Two Months Later

Well, two months since the trek ended - I finally decided it was time to update the blog. If you're expecting some big cathartic wrap-up, you may be disappointed. I think I am supposed to tell you how my life is different and I've completely changed my focus and daily routine and how I'm fasting six days a week, living in a tent, and giving all my money to a charity that breeds genetically-engineered acorns to feed starving albino squirrels in the suburbs of Little America, Antarctica using renewable energy sources, oil-eating microbes, and sustainable farming methods.

I could tell you that. I'd be lying. The squirrels aren't albino.

You know, in the end, my life is probably not that different. But I feel different. I have found motivation to do many of the things I'd been putting off. Like fixing my 874 cars, and fixing up the house, and yes, getting back to writing regularly. I feel more centered, whatever that means. I'm trying to be less cynical about religion. Beyond that, it's more or less life as usual, and that's OK.

So, this blog, "Mainly On The Plain", is going to metemorep....metamorphai...meteropme...change. I'm still going to post, but it won't be as often, and who knows what it will be about. I will probably try to stay away from partisan politics, but not necessarily my thoughts on how government should work, not get into religious debate, though I won't shy away from matters of morality and faith, and you'll probably hear a lot about cars. In other words, I'm going to try and be as real with you through this part of my journey as I was on my journey through Spain. If you're not up for any of that, take this as your cue to unsubscribe and un-bookmark now.

I bought a new car this week (by the way, it passed smog just fine, Roger). I know that's a shocker to the majority of the Western world. See, I have this list. It's kind of a bucket list. But, where most folks have things on their bucket list they'd like to experience, mine is all cars I'd like to own. You know, like a Porsche 911 (though I probably never will because I don't want to be one of those guys), a freaking huge Cadillac convertible, a diesel anything (well, almost anything. Mercedes 240D's need not apply. I just cannot handle a 59 horsepower car), and...a Mini Cooper S, among other cars. It is a rather long list.

So I bought my Cooper S, from a friend here locally. It is a blast. But sometimes, it's just a little too cute. I almost get the feeling I get when I have to go to Tuesday Morning, Party World, Hobby Lobby or any place that involves potpourri. I have to inspect the man card to make sure it's still there. And you know what it is about the Mini Cooper that makes me feel that way? No, it's not too small. No, it's not too retro. It's supercharged, so plenty of power. My friend upgraded suspension, exhaust, and did some other really cool things.

It's the turn signal and windshield wiper stalks. They look like Easter Eggs. They even have little yellow and red bulbs on the end to let you know when the car alarm is on or you're low on wiper fluid. They're cute. And if there's one thing I struggle with in a car, it's cute. I may have to spend some time cruising the BMW parts catalog to see if I can retrofit something a little more standard from the BMW parts bin. I am not hopeful.

But, boy, is that supercharger cool when it's wound out. That almost makes up for the Easter eggs. Hard boils them, even, if you'll forgive the pun.

Something else on my mind: Where has all the kindness gone? Have you noticed? Is it something in the water, the air, our food? Is it just me, or have we, collectively, as a nation run out of kindness? Let me elaborate...

Last week, I got an unexpected email from someone who explained that they were rather hurt at some of our recent interactions. I will admit that I was rather at a loss for how to respond, so I did my best to repudiate this persons assertions. Things continued to pretty much go south over the next few days until I found myself thinking, "This is ridiculous. We are two grown people. We should be able to sort things out." And so I went over to this persons house, and sort it out we did.

As I reflected on that unfortunate series of events, I couldn't help but wonder how we ended up there. And then it hit me - we, nationally, seem to have lost our ability to be kind and empathize.

For whatever reason, I've been asked a lot recently what I think of the President. I guess folks have decided I must have some sort of political insight. I don't. And frankly, I'm more irritated at Congress than I am the President. Our leaders seem incapable of putting aside their own self-interests or their own perceived moral high grounds to do the job their constituents hired them for - to make the country a better place for future generations. I think this is because they have lost the ability, or desire, or both, to empathize. They don't WANT to understand the other point of view. I am afraid we are doomed to wallow in the doldrums of mediocrity and stagnation until we become less polarized politically.

And I think we can take a lesson from that personally. If we expect our government to behave a certain way, shouldn't we model it? Maybe we'll find that things are not so bad if we remember to be kind and extend grace rather than having to be right all the time? Of course, it's real easy for me to sit in my armchair and expound on this - from the incident above, can you tell I've been having trouble living it? Now, multiply that by, oh 300 million, and perhaps we now have a better sense of where our country is. And how to make it better.

You Must Bring Us A Shubbery!

Sometimes, accomplishing relatively straightforward tasks can be an undertaking in a different part of the world. Sometimes it can be like a Monty Python Quest. We had one of those today. Mom and I want to bring our walking sticks back to the States. We bought them in St. Jean when we started our trek, and they make a good souvenir, especially since they are now soaked with enough of our own sweat and blood to almost be a relative. But walking sticks do not transport easily, so our quest today was to find a box to put the sticks in to check them as luggage for our return. We also needed to get our pilgrimage certificates, find a bag I could pack my stuff in so I won't have to check luggage, and search for one last pastry to enjoy before we go our separate ways.

The pilgrim credential was the easiest, and we accomplished that right after breakfast. We asked in the pilgrim office what they recommended for shipping our walking sticks. They suggested we go to the post office (sounds logical, yes?) and gave us directions. We then returned to the hotel to get our sticks, and thought we'd ask at the concierge desk, to get their opinion. They also suggested the post office, but said that if that was a no go then they would help us pack it up to check as luggage.

The post office informed us that the sticks were too long to ship and referred us to a private shipping company - on the other side of town. They gave us somewhat vague directions, but after a half-hour of walking and searching, we found the shipping office we were looking for, as well as made note of a cafe for our next cup of coffee, and the Spanish equivalent of a dollar store to look for a carry-on for me.

The shipping office in question informed us that the only shipped to Peninsular Spain and referred us to...UPS right around the corner, which actually turned out to be a Mail Boxes Etc, of all things. Walking in to the MBE was like coming home - it was like walking into a store in the US, and I found myself thinking "Finally, a place I know how things are going to work". It's funny how, even if you are familiar with a country and it's customs, you are constantly reminded by a thousand little unspoken things that you are a stranger in a strange land. It's the exact feeling I get when I go to someplace north of the Mason-Dixon line. :-)

The UPS folks were most helpful. The walking sticks may actually beat me home, and it only cost three times what we paid for the sticks to ship them. Still, we do not have to worry about packing them, hauling them, or dealing with them in customs and airports, so I consider it money well spent. Quest completed!

The cup of coffee and mid-morning snack (that is, almost noon) took place in a cafe called, ironically enough, Alabama. The waiter, however, said that the name was coincidence. I can't imagine why anyone in northern Spain would coincidentally pick that as the name for a cafe if there wasn't some connection, but stranger things have happened. The dollar store adventure was also a success. Eight Euros later, I have a carry on bag, and nothing to check for the return trip. This will hopefully speed my passage through immigration and customs in New York tomorrow and allow me to make my connection.

All in all it has been a perfect, restful last day, with no agenda other than what I've listed above. I find it funny that the last time I was in Santiago it was about 55 degrees and raining...in March. This time, it's 55 and raining...in July. I'm pretty sure this is Al Gore's fault. After all, he practically invented the Internet and discovered global warming, right?

The Quest for the Final Pastry was also successful, and we have retreated to our temporary castle to siesta, pack, and blog. We will sally forth one final time in search of souvenirs for those stateside and for some light nourishment. My wake up call is 0-dark-30 to catch a pre-7am plane, Mom and Dad have the luxury of an afternoon train back to Madrid. By the time they arrive there, I will be landing in New York.

Life Is A Pilgrimage

The bells in the cathedral of Santiago de Compostela have just rung to announce the Sunday evening mass. We have arrived. My feet ache, I am tired, if I never see my backpack again it will be too soon, and I am a little bit sad. I am also very thankful, and more than a little bit amazed, that we made it.

It was hard to get up and moving this morning, again I think that this is the accumulation of fatigue that one night's rest, no matter how good, can purge from your system. Nonetheless, we were on the road walking before 6:30 in an effort to get the Pilgrim's Mass in Santiago by noon, some 12 miles away. After a brief stop for coffee, a roadside bathroom break, and a couple of pauses to put on rain gear and take off rain gear...twice, we found ourselves at Monte do Gozo, the Mountain of Joy, about 10:30.

Monte do Gozo is named so because it was the point at which medieval pilgrims got their first glimpse of Santiago and it's cathedral. For this modern-day pilgrim, it was a bit of a disappointment. There are a bunch of cedar trees blocking the view and a herd of people decked out in ancient Aztec Indian costumes (complete with giant headdresses) were forming up to march in to the city, playing guitars and blowing what sounded like hunting horns and burning copious amounts of incense. We did not want to have to fight that ruckus all the way in, so after a very short stop to give our feet a breather, we took off for the final three miles in to the cathedral.

Those last three miles fairly flew, though we did have to battle the marching Aztecs, a herd of 6-year old boys out for a Sunday morning stroll, presumedly with their families, and even more rain. I think Mom was bound and determined that we would be at the Cathedral by noon. We were there by 11:30, which makes think it must not quite be three miles.

Arriving was a bit anticlimactic. The Cathedral, not surprisingly, faces a giant square, and I had imagined it would be quite cathartic to enter the square and have the cathedral facing you, larger than life. But, you don't enter the square that way. You enter by the side of the cathedral, and in fact, we went directly into the Pilgrim's Door of the cathedral to try and get a seat for mass. Our seats ended up being on the steps into the nave, along with 1,500 other people. Mass was...mass, with a nice Italian singing group, a nun with a beautiful singing voice...and those blasted Aztecs, who were pilgrims who had come from Mexico, or something. We were were hoping to see the giant censer, called a botafumeiro, swung to delouse the pilgrims in medieval times, but they did not trot it out for this service. Once they stated serving communion we snuck out. We figured that watching two priests try to serve community ion to a thousand people would be about as meaningful as sitting through the name calling at a very large graduation. By the way, do you know how hard it is to sneak out of a church service with a 30-lb. backpack, hat, and walking stick? Andy, I will not be trying this at Conejo next Sunday, though if you do have need of an Aztec processional, I've got that covered.

I did appreciate that in the homily, the priest told the pilgrims that they had not reached the end of the Camino, that all of our lives are a pilgrimage. A bit cliche perhaps, but very, very true.

We checked in to our hotel, which is the medieval pilgrim hostel adjoining the cathedral, and is the oldest hotel in the world still in use for it's original purpose. It's also a 5-star Parador, which was of much greater interest to me at this point. I took quite possibly the most wonderful shower of my life, and we treated ourselves to a nice lunch in the hotel restaurant. I had scallops for my first course, and they were served on the half-shell, something I had never experienced. They were also served with something that looked like it might have had antennae (sea slug?), but I was too tired to care, so I violated Brian's Rules of Food #2 and ate it anyway. It was quite appropriate, since the symbol of the Camino de Santiago is the scallop shell. I then allowed myself a 2-hour siesta, a rare luxury that may make it difficult to sleep tonight.

I am still processing what all this means, what I wanted to share some initial reflections on the completion of my journey:

1) I am different. I don't exactly know how, perhaps in a number of different ways that won't be apparent for some time. I feel that my faith in God and fellow man has been renewed and refreshed.

2) I will miss the lifestyle of the Camino: wake, walk, eat, rest, relax, meet and talk with strangers, repeat.

3) I am looking forward to re-engaging my "normal life" with a new appreciation for my blessings, my obligations, my strengths and my weaknesses as a person.

4) I hope to be a "better" person, however that manifests.

I also have some initial thoughts on what I would do on the Camino a second time, if there were to be one:

1) Pack less: three changes of clothes, no sleeping sack or pillow, fewer toiletries, and less electronic crap. I would bring an extra pair of socks, and a long-sleeve something.

2) Do not try to cover more than fifteen miles a day consistently. At an average speed of 2.5 mph, this is 6 hours of walking. If that doesn't sound very fast, remember that includes stops, there is ALWAYS terrain to deal with, and you're carrying a pack. Any more, and you cut short time to recuperate for the next day, nor do you focus on much of anything except walking. This is not the point of Camino.

3) Weather and time are your enemies, not distance. See #2 above - if you walk more than six hours you begin to get in to the hot part of the day, and the amount of time spent on your feet is far more fatiguing than the distance you walk.

4) ideally, you should rest a day in seven, or at least one in ten. Having an extra day to not walk makes an enormous difference to body and soul.

5) Reservations along the way take the stress off "where will I sleep tonight" and make the whole experience much more enjoyable. Unless you want to be constantly worried about guarding your stuff, do not plan to stay in albergues. Plus, some of the best experiences we've had were getting to know the owners of the pensiones, Casa rurales, and small private hotels.

I think I will leave off there for now, and process some more. I have included pictures of today's walk, and Santiago for you. I can't tell you how much it means that you've followed me on this part of my life's pilgrimage, and I hope that one day you experience a similar journey of body and mind and spirit.

Santiago or Seattle?

We are down to the last day of walking. My body is telling me this is a good thing, my heart and my spirit are of two minds: part of me is ready to return home, the other hopes the adventure will never end. I suppose the challenge is in not allowing the adventure to end even if your time away must.

The closer we get to Santiago, the more difficult the walking becomes for me, and I think for my parents as well. The Camino is much more crowded, both with foot and bicycle traffic. This means you must me constantly alert, and with so many people on the trail it also means that people are generally not as kind and friendly. The weather does not help. We are back to low clouds and rain. This is good for walking, but for a child of the south and the sun like me, not so good for the soul.

On our trek today, we met an old women out for her (I presume) daily walk around the little town we were in. She asked where we were going today, and where we had come from. She told us of her own pilgrimage experience, and prayed that Santiago would grant our wishes. We also asked that God would bless her. To me, these snippets of conversations and brief glimpses into the lives of strangers are priceless and irreplaceable and truly represent the spirit of what we are about on this journey.

I believe the trip into town tomorrow will be difficult: we must skirt an airport and the outskirts of a large city, and the closer to the historic city we get, the more crowded it will be, particularly as many pilgrims will be trying to get to the Cathedral in time for the special Pilgrim's Mass on a Sunday. We are not set on making it for the Mass at noon; we will be content to arrive whole and hale.

Nearing the end of our journey has us contemplative. I am not sure how I will feel when I enter the Cathedral square tomorrow, but I know that I will feel that I have accomplished something, having prepared for the better part of a year and walked 350 miles to "arrive". I am guessing that the arrival will be somewhat anti-climactic, except for my feet, as I have learned so much, met so many good people, and experienced so many unique things along the way - and that was the point.

So, until I remove my Pilgrim's scallop shell in Santiago tomorrow, I'll leave you with a couple of pictures. The first is of a pilgrim who is buried where he died on the Camino, less than a day away from his destination, and the second, a bit less heavy, of a Lamborghini tractor. It's probably the only Lamborghini I can ever hope to afford.

25 Miles To Go

The town of Melide did not do much for us, and while we like Arzúa better, there is not a whole lot here either. Our walk today was quite short. We left at 8 and arrived just before noon, and so we have had plenty of time to relax.

After a really nice lunch, we poked around the town and took the prerequisite siesta. This afternoon we have relaxed, and are go to the grocery store shortly to stock up on supplies and buy some things to eat for dinner.

One thing I have noticed now that we are getting closer to Santiago and to our goal is that people, both pilgrims, and the folks we interact with along the way, are less friendly toward pilgrims and much more business-like. I will admit that this makes me quite sad, because one of the things I enjoyed the most about earlier stages of our journey was how friendly and willing to interact our fellow travelers and hosts were.

I think this must be a function of the fCt that in order to receive a certificate for having walked the Camino, only the last 100 kilometers are required. Thus, those of us who walk the whole way have more invested? This is dangerous territory, for I don't think we should judge the motives of others. I've had to remind myself of this constantly as I trudge along with my 30-lb pack, having been walking since 6 am while tire rinks with no pack speed by me talking of how they slept in till 9 and have a bus to pick them up around the next bend. It is a good lesson in humility, and in remembering that we are not called on to judge.

The sun came out today, and we rejoiced. Until it got hot and we had to climb yet another hill in the last 30 minutes of our walk. Maybe clouds and rain were not so bad. It is supposed to be cooler the next two days, with rain tomorrow night. That will see us in to Santiago, and I am thankful that we've on,y had one week of really hot weather.

I have a short connection in JFK on my return flight, and I will have to clear customs, so I am going to try and bring only a carry-on and send my backpack with my folks when they return a couple of weeks later. I have found that I've reached the point of the trip where I am now beginning to get anxious to return home. I am going to try and fight this, and rather make the most of the last two days of walking into Santiago and my trip.

A Conversation With a New Friend

Mom and I explored Eirexe a bit more yesterday afternoon, which mostly meant walking down to the old church and looking at the graves. We discovered the tombstones of two young boys, 8 and 9 years old from the same family who died within a couple of months of each other in 1920. I assume it must have been Spanish Flu, which was a pandemic in 1919-1921. We also discovered what appeared to be the grave of some relative of our hostess (whose name is Cruz) at the pension, but the death date was 1983, and the age 18. I guessed it must have been Cruz' older brother. Sure enough, Dad was in conversation with Cruz' father and mentioned that they had lost a son to a drunk driving accident.

Cruz was working in her garden that afternoon, and she invited us to have a cup of coffee and she sat down and talked to us about her work and opening the pension and the town and how things are in Spain. It was a delightful conversation, and when Cruz mentioned that she wanted to learn English, we told her that she would need to come to Southern California to learn it. She has never travelled. She also mentioned that the house where they were handing out coffee is owned by an evangelistic group, some of whom stay in the pension. She mentioned the leader of the group had given her a book he had written so she showed it to us. It turns out the gentleman in question is the European Director of Campus Crusade for Christ, based out of Barcelona.

The conversation with Cruz, my other experiences yesterday as we walked, and Andy Wall's comment has got me thinking about hospitality. I used to be pretty good at that sort of thing, but in the last several years I have gotten out of the habit. I am going to do something about that when I get back to the States. It doesn't matter that I don't think my house is nice enough, or clean enough, or that my cooking is not good enough. What's important is the act.

The news here is all about the problems in the EU economies and the potential downgrade of the US credit rating. I don't see how the powers that be in Brussels can even contemplate Letting the Euro blow apart, but at some point, France and Germany are going to run out of money (and patience) for dealing with the rest of the EU. I am not sure what to think about the US situation, having been out of the loop for at least a month now, but there is no doubt that our government needs to rectify the situation immediately. A potential downgrade of the US credit rating goes against everything I've been taught (am am teaching) about finance for the last 15 years, and will cause a lot of textbooks to be rewritten, to say the least.

The walk today was long - almost 14 miles. The weather was better, and we will go explore the town of Melide before too much longer. We have three more days and must under 30 miles of walking, and thus, I believe our mindset has shifted from data-gathering to processing and trying to take stock of our journey. We ate physically weary with the accumulated fatigue of walking the better part of 500 miles, but we much to thankful for and much to contemplate.

Pictures - Barbedello to Portomarin

Pictures - Portomarin to Eirexe

Pictures: Samos to Barbedello

Entrepreneurs of Eirexe

Somehow, we are walking faster it would seem.  I am not complaining, less time on our feet means more time to rest, relax, and recover for the next day's trek.

We crossed another bridge today on our way out of town that was just as bad as the one coming in to town yesterday.  It was not nearly as long, but just as high, and it was only a rickety footbridge barely three feet wide and with a surface of iron sheets that were crowned for drainage, making them uneven and unnervingly unstable for walking.

Most of today's trail was climbing, through forest.  We stopped for our second cup of coffee at a hamlet called Castromaior, which means "old town." it is old indeed, boasting the ruin of an old pre-roman Iiberoceltic "castrum" (where the word castle comes from) that dates to the late Iron Age.  It has been inhabited more or less continually since, though the modern town does not sit on a fortified hilltop as the ancient castrum once did.

The place we are staying tonight, Eirexe (if you can pronounce that, let me know) is so small, the postal address of the place we are staying is actually the next town over.  There is not much here but an albergue, our pension, a few houses, a bar, and of course an ancient church.

I am continually amazed by the kindness of the people we encounter.  In the next town over we saw a sign advertising free coffee and tea for pilgrims, and when we went to investigate, we were greeted with a kind word, coffee, and prayers for a safe journey.  Our benefactor was simply a lady with a house on the trail who wished to show kindness to strangers, and I'm reminded of the parable of the sheep and the goats.

At our pension we encountered another unexpected kindness.  We arrived early, and as the pension was not full, the owner gave us a private suite - two bedrooms and a bath, for the princely sum of 50 Euros.  This is not four-star lodging, but I've found that if the room is clean, the shower hot, and the bed generally comfortable, I am 
more than content.  They are also doing out laundry for us Ina machine, a much-needed indulgence, as hand-washing clothes is not one of my more well-developed skills, and even when "clean" my clothes don't seem as clean as I would prefer.

The bar, where we went for lunch, seems to be run by three young men who look barely old enough to be out of school.  And I think they mean well but I sense they are still learning the business. The service was iffy, even by Spanish standards, the wine was so bitter I asked for Sprite to mix with it, and the steak needed to be seasoned before it was cooked.  My first course (soup) and dessert (pancakes with caramel syrup) were fantastic.  As I said, I think they are learning, and I hope it goes well for them.  They have the advantage of being the only place in town.  If they are in fact in partnership together, I say good for them for taking a risk when many their age seem to have little interest in making their own way in the world.

So, while parents are upstairs taking a siesta, I'm sitting on the patio in front of our pension watching the big fluffy clouds go by and appreciating the hit-and-miss sunlight and warmth as I write this.  There is a picnic area next to the road and a Spanish pilgrim family are enjoying their lunch and taking pictures of a rather large cow that has wandered up to see what's going on.  

Across the street is a crew doing construction and road work for the little burg we're in.  This brings up an interesting point.  We have yet to walk through a town where there is not some kind of project like this, and all the signs related to the project indicate the work is being financed by the European Union.  This is a curious phenomenon, for many Spaniards I've talked to would tell you that they have lost both purchasing power and accumulated wealth as a result of Spain's participation in the Euro and the EU.  Clearly they benefit on the macroeconomic level through investments in infrastructure and other EU "payments" but is it worth the cost in terms of higher price levels on the microeconomic level?  
 Greece is saying it is not, but Portugal, Ireland, and Spain are keeping ominously quiet on the subject.

We only have four more days of walking, and I find myself relieved and saddened. This has been an unforgettable journey.  What does the future hold? I hope that I have learned, a bit, to embrace the unknown, and trust, rather than to fear the future and try to control it.

The Last 100 Kilometers

We have fallen into a relatively easy routine for out last few days of walking.  We try to be on the road walking by 7am.  This means that Dad is up at 5:45 to gather his things, tape up various parts of his body, and do whatever it is that he does in the morning.  Mom is up at 6 to do her morning ablutions, she packs the night before.  I roll out of bed at 6:15 and get ready and we go to grab a cup of coffee and toast about 6:30.

Once we're walking we break every couple of hours or so to rest our feet.  This usually also involves a cup of coffee and a snack of some kind. You would be amazed at how hungry you get when you are walking for several hours straight.  We try to be done walking by 12:30 or 1:30.

The rest of the day is much more relaxed.  We shower, eat our big meal for lunch, take a siesta, then poke around the town and doing any shopping for supplies.  Then a light dinner, and to bed, usually by 10 (and before dark) to do it all again the next day.  It is frankly a great schedule, especially when you don't have to cook or clean, and hand laundry is the extent of your chores.

Today we covered the 12 miles in five hours flat, including stops.  This was great time for us, I'm guessing because it rained fairly heavily on us most of the way, thus motivating our rapid progress.  The town we stayed in last night was "completo" - every bed in town was spoken for.  Today we are in a much larger place, a town called Portomarín with nearly 2,000 people, and judging by the difficulty we had in getting a reservation and the number of pilgrims we've seen lounging around the town, it too is probably completo.  My guess is that since we are in the final push to Santiago, and we are in July, the Camino will be more crowded from here on out.  I must admit, this makes me a bit sad, as I have enjoyed the solitude and peace of walking, though it is always nice to run in to an old Camino friend.

I am not sure I have ever prayed as hard as I did on the last half-mile of our walk today.  Portomarín is perched on a hillside (a shocker, I know), and you must cross a reservoir to get there.  The bridge is the last half mile across the reservoir, which at the moment is mostly empty.  This means I had to walk across the very narrow catwalk on a bridge 200 feet up in the air for a half-mile with nothing but a very thin rail keeping me about 18 inches from a very long drop.  Did I mention I get vertigo?  So, suffice to say I got my daily prayer quota.

Tomorrow we have another climb, bit I hope the weather will be better.  Given that it is 55 degrees and raining in July, I think I will rule out Galicia for a vacation home location.

Taking One For the Team?

We talked some today about sacrifice, particularly as it related to pilgrims of times past who did the Camino.  At first, we surmised that walking 10, 15, or 20 miles a day was not such a hardship, the logic being that they were more used to hard labor and walking was the normal means of travel.  On the other hand, they were not as well-nourished, physical hazards and danger were more real than they are to us, and most of them did not have the benefit of proper clothing, equipment, or training.  Also, they did not necessarily have secure jobs or incomes waiting for them once they returned from their pilgrimage, and they didn't have modern hostels or hotels waiting for them at the end of the day.

As pilgrims, we've decided we have it really easy.  I wouldn't consider anything I've experienced on this trip sacrifice.  Inconvenience, sure.  Not exactly what I wanted, yes.  Sacrifice, no.  

So, I tried to define sacrifice.  I've heard a lot of good sermons about it, or exhortations before the offering plate is passed, separate and apart from communion of course.  Sometimes we're encouraged to fast one day as a sacrifice.  Catholics try to get at sacrifice in the season of Lent.  I came to the conclusion that none of these things are really sacrifice, because for me, sacrifice has a quality of permanence or even of risk of personal well-being about it that one doesn't get by giving up caffeine for 40 days, or foregoing a dinner and movie and giving the money to feed the starving.  For me, those things are inconveniences, not sacrifices that fundamentally change my lifestyle or ability to function.  This is a hard thing to grapple with, because it means that even though I understand the word sacrifice, and even it's definition, I don't have the slightest idea of what it means or should mean in terms of my life.

In slightly less profound news, the walk today was hard.  I did not sleep well last night on futon with original 1980s padding intact.  Yes, I'm aware of the whiny-factor of this statement given the discussion above.  The landscape was beautiful again, and we had no rain today.  I think that we must all be tired or frazzled or something because we've all been a bit snippy with each other on and off.  I hope that whatever it is, we each get over it.

We are now just over 100 kilometers from Santiago, the distance which you must demonstrate you've walked to get your certificate.  This means there are a lot more pilgrims and the places to stay are filling up. Thankfully we've secured reservations for the remainder of our trip.  We ran into a father and his teenage son from Seattle, and young man from Quebec, and our Portugese friend Joan from way back at the start of the trail.  He has been fighting tendinitis as well, but ran 26 miles yesterday and 29 the day before.

Our pension tonight is also an albergue and is in a beautiful spot overlooking the River valley we walked through today.  The highlight of the day was the town of Sarria, population 7,000, with it's typically meandering, hilly Spanish streets, 647 (it seems like) churches, and a sizable castle.  We also stopped for refreshments (Dad had a local moonshine, called orujo, to fortify himself for the last leg) and in true Spanish fashion, the tapas we consumed were gratis.  I love this country.

Tomorrow will be a bit longer, 12 miles, and we are keeping an eye on the weather.  It looks like thunderstorms at the moment, but at least temperatures are staying down, unlike much of the rest of Spain.

The Legend of Johnny Paragüayo

I wish we could have learned more of the story of the man who owned the place where we stayed last night. I couldn't put my finger on it, but I got the sense that there was something more to his story than we knew. After all, he ran a hostel by himself in a very remote location, and you would sometimes get the feeling, from a look or the way he answered a question, that still waters ran deep. For whatever reason, my heart went out to him, for my sense was that he had and has a hard life. I wondered if perhaps he was a widower. I was very glad when quite a few more pilgrims came in later in the day to eat a meal and stay the night. My own thoughts, which I had not really voiced, were mirrored by Dad as we walked down the mountain this morning. He said, "I have a feeling there is a very sad story there". It made me reconsider the interactions I have with people, and the judgments and conclusions I make based on my worldview, perceptions, and interactions...and how dangerous that can be.

Our walk today was magnificent, but tiring. The first half was down the mountain range we climbed yesterday, and thankfully, the weather cooperated just enough thatwe were rewarded with magnificent views that I'm sure will not convey well through a camera lens. Yet another reason for you to take a trip to Spain with me as your tour guide! The second half of the walk was again along a river gorge, through farmland, and yes, up and down hills that were not supposed to be that taxi g according to the guidebook. They were taxing.

Galicia is a land of smells. Sometimes, it's rain and wet. Sometimes it's baking bread or meat being roasted. Most of the time it's various forms of manure that you are invariably walking in as you proceed on the Camino, as in many places the Camino is what the local farmers use as a thoroughfare for their livestock. I have now cleaned more kinds of manure off my boots than I knew existed. And let me tell you, dry manure is bad enough, but when it has been freshly dropped and is being rained on to keep it wet and oozing...well, I hope you're not trying to eat a a meal while you read this. Even Mom, who admits she grew up on a farm, has been overwhelmed more than once: "I'm pretty sure I smelled manure when I went to bed last night, and my boots were in another room."

We stopped today for a breather at the top of one of the hills that was not supposed to exist. Mom and Dad decided that a piece of fruit would go a long way toward restoring their vigor. I was hoping for a nice cold beer to restore mine, but I was out of luck. Anyway, the folks had bought an odd little fruit (I don't mean Richard Simmons) called a Paragüayo. It's basically a white peach that looks like it's been stepped on; it's shaped like a frisbee. They had three of them, so Dad asked if I wanted one:

Dad: Do you want a piece of fruit? There's one left.

Me: Nope, I'm good.

Mom: He does not like Paragüayos. He's never tried one, but he knows he doesn't like it and that's that.

Me: Actually, I just didn't want a piece of fruit, but whatever.

About this time, Dad finished his Paragüayo (that sure is a hard word to type on an iPad), so he threw the pit down the slope. As I mentioned, we were standing at the top of a rise, which was pretty wooded and covered with ivy. There was a terraced flat spot about 15 feet below.

Of course, I had to give Dad a hard time about throwing the pit away.

Me: Litterbug.

Dad: it was a seed!

Me: Yes, and when some poor farmer comes to plow that field he's going to have a giant Paragúayo tree to contend with.

Dad: Like some farmer is going to try and plow that field. More like, some poor pilgrim is going to come along and see the fruit on the tree and say "Thank you, Johnny Paragüayo, for planting this tree so I could have something to eat."

Me: Well, I guess we'll call you Johnny Paragúayo, then.

Everything is funnier after you've walked 13 miles with a 30-lb. Backpack. Believe me.

In due course (and several more unscheduled hills) we arrived in the town of Samos to the sound of...gunfire and a band playing bullfighting marches? It turns out that today was the festival day of the patron saint of the town. No gunfire, just fireworks in the middle of the day. There was also an old car show at the other end of town I didn't have the energy to walk to, and the centerpiece of the town is a HUGE 6th century monastery I don't have the space to tell you the history of. Here's a generic rundown: somebody found a relic and built a church. Later, some king thought that was cool, so they built the monastery. Even later, another king on the run hid here. Eventually the Moslems attacked and destroyed most of it, but the Christians reconquered and rebuilt it. Repeat as necessary. For 1400 years.

We enjoyed a late lunch of steak cooked on a hot stone at our table, hard apple cider on tap, and French fries of course. Tomorrow is a thankfully shorter day, and we have retired to our room in the hostel that overlooks the Monastery to recuperate.

Pictures: Ruitelán to Alto o Poio

Pictures: Villafranca del Bierzo to Ruitelán

Pictures: Ponferrada to Villafranca del Bierzo

The Rain Is Not Mainly On The Plain

Today, it was mainly in our boots.

We have arrived in the province of Galicia, and now have fewer than 100 miles to Santiago de Compostela.  Even if we didn't have a map to tell us that we were in Galicia, the weather today made it abundantly clear - it rained all day.  As our guidebook warned us, the mountains of galicia are the first thing the winds off the Atlantic have encountered in 3,000 miles.  This Means moisture.  It's quite an experience slogging across a mountain range for 11 miles in the rain.  It actually was not too bad except for two spots where it got a little muddy, and when the wind blew for a bit.  The hill that we thought would be killer was not so bad, and I'm glad to say that was able to do the whole thing without pain or swelling in his leg.

Our abode this evening is at the top of a pass in the road into Galicia, at an altitude of some 4,300 feet. I am told that the view is fantastic, if only the fog and rain would lift long enough to see it.  There is nothing else around besides our hostel, so we have enjoyed a quiet afternoon.  This part of Spain is very similar to Ireland, Northern England, and Scotland in terms of terrain, weather, and Celtic culture and history.  It's quite different from the Spain I know, and the local dialect of Spanish mixed with Portguese and ancient Gallego can be infuriating at times.

I believe we are the only people staying in the hostal tonight, thus we have had lots of interesting conversation with our host.  He cooked us an excellent vegetable soup, with the veggies coming from his own garden.  I have a feeling the pork chops came from his own pig, too, but im OK with that, especially because he plopped a fried egg on top of them.  Fried eggs are right up there with bacon in Brian's Rules of Food.  We also enjoyed homemade Napolitanos, a chocolate pastry roll that were about the size of an iPad.

We've spent the afternoon in the bar downstairs - it is fascinating to watch both pilgrims and locals go in and out, and listen to their conversations and their stories.  You really understand a place better, I think, when you experience it in this way.

We are in the bar because this is where the fire, and therefore the heat, is.  Spaniards are rather obnoxious about things like heat and electricity.  Even though it is July, it feels like March, and the heat (via radiators in the room) have been turned off for the season.  This means my room is probably 60 degrees, at the warmest. This is quite a contrast from a few days back when the opposite was true - no air conditioning and getting cool enough to sleep was also a problem! Energy is very expensive here - the cheapest gasoline is currently $8/gallon - so the Spanish have become very adept at conservation. Years ago, we had a friend who never drove with his headlights on in Madrid, "to save the battery". Seriously.  His argument was that were enough city lighting to see.

There is an electronics chain here, similar to a Best Buy, called Media Markt.  I love their slogan, "Yo no soy tonto". Translation: I'm not stupid.  If you have to tell people this...

One of the things dad asked me to do before I left the States was buy him a memory card for his camera.  It's a good thing I did - he has taken over 700 pictures since we started the Camino.  It seems like most of them are of Mom and me turned around and looking at him on the trail.  I'm not sure how us standing back looking at him in front of nothing discernible on the trail is going to be different in picture one rather than picture 683, but I suppose it makes him happy.

Tomorrow, we have 13 miles to go...all downhill!  The weather is supposed to be better, but I am not holding my breath!

The Lazy Rooster

Mom and I have decided that if we ever open a bar or pensión or casa rural we will call it "The Lazy Rooster".  Here's where we got the idea: yesterday we were walking to Villafranca del Bierzo through some random town I can't remember the name of, and we heard a "cock a doodle doo!" in the yard next to us.  I looked at my watch - 9:30am.  "That rooster is late." I commented to Mom, and this led us to a discussion of the fact that on the Camino the albergues kick everyone out early (usually by 7) but the bars don't open till 8 or 8:30.  This makes it quite difficult for those of us who require coffee to function in the morning.  So, we will not kick people out early, thus earning the name "The Lazy Rooster".  

The walk today made me marvel at the fact that there are atheists in the world.  I don't mean to sound judgmental or to belittle the viewpoints of others, but everywhere I looked today, I saw the hand of God.  Our first seven mrs took us up and over a range of hills with chestnut groves that were covered in mist.  After we descended into the next valley the remainder of our hike was through a river gorge, mountains towering on either side. Again, it was misty, but this just added to our sense of wonder as we passes by fields of cattle, or sleepy towns on the hillsides, or even the ruins of castles standing guard on the ahoders of mountains.

It was a magical walk, and yet it was also an interesting juxtaposition of time and place.  This river gorge serves as the conduit for an ultramodern interstate highway.  As is often the case, the interstate cuts a fairly straight path with tunnels and very high bridges to spam the valleys.  The interstate bypasses the old national highway 6, much like our old pre-interstate highways.  This highway meanders a bit more and goes through many of the little towns.  Think "Route 66" and you've got the idea.  Our walk took us on the even older roadbed of the national highway before it was straightened and repaved, in other words, we walked on the ancient roads that were paved before highways began to be improved and rebuilt.  It was fascinating to look up and see both the national highway and perhaps the interstate with traffic flying by.  How much you miss when you only travel the "main road".  Again, people were very friendly.  One couple in particular, in their 70s leaned out their window, waved, and wished us Buen Camino! as we walked by and greeted them.  This is a common occurrence, people speak to you, and vice versa, as you pass them on the street, and they are almost all positive.  It can't help but lift your spirits.

Thus, the route lent itself to pondering, and now, 21 days into our adventure, I find that I am beginning to feel a sense of renewal with respect to my world "back home". Before I left, I was rather world-weary and felt as if I was generally going through the motions: at church, at home, and yes, even at work to some extent.  I am hopeful that I will be able to return home with a new sense of joy oin living, in the people I get to interact with, and in life in general.  I also have been able to sort out, at least internally, what things are really important, and which are not.

Is this what I wanted from the Camino?  Perhaps.  I prayed and hoped that God would speak to me and work on me on this trip.  I've not heard his voice, per se, but I think that I've been spoken to an changed nonetheless.  Perhaps it's not in the manner I hoped for, but neither did I want to undertake this adventure and telling God what I wanted him to accomplish.

Tomorrow is a ten mile day, but the first give involve a 2000-ft climb.  Dad is bound and determined to walk with us once again, and Mom and I are rather wary, but Daf will not be dissuaded.  I will be praying that Dad does not do himself further harm.  I suppose we now know where  I inherited my tendency toward mulishness.

Back In Tne Saddle

Mom and I clicked off 14 miles today.  It was not too bad, except that toward the end we got into some pretty mountainous stuff.  I don't mind the hills so much, but when you are dealing with terrain, the trail tends to get rather rocky, and this is hard on your feet.  By the time we arrived, I felt like I done 14 miles.  I am beginning to think my feet will never get used to the walking.

The walk was very pretty, we are in the mountains that separate The old kingdom of León from that of Galicia. We walked through vineyards again today, with several ruined castles visible here and there in the foothills, and the ruins of old Roman gold mines also visible.  The Romans used water to literally sluice away the hillsides to get at the gold, and we have been left, 2000 years later, with somE very interesting rock formations.

The vineyards are mostly of a type of grape known as Mencía, and the story is that a French pilgrim brought with him many years ago a vine of Sauvignon Franc and planted it.  Over time the vines adapted to the area and changed and became the Mencía.  This seems appropriate, as the town we are staying in is called Villafranca, Village of the Franks.  There are several villages named thus along the Camino, and are so named named because French pilgrims on their way to Santiago would decide they likes an area so much that they would simply settle there.  See, even the French think Spain is better than France!

The town did not make a good impression on me as we walked in, but after lunch and some rest, we explored a bit more, and I have revised my opinion.  The town is built on a hillside, and has a castle/palace, partially ruined, but still inhabited.  It also has five or so large churches, and spans both sides of a small river.  What's interesting is that many of the houses appear to have been the "town homes" of local nobles, as many of the residences have coats of arms over the doors.  I will have to do some research (and post pictures) of this little burg when I have a real Internet connection again.  I even saw a Casa Rural with a plaque indicating the remodeling had been funded by the Spanish government and the European Union.  I want in on that deal!  

Tomorrows hike will be a bit of a challenge.  We thought it would be a flat easy day, but upon further inspection we discovered that this route is mainly along a very dangerous stretch of freeway. The alternative is much more picturesque, and safer, mountain path.  The price to be paid is that it will also involve a 1500 ft climb and subsequent descent.  We have opted to not place our lives in the hands of Spanish drivers (who generally scare even me) and will instead climb yet another mountain.

Dad is doing much better.  Of course, if I got to sleep in late then hop on a bus for a 20 minute ride to my next hotel, I would feel pretty great, too.  He figured out that his boots, which are the same ones he's trained in for a year, are probably worn out.  So, he bought a new pair, and they seem to be a big improvement.  He hopes to be able to walk the last 60 miles with so he can still get his certificate.

In all seriousness, I will admit that I am loving this trip.  Even though the walking is hard, I am enjoying the effort of it, and the time to think it gives me.  I also love being able to relax and rest in the afternoons, and explore places I would not have seen otherwise, talk to the locals, and meet other pilgrims.  I am looking forward to getting back home to a real washing machine (washing by hand in the sink or tub is the pits as is having every piece of clothing you own hung up to dry on every available surface in a hotel room) and I can not wait to be able to walk somewhere - anywhere - without a 30lb. Appendage on my back.  Nonetheless, this is all part of the unique experience, and I wouldn't change a bit of it.

Who Cares, We're In Spain!

Mom is the one responsible for the title of today's blog post. This has been her mantra any time one of us starts complaining or griping about something along the way. Not that any one of us could ever be accused of complaining or having a bad attitude about anything. Mom's mantra does have a way of keeping things in perspective.

We were sad to say goodbye to Leon today. I think I may have to go back at some point and spend a week, just to see how I like it longer term. The train took us not so rapidly to the city of Ponferrada. Ponferrada was an Iron Age settlement that became a Roman outpost in the first century. The name comes the Latin "Pons Ferrada", which is Latin for Iron Bridge - the iron reinforced bridge that spans the river. This should not be confused with "Poms Ferrada" which is a Latin slang term used to describe men with a lot of...guts. Or I could be lying.

Ponferrada has one of the coolest castles I've ever seen, excepting the one that I will someday own, of course, and in the Middle Ages this castle was rather important to the Knights Templar. You can guess where I'm going with this and that I spent some time checking history again today. Here's the story: there was this King of France (see, it's ALWAYS the French that are up to no good) named Phillipe who had borrowed a lot of money from Templars to finance his war with England, and he really didn't want to pay up, so he convinced the Pope at the time, Clement (a rather ironic name for this particular Pope, I might add), that the Templars were sodomites, satanists, heretics, and had generally poor fashion sense. We are talking about a French king, after all. So Clement agreed to do some investigating, based on some inside information from a few ex-Templars who didn't make it as unfashionable knights. 72 Knights were tortured until they confessed to all the crimes. Clement burned all the Templars he could find at the stake, Phillipe didn't have to pay back the debt, and the general level of haute couture in Europe increased significantly. It also made for one big empty castle in Ponferrada.

A curious side note is that the Grand High Poobah Templar, as he burned in front of Notre Dame, declared that both Clement and the snappily-dressed Phillipe would meet him again soon in Heaven. Sure enough, Clement fell ill and died within a month. Phillipe was killed before the end of the year when his ascot got caught in a grist mill. Actually, it was a hunting accident, nonetheless the Templar's prediction came true.

Ponferrada is a nice little town, with a strangely Alpine feel to the buildings and architecture. Today it's probably a lot quieter than when there were thousands of Templar nights hiding from the Pope, but it seems like a neat place, if not the easiest to get to.

Dad has been trying to stay off his feet, rather unsuccessfully. We spent almost two hours poking around the castle, by which time his left leg had swollen up bigger than Kanye West's ego. We returned to the hotel at which point Mom informed us the we had disturbed her siesta...which it turns out she had started only ten minutes before we returned. I'm not sure that actually counts as "disturbing", Mom.

The mothership and I will head out early. We have a longer day - 15 miles tomorrow. At the end is a Parador, and hopefully, my gimpy father, who will cover in 30 minutes via bus what will take us ambulatory pilgrims six hours or better to walk.

I've included some pictures of Ponferrada and it's excellent castle for you to enjoy. And don't forget: "Who cares, we're in Spain!"

Pictures of our hotel in Leon #2