Day 47 - 27.1 Kilometres (Plus 7 = 35.1)

Palais De Rey to Ribadiso

I am in a much better mood. The walk is pretty with plenty of cows and green grass, and we left REALLY early in the morning to beat the hordes of tourists. (A group of 40 Italian High Schoolers joined just after Sarria. Imagine a group of US teens. Now double the volume, double the incomprehensability, and half the deodorant use. We´re glad we left early.)

When we left it was still dark, and we had to use our headlamps occasionally to find the waymarks in the forest, but the moon was full, the sky was clear, and the world was quiet. All very good things.

We arrived at the Albergue in Ribadiso early in the afternoon. Ribadiso is TINY. Just the albergue, a bar, and a few barns. We opted to stay because it was right on a river where we could go in the water, sunbathe and in general, relax. While we were by the river, a trout fisherman with tradional fly rod and wicker basket tried his luck, herders brought their cows down to drimk, and two cowboys (really!) had to take their horses into the water to convince some particularly stubborn cows to go home. Even sheep seemed to like the area, as a herd of them grazed on the albergue´s back lawn. All in all, a very idyllic spot, and a welcome change of mood from yesterday.

Ribadiso´s main drawback being that it had no grocery. I decided that rather than pay for dinner at the bar, we should walk to the next town, buy groceries, and then have a picnic. The next town was supposed to be 2.5Km away. The EDGE of town was 2.5 Km away, but the grocery was 1 more Km in. No worries, though. I had unpacked my pack so that we could fill it with groceries and not hurt our hands carrying plastic bags. It worked out well, we had a delicious dinner on the river with the cows, and now have been branded "Extreme Pilgrims" for tacking an extra 7 Kilometres onto an already longish day.

Day 46 - 27.3 Kilometres

Porto Marine - Palais Do Rey

I was in a foul mood all day. The tourist pilgrims were really bothering me, and the bathrooms in the albergue last night were dirty, had no toilette paper (not really a big deal as we have learned to carry our own), and had no water pressure. Grrrrr.

Probably because I was already in a foul mood, the day dragged by at a snail´s pace. The landscape was, in theory, a continuation of Galician prettiness, but all I could think was "Grrrr this looks like North Carolina. I did not cross the Atlantic and walk 750KM to walk in NC. Grrrrr. Grrrr. and GRRR."

Furthermore the Albergue for Palais Do Rey was on the outskirts of town. It´s floors were wet too. Grrr.

The town itself was nice with a charming old church manned by an even more charming old priest who insisted that we come in and have our credencials stamped with the church seal. I liked it and him. I considered cheering up.

Too bad said town was 1.5 Km from the Albergue. Uphill both ways I´m sure. Grrrrr.

Are you sensing a trend here? It was probably a perfectly lovely day with a perfectly lovely landscape and charming little town, but I was too snarly to notice.

So I will end this post here.

Grrrr.

Day 45 - 24.4 Kilometres

Sarria to Portomarin

Another morning in the mist. You have heard of my hobby of taking photos of Cz in large, empty landscapes, affectionately known as "the big fat nothings", or if in flat terrain "the big flat nothings". The mist was so thick this morning that the photos really are of cz dissapearing into a big nothing. Just a road and a fog and a figure floating through it. Mornings like this make it easy to believe that ghosts and dryads and any number of other beings are hovering just out of sight watching us pass. It´s a little spooky and a little magical, and no one talks very much.

No one, that is except the "tourist pilgrims". Tourist Pilgrims are the ones who start in Sarria because it is the last point at which they can begin the Camino and still cover the required 100Km for their Compostela (the certificate certifying that one has completed the pilgrimage). I may be a little elitist, having covered about 700Km by this point, but these tourists are rude and loud and pushy. Up until this point, there has been a pilgrim code of honour. It has been safe to leave all manner of valuables out, ipods and cell phones charging, etc, and know that they would still be there on one´s return. With the influx of tourists, suddenly security becomes a concern, and valuables must be watched at all times. Furthermore, early in the Camino, there was a feeling of cameraderie and joy, the idea that we are going on a grand venture together. Pilgrims always greeted each other, and if there appeared to be a problem, would make a point of stopping to help. The tourists are only thinking about covering the kilometres and pushing on to the next albergue. We have tried to keep out of this competitive spirit by leaving very early in the morning before they wake up, but it is hard not be infected by the negative juju.

Of course, there are still very positive aspects of this leg. The landscape is very green and beautiful, and the native Galicians as warm and friendly as the Spanish have been across the way. We met one gentleman today who was originally from South Africa, had done the Camino four times, and finally bought a house in Spain right on the Camino. He is in the process of restoring it and setting it up as an albergue, but is running into miles of red tape. Basically, the Camino is controlled by the EU, so any decision he makes, from repairing his roof to adding a swimming pool have to be approved both by the EU and Spanish governments.

He is a most interesting man, and we spent a good hour and half chatting with him. We got caught up on news, national and international, discussed the Camino and Santiago, and heard about some of his own travel adventures. His company gave him an allowance for a big, fancy car, but instead he drove a volkwagon, and used his car allowance to take his family all over the globe. He is truely an ispiratation, and I will certainly file away his advice and attitude.

Portomarin is a resort town for Spaniards, and the first stop for many pilgrims. As a result it feels the most "touristy" of our stops so far. We did, however, take the advice of our new friend and sought out the municipal swimming pool. It ws huge and lovely, and not overly chlorinated like US pools. Additionally, it was nearly deserted, but for a few locals and fewer pilgrims. We (the Irish Boys, the American Girl, and I) spent the afternoon lazily floating about and reading poolside. Decidedly un-pilgrimish, but very nice nonetheless.

Day 44 - 22 Kilometres

Triacastella to Sarria

Today we started the day winding our way up and down through misty hills and gnarled old trees. If I didn´t know I was in Spain, I would believe myself lost in an Irish fairytale. Nearly all morning we are surrounded by slender birches, cloud silver skies, and the sound of running water.

We were the first to arrive at the Albergue, and so not only get our names first in the book (pilgim status symbol), but also our choice of beds (much more practical). The albergues can get pretty stuffy and stinky at night. Imagine 20-50 people who have walked 15-40Km. Now imagine them all taking off their shoes. Now imagine them all unrolling the same sleep sheets and sleeping bags they have been sleeping in for the past month sans washing machine...

Window-side bottom bunks are prime real-estate, and are usually claimed by the first arivees. We have gotten very good at being among of the first in town for this very reason.

The windows of this particular albergue overlooked a private courtyard lorded over by a large and very ferocious-looking black dog. As there was nowhere to hang out our washing, I ran my hair ribbon across the window and proceeded to pin our socks to it. Guess where one of the socks fell? And this wasn´t an ordinary sock either. It was one of the handy travel socks with a zippered pocket and arch support. I waited and debated, holding its mate.

In a little while the owner of the courtyard came outside. I held up my lonely sock and said "Por Favor, la otra de este es en su jardin" and looked pathetic. I have also discovered the power of looking pathetic when language skills fail. Luckily he was very friendly and tossed the wayward sock up.

It turns out that he was in the yard to give the giant dog a bath. The dog clearly adored him. He equally clearly did NOT enjoy his bath, and whimpered the most pathetic little cries the whole time.

This albergue (like several in Galicia) had a lovely kitchen with only ONE pot. Rather than fight over the one pot, we opted for sandwiches and gazpacho for dinner. I make large sandwiches, and even learned a German word for them. Phonetically "Maul Schperrer" meaning, mouth stopper.

Our friends the Hungarian Girl, Slovakian Girl, and Irish Boys all joined us, and fueled up with "Maul Sperrern" continued on their way to the next village.

We opted to stay on and enjoy our window-side bottom bunk.

Day 43 - 21.7 Kilometres

O'Cebreiro to Triacastela

We began the day with a sunrise walk through purple mountains. If you ever wondered about the lyrics "and purple mountains majesty", go to Spain, and do the Camino. I know it´s supposed to be about the US mountains, but these fit the bill far better than any I´ve seen at home. The mountains rose like sentinals out of seas of fog and mist with the sun just peaking through. Not as a distinct ball, but as a molten gold glow. Because of the mist, everything had soft edges until we were nearly on top of it, so every curve, every face, ever foxglove and iris was a surprise. A very good start to the day!

As the day cleared up, we could see the green hills all around. The cows in this region are a bright chestnut (red-brown). A farmer ws driving his herd single-file up a hill across from the Camino. The compostion of red cows winding up the green hill were a Fauvist´s dream.

I have always believed in unicorns. Now I have a photo of one. OK, so it was a one-horned goat, but still... As we were walking we came across a herd of goats. I like goats, so I stopped to admire them. That´s when I noticed - these goats, if they had any horns at all, had only one horn in the center of their forheads! Not just one Unicorn, but a whole herd of them. I asked other pilgrims if they had seen the one-horned goats, and no one else had. Perhaps I imagined it after all...but there is that photo...

Just before reaching Triacastella we passed a village with a HUGE chestnut tree at its edge. The old man under it was selling walking sticks, and called out to us. I started to say, no I don´t need one, but then he assured us that he wasn´t trying to sell us anything. He then let us know that the tree was over 1200 years old and had healing properties. We heard through the pilgrim grapevine that he told stories to everyone who passed through. In addtion to the history of the tree, we learned that he owns most of the village, that his son is a "lazy good-for-nothing who won´t get himself a wife or a girlfriend", and that he scopes out every girl who passes through as a marraige candidate. At 80, he still works his fields with a hand scythe (as do many of the farmers around here). His wife died 11 years ago, and he laments that "Women used to be strong, built like this (insert hand gestures), and he just doesn´t undersatnd what´s happened to the modern woman". Have I mentioned lately how much I like Spain and Spaniards?

In Triacastella, we were greeted with a donativo (free) Albergue with field, and (drumroll please) pilgrims doing part of the Camino on horseback! Not one, but SEVEN ponies were tethered behind the Albergue. Ponies and unicorn goats all in the same day. The only thing that would make it better would be a cold cervesa and some ice cream...

Oh wait...There was a lovely bar and outdoor cafe across the street from the albergue. Yes, it was a good day today.

Day 42 - 32.8 Kilometres

Villafranca to O Cebeiro

We are back into green country. The mountains are so green that the colour even seems to bounce up and tint the sky faintly greenish. The hills are dotted frequently with little villages and contented cows. The cows are not fenced, and sometimes it seems like they are doing their own Bovine Camino as they walk along with us to greener pastures.

In the little villages, many of the cats and dogs have discovered that perigrinos carry cheese and choice ham. In particular, one small spotted cat in front of the local tienda hopped up into our laps and looked pathetic until he had consumed most of an egg and a good bit of cheese. He did reward us with thunderous purrs and contentedly curling up for a while on both of our laps after his snack. We enjoyed the "cat therapy".

Hospital de _ the last town before the big climb up O Cebriero mountain is a picturesue village, one that could easily pass as a town in the Swiss Alps. At the foot of the town was a COLD stream with a little park. We took a long break soaking our feet in the icy water and bracing ourselves for the climb. Supposedly OCebriero is the steepest climb of the Camino, but I refuse to believe it. Perhaps it just feels so because it is the last 6Km of a 30plus Km day.

The views from the peak were stunning, and everyone poured out of the Albergue to watch the sunset over the mountains. A German church group sang some hymns as the sun slipped behind the hills.

Views aside, OCebriero is also supposedly one of the sites of the Holy Grail. A German pilgrim was lost in the valley, and followed the sound of a shepherd´s pipes up the mountain. The music lead him to OCebreiro on the Grail. I wonder if he still continued on to Santiago...

Day 41 - 31.7 Kilometres

Molinaseca to Villafranca Del Bierzo

I am running on gauze and willpower. The blisters refuse to die. However, I am now confident, after having lanced, threaded, and been seriously tempted to break out the syringes and inject my blisters with iodine, that I could, in a pinch, give either of us stitches. Not that I hope it will happen, but if we do gash ourselves badly enough to need to be sewn back together again, I could totally do it.

The road itself is very pretty, mostly on gravel track and country roads through rolling farmland. This part of Spain is known for its produce, especially fruit and wine grapes. The air is heady with the scent of fruit, and at at least one fuente, there were trays of huge, sweet figs left out for the pilgrims.

The vinyards roll right up to the edge of the path, and much to Cz´s chagrin, I began collecting large, tender grapeleaves, with the intent of stuffing them for dinner. As we walked, the smell of herbs mixed in with the smell of fruit, and by the end of the day, by following my nose, I had pockets full of grape leaves, rosemary, fennel, and thyme.

Villafranca gets its name because it is one of (many) old French outposts in Spain. In honour of this fact, I decided to cook up a fancy-schmancy meal. Of course, featuring road herbs and grape leaves. (recipe to follow at the bottom of the post) I have become quite the scavenger on this trip!

The Irish Boys got a late start, and rolled into town at around 5, just as we were heading out to the grocery. Still in the mood for a big cookfest, we offered to prepare dinner for them. Really, I had ulterior motives, as one of them makes the most amazing pasta sauce with lentils, and I knew that if I cooked for them tonight, it would up my chances of lentil pasta in the next village. That and we like their company...

Because it is one of the last towns before heading back into the big mountains, Villafranca has the Gate of Forgiveness. Built in the Middle Ages for pilgrims to weak to continue on to Santiago, The Gate of Forgiveness pardons the sins of anyone who passes through it. But, blisters notwithstanding, we are young and tough, and tomorrow will head up, up into the hills.

Stuffed Grape Leaves a la Camino

Ingredients
Grape leaves
White Beans from a can
Onion
Herbs (rosemary, thyme, fennel, garlic, parsley)
Salt
Pepper
Olive oil

Steam grape leaves until tender (you can do this while the other stuff cooks)
set aside

Sautee the onions and garlic in olive oil
Mash in the beans and herbs except the parsley
Add salt and pepper to taste
Remove from heat and add chopped parsley to taste

Brush a little olive oil in the middle of a grape leaf
Add a dollop of bean mush
Put a tiny well in the bean mush and add a tiny bit of olive oil and more chopped parsley
Fold the grape leaf around it like a tortilla

Eat alone of floating in a bowl of gazpacho

Day 40 - 26.5 Kilometres

Rabanal to Molinaseca

Today started very well with a climb up one of the prettiest mountains we have crossed so far. It was a cloudy dawn, and the sunrise was bouncing a strange mauve light across the clouds and faces of the surrounding hills. The hills near us were thick with purple flowers - heather, wild iris, foxglove, and a low-growing one that looked like lavender cotton candy - and dun grasses, all set agains black cedars, made darker by the wetness in the air.

At the top of the mountain was the Iron Cross. It is a very small cross on a very tall pole stuck in a pile of rock at the summit. Tradition dictates that pilgrims leave a rock from some where else (either home or found on the Camino) or that they leave a personal item. The base of the cross is a totem to all the pilgrims who have passed through before us. There were love notes, photos of children, candles, charms, pictures of saints, pieces of clothing, cigarettes - you name it, it was probably at the Iron Cross.

One of theings I love best about Spain is its people. As we walked through one sleepy village we noticed a huge cherry tree loaded with fruit. Near the tree was a fence with several plastic bags wrapped around one of the posts. As the cherries were very high up, a few brave souls climbed the tree, while I swatted at the branches (not the ones they were on) with Cz´s walking stick. It was like a giant cherry piñata.

Then, around the corner, appears an old man walking on two canes. He starts talking to us very fast in Spanish, and we have no idea what he is trying to tell us, and fear we might be in trouble. (The group were Cz and me, a German, a Brazilian, and the Irish Boys - not one Spanish speaker in the lot!) Eventually we figure out that he is cheering us on, calling out "More, More. Fill your bags. Take them all!" He then passes us his cane to us to send up to the Brazilian and German girl in the tree so they can hook branches closer and swat more fruit down to the Irish and Americans. All told we came away with 1-3 kilo of cherries each.

We spend the rest of the day plotting our cherry fest.

We have cherry mashed potatoes, red wine cherry compote, and fresh cherries with yoghurt.

Only time for one recipe.

Cherry Compote with red wine. I don´t actually know what a compote is, but I imagine it goes something like this...

ingredients
Lots of pitted sweet cherries
red wine
sugar
flour or tapioca or cornstarch (the directions are for flour)

directions
Put the cherries in a pot big enough to hold them with room to stir
Add wine so in comes half as high in the pot as the cherries (ie half pot cherries = quarter pot wine)
Add sugar to taste (these cherries were very sweet so we only added a few tablespoons)
Heat over medium until boiling gently
Sift in about a quarter cup of flour, stirring constantly
Cook until thickened, stirring occasionally

Serve with tasty things.

We made trifle with cookies, yoghurt, fresh cherries and the compote.
I imagine you could do a cherry sundae, cherry short cake, or cherries with rice pudding or...the variations are endless.

Day 39 - 20 Kilometres

Astorga to Rabanal de Camino

Thankfully and easy day. Some blisters required re-lancing, but basically everything´s OK.

Rabanal is one of my favourite towns so far. A monastary and Vespers with the Monks. Roses from a garden on the altar. Eggs from the local hens with rich yellow-orange yolks like the ones I had from my hens at home as a child. Friendly poeple both in town and in the Albergue.

The weather has turned unseasonably cold. So much so that the albergue put a fire in the fireplace. We spent a very pleasant afternoon curled up in front of the fire, wrapped in in blankets, and reading. It was wonderful, if very odd for July.

The monks allow people to stay with them and meditate, or be still, or just get themselves in order. One does not need to be Catholic or even religious to do this. The next time I do the camino, I will allow for a week in Rabanal.

There is more to write for today, but time is short. I may come back to this post.

Day 38 - 23 Kilometres

San Martin Del Camino to Astorga

Remember all those nice things I said about Compeed? Yeah, I take them back. Compeed is evil. Compeed may work to PREVENT blisters. Compeed may make blisters feel better for a while. But then, THEN, Compeed binds to your blisters, so when they come back with reinforcements you can do nothing. Nothing, that is, until you check into a pilgrim hostel which happens to have blister hospital set up.

Astorga is a pretty nice city with a lovely cathedral and a castle (well bishop´s house) designed by Gaudi that looks like a giant sand castle. For me, however, it will always remain "the city with a blister hospital."

We stayed at the Parochial Albergue, which we have learned are usually donativo (run by donation), and usaully among the nicest in town. This one had a book at the registry where pilgrims could sign up for an appointment with the resident nurses to have their various ailments tended to.

The appointments were supposed to be 15 minutes. I had some seriously impressive blisters. One and half hours, half a bottle of solvent (to remove the evil Compeed), half dozen lancets, two syringes of iodine, an loads of gauze later my feet were patched together again enough to walk almost normally.

I have a very high pain tolerance. I nearly fainted when they were doctering me. Cz who hates blisters and needles almost as much as he hates walking stuck by my side...and held me down. Literally. I pity what would have happend to the blister doctor had Cz not been pinning my legs.

The blister drs thought i was nuts to keep going, but loaded me up with gauze and antibiotic ointments. So long as nothing gets infected, I should be fine.

Day 37 - 24.4 Kilometres

Leon to San Martino del Camino

Today is our legal anniversary. 3 years married and no papers filed yet! We´ll see how the rest of trip goes...

We don´t really celebrate this one, favouring instead the August anniversary which also coincides with when we started dating, so you have a month-long reprieve before the mushy post.

Another day along the highway. It started out well, though, with a sunrise over the Leon cathedral, a great white gothic affair to rival anything in France or England. It has astounding stained glass too, which we saw yesterday with the evening light streaming in.

Arrived in San Martino, where luxury of luxuries, the Albergue also offers private rooms. Privacy is at a premium on the Camino, and I find that perhaps the most difficult part of the whole affair. I´m OK with sleeping with 50 people in a room. I am not OK with waking up with 50 people. It is always loud and chaotic, with butts bumping and packs being shuffled. And while I am occasionally a fan of chaos, I am NOT a fan of chaos at 5:30AM. So, we have our own room for tonight, and I am thrilled.

Day 36 - 20.4 Kilometres

Mansilla de las Mulas - Leon

A long 20Km. One does not become fully aware of urban sprawl, office parks, and industrial wastelands until one has entered cities on foot. The bulk of the walk was spent parallel to the highway creeping our way through what felt like eons of low-slung building and roaring traffic. People do the Camino with donkeys and horses, and I can´t imagine how they handle all the pavement and noise.

Leon itself is very lovely city. It is also the starting point for many pilgrims, so there is a palpable excitiement in the air.

We spent a good portion of our time in lovely Leon shoe-shopping. Our shoes might have been able to handle several hundred kilometres of city walking, but the trail had fairly well killed them. Cz is now discovering the joys of heavy hiking boots with serious ankle support, and I am becoming more and more expert at lancing blisters as I break in my own new boots. I think when we get back to the States I will buy stock in Compeed. (best blister cure EVER)

Day 35 - 26.3 Kilometres

Bercianos to Mansilla de las Mulas

The flat nothing continues. Same road, same fields, same tractors as yesterday. Plenty of time to think and to daydream, but that´s private.

The Albergue in Mansilla was very nice and clean with a sunny courtyard filled with geraniums. We met up again with the Irish Boys, and pooled out resources to cook an obscene amount of food. We have learned on the Camino that it costs only pennies more to cook for a group than it does to cook for two or four. Those few pennies are well worth being able to have an open invitation for anyone to join your table. This Albergue had the largest group of english-speakers of any we stayed in, and by the end of the evening, our table sported 5 Americans, 3 Irish, and 1 Welshman.

Everyone chipped in with wine, so in addition to having a very full table, we also had a rather tipsy table. The card games and carousing went on well into the night. (OK 11PM, but that is LATE in pilgrim time - most Albergues shut down the lights at 10 or 10:30) A far cry from the convent, but fun nonetheless.

Day 34 - 23.8 Kilometres

Teradillos de los Templarios to Bercianos del Real Camino

And the flat nothing continues...mostly wheat and corn flavoured flat nothing. The Camino runs parallel to a country road at this point, and we saw more tractors than cars going by.

Bercianos itself is a tiny village constructed primarily of mud-brick houses with swallow nests under the eaves, and geraniums or petunias spilling out the windows. About half the houses are in ruins, with gardens and fig trees planted where the main room once was. It is a very picturesque town, and i took many photos.

The Albergue itself was in the convent. The convent was the same wattle and daub construction of the rest of the town, and swallows had made their nests in the rafters. All day the birds swooped in and out, paying no mind to the gathering crowd of pilgrims.

These nuns were sisters to the ones in Carrion, and had the same songbook for the nun sing-a-long. This crowd was not quite so outgoing as that one, but it was still very nice.

There were 53 of us in all (pilgrims and nuns). The nuns asked for volunteers to help cook and lay the table. Somehow we managed to cram every last pilgrim into the kitchen and then into the dining room for a shared meal. After dinner, everone went outside to watch the sunset, followed by a blessing for safe journey.

There is a lot I don´t agree with in the Catholic church. However, the nuns we have met, and the convents we have stayed in have been some of the most special people and places we have encountered along the Camino. The nuns accept that we are on the Camino for any number of reasons, and that there are any number of faiths or non-believers. They wish us all wellness, peace, and love no matter what our creed or reason for walking to Santiago. I am having trouble finding words for the peace or the warmth...there is something special there. I am aware of it, but I haven´t quite been able to express it yet. Perhaps in a future post.

Day 33 - 26.6 Kilometres

Today´s flat nothing was filled with sunflowers. Field after field of them. It was like the tulip fields in the Skagit valley, except instead of tulips running up to the horizon, it was big, fat sunflowers, and all the birds and insects associated there with. The skies were also nice today. I´ve forgotten the official name of those particular clouds, but they look like tightly bunched herds of fat sheep.

The multiple flat nothings, paired with Cz´s tendency to stride on ahead when I stop to take pictures, have inspired me to begin/continue a series of photos of iiiiiiiity-bitty Cz in the grrrrreat big landscape. It´s been sort of fun having his bright blue backpack as a vanishing point.

The Albergue in Teradillos is very nice. It´s best feature is the very friendly, very fat husky dog that seems to run the place. He´s so fat, and so much a presence that we refer to the hostel as the "Fat Dog Albergue". It´s no mystery how he got his girth. The owner of the Albergue has to little girls who slip him sweets. He also knows that pilgrims are weak, and begs very effectively. If you don´t pass him a tasty snack, he will literally begin to moan as if he is starving to death.

We had only a little bit of groceries left for dinner, but guess who opened up his sandwich and gave his last bite of salami to Fat Dog? Yeah, we´re suckers.

Day 32 - 27.6 Kilometres

Boadillo Del Camino to Carrion de Los Condos

More flat nuthin´. It is said among pilgrims that the first part of the Camino is the physical challenge, the second part (the part we´re in now) the mental, and the final leg, the spiritual. I can see how that would be true. For the first leg, we are crossing mountains, and scrambling our way up and down hills. It is in those first few weeks that blisters form, muscles train, and joints ache. By the end of the second week, bodies are more used to the rigors of the trail, or at least we are more used to the blisters and the aches, and the landscape levels off. For the next ten days or so, we will be travelling through virtually the same expanse of plains. Without mountains to break up the distance, we will be left alone with our thoughts and the road.

In Carrion De Los Condes, we stayed at the Parochial Albergue. It was in a convent, and as to be expected of an Albergue in a convent, run by nuns. At 6:30 there was a promise of music in the entrance hall. There was NOT a warning that it was going to be a sing-along. The nuns produced a guitar and an African drum. They produced photocopied sheets of songs and a shaker ( a percussion instrument that looks like a plastic easter egg filled with sand). We sang some songs in Spanish. We sang some songs in universal (La, La, La). The nuns told us that they knew one song in English. They promised that everyone would know it. It was "We Shall Overcome". Everyone did know it. We sang Ode to Joy in Spanish. The nuns asked each of us to sing it Ode to Joy in our native toungue. The Italians sang Ode to Joy in Italian. The Czech girls sang it in Czech. The Polish Girl in Polish. The Germans in German, the Swiss in French, the Russian in Russian, the Hungarian in Hungarian. I was the only English speaker who knew the words to Ode to Joy in English. I do not sing in public. Ever. Especially not a well-known song. I. Do. Not. Sing. I sang Ode to Joy. It was very off-key. Everyone La-La-La-ed the parts I didn´t know the words for. I may reconsider my stance on singing. The nuns then asked us if any of us wanted to sing a song from our country. A few brave souls volunteered. Among the most memorable were the Russian girl who took the guitar from one of the nuns, and sang Bob Marley´s "Woman No Cry" in a mix of Russian and heavily accented English. Also the Swiss doctor who played the Swiss national anthem on the nose flute. The other Swiss sang the words.
He tried to teach me how to play the noseflute. I managed a few toots, but mostly just air came out.

After dinner, the nuns came back to give us a blessing for the road. Before they could begin, there was a commotion in the street. A bier with a statue of the Virgin Mary surrounded by white lilies, followed by the congregation of the church swarmed past, chanting in Spanish and Latin. The Nuns explained that today was the feast day of St Carmen, and that this was a procession for her.

The nun´s blessing was another song. Then they told us that the road to Santiago is hard. That we have blisters, aching feet, and sore muscles. That our packs are heavy. That we suffer a little bit every day, but that every morning we hoist our packs again and keep on walking to Santiago. They went on that this is also the way of life. That there will be suffering, but that every morning, we will hoist our packs and keep on walking. That Love is never far away, and Love makes this possible. Then they blessed each of us in turn, and handed each of us a small paper star to light our way along the Camino.

Between a thistle flower from the Hungarian (mentioned in Cz´s post), and a star from a nun, I´m feeling pretty well blessed right right now.

Day 31 - 29 or 30 or 31 Kilometres

Depending on which source you consult.

Hontanas to Boadillo Del Camino.

In a fit of brilliant marketing, the owners of the Boadillo Albergue left cards with photos of their Albergue at the Albergue in Hontnas. They showed a manicured garden with a pool and low-slung buildings all nestled at the foot of the church. A pool. This makes good incentive for much walking.

And walk we did. The Meseta is Spain´s answer to the high plains. It is all wind and wide open space with stunted trees and many, MANY thistles. Blooming very prettily, but ready with sharp spines to snag the legs of unwary pilgrims. At one point the wind was picking up so much dust that we had to cover our noses and mounths with our bandanas. Even so, our eyes, ears, skin, and teeth all felt coated with a fine layer of grit. That pool was sounding better and better.

We arrived at shortly before one o´clock at a tumbledown stone wall with a cracked wooden gate. Surely this couldn´t be the place. Then we stepped through that tumbledown gate. OASIS. After a day of dust and scrub, the lush grass, brilliant pool, roses, and friendly yellow buildings looked like heaven. This wasn´t an albergue, this was a pilgrim resort. The Hostelier showed us to our rooms, took our pilgrim passports, and bid us "Relax, shower, hang out in the pool - you can pay later", whereupon he went back to his bartender duties. Did I mention that this albergue had a bar too? Here we were, pilgrims on the camino, sipping cold beer and eating ice cream poolside in the middle of Spain. Even Cz had to admit that maybe this pilgrimmage thing might not be so bad.

As a topper for the spa day, we had leftover gazpacho, bread, and chorizo and a few pints of San Miguel beer along with the Irish lads who we kept pace with to get to the resort. As we were heading to our beds, a Swiss pilgrim stopped us at the door, told us to sit down, and said that we couldn´t pass unless we sang our national anthem (he had already accosted someone who is Irish, thus the lads were safe). I do not sing, so poor Cz had to do a rendition of the Star Spangled Banner. I think he hit 3 notes correctly. Apparently voices carry very well because the Irish lads (who had gone in about 10 minutes ahead of us) sat up on their beds, recognized Cz´s voice, and wondered what he must have drinking/smoking and why didn´t he share.

Day 30 - 30.1 Kilometres

Burgos to Hontanas

Cz woke up still silent. Remember last post? Silent = pissed in Czland. But at least he was still walking. I figured I´d let him stew and walk it off. Walking, even if you hate it is good for the head. With nothing but time, distance, and movement on hand, your brain is free to wander, mull, and sort out all that needs to be sorted. And sort Cz´s must have. By midday monosylables happened; by evening, complete sentences. I expect a complete recovery by tomorrow.

The road to Hontanas is nearly flat. In my notebook, the only description is "more fields, more sun, flat lot o´nuthin´" Being a fan of flat nothing, (Wyoming is one of my favourite states) I found the landscape with its play of light across the yellow fields and blue skies among the prettiest we´ve come across.

We did pass though one small village , whose name I have forgotten, in favour of calling it "The City of Birds". We passed through there very early in the morning, even before the sun was properly up. No people were about yet, but the air was thick with the sound of hens, roosters, and songbirds all waking up to greet the day. The sky was shattered by swallows and starlings, competeing with the last bats of night for gnats and mosquitoes. Four storks stood sentinal on the corners of the old church´s belltower, looking for all the world like french gargoyles.

Hontanas is known for the quality of its albergues (the reason for walking so many kilometres). We stayed in the municipal one, which was in a gothic building with 18" or thicker stone walls. It was amazing how effective the thick stone was against the blistering heat (36c in the shade). In the building, I had to wear a long-sleeve shirt against the chill, even without any sort of artificial air-conditioning! I wonder what it is like in there in the winter (probably toasty as the common room sports a huge fireplace). Also in the common room, there were thick glass panels built into the floor. Through these panels, one could look down onto the original foundations of huge stones and heavy beams. Under one particular panel was a deep, dark hole. Logic says original well. Imagination says portal to another world.

Like many towns, Hontanas has a central fountain with drinking water. As a special bonus, the overflow from the Hontanas fountain splashes down into a little footpool. At maybe 6c, the icy water is just the thing for pilgrims´and locals´achy feet, and for birds´evening baths.

Because Hontanas has no supermarcado, we decided to splurge on the Pilgrim´s dinner. (you may remember from an earlier post - many restaurants offer a pre fix menu at reduced cost to Pilgrims. Generally this is 8-10 euro, which is cheap, but not nearly as cheap as grocery shopping and cooking at the Albergue) Halfway through the meal Rafe (Spanish Trail Family Dad) joined us. He then picked up the tab for all three of us as a thank-you for feeding him and his family a few days earlier. Not necessary, but much appreciated nonetheless.

Speaking of which. Cz has put together his Pilgrim´s Perspective on Trail Family. Onward gentle readers.

An (inexperienced) pilgrim´s perspective II(cz)

La Familia Peregrinas

Somewhere along the halfway mark you begin to see some familiar faces on the trail and at the Albergues. Most people opt to walk anywhere between 25 to 40 Km per day and the towns are usually spaced out in such a way that there are albergues in each. At this point, most get up at dawn and set out at around 6 am with the intention of hitting their destination town at around 1 or 2 pm in order to beat the siesta sun. That way one can rest up, do laundry, sleep, internet, and for the most part if you have extra Euros in hand, have a couple of cervezas. It´s a nice routine that conditions your body for the trials of the Camino. Routine keeps you going when your muscles ache and when you have to push on in order for the ache to go away. Routine reminds you of the ultimate goal which is to reach Compostela.

Part of that routine is also seeing your trail family...these are the faces of familiar strangers, acquaintences, and new friends you may see on the road or at a common albergue you stay in. You are never really sure when and where you will see them, since all it takes is for you to end up one town before or ahead your destination or for them to change their pace. It is quite an interesting dynamic - people passing through all with one common goal but for completely different reasons for doing the Camino, so you end up appreciating those times you do see their familiar faces or when you break bread with them at supper. All it takes is a sore foot or a deadline and those familiar faces end up as someone else´s trail family.

A brief description of my familia:

American lady and her daugher - We met them both at St. Jean at the starting point (we were all trying to find where to get our pilgrim passport and an albergue to sleep in). The mother had 2 weeks to do as much of the Camino, while the daughter only had a couple of days. It was nice to meet Americans at the beginning. We only saw her a couple of times, since she was on a short vacation and wanted to cover as much ground as possible, but we did bump into her at Burgos where she was spending her last day before heading back.

Korean father and his two sons - We kept pace with them at the beginning. Apparently there are alot of Koreans who do the Camino (found out that there is a high percentage of Catholics in Korea). Never really spoke to them, although the father had asked if my ankle was OK when he saw me sitting on the road fixing my shoes. He only spoke Korean, so there was alot of hand gestures to let him know that I was OK, though that did not stop him from asking his son where their muscle cream was (at least I think that was what they were talking about).

Danish Writer and Alice the Donkey - He is a travel writer who decided to take two years off to do not only the Camino de Santiago, but also the Pilgrimage to Rome (that starts at Canterbury, England) and the Pilgrimage to Jerusalem. Santiago by far will be the shortest. He is accompanied by the most loyal donkey I´ve ever met and also by his young daughter who is doing this pilgrimage with him. He has done the Camino a few years ago on foot with his newborn daughter in tow. When asked why he is doing this, whether this is for a new book, he said he is doing this to be closer to God. I have a hard time approaching this modern day prophet, but I can sure do appreciate him from a distance.

Dutch couple - Shared a table with them at Zubiri where we had a pilgrim´s menu at a local restaurant (and got a bit tipsy with them as well with the table wine). They both speak at minimum 4 languages, consider themselves leftists (husband said they probably wouldn´t let him into the US even if he wanted to go), and have just bought themselves a houseboat in Delft.

The Irish lads - Been mentioned here at previous entries, they have become our defacto trail partners. Met them a while back (can´t even remember which town it was) where they shared their wine with us. We met them again at Irasche by the fountain that had both water and wine and subsequently got a little tipsy at 9 in the morning. We walked together that day through the hottest day of the trail yet to Los Arcos (and sweated out the wine). We ended the day sharing our leftover pasta and they bought the wine and cookies. One of them had done the Camino in March, although that was only for 150 Km from Galicia - he learned from that experience what not to pack. The other has red irish hair and a lip piercing and has yet to get a blister. We´ve been sharing our dinners whenever we end up in the same albergues. Good card players and pretty fast walkers.

French Canadian Doctor - Met him in Viana when we stayed at the parochial albergue in one of the towers of a church. He spoke very good English, French, and enough spanish to be conversational. During our shared dinner, he doled out some advice on our common aches, strains, muscle pulls, and swelling and how to treat them. Apparently after dinner, Jess saw him setting up a temporary pilgrim´s triage with his bag of ointments, bandages, and syringes and treating the guests who came to see him. I missed out on this (although I saw him again later on and asked him the name of the ointment he used on his patients for the swelling). He was supposedly on vacation, but I guess a doctor is never really on vacation.

Spanish uncle and his two nieces - I´d say he was the trail father of the bunch. Extremely friendly and outgoing. He was accompanying his nieces and ended up becoming a surrogate father for a bunch of young pilgrims, including us. He always says his english is ¨muy malo¨though we can understand him better than when we try to speak spanish to him. He invited us to share his dinner with his nieces and 6 other pilgrims. We ended up cooking for him and his family a few days later. The nieces had to go back to Madrid after two weeks on the trail (after trying to convince their dad for one more week) and he, after a bad case of blisters on his feet, had to call it a day. The last day before he headed back to Madrid he was in good spirits and saying goodbye to everyone. I will miss him and his broken english.

The Hungarian - Very nice older gentleman with white fuzzy hair that on a good day made him look like a tanned and tall Albert Einstein. Doesn´t know any english at all, but was nice enough to give Jess a flower he found on the side of the trail and was a gentleman to ask for my permission in him giving said flower to Jess.

The Austrian - Only saw him once, since he was also on a limited vacation (and was covering 40 Km a day) and we ended up in the same albergue. Found out that he is a teacher in a village near Vienna, had extensively traveled, including a good portion of the US by car (NY, drove down to Florida, across the south to California, up to Washington, and then back across to NY in 8 weeks), and kindly invited us to stay at his place when we are in Vienna to see the Medieval Festival at his village.

Spanish girl - She is a postal worker with a very pretty name and she first helped us find the albergue in Pamplona. She was part of the ¨family¨of the Spanish uncle. She had strangers come up to her and tell her that she was ¨gorgeous¨and ¨rare¨. We had fun trying to find the spanish equivalent for the words. Mine was "undercooked."

French Girl - Very animated. She is like Olive Oyl on speed. Smokes like Popeye.

3 Singing Sisters - These were the nuns at one of the parochial albergues we stayed in. Before dinner they performed folk songs where one of them played the guitar and the other an African drum. After dinner, they had a benediction for the pilgrims where they gave us a star to light our way on the Camino and individually blessed us for continuing on to Compostela. I am always in awe of people of faith, and these sisters were no exception. They felt it was a privilege and duty to be taking care of pilgrims on the Camino. I felt it was a privilege to simply be in their company.

There is a point on the Camino when one stops being a tourist walking the road to becoming part of the family of pilgrims heading to Compostela. Whether it is an offer of assistance for an aching foot, an attempted conversation where neither party speaks the others language, sharing your leftovers, or simply walking side by side to keep pace to the next town, this act of invitation is the most important lesson I´ve learned so far on this pilgrimage. Mine was at the Pyrenees when my left leg completely cramped up so bad that I had to sit on the side of the road and a bicyclist, who was heading uphill, stopped, got off his bike, and gave me some of his muscle cream. Then he proceeded to mount his bike and start to pedal. I can only imagine how difficult that was to regain your momentum going uphill to stop and help a complete stranger (though at the time I was in too much pain to appreciate the gesture), but it was that gesture that I felt invited me into the community. I can only hope that I will be as gracious when my turn comes.

Day 29 - 17 Kilometres

Olmos De Atapuerca - Burgos

Worst. Day. Ever.

Cz went to bed grumpy over having walked thirty Km only to have to pay the same amount had we stopped in town number 2.

He woke up with sore ankles which did nothing to improve his mood.

The day started with a fairly steep uphill and then an equally steep downhill. Somewhere on the hill the Cz´s use of the English language became reduced to grunts and grumbles. Cz is a little bit anti-hill on a good day. This was not a good day.

We were on a less-marked offshoot of the Camino - in theory it would knock off some kilometres, and as the leg from Olmos to Burgos is fairly dull, we figured that this was a good thing.

It did knock off kilometres, but what it made up for in length it lost in charm.

After the hill, we had to traipse through a road under construction. Read: big dirt mounds, lumpy ground, sudden drops. Read: Cz´s version of hell. Not only did we have to go through a construction site, but we had to keep a pretty good clip. As stated, the path was not well-marked. Irish Boys (who we seem to be keeping pace with) had a map. But it didn´t show this offshoot. They were following Red Backpack Man. He is a fast walker. So, Irish Boys kept Red Backpack Man in sight. I kept Irish Boys in sight. And Cz grumphed and harumphed 50 metres behind, with extra grumphing and harumphing when I waited for him to ensure that he would not be lost entirely.

After the construction zone, we walked along the shoulder of the highway. With trucks. Trucks make big winds that blow off hats. Cz had to chase his hat twice before giving up and stuffing it in his pack. With more grumphing and harumphing naturally. Which I did not hear, as I felt it best to maintaina safe distance. The author of the expression "hell hath no fury like a woman scorned" has clearly never met Cz in a bad mood.

We did make into Burgos by 11:30 AM - a good thing as the centrally located free Albergue fills up fast. I got in line. Cz sulked about a block away. No worries, the doors weren´t to open until 1:30, I figured he could sulk while I got the lay of the land.

At 1:oo I dragged Cz to the Albergue. A bed seemed imminant. Cz´s grumbling had been reduced to a simmering, glowering silence. Reduced as in volume. With Cz silent = PISSED.

The hostelier called everyone to the front door to read the rules. The line disintigrated. A "lady" - I use the term VERY loosely, plants herself in front of us, using her kid as a body shield. She gets the last bed. If looks could kill that kid would be an orphan.

The next Albergue is about a kilometre walk farther on. Cz plants himself back on his corner and decides that he is not taking another step. He threatens to quit the Camino. He threatens to quit the trip altogether. It takes a solid half hour of arguing to convince him to get up.

It takes half an hour of foot-dragging walking to get to the next Albergue. Where he spends the rest of the day curled up on the bunk simmering.

I go out to sightsee and buy some food. Burgos Cathedral has a fountain in the plaza in front of it with the best, coldest, sweetest water. The cathedral itself aint bad either.

I return with the food. Including Gazpacho and fresh tomatoes which Cz usually can´t resist.

He resists it, opting to remain curled up and pissed off.

I eat my Gazpacho.

Cz remains curled up and pissed off.

I read a book.

Cz remains curled up and pissed off.

I visit with our Spanish trail family and French girl.

Cz remains curled up and pissed off.

Are you sensing a pattern here?

I go to bed.

Guess what Cz does?
If you guessed curled up and pissed of...BINGO!

It was Friday the 13th. Figures.

Day 28 - 33 Kilometres

Belorado to San Juan de Ortega-Ages-Atapuerca-Olmos de Atapuerca...

We were supposed to walk only 23 kilometres, but we arrived in San Juan around noon, and as it was still early in the day, and there were no shops near the Albergue to pick up dinner, we decided to move on to the next town. Ages, 2 Kilometres farther on had space in their albergue, but it was a little pricy, and we are pobre perigrinos (poor pilgrims). So we went on to Atapuerca. The Albergues in Atapuerca were full. We were indeed beginning to feel like pobre perigrinos!

Sidenote - Atapuerca is the site of the oldest human inhabitation in Europe. There is an ongoing archeolocical excavation that is turning up evidence of human activity from 1,000,000,000 years ago. In front of one of the albergues there was even a wheelbarrow, shovel, and what looked like people bits (a rib, a few pieces of femur, maybe a bit of hip). That was all very interesting, but still no room at the inn.

So we went on to Olmos de Atapuerca, a 2.5 Km detour off the Camino. They had an Albergue. It cost the same as the one in Ages. We decided to stay anyway. 33 Km is enough for one day!

We still needed food for dinner, and the nearest shop was back in Altapuerca. Since none of us was too keen on walking, we all took turns borrowing the bike of a friendly Spanish guy doing the Camino by bicycle. We had run into the Irish boys again at the last Albergue, and had spent the afternoon walking with them. Luckily they are tall, since the bike´s seat came nearly up to my chest. We nomitated one to be our grocery shopper and away he went.

For such a small town, they had a pretty well-stocked grocery...Including winner of the best cheese in the world award 2006! Naturally we had some for dinner.

We hope to be rewarded for our extra kilometres of walking today by a shortened day tomorrow. San Juan-Burgos is scheduled at 26.5km. With what we´ve cut, even going off the trail, it should only be 16km.

Day 27 - 22 Kilometres

Santo Domingo De Los Calzos to Belorado

Usually I make bullet points, lists, or just jotted notes in my journal to blog about more elaborately later, but for the most part todays notes have kind of a nice rhythm, so I´m going to post them basically as-is.

Lovely day. Sunny but cool. Rolling hills. Primary pallette - Blue sky, yellow wheat, red poppies. Broken occasionally by verdant green sunflower fields. Sunflowers just on the brink of opening. Most tightly closed as fists or faces locked up in dreams. A few open and yellow. Early bloomers.

The storks do not approve of our arrival at the albergue. They clatter away on the church steeple with more regularity than the bells. I´ve heard that to have a stork on your roof brings good luck. If that´s true, Spain must be the luckiest country in the world. (Nearly every high roof has at least one, some several, stork nests. Storks do not have a regular bird-song. I´m not sure if they make their noise by popping air in their throats, or if it is by chattering their beaks together, but it sounds like the clapper noisemakers you spin between your palms)

The albergue is in an old theatre adjoining the oldest church in town. What were once the stage and orchestra seats are now the kitchen and common room. Our beds are in the balcony. The pretty courtyard is strung-through with washlines. You can always tell an Albergue by the excess of laundry strung out all around.

The Hostellier is Swiss. In the summer months the Friends of Santiago use Swiss volunteers at this hostel because they speak so many languages. She pointed us up the (STEEP) hilll to the ruins of the old castle to watch the sunset over the town. A perfect end to a nearly perfect day.

Day 26 - 21.6 Kilometres

Naherra - Santo Domingo De Los Calvos

More rolling hills. They day was somewhat overcast, which made things much cooler, so the miles went fast. We arrived in St Domingo by about noon, checked into our Alberge (the parish house from a 12th century monostary), and set out to explore the city.

The expression goes "St Domingo, where the chicken sings after he is cooked." This is because according to local legend, there was a family of pilgrims. The inkeepers´ daughter fell in love with the pilgrims´son. He did not return her feelings. For revenge, she planted a silver chalice in his luggage. The penalty for stealing at that time was death. The son was hanged. The family wanted to see him one more time before continuing to Santiago. When they went to see him, he said "St Domingo has saved me. I am alive." They rushed to the judge who was just sitting down to a chicken dinner to give him news of the miracle. He scoffed "Your son is as dead as these chickens on my plate." At which point the chickens jumped up and began to crow.

So, in the cathedral of St Domingo, there is a chicken run. It is an elaborate edifice within the church - it looks a little bit like a small organ loft without the pipes. In this loft, there are a pair of live chickens. They hang out in their gothic chicken run and people come and ask blessings of St Domingo through the chickens. The monastary next door keeps chickens in its courtyard so that no two chickens have to spend their whole lives in the church. I guess it´s hard work being a medium for a saint.

And for a bonus picture: A very friendly Spaniard pilgrim working on his english by doing the best imitation of Frank Sinatra singing "New York, New York." This man deserves a Tony!

Day 25 - 24.3 Kilometres

Navarrete to Naherra

Not quite sure what happened. Forgot to write in my journal. Didn´t post. I imagine we walked. Just a guess.

Oh! We met a lovely Austrian schoolteacher who lives in a village about an hour´s train ride outside of Vienna. His village hosts one of the best medieval festivals in Austria. It is on September 8-10, and he invited us to come and stay at his house and go to the festival. As it happens, we will be in Vienna right around those dates. In case we didn´t post it, the cheapest way to Nepal from Germany is to go Berlin to Istanbul, Istanbul to Vienna, and then Vienna to Delhi. We plan to putter around northern India (the safe parts) and then make our way overland to Nepal. So, we will be in Vienna. And now we will be staying at our new trail family´s house and going to a festival too!

Another thing we did come across were the "Chairs in the Wild." These perfectly old leather seats in the middle of nowhere that afforded the lucky pilgrim with a fantastic view. We couldn't pass up an opportunity to take a well deserved break and enjoy the scenery.

The landscape is beautiful, and I do love Spain, but trail family is what Camino de Santiago is all about. Cz wants to do another "Pilgrim´s Perspective" at some point, and I believe it will be about trail family, so I will be very brief.

Your trail family are the people you meet along the way. They are the people you share meals and stories with. They are instantly as close as home, whether you see them for only one day or whether you walk together over several kilometres. It is sort of like the friendships you form in camp or elementary school. Instant and strong, but without the heartbreak of separation when you are so young.

And my Spanish is getting a little better every day. I even got to play translator for a 2 Polish Girls. One who spoke English, the other only Polish. So, Polish to English so I could understand, English to Spanish for their new friend, and back again. It was very exciting.

Day 24 - 21.5 or 22.4 Kilometres

Depending which map you consult. Viana to Navarrete

Our daily map that we picked up in St Jean said that Viana to Navarrete was 21.5Km. According to the milemarkers, it was 22.4. I vote for 22.4, as it means that Cz is really bookin´ it now!

It was a relatively easy walk. Just about the time we started thinking, "Gosh we´ve been walking a long time," the town came into view. So, 22 kilometres and change, and no aching muscles. All of out clothes are fitting a bit looser though.

About halfway between Viana and Navarrete is the city of Longrono. It is just an ordinary city, though it does have a lovely and LARGE park. In fact, most of the day´s walking felt like it was through said park. It did have a strange sculpture which inspired yet another undignified Cz picture. But you will have to wait to see it. (still no computer with a USB port).

Along the way, we met with a very VERY persuasive Spaniard who said (acted out) something along the lines of "Your walking stick offends me. You will take this one. It is a gift. Take it." There was no turning him down. You can´t turn down a Spaniard doing charades. Really. Just try. I dare you.

So, with two sticks - naturally the ofending one was passed down to me "You´re short it isn´t as bad for you" according to the Spaniard - we went on our way. As we walked, we passed a chain link fence decorted with crosses of all shapes and sizes. It is tradition for pilgrims passing this point to create a cross from whatever materials are at hand and add it to the fence. We felt that this would be a fitting send-off for stickie (the old stick - the Spaniard was in fact right - the new stick is very nice). The fence now sports a large, somewhat crooked cross decorated with dried grasses. Farewell Stickie!

Day 23 - 19.5 Kilometres

Los Arcos to Viana

Same landscape as yesterday, but got up really early to avoid the worst of the heat. It made the walking much more pleasant, and we arrived in Viana early enough to do some sightseeing.

The town has a lovely old cathedral, and one of the Albergues is actually in its upper floors. It operates on the old system of Albergues, in that it only asked for a voluntary donation rather than the 5-8 Euros required per person at the Municipal ones. We pitched in 10, and considered it small change for our belltower room, hot dinner, and breakfast.

I offered to help out in the kitchen and was told to come back at seven to help lay the table and serve the bread and wine. But, before even being put to work, the Hostellier offered me hot crepe with sugar just for offering! In between laying the table, he taught me how to turn crepes by flipping them in the air over the pan, and showed me where a stork was nesting on a neighboring building.

Much of this was transmitted by hand gestures, as he spoke only Spanish and French. If you speak either of these languages, you will be fine on the trail, as most of the hostelliers (the people who work at the Albergues) and shopowners speak both. If however, you speak Spanish and German, even the tiniest bit, you will meet far more people.

Many of the Pilgrims are German. Many of them speak only German and a little English. This makes communicating with the Hostelliers a challenge. And turns my tiny bit of Spanish and tiny bit of German into an instant translating service. I know enough of both languages to ask for a bed, ask where things are, and find out what time is breakfast. That´s about it, but it is enough. From German to English (to have Cz help out with my Spanish - juggling three languages is HARD) to Spanish and back again. It was like a regular UN meeting. But we´ve met some really nice people...

The date we were in the church was 7/7/7. An auspicious day, apparently, as there were two weddings and a funeral all in the same evening. The first wedding was huge, with confetti and firecrackers being shot from the cathedral´s clerestory windows (the top ones above the gallery - thanks Bob). The second wedding was smaller, but no less interesting for the townsfolk. They all turned out to line the streets and watch the proceedings. My favourites were the old ladies who sat in chairs lining the churchyard fence fanning themselves with brightly coloured fans and gossiping. The funeral was later, as storm rolled in. Appropriate, and also disproving my theory that it never rains in Spain.

Day 22 - 21 Kilometres

Estrella to Los Arcos

The landscape we are travelling through now looks very much like parts of the American West. It´s somewhat hilly with a backdrop of mountains behind, and wide mesas ahead. I suspect we will be climbing in those mesas in the relatively near future.

Between the vineyards (LOTS of vineyards) and the olive groves, it´s all scrub pine and desert plants (Gorse, Indian Paintbrush, Assorted Grasses Dwarf Oak...). Most of the wildlife we have seen lately has been toads (small dust-coloured ones), eagles, and the occasional snake.

The dirt is shifting from yellows over to reds, and is covering everything. When we take our shoes off at night our legs are one colour above our socks, and another colour below! We needn´t worry about our bags looking new and attracting theives. The trail is doing a good job of aging them!

About 4KM out from Estrella, there is the small town of Irache. Irache is known for being a wine-producing area. Since 1895, they have been caring for pilgrims with a public fountain with two nozzles. One with fresh water. One with a fairly decent red wine. We stopped by there at about 9AM. No matter. The Medieval Pilgims had bread and wine for breakfast, no? What could be more catholic?

So we drank about a half-litre of wine, and then topped off the litre "water" bottle again. We were carrying the leftovers from yesterday´s dinner, and needed a proper table wine to accompany them.

At the fountain, we met up with two Irish boys whom we had talked with a few nights ago, and with whom we seemed to be keeping pace. We decided to walk the day together, and the good conversation made the miles under the hot, hot, HOT Spanish sun much more bearable.

The rain is Spain does NOT fall on the plain. I am beginning to doubt if the rain in Spain falls ever, at all, period.

Sweaty (oh, so sweaty and gross) we arrived in Los Arcos. If you ever do this pilgrimage, do not try to walk from 2-4 in the afternoon. Siesta happens for reason. By the time we had showered and laundered (when you only pack 3 outfits, you do a lot of laundry), it was nearly suppertime. Since we had way more food than we could eat, we invited the Irish Boys to join us, and made much merry. Made even more so by the full litre of free wine! Even the ducks got treats since the Irish Boys brought cheese, cookies, and a huge loaf of bread that the lucky ducks finished for us.

PS in Estrella we finally met someone in Theatre. Theatre is a tiny little world. We were bound to meet someone sometime. This particular fellow was a man from Madrid, currently stage-managing at La Fenice in Venice, but he also directs and acts. Yes, we exchanged cards.

Day 21 - 22.4 Kilometres

Puenta De La Reina to Estrella

Cz has found his trail legs, and I do not approve. Today he was leaving me behind. I would keep up for a while, but then get distracted by the view, or another hiker, etc. I would look up, and he would be 25 metres down the road, and I would have to run, run mind you with a 20lb pack, to catch up. No, I do not approve in the least. Actually, this is a distinct improvement over the wincing every step, and I am pretty proud of him. Now it is my turn to get fit!

Today we travelled from Puenta De La Reina to Estrella. You really cannot beat that for a name! A Medieval town called Star.

The route took us over the old Roman road -literally, like with the original paving stones Roman road. It needed some work.

Cz and I are SO over Roman bridges. At first it was "Ooooh a Roman Bridge, let's take a picture". Now it's "God, another Roman bridge. Didn't they have better things to do than build effin bridges..." I guess it says something that so many are still standing though.

Van Goh really knew what he was doing when he painted his olive groves. The branches really do twist like that, and the silver leaves shimmer in the heat.

The light here is hard and clear. Everything has the most distinct shadows. The light makes colours super-saturated, and there is so little moisture in the air that the blue of sky arcs down in deep cobalt until it hits the earth.

Speaking of the heat. In one village along the way we passed a fountain. This is not unusual. Most villages have fountains with drinking water for the pilgrims. What made this one unusual was Cz´s reaction. I guess the heat was really getting to him (to all of us). Almost everyone that stopped dunked their head under the fountain. Cz filled his hat, and then put it on. It held a lot...a LOT of water. He was drenched. He didn´t expect it to hold so much water. I got the whole thing on film, including the Cz lots of cold water dance. Very acrobatic. Stay tuned for pics. Eventually.

Day 20 - 24 Kilometres

Pamplona to Puente de la Reina

This is the point where all the assorted roads to Santiago converge. For such a meeting pont, it is still a small village.

We are still somewhat in the rainshadow of the mountains, though the gold wheatfields are now occasional interspersed with grey-green olive groves, very green vinyards, and joy of joys, aparagus fields. The official harvest is over, and most of the asparagus has gone to seed, but the occasional tasty green stalk was good motivation to make it to the next patch.

We did cross another (much smaller) mountain today. At the top of which was my new favourite person. A brit who had done the Camino many years before and met so many great volunteers that he decided to become one. At first he volunteered in the Albergues (pilgrim hostels), but then he got the brilliant idea to buy a camper van, and park himself for a few days at a time at particularly difficult points around the Camino. So today, we crested the mountain, and there, waiting at the top, was a van spilling classical music, coffee, chocolate, cookies, first-aide kit, and walking sticks. All presided over by a storytelling, charismatic old Englishman.

It did wonders for our morale.

Cz is beginning to get his trail legs (maybe). Today we covered the 24 Km in just under 8 hours. Despite hilly and rocky terrain, he never landed on his butt once. Of course now he can barely walk, but hey, it´s a start. And the refugio we´re at now has the best, hottest, most massagey showers, so we have high hopes for tomorrow!