Day 2,417: To be concluded...

"I was walking far from home 
Where the names were not burned along the wall 
Saw a building, high as heaven 
But the door was so small, door was so small 

I saw rainclouds, little babies 
And a bridge that had tumbled to the ground 
I saw sinners making music 
And I've dreamt of that sound, dreamt of that sound "

Iron and Wine - "Walking Far From Home"

I've let this blog sit idle for over six years, and honestly I didn't know how much longer it would be before I had a chance to complete it.  Until yesterday...when it dawned on me that I have *just* enough vacation time left to walk to Santiago if I started in Astorga.  Co-incidentally, Astorga was the exact city where my last camino ended.  Or at least where the walking bit ended.

Now, after a flurry of online activity to book travel and accommodations, it's actually going to happen.  On September 2, I'll be walking out of Astorga to complete the last 271 kilometers of my second camino.

Lots of preparation to do between now and then....but I'm already much happier than usual, knowing that it's just around the corner.

Days 25 to 29: Astorga to Santiago

"I have got to find the river,
Bergamot and vetiver,
Run through my head and fall away.
Leave the road and memorize
this life that pass before my eyes"
                                 -REM

Jan 14, 2011:
Sorry I haven't posted in a while...I've been keeping quite busy, but mostly I really didn't feel like it (so sue me).  The next day in Astorga, the weather was pretty much the same as the previous two days, and the chest cold that I had caught in León wasn't getting any better.  So I made the decision to stop this camino then and there.  If I ever decide to do the camino again (and that's a big if), I'll pick it up from Astorga.  Also, if I ever decide to do the camino again...it won't be during the winter.  Having said that, I still had the urge to go to Santiago and see the cathedral and reliquary where Santiago's remains are kept.  The last time around, I never seemed to be there at an appropriate time to visit the remains, so I ended up leaving town without seeing the one thing that pilgrims over the ages had come to Santiago to venerate.  That's something that I wouldn't pass up this time around.

The train ride from Astorga went through some incredible countryside. The route between the two cities is somewhat roundabout, turning south into Ourense before finally heading to Santiago.  All along the route were signs of the recent spell of bad weather.  Rivers overflowing their banks, waterlogged fields, etc.  Made me wonder what would have been in store for me if I had continued walking.  In Ourense, I made the acquaintance of Lucia from Segovia...we hit it off immediately, partly because I mentioned that I had always wanted to see Segovia, but mostly because she was having a tremendous fun at the expense of my broken (but passable) Spanish.  

Arrived in Santiago at about 10:00pm.  It didn't feel quite right entering the city this way, but I consoled myself with the thought of how it would feel to enter the city after being rained on for 10 days straight.  That notion made it much easier to accept my decision. I had booked a room at a pensión near the cathedral, but for the life of me, I could not find the place.  Even after wandering the city for four days, I still haven't come across it.  So I wandered by two or three hotels (one closed, one full, one very iffy).  Eventually, my wandering brought me to the Hotel Monumental San Fransico.  The hotel was a former monestary, and has been restored to probably-better-than new.  It's evident that the rooms in the hotel were the former cells for the monks, although they've all been expanded and re-formed into something the former residents could only dream of.  Visited the cathedral the next day, and finally managed to visit the reliquary.  One disappointing thing in the cathedral...over the centuries, a pilgrim tradition has devloped.  When a pilgrim arrives at the Santiago cathedral, they place their right hand on the central pillar of the Portico de Gloria and give thanks for a safe arrival.  So many hands have done this rite, that you can clearly see where the stone has been worn away, in the rough shape of a hand.  I did this back in 2006.  I wouldn't have done it this time (I'm more tourist than pilgrim now), but I didn't even have the option.  The central column has been fenced off, presumably to prevent people from touching it.  I hope this is is temporary...it would be a shame to erase centuries of tradition, even in the name of conservation.  

While I was at the cathedral, I also took the cathedral museum tour, which was fascinating...it's not quite as spectacular as the Burgos cathedral museum, but given my attachment to the camino, it was certainly more meaningful to me. On the way out of the, I bumped into Lucia again, and we ended up spending the next few days touring the city together (hence the lack of blog updates).  I have to say - tourism is so much better when you have company.  We had a ton of fun, and with the exception of one questionable dinner of pulpo (octupus), we also ate very well.  What I just said about tourism with company is doubly true for dinners, etc.  Lucia was scheduled to leave town two days after I planned to, but she convinced me to stick around and return to Segovia with her so that she could show me around...but that's another blog entry (which will hopefully come more quickly than this one did).

Days 24 and 25: León to Astorga via San Martín del Camino

"No matter if you're born to play the king or pawn
for the line is thinly drawn between joy and sorrow
So my fantasy becomes reality
and I must be what I must be and face tomorrow

So I'll continue to continue to pretend
my life will never end
and flowers never bend with the rainfall"
                                   -Paul Simon

January 8th, 2011:
As tough as leaving Pamplona and Burgos was, leaving León was excruciating.  León is still one of my favorite cities in Spain, probably in fourth place...so leaving under any circumstance would be less than enjoyable.  As it was, leaving my warm, dry, comfortable hotel room there to brave the elements on the road made the prospect of leaving that much more undesirable.  But I did end up leaving eventually...in weather that promised to turn sunny and clear at any moment.  Turns out the weather was just having a bit of fun with me; the rain started in about a half hour into my walk, and still hasn't stopped.  Around mid-day, the temperature dropped and the wind picked up (a lot), which made the journey that much more miserable.  I had intended on doing 23km into Villadangos del Páramo that day...anyone care to guess the status of the albergue there?  That's right...closed.  So I walked on another 5k or so into San Martín, where (thankfully) one of the three albergues were open.  Thankfully, while I was in León, I had mailed home a bunch of equipment that I didn't think I'd be using and was just weighing me down.  As a result, my backpack was 5Kg lighter, and the 28k I did that day was not at all tiring.

The weather the next day was every bit as bad, although at least it was honest about it and made no attempt to fool me.  The first 7k into Hospital de Órbigo passed quickly, though I was drenched to the bone by the time I got into the city.  Órbigo is famous on the camino for one of it's legends...that of Don Suero de Quiñones. Don Quiñones was a 15th century knight who, to impress his lady, planted himself on one side of the bridge crossing the river Órbigo during a holy year, and challenged any knight trying to pass to a test of skills.  Apparently, he won all the challenges, and ultimately his lady friend as well.  Each year, the town celebrates the legend with a midieval festival complete with jousting, etc.

What's more interesting to me about this legend, is that it's rumored that Don Quiñones was the inspiration for Cervantes' Don Quijote...written more than a hundred years later.  The character of Don Quijote has always interested me...I remember my first encounter with him was when my mother and I were visiting my aunt in San Jose.  She had a porcelain figurine of Quijote, but the sword had broken off.  There was something about the aspect of the figurine that fascinated me...despite looking ragged and slipshod, there was a nobility about him, and I couldn't quite pin down what it was.  Later of course, I learned the story, read the book, watched the movie/musical, etc.  Today, I try to keep something of Quijote around my personal space...I have a framed print of Picasso's Quijote on my living room wall.  In my last place, I had a little wooden figurine on the shelf.  I guess I keep the stuff around to remind myself that you have to do what you believe to be right...even if everyone else thinks you're crazy.  The trick, I suppose, is to learn to differentiate evil giants from windmills.

It should also go without saying that if everyone else thinks you're crazy, they might be right.  So you might want to listen to their opinions and arguments, and weigh them against your own before finally deciding on what's right.  If you do that, and you still believe you're right, go for it.  Keep in mind though...if their reasons don't make sense to you, it might also be because you're crazy.  At that point though, you're crazy beyond rational thought...so kick back and enjoy the crazy*.

The remainder of the walk into Astorga was uneventful, although at one point in the rain and wind, I asked myself "could this get any worse?".  Fifteen minutes later it hailed for a couple of minutes, as if God were saying: "well, I was saving this for the apocalypse, but just to make a point...".  I didn't ask if things could get worse after that.  Mostly because I don't like locusts.

For a small-ish city, Astorga is really quite nice.  Packed full of history and monuments, and with probably the best maintained and run Albergue on the camino.  It's a bit large and impersonal, but frankly anywhere that has washing machines and dryers is cause for celebration during a winter camino (you tend not to wash your clothes as often as they don't dry very well when it's cold).  I'll need to make some decisions as to what's next while I'm in Astorga...the rain is forecast to continue into the forseeable future, and Galicia has been under rain, wind and flood warnings for the past couple of days.  One of the towns along the camino, Portomarín, had several roads washed out because of the weather...I don't even know if it's accessible at this point.  I might end up taking a train further along...possibly as far as Santiago.  At this point, I think I've gotten all I can from this particular camino (more on that in a later post).

For now at least, I'm warm and reasonably (but never quite completely) dry. More posts to follow soon.




* If what you belive to be right involves hurting people for any reason (or animals for no reason), please ignore all my advice and go see a shrink.  You're crazy.

Updated photos

Almost forgot...updated photos are here

And if a picture is worth a thousand words, here's a few videos (30,000 words/sec) here

Days 18 to 20: Calzadilla to León via Sahagún

"oh, mama, this could be the end
I'm stuck inside of Mobile with the Memphis blues again"
                                                        -Bob Dylan

Jan 2, 2011:
Ok, not quite stuck in Mobile, more like stuck in Sahagún.  The 22k from Calzadilla to Sahagún was unremarkable and uninteresting.  Met another pilgrim on his way back from Santiago, and he warned me that all of the albergues between Sahagún and Mansilla las Mulas were closed down until mid-January.  That was bad news... it'd mean a 40k+ stretch between accomodations.  In the ongoing battle between determination and pragmatism, pragmatism wins another round.  I'd have to catch a bus from Sahagun to Mansilla and try my luck there.  I arrived in Sahagún mid-afternoon, and got the same impression that I had the last time I was there...it's a large-ish city, but it's kind of a dump.  While the historical centre of the city was well maintained, pretty much everywhere else had all the charm of a Detroit slum (if Detroit slums had been built out of  adobe).  Checked into the albergue and proceeded to seek out the bus station or an internet cafe.  Evidently, the city has neither.  Sahagun is on the main railway line between Valladolid and León, so I guess someone figured that busses were unnecessary.  Also, given the entire city was covered in grafitti, someone else figured that providing an internet café for the obviously bored youth was unnecessary as well.

Got my ticket at the train station, which did not go to Mansilla, but rather directly to León.  Unfortunately, it didn't leave until 2:00 the next afternoon, so I was stuck in Sahagún for several hours more than I wanted to be.  More than anyone there wanted to be, apparently...not an especially friendly city.  Then again, if I was doomed to a long term stay in Sahagún like they were, I doubt that I'd be particularly happy.

The train ride into León, which covered a two-day walk, took 30 minutes, which just goes to show what an inefficient means of transporation our feet are.  Arrived in León, without a clue as to where I was going to stay that night (no internet in Sahagún).  Wandered around the city a bit until I found an internet café, then looked up the various hotels...not to mention the location of where I was in the city.  Found what I was looking for, and will be spending the next several days in León.  Probably until the 7th, as I really don't want to start wandering in the wilderness again until the last big holiday (Three Kings day, Jan 6) is out of the way.  Less chance of everything being closed that way. 

Days 17: Carrion de los Condes to Calzadilla de la Cueza

"All is quiet on new year's day"
                                               -U2

Jan. 1, 2011:
First off, happy 2011 everyone! I hope you all had a great new year's eve. Also wanted to let people know of a small irony that I've noticed....the more ubiquitous the internet gets (smartphones, wi-fi), the more difficult it's becoming to find internet cafes or call centres.  It seems to me that the only time I've been able to find a terminal is when I'm in the larger cities.  So my apologies if I'm a bit late in posting entries or responding to e-mails.

Carrion de los Condes was a fun time.  The nuns in the convent that ran the albergue were extremely kind and accomodating.  I also got more pilgrim company there: Daniel from Quebec, who's an absolute riot, Hiroshi from Japan, who's only doing the Burgos to León leg this time around, and Gareth, an ex-pat brit living in Alicante.  Thanks to Daniel's odd sense of humor and Gareth's good-natured gruffness, we all had a lot of laughs in the albergue, as well as over dinner and breakfast the next morning. 

We were all dreading the first stage of the next day (new year's eve day) - that being a 17k walk to without towns, water, shelter, etc.  The plan was to do the 17k to Calzadilla de la Cueza, and continue another 9k to Terradillos de los Templarios where we'd all heard legends of a fantastic albergue.  The first 17k were bearable for me, although the treadmill-like monotony of walking through the flatlands was starting to take it's toll on my sanity.  Stopped to rest in Calzadilla, and realized I had a pamphlet for the Terradillos albergue, so I called them up...the lady on the other end told me they were closed until Jan 10.  So I decided to call it a day in Calzadilla.  The albergue was locked, but there was a phone number to reach the hospitalero at.  I gave him a call, and he was there within 10 minutes.  He also made sure that everything was in good order (heat, hot water, etc), even if it was for just one pilgrim.  Calzadilla being a tiny town, there were no bars, restaurants or stores open.  So it looked like I'd be starting the new year on an empty stomach.  César would hear none of it...apparently, he also owned the one restaurant in town, and he told me to come by for an early dinner (it was new year's eve after all).  Dinner was good, and what it might have lacked in variety, it more than made up for in quantity.  Afterwards, it was back to the empty albergue (no other pilgrims had shown) to wait out the new year.  Being as tired as I was, I ended up nodding off.

They say new year's eve is an indication of how the rest of the year will be.  There may be some truth to that; Last new year's was a quiet even with a close friend who means the world to me.  The rest of the year was all about quiet times with friends and family (which was really kind of nice).  I spent this new years alone in a town halfway between the middle and the edge of nowhere, in a building meant to accomodate 80 people, awakened by several explosions just outside the building (impromteau fireworks from the 6-10 permanent residents of the town.)

This could be an interesting year.

Day 15 and 16: Castrojeriz to Carrion de los Condes via Fromista

Dec. 30, 2010:
I've said it before, but it bears repeating...Castrojeriz has just about the nicest people on the planet.  The municipal albergue was unmanned, but still open when we (me and the pilgrims from Austria and Poland) arrived at 1:00.  Apparently the hospitalero was on holidays.  Within one hour of arriving, no fewer than three people from the town popped in to see how we were doing, and to assure us that the heat would come on later in the evening (it was on a timer).

Having realized the hard way in Estella that my rain gear was, to say the least, inadequate, I remembered that there was a good store in Castrojeriz that specialized in gear for the Camino.  I got my poncho there the last time, and I remembered exactly where it was in town, (which is not hard in Castrojeriz).  Popping in, I was greeted by the same elderly gent that served me the last time.  He helped me pick out a good poncho for the road.  When I mentioned that this was the second one I was buying from him, he was thrilled that I remembered his little store.  He talked about how the store had been there since his grandfather's time, 105 years or so.  In parting, I told him that I hope to find him well if I ever come through town again.  He responded by saying that if he's not in the store he'll be at home (and pointed out his house across the street).  He said if I do come by again he'd have me over for coffee or a drink.  So either he was really nice, really happy for repeat business, or really insincere.  I'll give him the benefit of the doubt and go with the first.

There were more pilgrims than usual in the Castrojeriz albergue, including Erlantz, from a town just outside of Bilbao, who was doing the camino in several stages over several vacations.  He recognized my name as being (very) basque and we got to chatting.  Turns out, he's from a town, Mungia, that is 10km south of Plentzia, where my grandfather grew up.  That's one of the things I love about this road...you never know what kind of links you'll uncover.  There's another one later on in this blog entry....

The walk out of Castrojeriz was decidedly easy, with the only obstacle coming early on.  It was the monster hill just outside the city that needed climbing.  I remember the climb from the last time as being excruciating.  This time around, it wasn't so bad...oh, it was tough, but nowhere near as tough as that second day out of Valcarlos.

After the hill, it was pretty much flat and straight, all the way to Fromista.  One Interesting thing is that all the memories I have of these small meseta towns have been jumbled together.  Frankly, there's really not much to distinguish or remember one from the next.  Now that I'm re-walking the road, my brain is starting to disentangle that information.  For instance, I was a couple of km outside of Boadilla del Camino and my legs were decidedly rubbery.  I thought to myself "it's ok, there's a rest area just outside of Boadilla...I can rest there".  It wasn't "I wonder if" or "I think there might be"; I knew it as a fact.  Sure enough, just before the Boadilla sign, there was the rest stop, just as I pictured it.  Weird.

Had to spend the night in a pension, since all the albergues in Fromista were closed.  Along with pretty much everything else.  The walk to Carrion today was also uneventful, though mercifully, there were open cafes in every town I walked through along the way.  Arriving in Carrion, which is a good-sized city, it looked like this place was shut down as well, went from one albergue (closed) to another (closed) to a hostal (closed) to a pension (closed), and finally found an open albergue...in a convent on the edge of town.  The nun who welcomes pilgrims is a sweet lady who really goes out of her way to make pilgrims feel welcome.  Especially pilgrims who had been wandering around town aimlessly for an hour.  As she stamped my pilgrim passport, she mentioned that there was a nun in her order (in San Sebastian) who is also named Ormaechea.  Again, I love the links.

Am very comfortable, if somewhat chilled in the pilgrim dormitory.  Will continue on to Terradillos de los Templarios tomorrow for Noche Vieja.  New year's eve with the Templars...sounds like fun :-)

Day 13 and 14: Burgos to Castrojeriz via Hornillos del Camino

"Hope is the dream of a soul awake"
                            -French proverb

Five days off from walking makes one forget just how nice walking is.  Left Burgos very reluctantly that morning, having enjoyed my stay there fully.  Burgos is a very old fashioned town...if it weren´t for the mobile phones and modern fashions, etc., you could almost imagine it was the 1930's.  Learned two important things in Burgos. One: roasted chestnuts (over an open fire no less) are absolutely delicious.  Two: I'm a little allergic to chestnuts.  Nothing serious, just a bit of hives on my right side that subsided after half an hour, but still...enough to put me off chestnuts.

The walk out of Burgos went from city to suburbs to sub-suburbs remarkably quickly.  Only an hour's walk out of town and I was out in the country.  Just as the countryside started opening up, I ran into a bike pilgrim on the way back from Santiago.  He was asking for help, as (apparently) his money and cards had been stolen, and he needed to get back home to Estella.  Yes, I know how fishy that sounds.  Yes, I know it sounds like a scam.  The problem I had at that moment was that I couldn´t ignore a direct plea for help.  Blame Kant...his categorical imperative (while flawed) gives a fairly good way of measuring the morality of an action...would it be desirable to live in a world where everyone acted that way all the time?  In the situation I was confronted with, the answer was very clearly "hell no".  Besides, I'd rather be a chump than a jerk.  So I gave him what I could spare, which wasn't a whole lot, wished him well, and put it out of my mind. 

Spent that night in Hornillos del Camino in a cold, cold albergue.  Two other pilgrims were with me, one from Austria and one from Poland.  Neither spoke any Spanish or English, so we all pretty much kept to ourselves.  All the shops in town were closed, but the lady running the albergue also ran the bar across the way, and she opened it just long enough to sell us some microwavable meals.  My microwavable meal was called "Canneloni", but in appearance, taste and texture, it only bore a passing resemblance to the stuffed pasta shells I expected.  For that matter, it only bore a passing resemblance to food of any sort.  I'm guessing it's the primordial sludge that canneloni eventually evolved from.

Headed out from Hornillos the next morning, without anything solid for breakfast.  It was probably for the best; the proto-canneloni was still swirling in my gut like an angry mob looking for a scapegoat (I´ve been waiting days put that metaphor on-line).  I wasn't about to provide it with one.  The route from Hornillos passed through Hontanas (everything closed), and the Monestario de San Anton (also closed).  So I'd have to wait until Castrojeriz before I could get a bite to eat.  Also had run out of cigarettes the day before, and with nothing open, I was out of luck on that front as well.  So...there I was, no food, no coffee, no shelter, no cigarettes for 20k.  At least the last time I did the camino, there was always hope with every new town.  This time, hope seems to be dashed far too often.

And then something interesting happened.  2km outside of Castrojeriz, there's a rural road to another another town that intersects the camino.  As I was approaching the crossing, I noticed three figures walking down the road toward the camino.  It took 20 minutes from the time I first saw the figures to the time I reached the crossing (you can see stuff miles away on the meseta).  By that time, it was clear that the three walkers were three little old ladies.  I reached the crossroads just before they did, and as I passed, one of them called to me "¡Espere!".  So I stopped, walked over and asked if if I could help them.  She said that they had seen me walking down the road, and with that, she handed me four little candies.  I was overwhelmed...I would have hugged her if I didn´t stink so much.  Thanking them profusely, I wished them well, and went on my way.  Turning back a few minutes later, I saw the three figures heading back to the other town.  They had only come out to do what they could to help me.

That'll teach me to let hope falter.  Hope may be difficult at times, but that just means that despair is laziness.

P.S.  The candies were actually kind of disgusting, and ended up enraging the canneloni which, by then, had calmed down.  But that's completely besides the point.  In this case, it was absolutely the thought that mattered.

Days 8 - 10: Estella to Burgos (via Logroño)

December 24, 2010:
Woke up to more pouring rain in Estella the morning of the 22nd.  It was an easy call to not walk that day...Guillaume from France (the other pilgrim in the Estella albergue) agreed.  He was heading back the other direction anyways, so given that it was probably going to be his last day of walking anyway, he decided to take the bus back to Pamplona and avoid the nonsense that I had to walk through.  For my part, I had a long think about it, and I was keen to avoid the nonsense that he had to walk through, and to get to a good-sized city to spend the holidays in.  Took a bus to Logroño that morning...given the shape my leg, ribs, and morale is in, it´s probably for the best if I took a couple of days off.  Everything´s fine by the way...am still a little sore, and have some ugly bruises down my side, but I could probably do 20+ km or so today if I had to

Stayed in Logroño overnight, and tried my best to book a hotel room in Santo Domingo, but couldn´t swing it.  So, I booked a room in Burgos for the 24th to 26th instead.  The bus ride from Logroño was really interesting...it actually passed through the same towns I remembered from the last camino.  Nájera, Santo Domingo, Grañon, Villafranca.  Each time the bus passed one of these cities, memories flooded back to me.  It was with particular sadness that I passed through Santo Domingo - for reasons I went into in detail in my 2006 blog, that place means a lot to me.  Passing through town without having at least a walkaround or a visit to the cathedral...well, it sucked.  The trip over the Montes de Oca mountain range was very scenic...all the trees had a very light dusting of snow on them, which was quite beautiful.  I´m not entirely sure the bus driver knew how to handle snow on the road, but we made it through with only a couple of scares.

Have arrived in Burgos, and it´s just as I remember it...in fact, I´ve spent the last hour or so wandering around the old part of town.  Oddly, there´s something about the layout of Burgos that stuck with me; I´m having absolutely no trouble finding anything I´m looking for.  It helps that everything seems to be right where I left it four years ago.  I´ve said it once, I´ll say it again...this city rocks.

Noche Buena tonight and Christmas tomorrow, and I´m already a bit homesick.  It´s a shame that the only way I could swing this trip is by combining vacations from 2010/2011 and spanning the holidays.  Still, as much as I´ll miss my family and friends back home, I know I´ll be back there soon enough.  I´ll be attending the midnight mass at the cathedral, which is really not a bad consolation prize.

Will post again once the country re-opens for business.  In the mean time, Merry Christmas, Feliz Navidad, Zorionak to everyone at home!

Day 7: Puente la Reina to Estella

"Why does it always rain on me
Even when the sun is shining
I can´t avoid the lightning"
                          - Travis

December 21, 2010:
If I had to use one word to describe today´s 22k walk, it would be "unpleasant".  If I could use more than one word, I´d keep "unpleasant" and pad the rest with expletives.  There are days that test your sanity and your tolerance for misery, and today was one of them.

It started with the fact that I finally got some pilgrim comany in Puente la Reina...five others, in fact.  And while it was great having people to talk to again, the novelty wore off once the lights were on in the dorm and we all took turns keeping each other awake through snoring.  So, the next morning, with two solid hours of sleep under my belt, I started off.  It was a cold, damp morning, and the first two hours of the day were spent walking along the side of a highway, looking for an ocassional arrow to re-assure me that I was still going in the right direction.  Once the camino veered away from the highway, and onto footpaths through the many hills around here, the rain started in.  First a mist, than a trickle, then a torrent.  It was at exactly this point that I met an old friend....the Via Trajana.  The Via Trajana was the old roman road that liked Bordeaux in France with Astorga, in Western Spain.  After two thousand years of decay and neglect, it is more of an obstacle than it is a road.  5km in, trying to negotiate my way down a steep incline on the via, the rock under my right foot got loose under the mud and I took a very bad fall.  Got three very large, very painful bruises all along the left side of my ribcage to show for it.  I spent the rest of the remaining 12k struggling to take deep breaths and experimenting on my clothing to see exactly how much rain it could hold on to (I figure about 5-6 pounds).

Arrived in Estella wet, muddy, miserable and thouroughly dejected.  I know for a fact that the next three or four stages, between here and Santo Domingo can be just as muddy, just as miserable in bad weather.  Not sure I can take another day like this.  That´s a lie - I´m positive I can´t take one more day like this.  If it´s raining tomorrow, I´m not walking....period.  Hey, I´ve already done this camino once...I´ve got nothing to prove.

Having said all that, the Albergue in Estella was extremely comfortable.  Warm, anyway, and run by a very nice volunteer named Alva.  A second pilgrim, on his way back from Santiago joined us later in the evening...he was every bit as muddy as I was.  The three of us had a grand old time exchanging horror stories of our camino time, and filling each other in on what to expect in the next stage.  I don´t think either of us liked what we heard.

Day 6: Pamplona to Puente La Reina

"Caminante, no hay camino"
            -Antonio Machado

Dec 20, 2010:
Was very glad to get out of Pamplona this morning, despite the fact that my leg was still a little iffy, and despite the fact that I really, really like Pamplona.  Fact is, resting my tendons involved not moving around all that much, and as a result, I ended up spending most of my time in Pamplona in the hotel, on my back, with my foot elevated.  In a city like Pamplona, knowing that there´s all kinds of things to do and see just outside the door...it was torture.  My leg probably could have used another day´s rest, but I couldn´t take it anymore.  I had to get out.

It was -2c when I left Pamplona at 8:30am, but as I made my escape, and as I approached the Alto del Perdón, the morning got warmer and warmer.  I remembered this climb as being not too bad the first time around (at least I remember writing that), so I was relieved to find out that the comments in the last blog wasn´t false bravado.  Still, climbing 600m within 4k takes a bit of time, so it was noon by the time I got to the top.  By that time, the temperature was in the low teens, sun was shining, and the view for miles around was spectacular.  I took a video of it, and I´ll post it at some point once I have a better connection.

Came across some interesting camino grafitti today.  It was scrawled on a wall, and it said "Caminante, no hay camino".  This can be translated as "traveller, there is no road" or "traveller, there is no way" (although the latter seems like a bleak statement to tell tired pilgrims".  It´s all pop-culture shorthand though...one small quote to refer to a longer piece.  In this case, I´ve found (through the miracle of google) that the quote refers to a poem by Antonio Machado.  Poem follows, along with my best stab at a translation (if you have a better translation, please let me know):

Caminante, son tus huellas            Traveller, the path is your footsteps
el camino y nada más;                  And nothing more.
Caminante, no hay camino,           Traveller, there is no road,
se hace camino al andar.               The road is made through walking
Al andar se hace el camino,           By walking, you make your own road,
y al volver la vista atrás                 And as you turn to look back
se ve la senda que nunca               You will see the path
se ha de volver a pisar.                  That no-one will walk again
Caminante no hay camino              Traveller, there is no road
sino estelas en la mar.                    Only ripples on the ocean

Ah, so it´s not a bleak statement, or a critique of anyone´s abilities.  It´s about finding one´s own path, and it´s about impermanence.  I can dig it.

Now if you´ll excuse me, I seem to have a bit of dust in my eyes...

Day 4: Zubiri to Pamplona

"Now the sun was in my eyes
So forgive me if I was blind
But I can suddenly see the light
Now the blinds are raised,
Night has finally spoken
Winter's finally broken
I realise I'm heading for colder days"
     -Housemartins from "I Smell Winter"

The last time around, Zubiri didn´t make much of an impression on me.  That may have been because I was just too tired at the time to have an impression made.  It´s a bit different this time - it´s a place I could really grow to like.  Zubiri translates to "Two bridges" in the Basque language "Zubi = bridge", "Biri = two".  One of the bridge in question is a medieval construction, reputed to house the remains of Santa Quiteria in the central column.  The bridge is called "Puente de la rabia" (Rabies bridge) not because Santa Quiteria had rabies, but because there´s a local tradition that says if you herd animals around the central column three times, they will be cured of rabies.  I don´t think the legend details exactly how you´re supposed to "herd" rabid animals anywhere, or what to do about the hypothermia once the rabies has been cured.  Perhaps bridge #2 is called "Puente de Hipotermia", which cures hypothermia but inflicts anthrax.

The camino doesn´t actually pass through Zubiri - rather, it passes right by the foot of the bridge, inviting the pilgrim to enter rather than demanding it.  Having accepted the invitation and entered Zubiri the night before, I had to force myself not to stay any longer than was absoutely neccessary.  Even so, I didn´t end up skipping town until 9:00am.

One of the big differences between a winter camino and one that is undertaken during a more sensible time of the year is the availibility of services along the way.  The last time around, in autumn, I could pretty much count on (almost) every little town to have a store or vending machine around in case I needed to replenish any supplies, particularly water.  This time around, it seems like everything´s shut down for the season, which really adds to the sense of isolation that has been a permanent feature of this camino so far.  Larrasoaña was a ghost town...though a very pretty one, with lots of those old houses I talked about in the last post.  Same thing for Ilarratz, Ezkirotz, Akerreta, etc., right up until Trinidad del Arre, which is 5km from Pamplona.  Fortunately, I didn´t need any supplies, etc., and the lack of any place to waste time helped me get to Pamplona in reasonably good time.

I did manage to meet two other pilgrims today; both from Spain, and both returning from Santiago.  In other words, going in the other direction.  And here I thought I was nuts to do this again.  I didn´t realize it until I got into Pamplona, but the only English I´ve been using since I arrived in Spain has been to update this blog and the occasional call/text home.  It´s done wonders for my Spanish...at least on the comprehension side, though I´m doing a lot better on the conversation side as well.

Arrived in Pamplona after a long, snowy day.  No accumulation, but it was snowing lightly all day.  As Pamplona is about 300m closer to sea level than Zubiri, it´s a couple of degrees warmer, so the snow turned into a light rain as I entered the city.  Not enough to be a problem, but just enough to be a nuisance as I sauntered into town.  The albergue in Pamplona is a converted church that was once connected to an XVI century convent.  It´s been very carefully and well restored and re-fit for the use of pilgrims, although the re-fit clearly didn´t include a whole lot of insulation.  In the Albergue, the bunk beds are arranged along the perimiter of the old church, and the center, nave area has been sectioned off to house an art gallery with a Camino de Santiago theme.  As I was casually browsing through the exhibit, a gentleman came up to me and started talking about the various exhibits and pictures.  I thought at first that he was some sort of curator, but I learned later that he actually ran the Albergue in Cizur Mayor just a few km outside of Pamplona.  In any case, he spent an hour going through the exhibit, and explaining the details and aspects of the architecture, history and symbolism of the camino.  I was fascinated...I´ve always found that understanding the history and background of a place or thing allows one to appreciate it on a different level.  To see details that might otherwise be overlooked.  I am very grateful to have spent the night in that albergue, if for no other reason than my history lesson.  The world needs more wandering historians I think.

I was planning on taking a day off in Pamplona, but have added a second day to the layover.  While my feet have been holding up well, I appear to have developed a mild case of tendonitis in my achilles tendon (tednonitis isn´t contagious right?  As in, I couldn´t have caught it from talking to that horse in Valcarlos?).  Anyways, I´ll rest it another day and re-evaluate it then.  May have to change things around on my itenerary depending on how well I´m managing.

Assuming that all goes as planned though, I´ll be in Puente la Reina tomorrow (the 20th).

Day 3: Roncesvalles to Zubiri

"Don´t worry about a thing
´cause every little thing is gonna be all right"
                                           -Bob Marley

First off, I´m going to stop talking about how I physically managed the walk on any given day.  It´s boring, repetetive, and focuses on entirely the wrong things.  Namely, the problems, as opposed to the actual observations/events.

Today was the first 20k-plus strech of this camino, and it took me through some amazing forests, farmlands and hilltops.  The towns in this region are distinctly (obviously) basque in architecture, if not layout.  The houses themselves, at least the older ones, are generally three stories high.  The bottom floor was intended to keep livestock in during the winter, while the upper two floors was living space for the family.  I doubt that this is a common practice anymore, but it´s still an interesting setup never the less.  One of the first towns I passed through was Burgete, which I didn´t realize had made a cameo in "The Sun Also Rises" until I re-read it recently.  At 9:00am on a winter weekday, it was pretty quiet, but it did have an open cafe run by a very accomodating lady with an Argentinan accent.  Everything else in pretty much every other town was shut down for the season unfortunately, so I have a feeling I´m going to have a few coffee-withdrawal mornings as this camino moves along.

Passed over the Alto Erro, which is the high point between Roncesvalles and Zubiri, and the view was phenomenal.  I don´t remember being all that impressed by the view the last time around, but if I recall correctly, I was in a running fire fight with horseflies at the time.  The long and steep descent into Zubiri passed through dense pine forests, and one or two game preserves.  One of which was in active use at the time.  How do I know?  Barking dogs and gunfire, that´s how I know.  I didn´t actually see the hunters, or hear their voices, but sound of firing rifles was enough to make me speed right along making as many loud, casually human-like noises as I knew how.  I wonder how many pilgrims have been lost to poor aim...probably none, since no-one´s thought to re-route the trail, or re-zone the preserve.  In any case, I didn´t want to be the first, so I made sure that the barking dog sounds were far behind me before I took my next rest.

Am in Zubiri now, and in markedly better shape than I was the last time I rolled into town.  Of course, last time, I sat down and couldn´t get up for an hour, so anything´s an improvement.  I knew Zubiri would be a problem for accomodation.  Both public albergues were closed, and the private albergue only took reservations for groups.  I had tried calling up the night before anyway, but the lady turned me down flat.  She did mention that there was a pensióm just across the street from her albergue, and that they´d be open.  Found the pensión, and it´s a little piece of heaven.  It helps that I´ve got the run of the place (no other pilgrims yet), but it´s a great little apartment, with all the amenities you´d ever need.  I even have a living room!  Ok...it´s technically a "common area", but since I´m alone, it´s a living room.  The only potential problem with it is that I might not want to leave tomorrow morning.  Still, Pamplona beckons, and it has its own charms, so my bet is that the temptation to stay won´t be too irresistable.

Day 2: Valcarlos to Roncesvalles

Woke up just before the crack of dawn like a good pilgrom and got myself ready.  Breakfast consisted of coffee, some bread from the day before, and a soft cheese that you couldn´t escape the smell of in St. Jean.

I had expected a reasonably easy day, although I knew the climb out of Valcarlos would be a bear.  I didn´t quite grasp how tough it would be though.  It was essentially five hours of straight climbing at various grades interspersed with me panting for air (sometimes standing, sometimes not).  My legs were burning after the first half hour, and I had to take so many rest breaks, I didn´t know if  I´d have enough time (never mind energy) to make it to Roncesvalles.

The weather was much colder than the day before, especially the higher up the mountain you got.  I looked off in the distance at one point, at the "high" route, and it looked like it was snowing like hell up there.  I did have on my full cold-weather gear though, so for the most part, I was ok.  I kept seeing the sun on other mountains, and kept hoping it would shine on mine, but it just never happened. Once I got to the top of the "low" road (it´s only 200m lower), at la Puerta de Ibaneta, I was surprised.  The whole place was essentially frozen over.  Mostly frost, but a bit of snow too. 

From Ibaneta, it was a quick downhill walk to Roncesvalles, 100m lower in altitude, and on the sunny side of the mountain.  What a relief to finally see the road sloping down away from me.  Arrived at the pilgrim´s office at 2:00, which, in Spain, is a bad time to arrive anywhere. Place was closed up until 4:00.  So I popped into the hotel/restaurant/bar next door to have some coffee, get warmed up a bit, and update my blog (the last two entries, not this one).

Finally got checked into the monestary at 4:00 and got the obligatory stamp on my credencial.  I was not at all surprised to discover I was the only pilgrim staying there.  Which is just as well for any other pilgrims, as the dorm in the monestary was only one or two degrees warmer than it was outside.  I heard later that there´s another couple from Spain who are doing the camino by bike, but they´re staying at the hotel next door.  Clever bastards.

In the 8:00 pilgrims mass, the priests outnumbered the pilgrims three to one, and the entire congregation by three to two.  It was a beautiful service though, and very short lines for communion.  At the end, they ask all the pilgrims to come up front (in this case all = me) to recieve the traditional pilgrim´s blessing.  So, having done my religious duty, it was off to dinner and an early bedtime.  Tomorrow brings Zubiri, my first 20k-plus day.  From here on in, I more or less know what to expect.  After today though....who knows.

One more note...Photos should be here.

Day 1: St. Jean to Valcarlos

Two important lessons learned today.  First: too much warm clothing is as bad as too little.  Second: I think I´m actually in a little better shape than I was the last time I did this.  Neither is earth shattering, but the more you know....

To the first lesson, I left St. Jean in what I thought was a reasonable getup considering the weather.  Long sleeve base layer, cotton shirt, leather jacket and my dapper wool cap.  After the first half hour, the hat had to go; too hot.  After another half hour, the jacket had to go, too hot.  How hot, you ask?  When I took off my jacket, there was steam coming off my body...and it continuted for half an hour afterward.  Finally, towards the end of the day, I had to lose the cotton shirt because I was too cold...it had gotten wet from sweat.  Once the shirt was off and my polar fleece vest was on....perfect.

The road to Valcarlos was a nice stroll through the countryside, punctuated by a few gentle hills.  It would have been very scenic if it weren´t for the ever-present fog.  As the fog started to clear, the terrain steepened, with enough ups and downs to keep my cardiovascular system amused.  Passed through a small town called Ayuegi, which is directly on, and divided by the Spanish-French border.  Half the town had signs in French and Basque, the other half in Spanish and Basque.  Funniest of all, in a town of probably not more than 300 people, two police stations; one for each country.  Practically side by side.

Eventually arrived in Valcarlos, now firmly in Navarra, after a couple of hours of climbing and descending.  Valcarlos is the location that Charlemagne was encamped when he heard the horn of Roland asking for help way back at Roncesvalles.  Must have been some horn...ít´s over 14 km, and on the other side of a mountain.  Decided to stay in Valcarlos for the night as 1) My legs were decidedly rubbery at this point 2) I didn´t know how much sunlight I had left that day...turns out I had another 5 hours, and 3) I frankly fell in love with the place. 

There is, so far, not a single other pilgrim on the road.  In my boredom, I´ve been talking to animals...dogs, horses, cows, etc.  Thankfully, none have talked back, so I´m not quite off my nut yet.  The only other occupant of the albergue is a young guy named Tiko from Catalunya.  He´s in the middle of exploring the Basque country on horseback, but has been held up as one of the animals has tendonitis.  It occurs to me that one of the good things about going on foot is that anything that breaks can be either mailed home or disposed of.  In the case of a horse, the former would probably be impractical, and the latter would probably be unneccesarily cruel.  Of course, on the flip side - when travelling on foot, if anything gets tendonitis...it´s you.

The weather today seems quite nice - not a trace of snow, and the temperatures are reasonable.  Not sure why the pilgrims office warned me off of the high route.  My guess is they took one look at me and thought "there´s no way this dude is getting his fat ass over the high route, but lets spare his feelings by telling him it´s closed"

Well I didn´t really want to do it anyway, so there.

Planes, Trains and Automobiles

"I can´t wait until tomorrow
I don´t see how I´m going to sleep tonight"
                                                  -Boo Radleys

I´ll have to remind myself next time I go somewhere that requires multiple connections, to leave myself enough time; ie more than two days. 7 hours on a plane, 6 hour layover, 2 hour plane ride, etc., etc. Bottom line is that from Saturday morning to Monday evening, I managed a total of five hours of sleep. Having said that, I´m eager to get going...my butt is just happy I won´t have to sit in uncomfortable seats for hours at a time.

I had considered not starting in St. Jean at all, but rather in Roncesvalles.  After the flight into Bilbao, I seriously doubted I could manage to wake up in time for the 7:00 bus to Bayonne.  Plus, I really wasn't looking forward to the three hours on the bus and two on the train (ok, I admit it - the Roncesvalles start was mostly my butt's idea).  For my part, I wasn't sure I could manage the first day over the mountains.  As I was thinking this in my bed in Bilbao, another thought came to me "maybe you can't and maybe you can...but yoú're damn well going to try".  Ok.  Sorry butt...obnoxious voice in my head wins this round.

Obnoxious voice in my head has a point though - testing the limits of what you think you can do is a lesson that I learned on the last camino.  Giving up for fear of failure is something that I´ve done (and still do) far to often.  I´m glad I remembered it so early on in this camino, though I hope I can carry the lesson forward to more mundane things in my life.

St. Jean is a beautiful little city in the foothills of the pyrenees.  While the new part of town is sensibly level and accessible, the old part of town, in the citadel, is built on a hill. Not all the way up the hill as I learned the hard way, but way up regardless.

Checked in at the pilgrims office, where the folks were very accomodating, though incomprehensible.  Through the language barrier, they did manage to get across the fact that the high road over the pyrenees should be considered closed, as bad weather is expected.  Fine.  Obnoxious voice in my head has been overruled.  I still have to cross a mountain though, just not as high.  And I´m still not sure I can make it. "but you´re damn well going to try".  Oh, shut up already, I´m going, I´m going.

Got my credential, and checked into a little bed and breakfast nearby. Having exhausted the limits of my French two minutes after arriving in France, I was relieved to find the establishment was run by a brit from Essex.  Man, ex-pat brits show up in the strangest places.

Straight off to bed now.  Tomorrow brings a new road.

Bye to all of the noise

"Bad day looking for a way home
Looking for the great escape
Gets in his car and drives away far from all the things that we are
Puts on a smile and breathes it in and breathes it out
And he says bye bye
Bye to all of the noise"

 -Patrick Watson from "The Great Escape"

And so, the day arrives...and much, much faster than I ever thought it could.  I've only just finalized my packing list after a series of "can I do without this" analyses.  There were a number of things that I had wanted to bring that sadly didn't make the cut.  I had to keep reminding myself that the goal is to simplify, and that each non-essential item I pack moves me away from that goal.  If nothing else, the non-essentials complicate the process of finding the essentials in my backpack. 

Ever since I started talking about walking the camino again, I've been asked why on numerous occasions. I don't really have a good answer; it's hard to pin down an exact reason.  Or perhaps that's the problem:  "reason" isn't the right word, as it wasn't really a rational decision on my part.  I suppose what it boils down to is that the last camino affected me deeply.  In ways I was only starting to understand when I wrote the last entry of my 2006 blog.  I look at the world differently than I used to, and the same holds true for people, relationships, events, possessions,  priorities, etc.  I'm a much happier person now because of it (granted, that wasn't a very high standard to beat).  So why am I back?  Because I feel like I need to say "thank you".  And while I'm still trying to figure out the answers to the who/what/where questions, I at least have the answer to why.  That's a good enough start.

As for travel plans, I'll arrive in London at about 7:00am local time on the 12th, and then again in Bilbao at about 8:00pm.  The next morning brings one quick bus and train ride each, after which I'll be in St. Jean Pied-de-port.  Shortly afterward, I'll get a glimpse of the mountains and curse my decision to start on the wrong side of the Pyrenees. That's about it for now - I'll post more as more happens.

This is actually going to happen

"Welcome back says the voice on the radio,
But I never left, I was always right here.
In your hand, all the colors you thought were kings,
At the turn of a card, can just disappear"
                 -Tom Mcrae from "A Day Like Today"

Well, thanks to an understanding boss and company, my 2010/2011 camino is a go.  Will be flying out of Toronto on December 11th and arriving in St. Jean Pied de Port via London and Bilbao on the 13th.  Much preparation remains.  I'll be posting here throughout the journey, with the occasional picture, song, and video thrown in for good measure.

Hope you can all follow along