city

It was our seventh day on the trail and our first Saturay night. The albergue said curfew wasn`t until 11:30. In camino time, that was like letting us stay out all night. What would we do with all those hours to fill?

The passage of time goes slowly in the afternoons. After some cerveza, a shower, and tending to our feet (Kishor, I took a photo just for you) there isn`t a lot to see in these small towns other than their churches and squares. Sometimes, we find a grassy area and throw. No one brought playing cards, but we all admitted to weighing the pros and cons of carrying the extra weight. The Dutch girls finally made some out of paper from their journal, and we played `President`in Belorado over Sangria.

Belorado had more fun in store than we were ready for, though. Right after checking in (a process worthy of its own entry), we heard a brass band playing what sounded like football fight songs in the street. We went outside to find a group of attractive twenty-somethings wearing orange t-shirts and dancing in the street. There was sax player and a couple of horns, and everyone had a plastic cup of beer in their hand. It looked like a migratory frat party. After asking around, we found out that it basically was...

Everyone in the town who would turn 25 that year was celebrating on the same day. Then, the 30-year-olds came out of a neighboring bar in green t-shirts with even louder musical accompaniment. Apparently, when you turn 30 you get a receding hairline AND overpowering percussion. They definitely won the battle of the bands that ensued.

Somehow, the two groups continued to dance to the same songs well into the night. This town was creepy... it was freezing there, white wolf-like dogs roamed the square, there was a waffle-iron saint and an iron demon in the church. The next morning, we stepped out of the clouds back into sanity.

The Great Camino Race

On the 4th day, we walked 17 miles from Los Arcos to Logroño (I love that there´s a tilde key). The last stretch was in the rain, and I had a shooting pain in my foot by the end of the walk. When we arrived, the only albergue in town was full. We didn´t have a bed. It was at that moment we decided the race was ON.

Everything turned out O.K. of course. They had overflow mattresses in a nearby church, and the priest sent the snorers to another room. I was thankful the church had no problem overriding the supposed egalitarianism of the trail - calling out the camino leppers. The church didn´t open until late, though (late = 9pm since our regular bedtime is 10pm... we have yet to see stars). So, we set off into town rather than collapsing in bed, and I bought some bonafide Spanish hiking sandals. Any souvenir I don´t have to carry is O.K. by me!

The next morning, Luke concluded we should leave our international companions in the dust and walk the 18 miles to Nàjera (I love that there´s an accent key) as fast as possible to snag a bed. Anytime we spotted pilgrims ahead of us on the trail, we dubbed them targets and picked up our pace. We passed the Brazilians, the Italians, and the French. It was like the Olympics. This definitely wasn´t what I expected our spiritual pilgrimage to entail. We rolled into Nàjera at around 1:30 in 29th place. Considering people had set out from multiple albergues in several different towns, we felt pretty good about that. To celebrate, we made giant hamburgers. Yeah Team America.

It´s interesting the way the Camino seems to be transforming. It used to have much less traffic, and pilgrims were more reliant on the surrounding communities for lodging and support. Now, there´s more of a touristy feel. You can choose to stay at warehouse-type albergues outside of town. The restaurants we pass feel like ski lodges, and many people seem more focused on ¨getting it done¨ than the experience. There are more outdoor enthusiasts than Catholics. Of course, it´s hard to be critical since I don´t have much of a religious motive, either... I just wish I could walk slower.

In which there is written an open letter to Spain

Dear Spain,

How are you centuries ahead of us in public transportation, sleeping patterns, and beverages, yet so far behind in hairstyles? When I rode your metro in Madrid, it was like a ride in Disney´s Futureland. Everything was so sleek and brightly colored, and you´re right that automatic doors don´t make much sense. The giant green button in your train was much more efficient. It was like those sensor sinks, except better. The doors didn`t open when you walked by.

Also, I hope that one day we Americans will follow your siesta lead. No one is actually productive from 2 - 4, so why not embrace it? Of course, it did make things a little tough when we got into Pamplona and everything was chained shut, but we got used to it. We needed to walk of that jet lag anyway.

And what`s with your opaque silver Pepsi bottles? Do you mean to tell me beverage plastic doesn´t have to be clear? That it`s even more space age (and earth friendly) if it looks like aluminum foil? Also, your wine is super cheap. I had a glass for dinner that was $0.88. Oh and I love that all your coffee is brewed by the cup in a French press. Man, drinking in your country makes me happy.

With all these modern strides, there`s just one thing holding you back, Spain, and I think it needs to be said. It`s the mullets. Everyone here has them. I saw a group of eleven schoolchildren the other day, and five had mullets. What are you teaching your children? We're not talking haven`t had a haircut in a while mullets, either. These mullets are a serious statement, Spain. Maybe it has something to do with the siestas... and the wine. Are mullets the haircut of the future? Am I just not getting it?

Of early morning rustling and the third day

Everyday we´ve been getting up earlier and earlier. When Frei and I hiked in Oregon, I complained about her rustling at 5:30, but now there´s anywhere between 15 and 75 people moving about by 6am. I hate them. It`s at least an hour into the hike before I get over my rage. The thing is, it´s always the loudest snorers who´re the first awake. We walk into our room and size people up based on how loud they´ll snore at night. Luke also claims he can diagnose fellow hikers based on their coughs and nighttime noises... pretty soon, I think he´ll start charging.

Today was my favorite day on the camino so far even though the third day is supposed to be the toughest. There were fields full of red flowers and mist over a meseta in the distance. We only went through one town - Villamayor - but we saw a Roman bath on the way, and there was a beautiful church. It´s weird because you´ll see an isolated medeival church on a hill and factories and highway in the background. You could probably see the majority of the route by car if you wanted to, but we feel physically and spiritually superior to our autopista counterparts. They´ve got somewhere to be... we only need to make the next town before the albergues fill up.

As we* were walking down the hill outside of town, an old man trudged past us lugging a large sack. I felt sort of bad with my hiking pole and hip strap and him all hunched over. When he passed me, I said "Hola!" and then he motioned for me to stop. He reached into his coat pocket, pulled out two sweet gummy candies, and wished me a buen camino. It was pretty humbling. And delicious.

I´ve gone back to hiking in the Rainbows since the route is pretty tame, and they´re a great conversation starter. After this guy from Spain asked me about them and saw I could speak Spanish, he started telling me about everything we were passing. I learned the difference between the grape and olive trees, realized that all the grass in the distance is really wheat fields, and got an insider´s perspective on Spain and the trail. It´s funny the way the path brings together such a diverse group of people. If someone is going your speed and you can semi-communicate, you walk together. There are people from all over the world and varied backgrounds crammed into the bunk-filled rooms together. We get up together, stink together, and drink wine from fountains at 8am together.

* I use "we" loosely because I´m definitely the slowest of the group. My strides are short, what can I say? So, by we, I mean I mean I keep an eye on everyone when they go up a hill or around a bend but otherwise make new friends.

Of our adventurers´ first sally forth and disappearing windmills

When we were hiking up our first mountain outside of Pamplona, it began to thunderstorm. I asked Luke if I should ditch my metal hiking pole because of the lightning, but he reassured me that it would be fine. Then, he said:

"We should probably walk with some distance between us, though. That way, if it strikes one of us, the other one can come help. Oh, and keep doing CPR... the heart can stop up to 3 times."

Awesome. Also, I didn´t know CPR. An hour earlier, the skies had been clear over Pamplona behind us. As we got closer to the mountain and its windmill spine, though, the clouds rolled in. I dug my pole as far into the mud as I could and kept telling myself there were a lot of things on the mountain... why would the lightning pick me?

Things had been going super well up to that point. In Pamplona, we´d found our Pilgrim Passport, lodging, and the trail thanks to some friendly French women and a stout German guy with a briefcase. The night before we ate Paella, saw a Basque protest, and danced in the street with a tamer Basque contingent. Nuns gave me delicious coffee for breakfast...

Just as I was making peace with death, a jolly Spanish man carrying an umbrella (!) came up beside me. He said he was on his way to meet friends for wine in the next town. He said we were close. He said there were lightning rods at the top of the mountain. Ahhhh.

After it cleared up some, we looked back and saw that we had passed the windmills at the top of the mountain without seeing them. We had been hiking on a mountain amongst windmills in a thunderstorm and hadn´t even reazlied it. Rock.

One of my favorite parts of the trail so far has been that it eliminates so much of the burden of hiking. As soon as we were drenched and cold, we came upon the next town where we had coffee and bocadillos. There are fountains all along the way, so you don´t have to carry a ton of water. AND you get to sleep in a bed (surrounded by old people who sometimes snore and walk around in their underwear) but it´s a bed! All of this probably contributes to the fact that the average age of the camino hiker is about 55.

We have, however, been able to find some kids our age to hang out with. There are two Dutch gals who are at the tail end of their gap year, have super cute accents, and are learning to play frisbee... "What is a flick the wrist and how do you do it?" There´s Juan Pablo, our Mexican translator, who recently wooed a priest and convinced him to let Luke ring the bell of a medieval church. We also have a German in the group who cracks corny jokes and has uncanny knowledge of American movies. ´tis good times.

Oh, Frei and Amal, I also thought you´d be interested to know that I am still always the last one ready...

Tomorrow: the WINE FOUNTAIN!

Prologue: which relates our adventurers´ quest and motivation

(You´ll have to forgive the entry titles... I´m reading Don Quixote en route)

For the next month, Luke and I will be hiking across Northern Spain on the Camino de Santiago, or Road of St. James. The plan is to walk the 450 miles from Pamplona to Santiago de Compostela in 24 days - averaging between 15 and 20 miles everyday. We might end up hopping on a bus from Burgos to Leon if the terrain doesn´t look very exciting (or if our bodies give out), but as of now, we´re planning to do the whole thing a pie. At night, we´ll stay in albergues, or hostels, that are often run by monks or nuns.

According to legend, St. James preached in Galicia during the early Christian period before returning to Jerusalem, where he was beheaded. His body was taken back to Spain by his disciples, and it was forgotten about. 800 years later, a shepherd called Pelayo saw a bright star over a field. The body underneath the ground there was surrounded by seashells, and the church declared that it was St. James. This declaration occurred at the onset of the Christian Reconquest of Spain and lent a destination and Patron Saint to the cause. The spot where St. James´s tomb was ¨discovered¨ became known as Santiago de Compostela (campos = field, strella = star hence Compostela).

At times during the 12th and 14th centuries, the number of pilgrims headed toward Compostela outnumbered those travelling to Rome or Jerusalem. These fervent Catholics were hiking to repent and cut their time in Purgatory by up to half... I have less lofty goals. The camino seems like a great way to do two of my favorite things (hike and speak Spanish) without having to carry a tent or spend a lot of cash. Also, if I can walk 450 miles, I can definitely teach 9th grade... right? I´m pretty sure Luke is here for self-enlightenment, but you´ll have to ask him...