El Camino: Fisterra!

Today’s walk was like none of the others I’ve done on this journey across Spain.

Reason number one is that my feet didn’t hurt. Because there was no rain forecast, I was able to wear my backup hiking shoes. They're Hokas; though they're not not water-resistant, they do have extra toe room. My blisters have been healing up, thanks to my hard-way acquired knowledge of how to properly bandage the sores. And, the expensive bandaids I bought yesterday seem to have been worth the price of admission. I walked 12 km today, and my feet didn’t hurt when I got here! Did I mention my feet didn’t hurt???

There was no rain forecast, but it did rain, just for thirty minutes or so, not hard enough to get my shoes too wet, but enough to give everyone a good drenching. The rain dimmed my mood not a whit. As I counted down the last kilometers, I was so happy to be here. Up hills and down hills, rain and sunshine and fog and cool mornings and hot afternoons. Sore feet and calves and tired legs and upset stomach. Beautiful remote countryside and small hamlets and big towns. Good people, so many good people. The kind of people who wake up one morning and think perhaps it might be a good idea to go walk across Spain.

I did it!

Well, almost, I’ve done it. The town of Fisterra is 3 km from the end of the trail, and I decided to put off going to the very end until tomorrow, for several reasons. One: My feet don’t hurt, but I wasn’t sure that would still be the case if I added another 6-8 km trek to my day. Two: I want to go in the morning, when I think the trail might be quieter. (There are a lot of people who bus it here from Santiago, and just walk the last few kilometers.) Three: I’m out of clean clothes. Laundry needed to happen.

There’s something bittersweet about reaching the end of my long walking days. I mean, I thought I’d be totally thrilled to put my limping entries into town after town in my rear view mirror. I didn’t anticipate the sense of loss, the same sort of feeling I get when reaching the end of an excellent book. No matter how tidily the author has tied up loose ends, it’s still a jolt to realize the world of the story is not the world in which I spend my days.

Thanks to my friend Rose, who has been watching hearth and home for me, I’ve been able to walk without a single concern about problems on the home front. (If any arose, she’s been kind enough to handle them without letting me know anything happened.) In fact, I must admit, outside these daily missives, there have been several days where home hasn’t even crossed my mind. 

I have been able to be here. In this place, in this now. Before and after were of no concern, there was only now. It has been a wonderful gift.

Tomorrow, just a short walk… 

Photos: One of many roosters I’ve seen on this trip, announcing the morning; my morning cup of café con leche - a “I can’t quite believe I am here” moment; Fisterra, on its narrow strip of land (that line in the background is the sea)

El Camino : Cee

The weather gods were with me today. I’ve been watching a huge rain mass just offshore in the Atlantic edge its way onto land all week long; today it was time for it to come ashore, with its gusty winds and hours of rain. Last night, when I went to bed, the rain was supposed to start mid-morning. I’m guessing it stayed up too late drinking wine with its friends, because it didn’t arrive in earnest until after I was safely done with today’s hike, shortly before 1. It threatened to rain, I could see rain in the hills all around me, I got spit on a few times, but I mostly stayed dry.

A couple hours into today’s walk, I was passed by one of the energetic young people making the pilgrimage. Shortly after she passed by, she let out a whoop of joy, and jumped a good two feet into the air (pack and all), clicking her heels on the way down. I smiled for her. Clearly, whatever it was, it was good news. But then I saw something drop from her pocket as she landed. It looked like a bit of trash, and when I got to that spot a minute later, I bent down to pick it up. No trash, it was her charger cord.  “Senorita!”, I called after her. She turned around at my shout, and I held the cord high where she could see it. She hurried back to me, then stopped to share a moment of her story. She had just gotten news that she’d passed a big do-or-die test for her future life’s path. She hadn’t believed she’d ever be able to get over the hurdle. We shared a brief hug, I laughed as she tried to apologize for her tears of joy, and she paused to gather herself. As she made sure she’d zipped up her pockets, I hobbled on down the path.

Sophia caught up with me again, just a short time later - there was a statue of some sort of monster off to our left. I gestured to it and said, “There it is - the monster you have overcome! Do you want a picture of yourself with it?” She laughed, and said, “No need. I have won, and will leave it in my dust.” 

And off she flew down the path - I am not sure her feet even touched the ground.

My feet, on the other hand…. Because of the impending rain, I didn’t stop to rest the poor things as I walked. Turns out that piece of my usual routine was an important part of not developing new blisters, and by the time I arrived here in Cee, I’d acquired a few new ones. Which means my dwindling supply of moleskin would not be enough to keep me on the road for the next couple of days.

I hobbled into a nearby pharmacy, where the kind pharmacist helped me to find some bandages that will work to get me down the home stretch. She advised that I wear only sandals until the sores heal; I promised I would, after two more days. Her rueful returned grin told me I was not the first to make this promise to her.

This afternoon, I have been good, and have been resting my toes. The rain outside my window helps; it removes the temptation to walk around exploring this adorable fishing town. The rain is supposed to clear up for tomorrow’s final long trek. I’ve almost made it to the end of the world!

Photos: the promise of a rainbow to start my day; the ocean!; the village of Cee, where I am staying tonight 

El Camino: O Logoso

Into every life - or long walk adventure - a little rain must fall, and today was my turn. And, it wasn’t so bad. The first hour or so of my day’s trek was uneventful, and I made it up today’s long hill before the rain moved on in. By the time it started raining in earnest, I was on a part of the path that walked along a busy road, and the rain was welcome. Instead of baking as I trekked along hot pavement, I got to watch the rain come down from beneath the brim of my trusty Tilley hat (still waterproof after all these years!) and rain poncho. The shoulder was wide enough for me to avoid spray from the passing cars, so I wasn’t unhappy in the least. The clouds moved in and out for the rest of the morning, the rainfall never heavy enough to make footing treacherous. No problem on this front.

My feet, on the other hand, were pretty seriously unhappy. I’d heard the phrase “my blisters have blisters”, but didn’t realize that actually happens. It does. My new and improved attempt at bandaging kept the sores from worsening, but the damage is already done. I was ok for the first 7 km, but from then on, my feet were talking. And I was again alone on the trail, so had nothing except the view to distract me from the throbbing.

But, despite all the things, my overarching emotion as I walked was contentment. I am here. I am doing a hard thing. But, for the first time in a decade, the hard thing I’m doing is of my choosing. I want to be here. I want to walk to the end of the world. And I’m doing it. Without causing any permanent damage to my feet, near as I can tell.

I met up again with Mal, the man with the bum leg who makes his way along the trail using crutches, last night at dinner. We had a long talk about life and doing hard things and not giving up. I am so close. I can’t give up on this now.

At the end of today’s walk, I came into the small hamlet where I was to spend the night, and found a place with the right name. When I went in, she told me, “No. The place you actually want is across the valley.” And went with me outside to gesture at a beautiful building another 500 meters away, down a long hill and up another one. I wanted to cry, but smiled, thanked her, and started gathering my will to continue just a little further. Then, she said, “My daughter owns that place. I see your feet hurt. Can I give you a ride over there in my car?” Could she??? Trust me, I didn’t make her ask twice.

Two more days. I am so close…

Photos: sunrise; a stunning river valley I was very happy to get to walk along the rim of, rather than through; if you know any giants who forgot where they randomly dropped the rock they were carrying, I found it for them.

El Camino: Santa Marina

I spent the last half of today’s walk promising my poor abused baby toes that we only have to do this for three more days - I promise! They were not amused.

I stopped a little over halfway through today’s walk for ice cream and a bite to eat, in that order, and took advantage of a shady nook to take off my shoes and rest my feet on a nearby chair for a bit. The rest helped ease a lot of my aches, but after I finished eating and set off again, my toes cried foul! The next kilometer, every step I took, I felt like someone was sticking pins into an open wound. I was concerned - this was going to make for a long 8 km - but the pins subsided to dull outrage after a while, and I was able to continue on.

The trail was quiet today, peaceful. I walked alone for at least an hour without seeing another soul. It also wasn’t as pretty as it has been; a good deal of it ran along the roadside.

As I was on this section of the trail, a butterfly fluttered out of the brush beside me. As I was taking a moment to appreciate its fragile beauty, I heard the roar of an approaching truck. I frantically tried to shoo the insect out of the path of the roadway, without success. Just as the truck arrived, it flew into the path of the vehicle. I thought sure that delicate life had been squashed - but then the truck roared by, and I saw the butterfly spinning in a crazy spiral before making its way back to the brush; it had managed to get caught in the wind stream and survive. *whew*

The people I did see were friendly; the camaraderie from those first couple of days on the trail returned. I met Mal, who is making his way along the route on those permanent half-height crutches. He has a bum leg. 

And, for the last few kilometers, Barbro was kind enough to slow her steps to walk me on in to our night’s lodging place. It seems she and I are carrying the same question on this quest - “Now I’ve reached this point in my life, where I’ve done so many of the things I set out to do, how do I want to spend my days?” I was glad to meet a kindred spirit, and managed to completely ignore my sore feet for those steps. No small gift.

Tomorrow’s walk is shorter, 16 km. I have thought of another new way to try to protect my sore babies with the moleskin. (Because of where the blisters are and the way my feet are formed, keeping them protected has been a losing battle.) Wish me luck!

Photos: a church in the morning mist; a spiderweb, outlined in dewdrops

El Camino: Negreira

I must admit to being relieved that today’s journey was a lot more prosaic than those final kilometers into Santiago. I walked, I talked to a few people along the way. I got hot and tired and footsore, and stayed entirely grounded in a familiar world.

I got up early enough to leave Santiago with the sunrise, which means I left before I could get coffee. Fortunately for my caffeine addiction, there was a charming cafe about two hours into the walk, and I was able to get a banana and a latte. *whew*  

I must say, nothing adds a bit of spice to a 21km jaunt like climbing a 2km hill with a 10% grade (they were kind enough to post a sign warning cyclists of the grind ahead, I also took it to heart.) about halfway through the hike. Thank goodness it came after the coffee stop. It was enough to make me question, all over again, “what do I think I’m doing here?” The answer, somewhat to my surprise, was, “I’m walking to the end of the world - and I didn’t really expect the ground to be level along the way. So, "shush!” I shushed and kept climbing.

I finished the hill intending to stop for one more extended break, but this is where my habit of sticking with somewhat arbitrary decisions came back to bite me in the already sore toe. I randomly decided I was going to stop when I’d reached the marker showing 72km on the countdown to the coast. There was a lovely little area with tables in the shade at marker 74km, but I pressed on, determined to make it the extra 2km before stopping. Well, I made it that far, then ended up continuing the final 4km without a break, because there was not a single quiet, shady place to rest between there and my hotel for tonight. The path was either in the sun or next to traffic, and there was not a large rock, where I could rest my feet for a moment, to be seen. 

Perhaps, just perhaps, this will teach me that it’s ok, sometimes, to stop short of a goal. Especially the arbitrary ones!

That’s ok. I’m here, showered, and doing all the things I need to do to convince my feet they do, in fact, want to take another walk in the morning. At least it’s ‘just’ 20km. I mean that’s a whole kilometer less than I walked today…

Photos: the welcome return of my trail guides; a golden morning goodbye to the cathedral; the only old church with a bell I saw today - at least there was the one!

El Camino: Santiago Rest Day

And after she arrived in Santiago de Compostela, she rested.

And her feet are SO glad she did.

Yesterday, for much of the day as I walked, I was aware of being immersed in the stream of people who have walked this path over the years. I could see the flow of pilgrims on their chosen routes, like water droplets gathering from tributaries. I saw clearly the moment where all come together - some leaping for joy, others just slipping in quietly, without notice - for a brief moment to form a pool of energy. One drop then leaves, and another arrives - the pool does not empty. But it does change all (yes, I think, all, not just some) who enter its waters.

Then, for a short while, I was accompanied by the pioneers back in the US, headed across the vast midsection of the country, hoping their lives would be better for having taken a huge chance on the unknown. I’ve long known the wagon trains made it ten miles on a good day. Now I understand why this is so. 

Then, as I walked, I felt the echoes of the many I’ve read about from history who were forced to take long walks, many to their deaths. The Bataan Death March, the Trail of Tears, the Nazi death marches. I saw the soldiers fall. I saw mothers desperately clutching their frightened children. I saw, within the horror, people still doing what they could to help their fellow travelers along the road. I was afraid with them and for them. And I asked them what they wanted of me. They said they wanted me to honor their lives by remembering they lived and loved and ought not to have died as they did.

And so I walked along that part of my path with tears falling freely to the trail beneath my feet, remembering these, who I never knew.

Finally, I walked with the refugees and immigrants of today’s world. Knowing they are not welcome where they are going, if they know where they are going, but unable to live any more in the lands of their roots. I felt their hope and their desperation. My heart ached and cried with them, and rejoiced with those who managed to find a new place to land. I also asked these what they wanted of me, but if I received an answer, it was lost as I neared the final steps of the pilgrimage.

It’s no wonder I found my arrival at the city’s limits so disconcerting. One moment I was in a place not quite of this world, and the next I was walking over a bridge looking down at eight lanes of traffic.

Yes, I do believe I needed today to reground my spirit. 

Tonight, the trail ahead once again seems daunting. I understand why most people don’t attempt this part of the journey. Even to have come this far, for me, is the hardest physical challenge I’ve ever tackled. And I want to do more? Yes, for some crazy reason I don’t pretend to understand, I do. At least my digestive system seems to have settled down for now, so I won’t have to contend with those issues as I walk.

Tomorrow’s walk is the longest I’ll tackle on this segment of my journey - 21k.

One step at a time.

Photos: the cathedral at dawn, from the window of my room; a statue at the cathedral - I feel the same way; the park where I sat to rest and read for a couple of hours this afternoon 

El Camino: Santiago de Compostela

 

I made it!

It was a long night. After lunch mostly stayed in yesterday, I decided to get dinner. It didn’t stay in at all. I didn’t count how many times I startled awake in the night telling myself, “Don’t fart!!”, before scooting to the toilet to divest my innards of yet another portion of dinner, but it was way more than three.

I got up in the morning determined to finish the walk anyways. I didn’t come all this way to take a taxi the last 20km if I could avoid it. So I doubled down on my dose of Imodium, packed extra clothes and a bunch of toilet paper in my bag, just in case, ate a piece of toast for breakfast, and set off down the road. I figured, worse case scenario, I’d become well acquainted with all the brush screens on the trail.

Fortunately for my dignity, my system decided to settle down, and while still being careful not to cut loose a fart, I made it to Santiago without trouble.

I walked, as did those around me, with a sense of heightened anticipation - Today, we reach a goal! Most of the scenery on the walk was what I’d become accustomed to this week, and the change, just 3km from the end of the walk, from quiet countryside to jam-packed city streets was jarring to my senses. As soon as I hit the city, I lost my friends, the concrete signposts which had showed me the way to go all week. And, with so many people of the streets, I lost sight of my trail people. Thank goodness for Google maps, or I’d have gotten lost at the last turn before the cathedral.

It felt almost anticlimactic as I finished the walk and stepped onto the plaza. Where was my finish line? Why was the crowd of people not cheering me on?? No high fives???

A bit sad, I found my way to a seat on the edge of the plaza, and sat down to rest my feet. As I sat, my sense of disappointment lifted. The sight of the magnificent face of the the cathedral before me, something I never really thought I get to see outside of photos, soothed my soul. I felt it welcome yet another pilgrim home.

My feet were too sore to even think about going inside, so after sitting entranced at the sights and celebrations surrounding me for a time, I wearily got to my feet, and trudged off to find my alburge, which turned out to be just ten minutes away.

My room here is adorable; he put me on the third floor, so I could have the best view - I can see the spires of the cathedral from my window. I took a chance on lunch around three (it took some doing to convince my now leery stomach that food was a good idea, but I’m good this far), did my laundry and came back to my room to write this update.

I have a rest day tomorrow before heading off to begin the second portion of my hike the following day. I will try to give my feet a break, so won’t do a lot of sightseeing, but do plan to get back to see the inside of the cathedral. I’m sure it’s beautiful beyond description.

I’m here!

Photos: me, celebrating (I can do my own high fives, thank you very much); one of the way markers; one more ancient church 

El Camino: O Pedrouzo

I swear, the last ten minutes of each day’s walk takes longer than the first five kilometers. 

Today’s 18km walk was definitely easier than yesterday’s 13km. The steep downhills I tackled then were (mostly) replaced by a long steady slope down. Much easier on the legs.

I finally found someone who walks at my pace. Jack is 78, spent 32 years in the army, and has walked the entire distance from France. We had a delightful conversation for the first 5km, when I dropped him off so he could grab a cup of coffee.

So far, there’s been a something that made each day’s hike more of a struggle than it needs to be. Today’s challenge was the aftermath of an upset digestive system. (I think the culprit was a piece of Spanish omelette I had for lunch the day before yesterday.) I first noticed something off yesterday morning - breakfast just didn’t sound good. I forced it down anyways, figuring I needed the fuel, but by lunchtime food was a definite no-go.  Nothing sounded good; my stomach was in knots. I had some lentil soup for dinner, which went down well, and was in my room and crashed by 8. Somewhere in the night, my system decided it had had enough of this nonsense, and instituted a colon cleanse. You know what I mean.

I took some Imodium, but that stuff needs time to take effect, and I could hardly sit around waiting to see how things were going to come out, so to speak. So, I got up in the morning, and headed down to breakfast, hoping there would be some yogurt and fruit, which were the only things that sounded good. The hiking gods were with me, and I was able to eat a little. I waited a few minutes, grateful there was no line for the restroom and sure enough, I was soon visiting the facilities. But the big ache in my gut stayed gone, so I took another tablet, and set off down the road.

I didn’t dare eat anything while walking today; restrooms on the trail are few and far between, so I contented myself with electrolyte drinks; I didn’t really feel hungry anyways.

When I got to my room for tonight, I ate an orange I had squirreled away, and a couple of protein bars. It was all I had on hand, and I didn’t want to chance a restaurant, just in case. The good news is that things seem to be under control. *whew* - I’ll head out to dinner shortly, do what I can to eat a light meal.

Tomorrow’s walk is about the same as today’s; it’ll be 19km. If my stomach will stay settled, I think I’ll enjoy it - it’s the home stretch for part I of my journey!

Photos: a beautiful stream; there were no man made churches on the first part of today’s route, but nature filled in the gap with this natural cathedral; someone with vision created a garden from old shoes - it was adorable!

El Camino : Arzua

Today’s Camino lesson is that not all kilometers are created equal.

I didn’t walk as far today as I did yesterday, but it took more out of me because it was up a hill, down a hill, repeat, all day long. I’m pretty tired.

That said, I survived the hike in decent shape, except for my calves; they’re pretty tight long about now. Here’s hoping my yoga therapy balls work their magic, because otherwise tomorrow will be a slow slog.

I still, when I finish my breakfast each morning, linger for just a bit, waiting for a general boarding call, I guess. But no, people just gather their gear and leave whenever. Weird!

Yesterday, I didn’t run into any of the people I’d already met, though the trail was crowded. This morning, as I was first headed out, I ran into my German friends from the first night, and they greeted me like a long-lost friend. Big smiles, open-armed welcome. They said they’d been wondering how I was faring. When I heard that, my heart gave a happy little sigh. *friends!*

I saw them several times along the way, until they stopped for one more coffee, and I left them behind, heart just a bit fuller than it was when I started out.

They say the people in the stores and restaurants along the trail are grateful for the foot traffic - it provides their livelihood. For the most part, I have to agree - but there are always exceptions, no?

I needed a pee break, so stopped at a little coffee bar, whose restrooms were for customers only. I was good with that, I needed a little fruit. I tried the door, but it was locked. I waited a bit, figuring it was in use, but then a lady came in behind me, and the proprietor buzzed it open for her. I looked at him, told him I did intend to order a something, but wanted to empty my bladder first.

He just glared at me, but I figured that was his problem and ducked in behind the previous customer when she came out. When I went to place my order, he took a few minutes to clean up a stack of dishes on the counter first, ignoring me. When he finally turned to me, I asked if I could buy an orange. (He was selling fresh squeezed juice.) “No”, he replied. “I sell juice, NOT fruit!” In English. I guess I’m not the first person to try to bend his rules.

To keep peace between the nations, I went ahead and ordered a juice.

Two days left to Santiago, the end point of most people’s Camino journey, the midpoint of mine. It’ll be a longer day - 18km. I think I’ve got this?  Wish me luck.

Photos: me, with one of the German women; the first church of the morning; a peaceful farm, waking up in the morning mist.

El Camino: Malide

I was !tired! today.

Despite my exhaustion, or perhaps because of it, I didn’t sleep well last night. All the noises woke me up, and in a new room in a new town, there are a lot of new noises.

But I got up on time, got dressed, and got my keister down to breakfast and onto the trail anyways.

Each morning, when I first hit the trail, I have a lot of company. But I am one of the slower walkers, especially this morning, and soon the first group leaves me in the dust, and I can meander along contemplating life things.

The Universe is talking to me. Sadly, I haven’t had the sort of revelation I hear others talk about, perhaps because I’m still working to incorporate the life lessons it’s already brought to my attention - like learning that, sometimes, it’s ok to trust other people.

Yesterday, as I walked, I asked myself why I had my journal and iPad in my pack. It’s been drilled into my travel brain that one should NEVER leave such items in checked luggage, and leaving my suitcase behind each morning to be schlepped along certainly feels a lot like checking a bag. But did I really think these hostels were digging through bags of stinky hiking clothes, looking for treasures? Why was I insisting on carrying more weight than I needed to?

Over the course of that long day, the extra weight (around 2 lbs), which I hadn’t even noticed on the first two days, pulled at my shoulders and weighed down my steps. (I think I also had my pack straps adjusted incorrectly, adding insult to injury for my suffering upper back.) The experience was totally a physical manifestation of this aspect of my trust issues. This was necessary because???

This morning, I left the iPad and journal in my other bag. It was the right decision.

I could not have repeated yesterday’s walk today. Not if I wanted to walk on tomorrow. It took a good hour for my body parts to start complaining in earnest, but at some point I realized I had bruised the tips of my toes on all those downhills the day before. My calves weren’t locked up, which I think is the best I could have asked for, but they started speaking unkindly around 7km. Thanks to the moleskin I’d put on, the blisters on my baby toes didn’t scream too loudly until I was almost to Melide, but once they started talking, they demanded attention. With less weight to carry, my shoulders had no new complaints, though they were not completely silent; I can’t blame them for holding a grudge.

I arrived here in Melide in better shape than I deserve and was done for the day in time for rain to settle in for the afternoon. I took a nap, and woke up knowing I have the oomph I’ll need to do all this again tomorrow - it’ll be another shortish day - 13km.

I don’t know I could ask for more right now.

Photos: a determined tree root; one of the many small, ancient churches dotting the landscape; a section of trail - that probably used to be level with the surrounding fields. How many times do you have to walk across a field to dig the level down six feet??