We got up the next day with two things to do, mail stuff back to the USA and make it to the pilgrim mass. We accomplished both, but much later than planned.
Breakfast at the hotel was incredible considering what we had been eating towards the end of the Camino. Fruit and yogurt had been supplemented with Oreo’s and Doritos. When you are sick and tired, you give up looking for proper meals.
We felt like we were rich. Eggs, bacon, honey, various pastries and I don’t have to find my money to pay? I don’t have to get my backpack back out to load up my leftovers and then haul the backpack fruit another 20 KM today?
Breakfast of Camino Champs
We got very little accomplished in the morning once we saw the breakfast spread.
Even with the amazing breakfast, we did make it to mass and found some seats. The pilgrim mass is special because at the end, they swing around a massive thurible filled with incense called The Botafumeiro. You can find videos of it all over the internet. We make an effort not to take pictures or videos during active religious ceremonies so we have no pictures to share, but what you will see is exciting. It takes several grown men grabbing a large rope and hoisting this thing into the air. It then swings back and forth and has been known to separate from the rope and kill people. I can believe it.
One small thing that does detract from the sanctity of the pilgrim service is the 500+ people (who sent their bags ahead each day and walked for the minimum days required) who pressed their way to the front so they can take out their 12 inch iPad to record the entire thing. Forgive me for trying to take in the moment. I’ll just be bitter, sitting in the back, hoping my shoulders recover from the 30 day walk in the wilderness.
Also during the mass, the priests mention each starting point and the origin country for all the pilgrims who finished the Camino. We heard Estados Unidos and smiled.
As we left mass, we ran into another person we thought we had lost on the Camino, Lisa. She had just arrived in Santiago. It was great to see her yet again. Like an old friend popping up out of nowhere.
We then headed to the post office and mailed a portion of our packs back (in hindsight we should have mailed more back). We had picked up a few trinkets along the way in Spain and needed to mail some of our Camino essentials that we no longer needed. Another hour in a post office and we were good to go. Say what you want about the post office, but the women who work there in Spain should all be sainted. They are all underpaid I’m sure, but they continued to be a bright spot in our experience.
We closed the night with dinner with the group. At our final dinner in Santiago we were to meet up with our Australian pilgrim who had stayed a few days in Santiago. We hadn’t seen her in almost two weeks. She walked a few extra KM one day, got up a 6:30 AM the following morning because snorers were keeping her awake and walked around 35 KM. She kept that up and made it to Santiago two days before us.
It was great to see her again. She had one of the most interesting stories of people we met on the Camino. She was often surprising us with tales from her life and sharing with us why she was on the Camino. We were sad to see her go, but very happy we were able to see her one last time. People pop up like this all along the Camino. They come and go. You might see people every day, or only every other day. You might see someone after missing them for a week. People may pass you and then fall back to you or vice-versa.
You have no idea about when it will be your last encounter with a person. And if they were interesting, you hope it won’t be.We were happy that we were able to have a proper goodbye on the Camino for so many of our friends.
Santiago fun
Santiago fun
After dinner we settled our plans for the next day. We were headed to Fisterra. The end of the world and the real end of the Camino. We would finally feel whole and complete.
Day 2 post Camino: At World’s End
We awoke bright and early and ready to go to Fisterra. Somewhere along the Camino we all discussed our wishes to go to Fisterra a.k.a the end of the world. The Camino de Santiago was initially a pagan pilgrimage to the edge of Spain. Fisterra is where everyone at the time considered the end of the world. The world was flat to them, and Fisterra was the end. Some people walk the extra 100 KM to Fisterra after completing the Camino de Santiago. Other people just take the bus there for the day. At some point our conversations about Fisterre turned into plans and before we knew it, Elizabeth and I were in a rental car with Rachele and Candice and heading to the end of the world.
Unfortunately only half our team was running at 100%. I was at 40% and fading due to the lingering cold. Candice was whatever percent you are when you have food poisoning and are puking your guts out at a monastery hostel.
The plan was easy. Together we rented a car, an airbnb, and were headed to Muxia and Fisterra. Rachele was the only one of us with a driver’s license eligible to rent and drive in Spain so she was in control. Elizabeth and I paid a little extra to have a larger car so our luggage could continue the trip with us.
We got picked up and the trip immediately took a wrong turn. Our Italian driver had turned onto a one way street and into oncoming traffic. We gently backed down the hill in reverse, cursed a bit at the GPS, laughed that we didn’t die, and hoped that would not happen again. You have to remember that none of us had been a car, much less driven a car in the last month.
We picked up Candice and headed out. I was the navigator and was also trying to not puke as well. Between that, the cough, and zero minutes of sleep from the night before, I was in poor shape.
We made it to Muxia without anyone dying or puking and the views were breathtaking. I only enjoyed two though. The first spot we saw and then the back of my eyelids as I laid on the rocks and fell asleep quickly. Elizabeth took great pictures though and described the views as only she could. Candice didn’t get five feet from the car.
Muxia. Clay’s favorite view.
Muxia.
Muxia.
Muxia.
Muxia.
Another hour in the car and we had made it to Fisterra. After a lunch (water for me, a nap for Candice, and a seafood feast for Rachele and Elizabeth), we all made it to our place and then the beach. We laid there for a couple of hours, listening to the waves crash. We talked and laughed a bit. We hoped we would all feel better soon.
As we laid in the sand enjoying the waves, we heard a familiar voice. “Hi Guys!” It was the jolly Dutchman. He had continued on from Santiago and walked to Fisterra. He was strolling along the beach with his packs and only in his undies (a sight we had seen a few times), he had just made it to Fisterra and gone for a swim in the very cold waters. It was like an apparition. We had just been talking about him and the people we missed and wanted to see one last time.
We greeted each other like warm friends and laughed. He invited us to the end of the world for sunset, a place we were already going, but now we knew we would have company. And company we would enjoy. He carried on to his albergue and we went back to our apartment.
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We grabbed a bite to eat and headed out for the sunset view near the Fisterre lighthouse. It was a clear night on the rocks at the end of the world. Not too many people were milling about, but we could hear the familiar, rambunctious voice of the Dutchman.
The Dutchman is the one in the light colored shirt.
The sun was the largest it has ever looked to me. We sat for an hour as the sun slid gently down behind some clouds too far away to see and then into the ocean. A pilgrim began to clap when the sun finally disappeared for good. Others joined in to thank the sun for giving us all it had that day. It was the most beautiful sunset of our young lives.
We looked at each other and realized this was the end of our journey, the end of our pilgrimage. The church was merely another stopping point to rest.
We were excited that we had gone to the end of the world, but also disappointed that we had not walked it. Someday we will go back to walk the last 100 KM from Santiago to Fisterra and see the sun set again. We will smile and cry and clap to thank the sun for giving us all it has.
Since I didn’t sleep and instead rolled around while reading the internet, I was ready to get going at around eight that morning. We packed our gear up, had breakfast, and headed out to Santiago.
On the final day, quite a bit of the trail runs close to the airport so it’s not all that picturesque. More picturesque than near the airport of Birmingham, but not incredible.
A gobbo and a newfy
view
art
a sweet looking dog that went crazy when we walked by.
the team
There were a fair amount of statues and art installations along the trail and we snapped a few pics. In truth, the final day’s trail was boring. We spent the whole afternoon walking and talking about our favorite Camino moments. We discussed people we were thankful to meet and how they enriched the Camino experince. We listed our final peaks and pits for the Camino. I think we managed to talk our way to Santiago de Compostela and some how are legs followed.
in town but not finished
a plaque
probably another side of the church. or another building
side of the cathedral as we were walking in
We arrived in Santiago at around 1 PM. We didn’t get to the church until closer to 2. It was still a bit of a walk into the city. We kept having to deal with the weather as the sky could not determine whether to rain, mist, be cloudy, or switch to hot and sunshiny.
When we finally arrived at the ”stopping point” (no small feat since the arrows stop and small seashells on the street/sidewalk start to lead the way), Elizabeth and I were a little grumpy.
Bagpipes were playing. We were accosted by women hawking places to stay. Views of scaffolding. More rain. We felt as if what we had accomplished was being diminished by outside influence. It seems silly to say that because we had been working on the self for the last 30+ days, and we so quickly regressed back to individuals who were annoyed at the smallest thing.
But eventually, as we stood and looked at the church, we felt a small sense of accomplishment. We had walked for 33 days, each and every day. Rain, snow, sleet, hail, traffic, cities, snoring, aches, pains, puking, mud, muck, and plenty of cow shit, and we had finished what we set out to do. But we still felt hollow.
We would not feel whole for two more days.
After taking a few pictures and seeing some people we recognized from along the way, we headed to get our official paperwork.
Each and every day of the Camino, you get a stamp on your pilgrim passport. At the beginning of Camino the stamps are not necessary for the official pilgrim certificate. If you want the pilgrim certificate, you only need two stamps a day for the last 100km to Santiago. This is in order to “prove” that you walked what you said you did. Every place you stay has a stamp. Most all of the restaurants have stamps. Random street vendors have stamps. Every place has it’s own special stamp so it is neat to have all these stamps in your pilgrim “passport”. On the Camino, the pilgrim passport is about as important as your real passport.
So we made it over to the office and there is security. Why anyone would want to terrorize a building that only hands out certificates to smelly people who have walked hundreds of miles is beyond me. The guy in charge is giving the pilgrims a hard time making each and everyone empty out their entire backpack.
Our group decided that we will leave our packs out on the street before having to unpack yet again. We’ve been having to unload these stupid things for 30 days. We only do it once a day and were not gonna do it again. I said I don’t want the sheet of paper bad enough so I’ll just wait out here. Luckily, he was called back to more important duties and a young guy in an over sized blazer barely looked at our pilgrims passport and waved us through.
Amazing how unhappy I could get in such a short span of time. Patience is still something that we are working on. Of course this entire time Elizabeth said nothing and never would have complained.
We got our certificate and some other document for a few extra euros. When they fill out your certificate they put where you started (St. Jean), how far you walked (775 km), and your name in Latin. Elizabeth was Elizabethum. Clay was nowhere to be found. The person filling out the certificate asked around and searched through a stack of papers with obscure names but to no avail. So he said he was just going to put Clay.
I wasn’t having it. I didn’t walk 800 KM so my certificate could be in English. Before this exact moment though I had no idea the certificate would be in Latin, but still, even the name Clay deserves to be Latinized.
“Do you know the name Clay in Latin?” he asked. No.
“What about clay?” Nope.
I forgot that I could have done a quick google translate which gave me three options: lutum, creta, and bolus. Instead, I went with the little Latin I know. Clay is/means from the earth. Earth=Terra. So my certificate shows my name as Terra. Much better than Clay.
From here the gang split up. We headed off to our hotel, graciously paid for by my parents. It was probably the first time they were certain we were not going to die in Spain, since we were staying in a hotel, owned by an American hotel conglomerate.
We picked up our luggage we had shipped from Pamplona and relaxed a bit. Before splitting with our group we made plans for dinner. When the time came we headed out in our fresh, new clothes (Aka clothing other than what we had carried on our back for a month), and headed back out to meet our group for dinner. We had not seen each other in 5 hours, which was the longest time we had been apart in weeks.
They barely recognized us. We were wearing clothes and shoes that they had never seen before. We looked Christian again after looking like ragged, tattered pilgrims for the last several weeks. We celebrated the end of our final day on the Camino like we did all the nights previously… lots of wine, bread,and conversation
the pic I sent to my parents so they knew we had finished and didn’t die on the trail
The day was split in two. The parts where we walked alone and then the part with our team.
I had been getting worse and almost completely unable to sleep so our first task of the morning was buying cough medicine. Not an easy thing to do on a Sunday morning in rural Spain. Luckily, Spain seems to have some weird rule/law that at least one pharmacy must be open in town at all times. I was able to find the pharmacy the night before as I laid dying in a bathroom trying to steam open my sinuses.
So as we headed off to the pharmacy, we had no idea when we would see anyone again. We knew we would get behind our group by at least an hour, and as bad as I felt, we would not catch up. We were immediately stopped by the police. They honked their horn many times and pulled right in front of us. They then began yelling at us. Great I thought, we are about to get arrested for who knows what, and before I even get my cough medicine.
Thankfully, they were only trying to tell us we were not headed in the correct direction of the Camino. We thanked them, waited for them to drive off, and continued to walk away from the Camino, since we needed the pharmacy more than Santiago.
Medicine bought, we tried to play catch up. Problem was, there were no great places/towns to stop for 9 km. We did not catch up with our Camino family. It put into perspective how lonely the Camino could be if you stopped walking with people you had been with for weeks. We had spent almost every waking minute with Candice and Rachele since we met them.
View
the trail
view
marker
shit
now cows, but they still ruin the trail
And then all of the sudden we were apart. We didn’t know if or when we might see them again. If you didn’t stay at the same albergue either, you could go days without seeing the same people even though you all walked the same road and stayed in the same towns..
We finally stopped at the 9 km spot. It was not much of a place, but it provided one of the few spots to sit. We lamented the fact that we were alone, that we would never catch up, and that we didnt want to make new friends. We spoke about how much we missed our little team.
And then up walked Candice and Rachele.
They had stopped at a small house that served breakfast (they like to brag that it was the best breakfast they ever had. That may have been because they didn’t have to listen to us during it.) We had walked right by their breakfast spot, but decided not to stop so we could try to catch up. They told us how good it was, how they had tried to linger so we could catch up. They told us how much they missed walking with us.
In our fit to rush, we had walked right by them. We laughed and hugged, happy as could be that our group was back together. We walked together the rest of the day. “The Camino Gives” indeed.
We ran into The Hippie on this day also. The Hippie was a pilgrim who started around the same time as us. We hadn’t seen him for weeks. He, initially, was walking at a faster pace than us. Injuries had befallen him though and his walk had slowed to a crawl. He was in very bad shape when we saw him and he was in poor spirits as well. We didn’t think we would see him again and wondered if he would make it at all.
Portomarin, our destination for the day, was a neat little town situated on a river. We stayed in a municipal albergue (called Xunta in Galcia) and in true municipal fashion the place was packed with old people aka: the snorers, and more importantly zero cooking utensils. We were forced out for dinner. We grabbed dinner at the fancy place in town. The octopus and squid were grilled and pretty tasty. The pizza was of a frozen variety. We were all very unhappy.
Day 30: Portomarin – Palas de Rei
Distance: 27.0 km
Elizabeth noted in our Camino book that today was a pretty walk. I do not remember what it looked like. Most of my day was spent looking backwards at Elizabeth. Something had taken hold of her the night, and as we started walking, she began to fall ill. Within 30 minutes of our walking we were stopped.
We eventually told Candice and Rachele to start walking and we would catch up. Around 45 minutes later, we had moved maybe 15 feet. We had strewn our stuff about the trail and people walking by were concerned. I waived them off as Elizabeth wandered up and down and in the woods trying to puke up whatever demon was crawling around her insides.
We did start again and would stop every couple of minutes. It was a terrible pace. I messaged our team and told them how bad it was and that we would most likely not make it to the town we had planned to stop in. I also said we might not make it past the next town, whatever it was. It was looking like we might not cover 10 km the entire day.
But, just like the day I could barely walk, Elizabeth and I had the same strategy. Walk to the next town, sit as long as it takes. If we can start walking again, great. If not, stay there and live to fight another day.
While this slow process was working against us, we were also combating one of the worst elements of the Camino. New pilgrims.
They show up around this area because you need to only walk 100 km to get the certificate at the end of the Camino. That is roughly four days of walking. It’s a popular starting point for Spanish who want a short weekend trip and people who only want a sheet of paper without doing any real work or getting dirty.
I watched one man take a picture of every single mileage (kilometer) marker the entire day. These markers happen at odd intervals, but on this day alone he took 40+ pictures of stone markers. Every time he would stop to take another stupid photo, we would pass him. And then Elizabeth would stop to try to puke and he and his wife would pass us again.
I watched two men with what looked like dry cleaned, pressed and starched outdoor gear, try to find a way to avoid walking in a long puddle of water a couple of inches deep. They stood in the middle of the trail blocking the path of everyone else who had been on the trail for the last 30 some odd days. We are covered in cow shit, exhausted from all the people sonring, and we can’t keep walking because a couple of grown men don’t want mud on their HIKING BOOTS.
The two of us continued our glacial place, and I kept providing the team with updates. Due to our separation the day before, we vowed to use Facebook to keep in touch if we ever got separated again. I didn’t want them waiting on us all day and wrecking any future plans post Camino just for us.
Turns out they were ignoring that altogether. I got one message that said they would wait for us where ever. Because we had walked 700 km together they weren’t about to walk the last 100 without us. Then, as we arrived into a town at around the 12 km mark and halfway through the walk for the day, we saw them sitting in the sun outside a cafe.
They had been waiting there for the last hour and a half or so, determined to wait as long as it took for us to regroup. Of course, they had eaten lunch and had a few beers, but still. They could have been well on their way to finishing the day out. Instead, they stayed behind to wait on us, mainly Elizabeth I’m sure.
It was another special moment on the Camino and one that means a lot to us. I suppose the team had become friends at some point along the Camino. Like a band of wild, dirty, grumpy dogs. We were together again. (We remained together for almost a week after finishing the Camino too. Talk about withdrawls)
So we kept walking. Elizabeth lead the way. When she stopped we all took a break too. Little by little we edged closer to our destination for the day.
With 8 km to go we stopped in a cafe, Elizabeth needed a break. While we sat discussing Hot Pockets (which flavor we used to eat and how we used to cook them), The Hippie strolled up and began to talk to Elizabeth. At that exact moment Elizabeth walked right by him over to the ditch and began hurling. She achieved such a feat while standing upright, every so slightly hunched over, still wearing her backpack, and using her trekking poles to ensure proper balance.
We were all impressed with her ability to multitask so well. Eventually, Elizabeth returned to where we had been sitting and apologized to The Hippie, letting him know that he was not the reason she was puking. Elizabeth later confided that she thinks Candice’s fondness for the four cheese Hot Pocket is what took her over the edge.
I have no history of what happened later that night, but I’m confident we went out to eat without Elizabeth.
Day 31: Palas de Rei – Ribadiso de Baixo
Distance: 26.5 km
Our bodies continued to deteriorate. We continued to crumble. The days were getting longer as we were barely able to leave by 9 am and arriving to the cities around 4-5 pm. We tended to be the slowest people on the trail.
Today was another day of walking. I think that sums up the day. More encounters with new pilgrims all happy and new and clean. The Camino spirit had died with us several days prior. We were tired of seeing the joy on their faces. I wished for more rain just so they would have a small idea of what we encountered over the last 30 days.
There were two highlights. A tiny pony and Rachele turning vending machine tortellini into an excellent pasta dinner.
I preferred the dinner trick, but all the girls seemed to prefer the tiny pony.
Day 32: Ribadiso de Baixo – Pedrouza
Distance: 23.6 km
The next to last day and the last night of the Camino. We were all in better spirits on this day. I still had the cough and cold of course. I was getting maybe 2-3 hours of sleep if I was lucky.
We walked and talked and laughed together soaking up our last kilometers together. We discussed trying to walk further to arrive in Santiago the following day before the noon mass, but that was quickly squashed. Some of the day each of us walked alone. We each had our own pace. Sometimes we walked together.
We didn’t meet any new people over the last couple of days. I don’t think we wanted to. We were a completed group. We wore our stripes proudly. Plenty of pilgrims walking the brief section had on their tour company backpacks, walking gaily along on the trail, blissfully unaware about how awful it was to sleep in a room with Il Drago.
They would never know about the prospective nuns singing with us pilgrims or the cloistered nun singing behind us in mass, or the classical music that woke us up the morning after Easter.
They wouldn’t know the backpack lunches or the bocadillos y cervezas or waiting on a store to open from siesta so you could grab dinner and a cheap bottle of wine.
They wouldn’t know about Semana Santa in the small towns and the wild parades with teenagers.
They wouldn’t know about the Italian group that drank all day. Or the crazy amount of Germans on the Camino. Or the odd couple. Or run into a young South Korean who told his translator that we (Elizabeth and I) were the first people from America he had ever met (how’s that for first impressions of the USA).
They would never meet their rivals. They had none.
We got all of this.
I made quesadillas the final night. We drank Spanish beer. We played cards. We had a playlist of songs about walking. We enjoyed our last night as best we could. It was the end.
And then we went to bed.
Except for me because I couldn’t sleep. I laid in bed, half sitting up, trying to keep from coughing, but could not stop. I needed a cough suppressant.
Instead I got a shaman. As I laid there, coughing up my final lung. A hand slid under the rail of my top bunk and placed itself on my wrist. The other hand was moved over my chest, about 3-4 inches above it.
A woman of unknown, but I assume based on her features seen that night and later the next day, Asiatic descent, told me to stay calm. Sure I thought. Strange women come to me in bed at night all the time and put their hands on me. No problem.
I knew by her hand on my wrist she was trying to get my pulse. I assumed in order to slow it down or check it or whatever eastern mysticism she was practicing to help me to stop coughing.
I didn’t have the heart to tell her that if modern medicine hasn’t cured the common cold yet that her voodoo was not going to be effective. But at this point, I didn’t care. I just needed her to go away.
So I let her wave her hand up and down my chest, lungs, neck, face. She was waving all the bad out. Of course if she wanted all the bad out she should have started at my feet, but I guess she only cared about her ability to sleep and not my general attitude.
After trying not to cough for five or six minutes, she was satisfied that my aura was in better condition and her goal was achieved. She patted me on the wrist, said goodnight, and floated off back to her bunk bed.
I kept coughing and got maybe an hour of sleep on the last night of the camino.
We were kicked out of our albergue at 8 am on this morning. Some of the albergues were extremely vigilant about times to leave, other less so. Some had a time to be out by, but no one was there to work the mornings so it was on the honors system. We slept in those days. I guess we weren’t that honorable.
Our dear friend Lisa decided to stay back in town another day. We knew we wouldn’t see her again at that point. People come and go on the Camino and it’s sad to lose someone, but you can’t go at the pace of others, especially if they are stopping for an extra day somewhere. We enjoyed all our time with her.
The walking wasn’t too bad. It rained on and off, but not anything miserable. The biggest annoyance was putting on and then taking off your gear. Wearing our rain jackets was only a good idea in the rain. The rain ponchos were too hot to wear while walking waiting for rain. Of course, in a few days, the jackets would never come off and all hope would be lost.
The journey for me had become more difficult. A severe cold and cough had developed and I had begun to annoy everyone with a constant cough. (Ed. Note- The cough is gone and it only took 45 days)
Fort
Church
Tunnel
Adorable town
In Villafranca del Bierzo, it was nice to to run into another “hearted” place to stay from the book. It is a hybrid pension/albergue. The benefit is they welcome you with something to drink, a seat to take, a kind word, and a calming attitude. For the first time in a while it wasn’t a cattle call. We felt like people and not pilgrims. It was great.
I also volunteered to cook dinner that night with an appetizer course from Rachele. We had decided on burritos. Rachele had spent some time in San Francisco and missed the burritos. Tacos used to be a weekly meal at our house, so it was nice to make a dinner that felt a little more homey for us. Problem was it was extremely difficult to find the ingredients needed for burritos in rural Spain. Luckily, with a little ingenuity and some backpack spices,we made it happen. Maybe not the best ever, but really good, especially considering the alternative: toast and jamon.
Great Graffiti
Lion
Dog
Stork and Sardinian
Lots of old vines
Rachele made what we would call back home deviled eggs. These had tuna and capers so they were a tad fancier than just whipped yolk with mayo. Plus, with the leftover mayo and capers, Rachele and Candice got to have backpack food for the rest of the Camino. Poor Candice packed the best compared to all of us, but we forced her to carry all the spices, capers, mayo, etc. that wouldn’t fit in our own packs.
Amazing view
Adorable town
Double egg yolk
Day 26: Villafranca del Bierzo – La Faba
Distance: 28.6 km
The walk today was rainy. It didn’t rain all day, but a fair amount. I don’t have a lot of pictures, which is indicative of inclement weather. I was also starting to feel worse so I walked alone almost the entire day.
We stopped for a long break at one point as we were all tired and tired of walking. We were all having issues of one form or another. Most of us had various bites from some form of insect. Others had shin splints and heavier packs to deal with. Some were just grumpy.
Town in the distance
Farm
Rainbow on the way
Animals
Church
Hippie hut
And then the tall Dutchman shows up. We hadn’t seen him since the snoring incident and were surprised he would even talk to us. We spoke a bit, said goodbye to him and his accompaniment, and kept walking. Nice to see him after losing Lisa a day before.
We were supposed to end in O’Cebreiro per the book, but we were never gonna make it that far. As we were dragging our bodies across the Camino, we stopped early in another town at a refugio. It’s another type of place to stay along on the Camino. This establishment was run by a commune of hippies. It was fine and no one died or converted.
Day 27: La Faba – Triacastela
Distance: 26.5 km
The first day of hell. We awoke to rain. A lot of rain. Not a downpour, but a good solid rain. We left later in the morning than planned due in some part to the rain, but mostly due to the nutella and banana crepes we ate for breakfast. I have no idea how many crepes we all ate, but the hippies were working nonstop to keep up with our demand. The Dutchman and his group also stopped and stayed with us, much to our surprise, so we enjoyed talking to them that night and the following morning at breakfast.
Fancy Camino signage
Gobbo
Broken down cart found on a steep mountain climb
By the time we got to O’Cebreiro, we were good and wet. We had now entered Galacia, an unpredictable weather area of Spain. O’Cebreiro was a beautiful stone town, covered in a dense layer of fog, making the town seem even more interesting and mysterious.
We took refuge in a cafe to warm up. It had split doors and the proprietor kept the top half of one of the doors open. As we sat, we could watch the rain splatter in as the fog crept into the doorway only to dissipate once entering the cafe.
We had to keep walking though. By the time we made it to the next place to stop, another town, we were drenched. Shoes, socks, pants, underoos. Everything from the neck to the navel was fine. Anything else was wet. We sat in the cafe, wondering when it would quit, wondering if it was worth it, wondering if anything would ever dry out again.
Who showed up? The Dutchman. He and his crew had eventually decided to head out and had caught up with us (being nearly a foot taller than all of us, it was easy for him to catch up). He was in much better spirits than us. He always was. He seemed to know any and every language to speak to someone. He never met a stranger because he could always speak their language. We were/are incredibly jealous.
We left there, having sat our soaked gear near the furnace, and continued on our way. Two things happened at this point which define my (Clay) Camino experience.
Adorable mountaintop town
Adorable mountaintop town
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The wind was whipping, the rain was coming down in torrents, and no one was having a good time. I decided to play a game with Rachele. It was a great way to get to know someone but a better way to pass the time. The rules are simple and the game can be played with any number of people. On this day it was only Rachele and Clay. I began to talk. Rachele could not interrupt at all. The only way to get me to not talk anymore was to say stop. However, once Rachele said stop, she had to begin talking and could not stop until Clay said stop.
Again, the game is mostly to pass time. Someone talks, someone partially listens. Minutes pass and before you know it, you have walked 4-5 km and the day does not seem to be dragging on.
Rachele lasted 20 minutes before telling me to stop. After 35 minutes Rachele gave up talking and admitted she didn’t have much left to say. So I won.
Me in the rain with a statue of a man in the rain in the rain
By this point we had entered a street with a few buildings. Mostly dilapidated houses, we were somewhere in rural Spain, covered in water, headed to our next city. We walked by the last house in town and an extremely old woman came creeping out of the doorway. She started yelling “un momento” at us. “One moment, one moment!” Rachele and I looked at each other, confused and a bit concerned. No telling what this little old lady needed.
Elizabeth and Candice showed up as well trying to figure out what this crazy Spanish lady needed. Back out from her house, she arrived with a plate of what looked likes crepes. She began to sprinkle something on top, could have been salt or sugar, and pushed the plate toward us. It was if I didn’t eat one I may die or she may die. Her one goal in life seemed to be feeding pilgrims along their long arduous trek across Spain.
I was the first to take a crepe covered in something. I began to walk off as the others in the group fell in line grabbing a “crepe”, while a mangy cat circled the old lady’s feet. Once I was 10 feet or so away from the woman, she hit me over the head. Not with a bat or a wooden plank, but with her words.
“Donativo!!!! Donativo!!!!”
She had not given these as a gift. No, this generosity had a price attached.
I realized this wasn’t a sweet old grandma making sure her grandkids (pilgrims) were fed. It was a grifting old bag intent on nickel and diming her way through life swindling any and every pilgrim who walked by thinking there are decent people left in the world.
I was shell shocked. I gave her most of the change I had in my pocket, probabaly 80 cents or so, and started walking again. I was so angered and enraged I couldn’t think. I couldn’t talk. I could barely function.
I naively thought this was a nice person doing a nice thing for pilgrims drowning in the rain, but all it was for her was a way to make a buck. I was devastated. It wasn’t the money that was the problem of course, but the way she went about acquiring it. I couldn’t even play the talking game with Rachele anymore.
I threw the crepe down and spat on it. I wasn’t gonna eat it. It could have been the crepe of youth and I would have died before I took a bite.
I finally regrouped after a minute or two. I didn’t care that she felt the need to trick pilgrims. I just felt like there was no good left in the world if this person was having to revert to trickery to get some spare change.
I didn’t talk much the rest of the day, too upset to carry on any more meaningful conversation, which may have pleased everyone.
We arrived in a town eventually. Our shoes were waterlogged for the second time that day and we were forced to leave them outside to “dry” in the foggy, cold outdoors. We had rice and something else for dinner. I made popcorn and we went to bed. It was a rough night for all of us. The following days didn’t get much better.
Day 28: Triacastela – Sarria
Distance: 20.1 km
Less rain, same pain. Our shoes were still wet when we awoke. They didn’t dry out overnight or too much on this day. As we left the albergue, a dog began to walk with us a bit. It followed us for a block or two. Elizabeth, who has a knack for pretending to be able to speak to animals and talk in animal voices, pretended to talk like the dog who was walking us out of the city. The dog (Elizabeth) wished us well, gave us proper directions, and then did what every SOB in Spain would do, said “Donativo, y’all!!!”
The group hit the floor. The four of us were laughing hysterically. Elizabeth admitted at this point that she had peaked in life and would never tell another joke as good again. To be fair, it was incredible, with perfect comedic timing.
Elizabeth and Candice with the Donativo dog
Rooster
Beautiful path…probably covered in cow shit
Reflection pool
The other defining moment of my Camino happened shortly after we started our day. When we got to a stopping point, the team decided to grab a coffee and a bite to eat. I decided to stay outside and enjoy my banana and water. I was tired of spending money on mediocre sandwiches. My cold was also making me feel terrible so I didn’t want to be around anyone.
The rain started to pick up though and forced me into the cafe. The rest of the team had ordered food, along with a couple other pilgrims, and were all sitting at a table together. Everyone was in pretty good spirits, not having to walk in the rain at present.
Finally, someone asked for the check and the table was told all the meals at our table had been paid for by an older pilgrim couple. The couple never spoke to anyone at our table. They got up, left, and we are unsure if we ever saw them again.
I was fit to be tied. Less than 24 hours after losing all faith in humanity, here was humanity giving back. But I didn’t even get to enjoy the kindness of the strangers. I had sat outside eating my backpack food.
As they/we say, “The Camino gives, and the Camino takes.”
We chose not to do the alternate route that day as we had no interest in walking any extra. We were tired. Tired of walking, of being wet, and walking any extra distance.
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Elizabeth on the trail…probably avoiding cow…nevermind
Another thing we, especially Clay, were tired of. Cow shit.
Now I know what you are thinking. Clay, you shouldn’t use such language (I’m sure my parents are saying that, as Southern Baptists wouldn’t use such coarse talk). But if you had walked for almost thirty days and most of what you smelled, when you smelled anything at all, was cow shit, you would be annoyed too.
What does it look like?
What does it look like?
While on the Camino, I tried to put percentages to what we as pilgrims smell. This is my best guess and should be taken as absolute fact.
There was so much cow shit on the Camino it was almost unbelievable. Sure, if you are accustomed to working on a farm or living in a rural area you might deal with or encounter cow shit more frequently. But we are from the suburbs. We were born and raised in the burbs. We worked in the burbs, we ate in the burbs. We will die in the burbs.
You know what I have never smelled or stepped in in the burbs? Cow shit.
But every single day on the Camino, without fail, you will deal with it. You will step in it. You will smell it. It lurks around every corner and will slap you in the face before you know it. No matter what town you walk into. Just before you step foot in the town, you will pass through where the cows live, and you will deal with their shit.
You cannot escape it. It is ever present. Like death and taxes.
I will never visit a zoo again.
(Mom and Dad, sorry for all the times I said shit for your friends to read. But seriously, it was awful)
We did eventually make it into a town. It was an adorable town with lots of old stone buildings.
We sat by a fire at night along with the albergue dog. It was the most adorable dog that has existed (besides our own Champion who is currently living it up with his grandparents) and while sitting in front of the fire, had the mannerisms of a human.
The most adorable dog of the Camino
I went to bed early while the group played cards. They drank Spanish moonshine provided by the albergue. I coughed my way through the night and eventually left the common sleeping room to sleep in a room outside. I slept a couple of hours while sitting straight up.
It sucked.
I was feeling even worse than normal and finally resigned to getting some medicine to help with the cough.
We woke up to breakfast pasta. We had been unable to consume all of the lasagna the night before, but we finished it off before we started walking. A day of hills and valleys but none too difficult. A bit misty at times. We took another alternate route. Elizabeth walked with a professional clown for a few km. No joke there. He was a grown man from NY who worked as a clown. I walked alone for much of the day.
León
León
León
León
The Camino takes, but gives a little back too.
León
Leaving León
Leaving León
Leaving León
Leaving León
Leaving León
Leaving León
Fresh off our magical night in León at a spotless apartment, we hit rock bottom in our next albergue. It was the kind of place people get murdered in, we were certain something dark and dastardly was afoot there. We were concerned.
Walls covered in colorful poems and drawings in all languages.
Spare beds?
We were having soup for dinner, courtesy of Rachele, and I was cutting up vegetables with Il Drago (he arrived after we did and was in another room). The Northern Sardinian Songstress was washing the dishes. It was the four of us in a very small kitchen working diligently to make a meal. We were all working quietly so I asked the Sardinian Songstress to sing the Mexican song she performed earlier in the week. She had a lovely voice and I preferred her singing to the mirepoix I was making for the soup.
Trying to finds a danish that recreates the glorious raisin danish from France.
Oh hey St. James… Is that you?
On the road.
On the road.
On the road.
Storks everywhere.
It was a surreal experience for me. We felt like a poor family, all huddled together in a small, cold kitchen fixing dinner with what little we had. Yet there was still joy and happiness. She had her back to us as she washed dishes so her voice echoed off the walls. It was beautiful and one of the best moments of my Camino. I thanked her for singing. She thanked me for asking.
Day 22: Villar de Mazarife – Astorga
Distance: 32.2 km
Having survived the night, we were in for a long, wet day. The route was flat until the last km when it was stairs up to the city.
Elizabeth amongst the blooms.
Looking for a mass to go to.
Tired of walking and tired of the rain.
Squatty Potty.
Rachele, Elizabeth and the Sardinian Songstress.
With it being Sunday, Elizabeth had been working hard to find a mass. After the Easter debacle, we realized how difficult it could still be. We found a city along the way that we could stop in for a noon mass. We would have to wait a while for it to start, but at least church would happen.
We parted ways with the Sardinians, and made our way to the church. Just before we got there though another church appeared on the street. We were not aware of this one, so we walked over to see if we could stop in. We looked for mass times but could find nothing. Then we heard singing. Perfect. Mass is happening right now, let’s head in and knock this out.
As I went to open the door, it opened before I could. And everyone started to flood out. Mass has ended. Go in peace.
Oh well, bummer, but the church we were supposed to attend was down the road a couple of hundred meters. We regrouped with the Sardinians and headed to the next church. Once we arrived at the second church we noticed a paper posted to the gate. The sheet read: Due to a funeral today, mass has been rescheduled.
So the mass that just ended was the mass that we were supposed to be in. If only we had shown up two hours early to the city instead of one hour early, we might have made it to mass.
Completely defeated, we moved on.
We arrived in Astorga later than we wanted, but that was an ongoing theme after day 10 or so. The city was adorable but everything was closed because it was Sunday. Stores, markets, everything but restaurants. The theory is cities do this on purpose to force people (pilgrims) to go out to eat and spend more in the city.
Elizabeth found a mass time, but it conflicted with our group dinner plans so I immediately became grumpy. The fates intervened though with the help of one of the hospitaleros. He told us there was a mass happening an hour earlier at a small chapel near the cathedral.
This was not any ordinary chapel though. It’s connected to the nunnery in town. Not just any nuns though. Cloistered nuns. The same type of nuns that made our cookies and are never allowed to leave the convent.
When we walked in the chapel, the nuns were blocked from the rest of the parishioners. The nuns enjoyed mass from behind a large grate, never too close to others. They lead mass with singing and anything else the priest doesn’t start.
Otherwise it was a regular mass in Spanish.
When we left, we were able to get a straight on view of the nuns. They sat in the back of the chapel in another room, hidden away behind the last pews. It was an amazing sight to consider some of the women had not been outside the walls for upwards of 40 years. After mass we headed to dinner.
Day 23: Astorga- Foncebadon
Distance: 27.9 km
We left behind the adorable town of Astorga and were set to stop in Rabinal at the end of our day. That’s what our book told us to do.
But is was a beautiful day with great weather and we decided to keep walking. Some days are like this, where you think you could walk 30-40 km. Some days you feel as if you only want to do 15 km.
Most of this was due to how well you slept the night before and how the weather was treating you. We didn’t encounter any physical issues with our legs or feet. Our backs were a little sore from the packs most days, but our walking bodies were in good shape.
It started to become more mental at this point. Wake up, start walking, keep walking, stop, eat, sleep, repeat. We were having to drag ourselves out of bed to get going.
When we arrived in Rabinal, we stopped on the outskirts of town. Candice had lost us somewhere along the Camino, so we were down to us and the Sardinians. Once we decided to head to Foncebadon, we began making our way through Rabinal.
You should stop in Rabinal. It’s only 5 km extra (all uphill) to Foncebadon, but Rabinal is an adorable town. As we left it, I knew we would regret not staying. I did not know how awful the night would be, but I knew it would be tough to top the beauty of Rabinal.
An hour later, we were in Foncebadon. It looked like a bomb had been dropped in the middle of “town”. Most of the buildings were crumbled stone houses from who knows how long ago. The buildings still standing looked like they could go at any minute. The city was on top of the hill and the wind continued to whip, which I guess could have led to the dilapidated houses.
There was no market in town, so we were bound to whatever the albergue we were staying in had to offer for dinner.
We stopped at a former church in town that had been converted into an albergue. It was a lovely building currently being overseen by a Californian volunteer. The albergue also provided a communal meal that is prepared by the pilgrims that are staying there that night. The place had only 24 beds, and we were too exhausted to look any further in the little town.
Big mistake.
We paid and entered the 20×20 room where all 24 of us would sleep.
Il Drago.
We should have left, but didn’t. We were grumpy now, with no space to navigate the room, no hot water for a shower, and Il Drago in our presence.
Dinner was cooked by an Italian, not our Italians, but some other guy. A professional chef from Rome. Whatever. He had tomato sauce, an onion, and some pasta noodles. Even Chef Boyardee would have a hard time making the meal magical. It ate. While everyone was being served, the chef managed to rag Il Drago for a good 3-5 minutes in front of everyone at the dinner table.
He would not stop insulting Il Drago about his snoring and how he ruins everyone’s night. Everyone enjoyed this bit except for Il Drago. I enjoyed it more because of that. And that was our downfall.
I headed to bed early, having caught a cold somewhere and feeling like death. Everyone slowly followed. I awoke at 2 AM to the sounds of Il Drago. Everyone was awake except for him. People were on their phones or kindle’s, reading and whatnot. Earplugs could not defeat this. After an hour of this, during which Elizabeth woke the beast with her flashlight and he spoke tersely to her for waking him up, I began cursing, grabbed by sleeping gear, and headed to the dining room.
It was a lovely room. No windows, long table for communal dinners, hard stone floor. Perfect place to sleep. So from 3 AM-7 AM, I rolled around on stone floor, muttering about how stupid I was/am.
Everyone awoke very unhappy. Except for Il Drago. He slept.
(Now you may still not believe how bad the snoring was, but the wine we drank with dinner that night was provided by a German who had paid to stay at the albergue and then changed his mind. Everyone assumes it was because he was smart enough to realize he wouldn’t get any sleep due to Il Drago. At least he left the wine.)
Day 24: Foncebadon – Ponferrada
Distance: 28.6 km
Sufficiently dissatisfied, we began the morning headed to the cross, Cruz de Ferro. One of the last high points on the Camino Frances, there stands a large pillar with a cross on top. Pilgrims leave things here. It is a place to remove a burden/s from your life. People bring pictures, money, etc. It is popular to bring a stone from your home with you to set at the foot of the cross. People carry the item with them all along on the Camino and here is the final resting place for it.
We didn’t bring anything, but based on my general attitude that morning, Elizabeth would have gladly left me there given the opportunity.
We continued on through drizzly weather to Molinaseca. Another adorable town the book told us to stay in, but we had decided to continued on to Ponferrado. We were getting slower in our pace, getting up later in the morning, and getting in later at night. We had to walk longer, otherwise we might not ever make it to Santiago.
When we stopped in Molinaseca for a much needed break, we were beat. No sleep, exhausted. Worried that Il Drago would show up again. We were not in good shape. Elizabeth and I were lying face down next to the river, hoping to get washed away.
And then a simple act of kindness shone down upon us. As we laid there Rachele got up and walked over to a restaurant. We didn’t know or care what she was doing. If she wanted to walk around more, be our guest. We were saving our steps for the Camino.
She returned with some cold beer. It might as well have been a gold bar. We could not have been happier. It was the perfect thing for us at the perfect time. We all perked up excited at the gift we had just been given. We started talking again, smiling again, having fun again. Thank God for bridge beers. They gave us the strength to continue on our way.
We made it to Ponferrado and headed out to the grocery store.
The Sardinians had been discussing making Carbonara for a week or two and that night we thought we would try. I was excited to watch Rachele in action again, while I would be responsible for prep work.
When we arrived at the grocery store though, I got a lesson in Italian recipes. Rachele informed me that there are two different “Carbonara” recipes. One’s that include onions, and one’s that do not. She said this is a big deal to Italians. Well, we like onions so I said let’s do it with onions. I don’t care about tradition, I care about taste. How wrong I was.
When we began cooking a while later, the Italian chef from Rome (who was staying in the same albergue as us) inquired as to what we were making. When Rachele said a Carbonara, the Italian gentleman informed Rachele that a traditional Carbonara does not have onion in it, and the restaurant in which he cooks serves traditional Carbonara and it would never have onion in it. This entire conversation was in Italian and we just stood by to watch the debate not understanding anything until we got the Cliff’s Notes version later.
Since our recipe contained onion, it was not a true Carbonara he said. She said ok. I was then able to use some of my Italian to comment on what a jackass the chef was and that we would make our Carbonara any damn way we pleased. If Rachele said she wanted onion in it, then onion it was. I mean it wasn’t like we were putting garlic in there too. We weren’t animals.
We thoroughly enjoyed our “Carbonara” and I enjoyed getting a lesson on the finer points of an Italian man arguing over inconsequential ingredients to a popular Italian dish.
Day 17: Carrión de los Condes – Terradillos de los Templarios
Distance: 27.3 km
Sunny Day. We walked as a group of five for most all of the day. Us with our Canadian Princess (Candice) and the Sardinian duo. We also ran into the tall Dutchman again. We hadn’t seen him since our breakfast in Los Arcos the week before.
It was useful to use the expression someone made up on our Camino, “The Camino gives, and the Camino takes.” We normally said it as a joke when something awful or crappy happened to you, or when Il Drago stayed in your albergue.
Only occasionally would you get to use the phrase in a positive manner. Seeing the Dutchman was just such a time. He was quite funny, easy to talk to, and always had a story to tell. He still remembered us too.
Us
The Camino
The Camino
We also encountered “The Rivals” again while walking. We had met them the night before at Santa Maria. It was a group of around 6-8 people that had been walking together for the last 16 days. It was a German, British, and American outfit. They began the Camino the day after we did, all starting from St. Jean, just like us. Over the course of those 16 days, they caught up with us.
They were us. Only on a different day with a different pace. It further put into perspective what happens on the Camino. The people you meet and you walk with only exist because of the day you started. Had we started a day earlier or a day later and walked the same pace, we would not have met 99% of the people we encountered on our Camino. The Sardinians. Gone. The loveable, always-losing-something Candice. Gone. The two different Dutchmen. Gone. All the Danes, Gone. Half of Germany…
It made us further appreciate the people we had met and enjoyed time with. Sure, you can meet great people if you start on another day. Maybe even better people, but maybe not. Maybe the people you meet were perfect for your Camino. I’d say it was pretty close for us.
And so as we passed by The Rivals our team felt a little more important. A little tighter.
As we got to our albergue, we noticed he was here, Il Drago, Italian for The Dragon. A Spanish man whose name I won’t reveal, but he was known far and wide along the Camino for his snoring. He ruined everyone’s night wherever he went.
Statue somewhere
Guides on the sidewalk
lunch
The Camino
a dovecot
Sunset
I bummed a sleeping pill from a friend and managed to get through the night. Anyone that tried to beat Il Drago by natural means failed. Candice laid awake all night and began her day in a murderous rage. Most everyone else was only really angry. The Dutchman swore to never enter the same albergue as Il Drago for the rest of the Camino.
Il Drago was known to bring out the worst in the Camino. He would prove to continue to do that.
Day 18: Terradillos de los Templarios – Calzadilla de los Hermanillos
Distance: 23.5 km
Again on the road less traveled and another flat piece of Spain. The weather had been great for several days. It made us forget that we were walking in spring. The rain in Spain does not mainly fall on the plain in our singular experience.
With 8 km to go we took the side route. It added a few km to the route, but it was on a Roman road, meaning it had been around for 2000 years. It is not a current road used for cars.
We did not see a single person the entire afternoon. It did make it a little odd to enter the albergue knowing we were the only people in town and probably the only pilgrims that would be.
The Camino
Statue
Statue
Old wine cellars, not hobbit houses
Church from the 13th century probably
As luck would have it though, the tall Dutchman was back and showed up at our place. In only a couple of days, he had managed to put together a fairy tale about a character called the snorecatcher that sneaks around to all the albergues on the Camino and catches the snorers and locks them away so all the other pilgrims can get some sleep.
It sounds like a ridiculous story, but it managed to resonate with four grown adults who were tired of hearing a cacophony of snoring each and every night on the Camino.
FYI, if you snore on the Camino, you will be found out, you will be talked about, and you will be judged harshly.
The Camino
A city I would send a picture instead of typing out
The Camino
Taking a break and exercising
The Camino
Sign for something old, probably Knights Templar. No clue really
As he finished his story, we all laughed and told him none of us snored so it should be a peaceful night. However, there was a traitor in our midst.
After another dinner, this time a pasta in red sauce with tomatoes, from Rachele (The Southern Sardinian Darling) we learned to play an Italian card game, Panella. I also continued to learn more Italian words and phrases. Most are not fit for print, but they are fun to say. When I come back home, I can wow each of you with my inappropriateness in a second language.
Us enjoying a completed day
Cooking Class
Pasta in a pinch
So as we headed to bed, all was quiet. Suddenly I was awoken by a terrible sound. The Canadian. Snoring. We had no idea. She did and she failed to spill the beans. I rustled her to let her know she was trying to kill us, and she moved into a different cube of beds so we could get back to what we needed – sleep.
Day 19: Calzadilla de los Hermanillos – Mansilla de las Mulas
Distance: 26.7 km
We awoke to an unhappy Dutchman. He had also been awoken by the snoring and had worked out who it was. We apologized profusely at our blunder and betrayal of his trust. It was a good thing too because on the walk that day we did not see another single person apart from our group and the Dutchman.
The sectioned off part is the old Roman road. They still find artifats.
The Camino
The Camino
Mountains in the distance
Canal
Trees
I finally decided to listen to some music on the Camino. I had been walking silently or talking the entire time and thought I would try some tunes. Spotify worked and I enjoyed the Sheepdogs, Houndmouth, and the Benjy Davis project for most of the day.
Our alternate routes continued to provide great views along the way.
After arriving to our albergue, we decided it was time for the Americans to cook. After a few discussions with Elizabeth about the menu, we settled on hamburgers. It was a departure from the Italian we had been enjoying, but I thought it would be nice for someone else to cook.
Enjoying the sushine
Cleanup after my cooking
Walking into town
Our Northern Sardinian had been walking with Il Drago on the main route the last couple of days due to a back issue. As the trails converged here, she met back up with us, and we began to devise our plan for the next night.
For about a week, we had been throwing the idea around of trying to cook lasagna and for dessert tiramisu. No small feat on the Camino. You need time, space in a kitchen, a large city to provide the ingredients for the meal, and most important, an oven.
We conceived our plan. The meal was to take place in León, one of the largest cities on the Camino. We would get an Airbnb and ensure it had an oven. As an added bonus, we would each have our own room away from the mass of pilgrims in the albergues.
It’s a wonder any of us slept in Mansilla as excited as we were for the following day and our Lasagna Party.
Day 20: Mansilla de las Mulas – León
Distance: 18.6 km
We arrived into León later than we wanted but that had become a theme. Everyone starts getting up and going at around 7 when they start the Camino. The albergues tell the pilgrims to be out by 8 or 8:30. The albergues are often vigilant about these policies. We had been pushing them to the brink. We hadn’t been thrown out yet, but we were getting closer to 9 than we wanted.
Upon arriving in León, another lovely, mostly flat walk under our belts, we found or Airbnb. We each left to walk around the city before meeting back to go grocery shopping.
Elizabeth and I strolled through the city and made our way to the cathedral. The cathedral had an interesting story and nice stained glass windows.
Once we met up with the team, we headed to the grocery store to buy provisions. After five different stops at grocery stores, we finally had everything we needed. The most difficult ingredient to procure? A lasagna pan. We had all our foodstuffs after a store or two. Getting a pan was complicated.
An old bridge
An old bridge
Cattail
The Camino
The Pilgrim mascot, as per Spain
We were presented with two options. Spend fifteen bucks on two large sheetpans that we would only use once and then have to carry on the outside of a backpack for another two weeks or leave behind. Or ask a grocery store if we could have some single serving disposable aluminum pans. We went the disposable route and then spent several minutes breaking every piece of lasagna noodle so it could fit into the single serves.
Now some of you have probably only eaten lasagna out or had stouffers from your local grocers’ freezer. Some other intrepid souls have made it at your house with varying degrees of success. I have made it a time or two and enjoyed it each time.
The trick though is to know what ingredients to use. I won’t indict myself too much, but I will admit I used garlic and onions in my lasagna. When I explained what went in my lasagna, a recipe I pulled off the internet and probably had the words “authentic” and “Italian” in it, the two Sardinians gave me a look. It was a look as if I had said the dumbest thing to ever escape a human’s mouth.
A Gaudi building
St. George
Me with Gaudi
Busy aignpost
Cathedral of Leon
Cathedral of Leon
Cathedral of Leon
Of course, when the Northern Sardinian told Rachele that her family uses mozzarella in their lasagna, The Southerner gave the Northerner the same look.
Traditional recipes seem to die hard among Italians.
So our lasagna did not have mozzerella or garlic.I don’t even think we used onions. Instead a lot of cheese, we used bechamel and a cheese similar to parmesan. No sausage, just plain ole ground beef. The tomato sauce was relatively thin and contained carrots.
We also had tiramisu to accompany the lasagna. It was easier to make and put in a large metal pot as there was no pyrex floating around the apartment.
With the lasagna made, in twelve individual serving trays and the tiramisu ready to be eaten, we began the meal. The lasagna was wonderful. Even more special considering all the work it had taken to organize the single night.
Making the tiramisu
Lasagna party
Holy wine. maybe not though
The Canadian booked the apartment. The Northern Sardinian oversaw the tiramisu. Rachele oversaw the lasagna. Elizabeth and I helped in the kitchen and cleaning when possible.
I would not have guessed that we would meet people on the Camino and decide to spend a night in the above fashion. The night would be difficult top.
Another slog through a mostly drizzly, definitely muddy day. We took an alternate route to get away from the road noise. I don’t know if it made much of a difference.
We tried to take the alternate routes as much as possible. We figured they are travelled by less pilgrims so our walks would be quieter. They were. The main trails were not too crowded this time of the year so any route off of the main was deserted.
The highlight of the walk was probably when I took a break with the Sardinian Darling. She had been ahead all day, but during her break I managed to catch up enough to sit with her. We sat under a covered porch of a church built in the 1200’s. It was here where an international version of the game freeze out was played.
For those who don’t know, freeze out is a very simple game (not the game in the car with the windows down). I learned the game from Elizabeth’s cousin, Bullet. The game is easy, basically all you do is not talk/acknowledge someone in a group. It usually works best when someone is trying to walk up and join a conversation.Since the Sardinian Darling and I were talking and Elizabeth was about to walk up, I thought it would be appropriate to freeze her out. The Sardinian was not comfortable with giving Elizabeth the silent treatment, but after some coaxing, agreed to try. She thought she might laugh and give it away.
So Elizabeth walked up, said a couple of words and sat down. The Sardinian and I were still talking and minding our own business. Sadly, Elizabeth immediately knew what was happening and chastised the group.
We arrived to Carrion excited to be staying at another suggested place from the guide book. The book we have “hearts” locations that are highly preferred places to stay. The night we took a private room in Belorado, Casa Waslala, was such a place.
The place tonight was called Santa Maria. It is run by prospective nuns. They welcome you with warm tea, a smiling face, and a joyous spirit. It was even difficult for me to retain my typical smugness. Their generosity and hospitality were overwhelming.
They invited us to a “musical experience” taking place in the foyer of the albergue later that night. Having never been invited to a “musical experience” we thought it would be worth a try. When the time came, the prospective sisters sat around, one with a guitar, and we began singing songs provided from handouts.
There were songs in many different languages, Spanish, English, German, Italian, probably French as well. When your language came up in a song, the native population was asked to sing loudest so everyone could hear the native tongue. Our crowd was mostly English, Italian, and German-speaking.
After a few songs, the nuns asked if anyone wanted to play the guitar, or an out of tune ukulele. As it turned out, our Northern Sardinian could carry a tune and play a few chords.
She first sang “Cielito Lindo” and then went into some rock and roll. We sang along, with the nuns, to the Beatles “Let It Be” and the Bob Dylan’s “Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door”, as sung by Guns n’ Roses. It was a wonderful cultural experience.
We had no idea she had such a talent. Of course, having only known her for about seven days that makes sense.
After the singing, Rachele (Southern Sardinian aka the Sardinian Darling) and I headed straight to the kitchen. It was going to be my first Italian cooking lesson. It was much cheaper than our lesson in Barcelona, but equally as informative. The menu for the evening was zucchini risotto. I was the prep cook, cutting up the onion and zuchini. She did the cooking. She prepared the liquid that was to go into the risotto, consisting of the tops of the onion, zuchini, and a leftover carrot.
Where was the garlic you may be wondering? Still at the grocery store.
I was informed that you do not use garlic and onion in the same dish. Only one or the other. And battle lines are drawn. Her father’s family uses garlic in their dishes. Her mother’s family uses onion. This rule apparently holds true for 99% of all dishes with the exception of one or two that always use garlic or onion, regardless of family loyalties. It was a mundane topic for her, but it was fascinating to me.
I watched her intently as she prepared the risotto, and she even let me add in the saffron. The risotto was delicious. Everyone enjoyed it immensely. I was amazed that with so few ingredients she could make something everyone walking on the Camino would be jealous of.
From that point on, I was going to do anything possible to stay close and learn more about how Italians, or if nothing else, a Sardinian cooks.
We had a little risotto left over, even after everyone had two bowls, so we offered the remaining bit to, as we called them, the odd couple. The odd couple was a Korean man and a Japanese man.
As I made gestures to indicate we were giving the risotto to them. The Japanese man bowed to me and said, “Arigato.” It was a humbling experience. He was so formal with his thank you and all I was offering was risotto that was an hour old, even if delicious.
The odd couple was our favorite pair on the Camino. The Korean man was around 40ish, with a wide wonderful smile, and knew a little bit of English. He was always taking many pictures of pilgrims walking. The Japanese man was older, in his later 60’s, much quieter than the Korean man, and knew almost no English.
They also seemed not to know each other’s language either. So they talked to each other in extremely broken English, a lot of hand gestures, and a continued willingness to share all meals with one another (offering food to anyone near them as well) and walk together. it was a great Camino friendship to watch, maybe the best on the Camino.
They met during the first week at some point and after that moment, were always together. On one of the really slow days early in our Camino, Elizabeth and I took yet another break. We could see a large hill in the distance and heard someone yelling at the top and waving. As we were walking by the backside of the hill, where the path to the top was located, the Korean man was climbing down to tell us we needed to come to the top to get a good picture of the view.
At the top, he and the Japanese man were having a breakfast break. The Korean man demanded we take an orange and the Japanese man gave us an apple. We were out of fruit and most other food, but I had some sunflower seeds in a pocket. As it was all I had to offer, I gave what I had.
They were appreciative and we all enjoyed a communal meal at the top of the mountain, thankful for the friendship, camaraderie, and giving spirit that can bring people together who can’t talk to each other. And everyone just be happy to be fed and alive and healthy.
We saw them a few more times on the Camino, but they eventually started walking longer days and we lost them around week three.
6:30 AM – We awoke to thunder, lightning, and rain. Obviously, we were not going to walk in that weather so we went back to sleep.
7:30 AM – Thunder, lightning, and rain were still present but waning.
8:00 AM – No thunder or lightning. Rain stopped too. It was perfect.
8:01 AM – The largest snowflakes we have ever seen started to fall.
Early snow flakes
Early snow flakes
Early snow flakes
The blizzard conditions
Well, at least the thunder and lightning stopped. We suited up in the necessary snow gear (aka: rain gear plus gloves) and trudged out into the wilderness, trying to find the Camino markings and hesitating to make any turns. The snow continued to get worse, falling even faster than before. Visibility was down to 30-40 feet. A blizzard was upon us. We followed the footsteps of the fools before us who began the walk in the rain.
The hike was strenuous. Several inches fell quickly making our walk a familiar one. Three steps forward, one step sliding back.We were both having flashbacks to day one when we walked over the Pyrenees.Similar to day one, a fair amount of the terrain we covered in the snow was uphill without any markings. The only highlight (besides actual snow which is normally a pleasure to us Southerners) was encountering a herd of sheep being herded mostly by dogs. Snow didn’t seem to slow them down. As the sheep passed by a few of them shook their coats to get a few inches off their back. Otherwise, it was just another day to them.
For a few minutes we shared the trail with the herd and eventually bypassed them making our way to the first town with a cafe. We immediately stopped in, exhausted already, soaked to the bone from the snow. As we arrived we watched the Italians leave. We assumed we were bringing up the rear, but decided we didn’t care. It was never about being first. More importantly, we needed to eat. So many snow soaked people had stopped in that workers were constantly mopping the floor of the cafe.
We settled in for the best breakfast sandwich of the trip, eggs over medium with bacon on lightly toasted warm bread. Of course in the state we were in, I’m not sure we would have turned down much.
Snow, Snow, Snow, Snoooowwww
Snow pilgrim
Sheep herd that wanted to walk to the camino.
Camino sheep
There’s always one black sheep…
Snow, Snow, Snow, Snoooowwww
As we finished our second breakfast sandwich (they were too good to just have one) a few familiar faces start to trickle in. Apparently we were not the slowest on the trail. It seemed that we weren’t the only hesitant pilgrims that morning. Our pilgrim friends decided to wait out the storm, but in the end they knew they would have to face the snow.
We chose to slow our pace and walked the rest of the day with the Aussie, the Dane, the Canadian, the Sardinian, and a young, ever positive German man. We enjoyed one another’s company immensely.
The sun continued to warm up our walk and by the end of the day. The six plus inches dropped on us had melted away by the time we arrived in Burgos. Of course that didn’t mean it had quit snowing, because the sky was still spitting snow in the sunshine as we walked the city streets.
Burgos is an important town on the Camino because it is a big stopping and entry point for pilgrims. It is one of the larger towns on the Camino so it’s easy to access. We were losing several people in Burgos, notably the delightful Dane who had been walking with us for the last eleven days.
A large group of us went out to celebrate and say goodbye to him and some other pilgrims leaving. There was singing, speeches, joy, and sadness. It was an emotional time for some, especially those who had been walking, sleeping, and spending near every minute of the last two weeks with these people.
The Camino Boys serenading the group.
A good time was had by all.
Day 13: Burgos – Hornillos del Camino
Distance: 21.7 km
We got a late start due to the late night. We grabbed breakfast with our dinner group and then headed to the cathedral in Burgos. It was fine church, not life changing, but free, and we enjoyed seeing another old building and getting to play tourist during the morning.
Clay seating with one of the many statues in Burgos. There were so many statues in this town. I think they outnumbered the people.
Burgos cathedral.
Burgos cathedral.
Burgos cathedral.
Our wayfinding system. Follow the seashells or the yellow arrows.
The walking section of the Camino had now transformed into the Meseta. The Mesta is a rather flat stretch of land that pilgrims walk over for a week or so. A lot of people skip this portion of the Camino as they find it dry, hot, and boring.
We found it cool, pleasant, and peaceful. A mountain range was always within view. Not too many farm animals or busy roads. It was nice and calm.
It is also a time to get to know people on the trail better. With less hills, people tend to congregate more while walking. You can start to learn more about the people you walk with and why they are on the Camino, where they come from, and share other life experiences.
Views along the way.
Views
Everything looked like a wallpaper template that you would find on your computer.
We finished the day ahead of our remaining group and entered an albergue in which we didn’t know anyone. The people here were mostly a new batch of pilgrims from Burgos. Just as we were lamenting this fact, out popped our young German friend, Lisa.
She had stayed back in Viana instead of walking to Logrono. We didn’t expect to see her again. While it is disappointing to no longer get to see and talk with a lovely person you meet on the Camino, that’s the way it works. A common expression on the way is that “everyone walks their own Camino”. You never know who will enter your Camino or who will depart. You only have the moment you are with the person. It may last for a few minutes, a few hours, days, or the entire Camino.
As it turned out, the blizzard had proven too much for the group she was with and they decided to get a bus to the next town. The bus driver refused to take the pilgrims to the town for which they had purchased tickets and instead said he was going to Burgos no matter what.
So here we sat, very much enjoying the company of a person we thought we had previously lost.
I spent most of the night attempting to get pictures sorted onto the computer at the albergue. My laptop had deleted its OS so I was SOL with blogging. It would turn out to be a fruitless night.
Day 14: Hornillos del Camino – Castrojeriz
Distance: 21.3 km
Just like the evening before, I spent most of this morning trying to get our travel pictures blog ready. Elizabeth finally pushed us out of the albergue around 9. She was not going to spend her Camino waiting for pictures to load.
We were not the only group to get a late start. We opened the gate of the albergue and headed out onto the main street. Lo and behold there were our friends from Canada and Australia and I began to sing “Oh Canada.”
Approaching a small town during the day.
Monastery ruins
Elizabeth’s view most days.
Castrojeriz
We walked with people almost the entire day. The Canadian, Aussie, German young man, and the two Sardinians. We had met the first Sardinian at the Arte de Kilometre. The second, from Northern Sardinia, had fallen in with our group once the Italian group broke up in Burgos. Tribes form, factions fall, and what’s left is a ragtag bunch of pilgrims.
Our Southern Sardinian knew English extemely well, the Northern Sardinian knew Spanish (and French) better so we had translators for just about any situation.
When we arrived in the city, the group broke off, with the Aussie, Canadian, and German all deciding to walk an extra 10 km. Elizabeth was not doing so well so we decided to stop where our book had suggested.
Castrojeriz
Castrojeriz
Castrojeriz
Castrojeriz
The Sardinian duo and Lisa also stayed in the same place with us. We arrived to the city a little too early to stop for the day, but we didn’t care. We were tired.
What we encountered next is typical of España.
Siesta was taking place when we arrived so we could not get food for dinner. The sign on the door of the only market in town said it would reopen at 5. When we went back to the albergue at 5:15 with no food, the hospitalero said it opened at 5:30. At 5:40, we found a local walking by the market who told us it didn’t open until 6. At 6:15 the store opened to great fanfare of five pilgrims, each but Elizabeth cursing under their breath.
Lisa and I had decided to join forces to cook some pasta dish while Elizabeth tried to figure out if/when mass was to take place. And while Elizabeth was gone to mass the Sardinians arrived to discuss dinner plans. We invited them to join us and thus began what I would like to call the “Camino tour of Italy.” This would turn out to be the first of many meals prepared by the Southern Sardinian.
While Lisa and I were fully prepared to figure out how to make the pasta, the Sardinians kicked it into high gear and made actual dishes.
Between the Sardinian duo and a little Camino magic, we ended up with two different pasta dishes. All made with a couple of cans of tuna, tomatoes, olives, noodles, olive oil and backpack pesto.
Now you might be wondering what is backpack pesto. Anything that someone carried for over a day, Elizabeth and I would dub it backpack XXXXX. So for almost the entire Camino I carried backpack olive oil and butter. The Southern Sardinian carried backpack salt. Some of the kitcken/cooking area’s we encountered did not have what you would need to cook, so those of us who didn’t want to spend $10 -12 euro a night on food would haul pantry staples around rural Spain on our backs. Most everyone carried backpack meat and backpack cheese.
By the time Elizabeth arrived back at the albergue, Lisa and I were dutifully cutting olives away from their pits as the Sardinians were figuring how to use an electric pot to boil water.
We ended the night with a pesto pasta dish and a tuna with tomato and olive pasta dish. What the Southern Sardinian could put together in a pinch was like a culinary Macgyver.
As we sat at the dinner table, winding down for bed, a man burst through the door of the albergue looking completely ragged, tattered, near toothless, and homeless. He carried a pack but did not look like most other pilgrims.
It’s because he was not like other pilgrims.
Thankfully we had two Italians with us to translate his story.
He had walked from Rome to Santiago. And now he was walking back. And it was his fourth time to do such a walk. He then showed us his pilgrim’s passports with all the stamps and his certificates. It was like rolling out scrolls. He had stacks of passports. His first certificate had been folded and unfolded so many times it was in four pieces.
He walked the first time for his priest, then for his mother and family, then for himself, and number four for God. I probably would have done number one for God, but that might be the cynic in me.
He stayed in donation based albergue’sso he was not required to give money. Many nights he slept on the streets. He covered 40-45 km a day. He volunteered at the Vatican when he wasn’t walking.
We sat in disbelief. His clothes were not dri-fit, quick dry, brand name, field tested for the most extreme conditions. He wore t-shirts and jeans. His backpack looked to be older than me. Yet here he was, in front of our eyes, making 800 km look like walking to your neighbor’s house.
We offered him our leftovers. He accepted only a small portion and thanked us profusely.
We went to bed full of pasta and full of wonder at the man who just kept walking.
Day 15: Castrojeriz – Fromista
Distance: 26.1 km
It finally rained all day. We had heard that it would happen at some point, especially in spring. Thankfully we had spent a fortune on top of the line hiking ponchos when we stopped in St. Jean. These are no ordinary ponchos, as they cover the extra hump of your backpack and still have plenty of length in the back.
Our Sardinian compatriots had failed to procure the same and were left to endure the rain with only a regular jacket and a single use poncho. The South Sardinian was soaked to the bone and the North’s poncho had disintegrated the moment a stiff breeze caught it. It shredded immediately and looked like she was little red riding hood in a fringed jacket.
Walk to Fromista
Walk to Fromista
Walk to Fromista
Walk to Fromista
Walk to Fromista
The day started with a large hill that gave us beautiful views of the town we were leaving. After the large hill, the rest of the walking was easy dealing with the weather was not. The Camino walks are nothing like the hikes we had on the Appalachian Trail.
You cannot even compare the two adventures.
The Camino is easier in every sense with the exception of sleeping. On the Camino, unless you want to spend $50 bucks a night, you will end up sleeping in a room full of strangers. Pleasant enough people when awake, but hell on earth when snoring. You don’t hear that in the middle of the Georgia woods.
We took a long break about 6 km before our final destination in hopes of drying off. We commiserated with beer and croquettes. I think we would have preferred no rain to the refreshments.
We arrived at our albergue to find a common room similar to a nursing home. Plenty of older, cold, wet, exhausted pilgrims huddled in the common room to soak up the warmth of the fireplace. This wouldn’t be odd, but the fact that no one was speaking to each other gave the room an eerie feel. Luckily, we found out our Canadian had also stopped here as we saw her pants dangling from the clothesline (she wore exceedingly bright clothes).
Without a kitchen, we resorted to a meat, cheese, and wine party. We spent the night enjoying the company of our young, hip, English speaking group. The South Sardinian, the Canadian (who is presently living in Berlin without being able to speak German), and Lisa (who had been living in Ireland for the last year and has a Irish accent when speaking English. We are unsure if her German also has an Irish lilt to it).
Everyone seemed to be enjoying the good mood as we headed to bed. It turned out even the locals were having quite the time. As we tried to sleep, somewhere between the hours of 11 PM-5 AM, a marching band proceeded to prance around town, waking up anyone with ears. To add to the excitement, what can only be described as a cannon blast was heard several times during the night, although we never saw the aftereffects of whatever battle took place or was reenacted.
No one got much sleep. The midnight party is still a mystery.
When we woke up in Los Arcos, we had no idea we would meet another Dutchman who would steal our hearts. Unlike the older, grumpier Dutchman we had been coming across, this Dutchman was younger, much taller, and even more gregarious. He was quite the personality. At breakfast, he and his companions were regaling the albergue with a story about the extremely drunk Irish girls they had met the night before. He was an excellent storyteller. Although we were sure we would never meet this Dutchman again, our paths would cross a few more times throughout the Camino.
We finally left storytime with the Dutchman to begin walking and found the day split in half between a pleasant path to a wild city and a dirty path to a milder, larger city. At around the 20 km mark, we arrived in the town of Viana. It’s a popular stopping point for those who do not want to walk the long stretch to Logroño.
Church in Los Arcos.
View
Door of Church
View
As we entered the city we could hear extremely loud popping sounds, like a gunshot. We were unsure of what it was, but we knew we didn’t want to be anywhere near it. Too bad. The Camino path rolls right down the center of town and into the madness. It was the Saturday before Easter and it was a big day for the 18 year olds in the town.
Youths with fireworks and booze
Youths with fireworks and booze
Youths with fireworks and booze
As the story goes, the 18 year olds will soon graduate and move into the adult world, military or something else that involves responsibility. But on that particular Saturday they run around the city shooting off fireworks, blowing whistles, and getting as drunk as possible. But they didn’t drink and shoot fireworks in one designated section. They roamed around the city and took the party with them.Their mode of party transportation – grocery carts. Someone pushed a grocery cart full of fireworks and another pushed a grocery cart full of liquor. It was quite the sight. We think they were also raising money for charity, but it could have also been more money for booze and/or fireworks.
We sat for a moment to enjoy the mayhem and some ice cream then continued on our way. We should have stayed longer. The next several kilometers just past Viana were awful. Hot, dirty, truly awful. We discussed the different ways in which we would probably be robbed or mugged by teenagers on that section of the way. Alas, we made it to Logroño in one piece.
Church in Logrono
Chocolate “Figures”
Wine art
Road
Road
Vineyard
At this point I (Clay) should tell you that my father had been texting me everyday, probably to ensure we were not dead in a gutter in rural Spain. He started by asking where we were each day and I would respond with the city we were headed to or had stopped in for the night. If the city name was too long to type, I sent a picture.
He then commenced to look up everything he could find about the city and tell us what we needed to see and do.
“Did you get a picture of the castle?”
“What about the church? So and so died there.”
“You should go here for dinner.”
“Stay in this hotel.”
In Logroño, I gave in. For dinner, we headed out to find a restaurant my father suggested. It made great sense… Trust a man whose idea of Spanish food is a taco with a Spanish dinner suggestion. We had dinner at the suggested restaurant – Burgerheim. It was a burger shop that took inspiration from art museums around the world. I think we had the Mondrian and the Picasso burgers. Interesting note: You could choose the meat for your burger at this restaurant. We chose beef, but they had pony. If we had been feeling better we would have tried it.
Our food ended up being very good. It turns out, trusting your dad’s restaurant advice from halfway around the world is a great idea.
Day 8: Logrono – Najera
Distance: 30.4 km
A tale of two days
The walk this day was wonderful. We met, walked, and talked to a lot of people on this day that were integral to our Camino experience. The morning of Easter Sunday began with a quiet walk through the vacant city of Logrono. It was calm and covered in trash. I picked up a plastic rose and gave it to Elizabeth for her backpack. I’m such a romantic.
We began the morning walking with a couple of Danes. We walked with them for about 6-8 km before taking a break. At this point we met our young Canadian. A most humorous woman from Newfoundland.
I’d like to think she took a shine to us because I am one of the few people who know where Newfoundland is located on the globe and because I can pronounce it correctly. You don’t say found in the word, you should say Newfndland, ignoring the vowels. Although, she probably just liked us because of our bag of Doritos.
When we took another break, we ran into our Australian friend again. We believe this is the best thing about the Camino. You can run into all types of people at all point on the Camino at any time of the day.
From there we walked a little further to the option. Many days on the Camino have offshoot routes allowing you to find neat and interesting buildings or cities just off the main trail. These paths eventually run their way back into the main path, only taking an extra 2-3 km.
This detour was the Arte de Kilometer, or Art Kilometer. As we were staring at the sign trying to determine the merits of the extra km, a young woman was sitting underneath the signs taking a much needed break. She listened to Elizabeth and I banter back and forth, with the conversation heavily laden in sarcasm, about what could this kilometer possibly hold. After a few minutes of talking, I asked the annoyed bystander if she knew anything about the art, if it was worth it, if she was going, and if she wanted any chocolate covered peanuts.
She looked at us with a smiling, annoyed face, shrugged her shoulders and said she didn’t know. And that she did not want any peanuts. Not satisfied with the first answer, and the realization that she spoke English (so she understand our entire ridiculous discussion), I pressed her to commit to a decision and tell us what we should do. She did not acquiesce.
So away we went, headed down the Arte de Kilometer. We discussed how stupid we must have sounded to that stranger. As we entered the town in which we were detouring to, we encountered no art, but something much better. Almost all the people we had been walking with or seen frequently over the course of the last week. The grumpy old Dutchman, the energetic Danish man, the Aussie, our new Canadian friend, lots of Germans.
It was like a mini homecoming. Not knowing anyone halfway around the world can be a lonely thing, but seeing familiar faces makes everything seem much easier and keeps you relaxed. We sat down for a bit and enjoyed the company of the strange collective of individuals from around the world.
We headed out before anyone else, since our pace tended to be a bit more glacial than others. And who did we encounter, our Art bystander. She was struggling and limping, suffering from extremely battered feet. We offer her more peanuts, she declined. She did ask about the Art Kilometer and we told her we saw no art and she was better off taking the short route.
We continued to enjoy the walk until we arrived in Najera. We could not find an albergue to stay in. The first we stopped in only had a private room at $50 bucks. We had been paying $10-15 a night, sleeping in the large rooms, and didn’t want to spend that kind of money on a single night. Elizabeth began to walk around the city and realized that all the other albergues in our guide book were closed or out of business. So we sat down on a bench stewing and angry, wondering what the hell we were gonna do. Elizabeth was mad, which rarely happens, so I volunteered to walk around the city until I found the municipal albergue, our last hope. I began wandering the streets, completely lost, looking for any sign.
Then the happy Dane showed up yet again. I jogged over to him. He said he and his group were headed to the municipal, it was right around the corner and we should join them. He was the kind of person who always popped up when you needed your spirits lifted or needed anything. There at the right time, with the answer or an ear, or a kind word. I found Elizabeth, hoping I had salvaged the day, and we made our way to the albergue.
Turns out the day was going to get worse. As we checked into the albergue, Elizabeth asked about mass times in the city. In a town of 8500, they had three churches within a few hundred meters of where we were staying, typical Spain. Except it was now 5 PM and all the masses for the day were over. Elizabeth missed Easter Sunday in a country that treats the holiday like a religious Super Bowl. What continued to make it worse was that we had been tracking Semana Santa (Holy Week) across Spain. They began setting up in cities at the beginning of March and had advertisements about it the entire time. We had to walk around stages and closed roads in Sevilla. We saw processions practicing in Segovia.
So not only did Elizabeth miss mass, she missed the biggest, bestest, most celebrated Mass of they year. I have attempted to come up with a proper analogy to explain a similar situation and have failed.
We had gotten up in the morning in a town full of churches, walked through other towns filled with churches, all having mass while we were walking, and finished in a town filled with churches. Yet, we could not make it to a single mass that day.
Elizabeth cried for a while and we went out for gyros for dinner. We sat alone in a gyro shop in Najera Spain on Easter Sunday. Conversation was limited. We went to bed after dinner.
And that completes Semana Santa for the Cornelius family. To this day, Elizabeth says this day is her most AND least favorite on the Camino.
Day 9: Nájera – Santa Domingo de la Calzada
Distance 22.8 km
The day Elizabeth tried to kill Clay is how I would describe today. It was a walk with not much to see or do or visit.
It began with me losing my cellphone. After each of us checked our sleeping area multiple times and unpacked my backpack twice to make sure I didn’t do something stupid, we determined that someone picked it up on accident or stole it. Either way, we were about to be the last people to leave the albergue. I was angry at my stupidity and Elizabeth was annoyed at my stupidity. Our last ditch effort was having an albergue volunteer, with international calling, try to reach the person who had mistakenly picked up the phone. It worked. We heard the phone, vibrating… in Elizabeth’s backpack. She accidentally packed the cellphone in her sleeping bag and shoved it down in her backpack. Not a great start, right.
The people who helped find my phone
After about 6 km we ran into our first town. Just before the town a golf course appeared. We decided to stop in for a bite to eat and I thought I could find my Father something from the pro shop.
As I entered and began meandering, a young woman began to follow me around the 12×12 foot room. As I tried to figure out if the store had any men’s clothing, the employee approached me. “Sir,” she says, “this is a golf shop. We don’t have anything for pilgrims.” I looked at her, a bit confused and then I realized she thinks I’m some poor, stupid pilgrim trying to find outdoor gear in a room full of overpriced ladies polos and golf gloves.
putting green
Golf club
I could not find any mens polo’s, hats, or golf balls with the club logo, so we had a bite to eat and left. With not many other places to stop on this day, we trudged along with few breaks. Finally we were within 2 km to our destination and I needed a break. Elizabeth was having none of it. I explained I needed five minutes to sit and regroup. I was exhausted, not feeling well, and would have liked to rest.
She reiterated that we were only about 15 minutes away from where we were staying and I should suck it up. We were almost there.
With 1 km to go, I stopped. I told her I needed some time and I didn’t care how much further it was. There was always a place to stay, all the stores were closed for siesta (or Easter Monday) and there was no sense in trying to kill me to arrive in a town for which there is nothing to do ten minutes sooner.
She allowed me to rest. All I could think was that she had turned into a sadistic taskmaster hellbent on making me suffer. She became the Russian from Rocky, “I must break you.”
I was in worse shape when we arrived. Too ill and weak to cook, we argued over dinner ideas and settled on frozen pizza since our albergue had an oven (a rarity). We went to bed unhappy and exhausted, debating if the walk was a good idea.
Day 10: Santa Domingo de la Calzada – Belorado
Distance: 23.9 km
It was not a good idea.
I got worse. I slept through the night but woke up in the morning covered in sweat and feeling like death. My legs and feet were fine of course, but the rest of me was crumbling.
For breakfast we enjoyed leftover pizza, while being watched by the Sardinian who refused our peanuts a few days before. As an Italian, she was judging our breakfast choice as we squeezed bbq sauce over our chicken pizza. Of course, she was eating Oreos. On the Camino, anything goes foodstuff wise. Beer in the morning, cookies all day, chocolate bars everywhere. We even witnessed a guy uncork a bottle of wine in the morning so that he could drink it while walking.
We left at the last possible moment as a terrible volunteer was walking around ringing a bell in everyone’s face who was still struggling to exit the albergue.
I was immediately exhausted. We had not been drinking enough water, eating well enough, or sleeping with any consistency.
The weather was also not cooperating. The wind was howling, so much so that we put on our ponchos to protect ourselves from the wind. I threw on my hood to protect my ears from the constant rush and loud noise formed by the gusts. At one point, Elizabeth was leaning into the wind and it was preventing her from falling over.
I had to stop in every city we walked through, each time debating if this was as far as I could go, struggling to drag myself off the ground long enough to walk another 3-4 km.
About halfway through the walk, I gave up. I shook my fists at the sky, cursed the wind, threw my trekking poles into its whirls, shed my pack, and fell down in a field. I could not take anymore. I could not handle another step.
After a while, maybe 30-45 seconds, I regrouped and regained my composure. I explained to Elizabeth that I needed a nap, obviously, and had no desire to see, talk, or sleep next to anyone else the rest of the day. I was peopled out. I needed to be alone.
We managed to pass a few groups, notably the Italians, who tended to be at the back of the pack, stopping in every town to have a beer, drinking merrily along the way. As we arrived in another small town, we found a spot to rest in the shade of the first building in the town and laid down . We watched every group pass by us as we drifted off to sleep.
When we awoke 15-20 minutes later, we knew we were behind everyone else. We grabbed our stuff, turned the corner and to our surprise saw a group of 5-10 backpacks. We had been laying in the shade of a bar/cafe/restaurant where the Italians sat, finishing up another round of beers and bocadillos. We felt silly about stopping where we did when there was a perfectly fine place to stop and rest with food and drink on the other side of the wall. This became a theme for our Camino experience, walk a few feet further and it will probably pay off.
We eventually made it to Belorado. To give ourselves a chance to regroup from the tiring day, we stayed in a Pension, which is basically a B&B for pilgrims. It was a completely different experience than staying in an albergue. We were not herded in. We were not made to get out our passports immediately and then pay. It was like staying in a real place. The owner said to take our time, go relax, have a shower, take a nap, and when we crossed paths again, we could discuss all the particulars.
More church stuff
Adorable town plaza
Pretty buildings.
The reason I survived the night
trees at night
This saved our Camino, especially for me. Our own private place away from the other pilgrims. Our own bathroom to shower in. Robes to wear. We might as well have been at the Ritz. They did our laundry and provided us with information about the next couple of days walking.
It was exactly what we needed when we needed it.
Day 11: Belorado – Ages
Distance: 30.3 km
We awoke refreshed and ready to join the huddled masses again. We were served a lovely large breakfast, one we didn’t have to fix ourselves. We had been warned the night before about the threat of snow, a persistent concern during spring, but it turned out to be a perfect day. The weather was amazing and the walking was not too difficult. The day was all uphill, but a gentle slope. A stretch of 8 km breezed by as I talked to a young Danish kid.
We felt so good we decided to ignore our guide book and continue an extra 3 km to the next town, Ages. There were still whispers of the threat of snow and we wanted to get ahead of it if possible.
We arrived before many others and found our albergue to be lonely. All the other people we met on the way stayed at other places that night. Luckily, the grumpy Dutchman appeared out of thin air at dinner time. He was walking around the city checking in on anyone he recognized.
As he walked in, he began to talk to the albergue hospitalero, the person in charge of the albergue, in Spanish. We knew he could speak English in addition to Dutch, but we didn’t know he knew Spanish too. When we questioned him about it, he rattled off a list of other languages he could speak (6-7 European languages), but noticeably absent was French. He said he refused to learn French as he did not care for the French people and their way of life.
It was yet another reminder of our inadequacies as Americans abroad. We know no other languages. Everyone we met that was not Anglo-Saxon, knew at least two languages, most often English as their second language. Had it not been for other people working hard to learn another language, we might have been left to only talk to the Canadian and Aussie.
We closed the night playing a few card games with an Irish group of eight. They taught us a game or two and we taught them a couple of games. We all laughed and spoke English although some phrases and the occasional number had to be translated or said more slowly so the other nationality could figure out the other’s English.
We are still working out how we want to write about the Camino. There is so much to say about the 30+ day adventure. Below is the easiest way we thought to organize the trip.
Day 2: Roncesvalles – Zubiri
Distance: 23.1 km
The first few km of day 2 were also full of snow/ice. The benefit of leaving at 6:30-7 AM is that the sun is not all the way up yet so the snow was frozen enough that we could walk on the deeper sections to avoid the iced over patches.
At lunch time we stopped in a little market to buy ingredients for a road sandwich. A road sandwich is something that I (Clay) would often make for us when we drove from Atlanta to Birmingham and didn’t want to stop to eat. It is exactly what you might envision a sandwich to be – lettuce, tomato, cheese, deli meat, mustard, etc, but it was perfectly delicious while driving and great for walking too.
A camino road sandwich is a little different. On the camino you work with what the market give you. This particular market provided pan (bread), chorizo, queso, and peppers. All that we lacked was a knife to cut the bread in half. The knife we found in the market was a 1.50. Surprisingly, when we made it to the cash register to pay, the price jumped to two Euros.
This was not a fancy knife or pocket knife, but a knife you would cut your pot roast with on your plate on Sunday afternoons. It was not a sharp knife or a good knife, but now it was ours. When Elizabeth sat down with all our sandwich goods so I could start making the sandwich, the knife slid off the edge of our perch and about ten feet down into a briar patch.
Much cursing was done and I headed down to find the knife, but to no avail. Great way to spend two euro. We bummed a knife from some other pilgrims and made due. Eventually Elizabeth headed down and after several minutes she found the knife (It should be noted that as of 4/27, we still have the knife, around 40 days hauling a crappy knife across all of Spain).
Vista
Stop sign
View
Day 3: Zubiri – Pamplona
Distance: 22.7 km
Every 3-4 km on the Camino, there is a town/village to walk through. It allows pilgrims the ability to pack light on food and buy as they go. There are also cafe’s in these towns that allow pilgrims to break for a hot or cold bocadillo instead of buying from a mercado.
We were buying fruit and also stuff to make sandwiches. The trail mix/cocktail mix is disappointing in Spain. They use fried corn kernels, never add raisins and include pistachios…still in their shells. It’s terrible.
The walk this day ended in Pamplona, a city we had already visited.
Vista
We slept in another huge albergue, hosting around 150 pilgrims. We met a German girl with an Irish accent, done so to hide the fact that she is German.
She had to endure the first Camino couple we encountered. It happened to involve the Spanish man we met our first night at dinner in Roncesvalles and a seemingly lonely Irish woman. We escaped most of the canoodling while we were out, but our German friend got to experience the sights and sounds of middle aged strangers making out.
When you walk the Camino this time of the year, the crowds tend to be small and you recognize everyone. We would see these same people many times over the next week.
For our dinner, we headed out for pintxos. It is the Basque (yet another divided culture in Spain) version of tapas. It was fine and we enjoyed ourselves, but as we were walking home the streets were filled with the sweet smell of pastries.
We headed into a candy shop, but quickly realized they made nothing and we were in the wrong place. Back on the street we noticed a line had formed in the middle of the road (it was a pedestrian street so no cars would get in the way of the line). We didn’t know what was being served, but thought it must be good.
The line continued to grow behind us and we finally figured out enough information to determine that the shop we were waiting to enter is a famous pastry shop in Pamplona that makes a specific pastry, serves them hot, sells out often, and people buy these pastries by the kilo (which is 2.2 pounds).
We waited 45 minutes to enter the store and were hit with a huge bout of panic as it seemed we were going to have to buy a kilo or more of pastry. That would have been fine on any other trip, but we did not want to haul pounds of pastries up and down mountains.
Of course after eating the pastries, it would have been worth it. The pastry in question was nothing special. It was a small rectangular shaped croissant filled with chocolate. What made it special was the pastry is served hot and fresh like a Krispy Kreme so the chocolate in the middle was melted and still very warm.
We regretted only getting six croissants. We saw others buy 5+ pounds.
Day 4: Pamplona – Puente La Reina
Distance: 25.5 km
Today was split in half. The first half was climbing the mountain. The second half, climbing down. The climb was not as bad as we thought, especially in comparison to our first day on the trail.
The walk was fairly windy (curvy) and very windy(breezy) on the way up the mountain. Although we didn’t stay on the top long, we were surround by amazing wind turbines and a nice set of Camino sculptures. On the way down, we ran into the German girl we met in Pamplona again and a Hawaiian woman (our first American) who had just retired and was looking for adventure. We walked with them for a bit and carried on.
We arrived early to the town and found the albergue for which we had decided to stay. We were in a room full of five Irish girls and later, the same German girl.There were many Irish pilgrims early on in the trip who were taking advantage of Ireland’s long Easter holiday.
The Irish group was doing the Camino in a different fashion than most of us. This particular group of Irish girls sent their backpacks ahead to whatever city they were walking to the next day so they carried nothing on the trail. It is not incredibly uncommon for people to walk that way, particularly older or wealthier pilgrims.
These girls had packed all the essentials for walking across rural Spain. It mostly consisted of outfits and make-up.
Later on in the evening, a group gathered in the albergue common room and talk drifted to European politics. The talk took place between an older Dutch man, a young Dane (who was walking the Camino in 25 days, which is sadistic), and our German friend. It was a great look into people’s perceptions of the situations happening all over Europe.
Thankfully talk stayed away from US politics for the most part, although the Dutchman made it well known that he loved the US and everything it stood for. He also turned out to be an extremely colorful individual, one we would encounter several other times.
Day 5: Puente La Reina – Estella
Distance: 23.4 km
We were awoken very early in the morning and were not happy about it. The Irish girls were up and moving around at 6 AM. Now most albergues ask that you exit around 8 AM. Some of them are nice about it, others not. No one asks you to leave at 6. We still cannot figure out why the Irish girls wanted to get up at 6 AM to walk without backpacks. It is an easy walk most days and even easier without having to carry anything.
For some reason this day, I (Clay) had a rough day walking. We took a really long time to cover a shorter distance. We had lunch really early that day. I took a nap because I felt awful and managed to sweat out whatever was ailing me. I am assuming it did not help that the day was very sunny and we were still not drinking enough water.
I recovered at dinner and made spaghetti and meatballs (from scratch). I know at one point on this trip I revolted against any bocadillo with jamon or chorizo (not the good kind, the Spanish kind) and refused to eat another.The meal turned out great and we enjoyed it with the South African/Canadian friend we had met a few days prior.
Day 6: Estella – Los Arcos
Distance: 23.3 km
We took the long way today. It was supposed to be more scenic and have a peak for better views. We were dragging again so we didn’t get far fast. Elizabeth was having a slow day even in spite of the wine fountain.
In the 90’s, the 1990’s, a winery located in a closed monastery began to offer wine from a tap. They also offer water, but I think it is much less popular. The wine was red and it drank.
We spent the night at an albergue run by Austrians. This was well known to the 10+ Germans that chosed to stay here, but not to us.
Since it was Good Friday, the city was having its Semana Santa procession. It starts in one church and ends in another, some 5-600 meters from one another.
The outfits were colorful and klan-like. The traditional outfits predate the KKK, but it is quite striking to see these outfits being worn in the street on purpose. There are miniature chocolate and white chocolate figures that can be bought in the local confectionery shops. We did not indulge.
That almost sums up our first week on the Camino. Stay tuned for the next installment of the Cornelius Camino.
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