Failure to Communicate

It’s strange how even life as transient as on the camino can become routine. I spent the next few days walking with Marc and/or Simon through tiny Spanish villages that started to blend together. We often commented on how so many of these villages seemed inhabited by ghosts. This was probably an effect of the poor economy which drove people from their homes in search of jobs. Many of the villages seemed to continue existing only because of the thousands of pilgrims who walked through them each year. In one especially quiet village that we walked through, the only living being I saw was a baby left outside alone in a stroller.

This was the only donkey I saw on the camino

For a few days the three of us consistently walked more than 30 kilometers. So, we were happy to do an 18 kilometer, relatively easy day and stay in the town of Sahagun. To my joy and surprise I recognized the friendly faces of Ha and Kim while strolling in the village square. We greeted each other ecstatically and they told me how worried they had been about me since leaving me on my birthday.

Until I saw them I didn’t realize how much I had missed the company of women. Marc and Simon were wonderful friends, but there’s nothing quite like girl friends to talk and laugh with.  I was excited to have all four of these great friends at dinner together that night. Unfortunately they didn’t seem to click with each other the way I hoped.

Marc and Simon mostly spoke to each in German and Ha and Kim chatted with me about South Korea. I ordered my first Spanish paella and it was a disappointment swimming in grease. Thankfully, Ha insisted she had too much pizza and offered me some. 

After dinner we got a few drinks at a nearby bar and our group seemed to mesh better. It was great to have some women to tell me that I definitely needed a haircut, which I had suspected. They also agreed with me that my calf muscles had grown hugely in the last few weeks.

That night I had trouble sleeping and talked to Kyle a bit on my tablet. It was strange how long ago it felt that I’d walked with my quirky American friend.  It had been really hard to talk to Martin with our time and schedule differences, so I had agreed to get online from 3:00-4:00 AM to talk to him through instant messenger. 

I woke up at 3:00 and didn’t find an email from him. I wrote him over messenger and told him how I love him and miss him and how I’m excited to talk to him. A few minutes later he responded with, “I’m outside. I love you. Good sleep.” I was really crushed and discouraged about our relationship.  It felt like a long time before I slept again.

Camino Monday

Unfortunately, I felt less than rested the morning after my break from walking. I woke up early and shook Marc awake on the bunk below me. 

After searching thoroughly, I realized I must have left my change purse at the pizza bar the night before. I was disappointed in myself for losing it, though there wasn’t a lot of money inside. It was an unfortunate time to have no change because we were so early the only drink or food available was from vending machines. I was too proud to ask my friend to lend me some money. This was ridiculous because from the first day we met, Marc and I had been trading off buying each other’s coffee or tea. Instead of speaking up, I dwelled in a bit of self-pity and felt kind of faint and sick as we walked the next few hours. 

Thankfully, we ran into my Irish guru Phil and he distracted me from feeling bad with his chatter. Marc, I knew, was totally zoned out. I’d learned quickly that he is not a morning person and even after a few cups of coffee he prefers silence until the sun is fully shining. 

Eventually, we parted from Phil and the two of us continued quietly. I was increasingly frustrated that we weren’t reaching a town where we could stop and have breakfast. The day after a day of rest always feels like a Monday. So, I had the camino Monday blues.

Since we didn’t talk a lot, I took the time to think more about my relationship. In the beginning of the camino I would think about our past times together and imagine our perfect future. Each day I walked I gained a little more perspective and realism. I realized that I was about to fully commit to a man I had only really known for four months. I was in love, but was I ready? Everything seemed less certain the nearer I was to Santiago.

Eventually my mood improved and I went from miserable, to contemplative, to in awe of the beauty I was walking through. The clouds overhead and the fields all around and the tall piles of stones left by wishful pilgrims all combined to create a sort of fairy tale setting.

It was only noon when we reached the town we planned to stop in. We had to sit outside with some other pilgrims and wait for the hostel to open. Sitting on the steps of the village church, a feisty older Italian man started up a conversation. We shared no common language, but he happily showed me pictures of his hometown in the south of Italy and I made the appropriate ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’ at the lovely Italian countryside.

This albergue wasn’t as nice as some of the others we had stayed in, but I was grateful for a bed. After a nice siesta, Tom and I walked around outside and found Simon. We convinced him to stay in our albergue so we could enjoy the evening together. There was very little to see in this town so we sat on a curb across from the minuscule convenience store that posed as a super market. We talked about a lot of things and Simon showed me his juggling moves. 

The town’s only restaurant was so full that we decided to buy meals in the 'super' market. I got a microwave dinner and the boys decided to share some cereal and milk. It was a funny scene as they scooped up their cold, unusual dinner. We enjoyed conversation as always. Somehow Simon convinced us that he didn’t believe in the moon landing. 

                                                  

I felt so close to these two guys. It was hard to believe I’d met them only a few weeks before. Despite my horrible attitude in the beginning of the day I went to bed thinking how grateful I was for good friends and fun times together.

Day of Rest

Though life was brilliant, I looked forward to a day of rest

on the camino. I took three in total, the first had been in Pamplona and my day in Burgos would be the second. For the first time in weeks I was able to sleep past 7:30 and see the morning and afternoon come and go from the same location.
Marc and I had a relaxing beginning to our day. We went to a bakery around 9:00 for breakfast and then lay around until check out time. We sat quietly at a cafe until the muncipal albergue opened and then settled in there easily.

A statue of a pilgrim washing his feet.

Simon and Marc had arranged a meeting time, as Simon had pretty much decided to stay in the city as well. He had spent his morning in the Museum of Evolution and had lots to tell us about the museum as well as his night in the albergue. Though it was early afternoon, and most pilgrims wouldn't have considered moving on, Simon was indecisive about what to do next. He considered just walking to the next town and staying in an albergue there, or possibly going to the hostel Marc and I had just come from. While sitting in the cathedral square discussing these things we were approached by Bill, an older American man who had met Marc earlier on the way. Bill was a nice man, also looking for a hostel so he tagged along as we searched for one for Simon. Unfortunately, Bill had a bit of a hygeine problem and smelled terrible.
Bill continued his hostel search alone when the three of us decided to get a picnic lunch from a supermarket and enjoy the beautiful day. He was welcome to join us, but we were all a little relieved to be just the three of us again. After eating we checked another albergue and were very pleased  when Simon decided to check in there and spend the rest of the day in Burgos
In front of Simon's hostel we met Henrik and Andreas and the five of us conversed in the street for a while. During that conversation I discovered that Simon had been walking the entire camino with juggling balls in his backpack and had yet to give us a show. I was excited to see him juggle, but Marc, Andreas, and I had agreed to do laundry together that afternoon so we made plans to meet again for dinner.
Often, laundry along the way meant using a sink and some soap you had brought to wash a few things by hand and then hang them to dry. In places like Burgos though, there were usually machines to use. No one on the camino had more than three or four outfits so we often combined laundry to economize paying for a machine. While the machine ran, Andreas and Marc talked to each other and I journaled.
Like Simon with his juggling balls, I had brought a few less than practical things as well. After laundry I took a shower and put on the skirt I carried for days like this when I wanted to look like a woman not a pilgrim. Then I took out the small watercolor set my mom had given me and prepared to walk into the city and find a bench in the sun where I could paint. I didn't invite Marc or Simon, who I ran into at the door. As much as I enjoyed their company, I looked forward to some time on my own.

In the end, I had only a few minutes to myself before Andreas, Marc, and Simon all descended upon me with good spirits and smiles. I didn't mind much. There's a different kind of peace that comes with being around dear friends.
The four of us found a really cool bar to hang out in that evening. There weren't a lot of seats, but we found a table to stand at in the crowded room. Everytime you ordered a drink at this bar they gave you some pizza as a kind of a bar snack to go with it. We made this our meal and stayed at the bar for about four hours talking, laughing, and half watching the music videos on the TVs around us.
Marc, was a pretty heavy smoker, going through about a pack a day on the camino, though he said he was smoking less than normal. That night in Burgos he happily smoked his last cigarette and we all gleefully congratulated him. It was Marc's intention for the camino to be a new start for him. Sometimes it felt like the camino had this magic that could inspire you to change or delevop. However, we came to find that the way is more about learning. Learning who you are, what you want, and just how hard change really is.

An Eternity of Walking

After days of walking together and staying in the same places, Simon, Marc, and I were getting very close. I woke them both up after our night in the less than stimulating town of San Juan de Ortega. Marc and I were ready quickly, but Simon seemed to take forever. We waited for him outside in the cold dark morning and were glad we did, as it was nice to start the day together.

Sometimes we would see these massive rock arrangements... Aliens?

Andreas started after us, but caught up later in the morning. That day was exciting because we would arrive in Burgos, one of the largest cities along the way.  Unfortunately walking into big cities is pretty miserable. First of all, walking on concrete and pavement is hard on your knees and hot. Also, walking into cities feels like it takes an eternity. You walk through suburbs and outskirts, past shops and markets, alongside streets with lots of traffic, but you can still be kilometers from the city center.  

A midmorning break

Most of the day was really nice, thanks to my companions.  We made fun in small ways, half-singing songs and me learning bits of German. I found out that David Hasselhof is extremely popular in Europe (at least in Germany and Switzerland). This was so shocking to me that I thought Marc was joking when he said he was a fan.

The last kilometers into Burgos I started to feel really bad. At one point we were a little lost, so I just sat in the middle of a sidewalk at an intersection while the men decided which way to go. 

I think Marc noticed that I was lagging and in pain. Sometimes he’d slow down to walk beside me and I appreciated his encouraging smiles.  

Finally, we reaching the main plaza in front of a stunning cathedral.  As the Camino de Santiago is an ancient pilgrimage, it takes you from church to church where the pilgrims of old would find shelter.  The cathedral in Burgos was by far the most amazing building we had seen thus far.  

We sat down at a restaurant terrace in the square to eat olives and drink expensive cokes.  None of us were sure what to do next. Marc and I knew that we wanted to stay an extra day in the city and that meant we needed to find a private hostel to stay at because the municipal only allowed pilgrims to stay for one night. Simon hadn’t decided if he would stay an extra day, so he headed to the municipal albergue and Andreas ended up treating himself to a night in a nice hotel.

Marc and I agreed that we would find a non-camino hostel so that we wouldn’t be awoken at 6 or 7 AM on our tourist day.  Our hostel search was far from fruitful.  The one we wanted was closed and others seemed few and far between. The few that we checked out were over 50 euros and we couldn’t justify spending that.  After walking around 30 kilometers to get to Burgos we probably added on another 5 that afternoon just wandering around. Finally, as we had nearly given up, we went into a slightly sketchy hostel not too far from the cathedral. The proprietor was friendly and soon enough we were checking in.

The view from our restaurant

It wasn’t a very high class location and the single bathroom was shared by a lot of people. I waited several hours before getting a chance to shower. After showering and relaxing a bit we walked around the city some and found a restaurant that served delicious cheeseburgers. Heading back to the hostel we ran into Harry and Tippy who we hadn’t seen since my birthday. It was nice to catch up a bit with them. 

Marc and I both went to bed early that night and I slept very well.  

The farther I walked on the camino the farther I felt from the dreams and expectations I had started with. I didn’t feel like I was gaining a ton of new insights into myself or what my life should look like, but slowly the life that I’d thought I wanted was slipping to the back of mind as I focused on each day as it came and watched my feet take step after step.

San Juan de Ortega

Marc asked me to wake him up the next morning so we could leave together. I generally woke up much earlier than him because when other people in the room were active it worked as my alarm.  I was flattered that he asked me to wake him up because it meant that he enjoyed my company enough to not leave our walking partnership to chance any longer. Simon would have also liked me to wake him, but he was in a different hostel so it wasn’t possible. 

That morning Marc and I had one of our first really serious conversations. We talked about the dreams we had had for the future and how life changes things. We also talked about relationships and love. It was nice that we could open up to each other. I tended to open up with pilgrims on the camino after about five minutes of walking with them, but Marc was different and it took a lot for him to share deep things about himself.

Soon, we befriended Henrik, a tall German man. Henrik’s pack was massive because he was carrying complete camping gear. He was very friendly and the three of us settled into a conversation about movies, then passed around the typical camino question; “Why are you here?”

My answer to that question changed throughout the camino. At first, I would say I was there to think and to figure things out, but that seemed like too vague a reason to walk 500 miles. To Henrik I answered, “I guess I’ll know when I get to Santiago.” 

The way that day was beautiful to me because it held a variety of landscapes. We saw rolling plains, fields of sunflowers, and ended with an easy road in a tall forest of pine trees. After the stark meseta it was a relief to have shade and greenery around us.

Someone carved faces on the sunflowers :)

Marc was worried that the albergue in the next town we reached would be full, because it was the only one within ten kilometers or so. However, his feared proved unfounded and we happily checked in and started our usual afternoon routines. 

Simon arrived while I was showering and we had lunch together in the hostel cafeteria. Simon was a lot more open than Marc and we had an interesting conversation about religion and spirituality that afternoon.  

Andreas also found his way to our hostel and the four of us came together in the evening to share another meal. This town was named San Juan de Ortega and soon it became clear that it was a town supported solely by pilgrims. There were a few houses, one small bar, and a few microwave dinners for sale at the albergue. There was no supermarket or bakery and no restaurants to be found. It was depressing, but we ended up laughing about it in the way hungry, tired people do to stay cheerful.

Eventually we decided to try the bar food. There weren’t many options so we all got tortillas with cheese. To my surprise, it was essentially an omelette, but didn’t taste bad at all!  At dinner Andreas talked some about his job as a cartographer. Marc was in administration and Simon was studying economics. Andreas and Marc had quit their jobs to do the camino and Simon would miss about three weeks of classes. By comparison, I felt that I was sacrificing almost nothing to be on the way. 

After dinner the four of us sat in the tiny village square and talked and teased each other. It was another pleasant evening. 

The lone hostel of San Juan de Ortega was clearly very old and not well-kept. I had been happy to find a free bottom bunk when we checked in, but I soon regretted that choice. The bunk above me was taken by a rather large man and as soon as he lay down I could seen the mattress sink down six inches closer to me. The bunk bed frame shuddered every time he moved and the springs that were the only thing keeping him from falling on me seemed ready to break at any minute.  I lay awake a long time that night both thinking about my time on the camino thus far and imagining newspaper headlines like, ‘Pilgrim Killed in Freak Bunk Bed Accident.’

Buenos dias! No agua.

The morning after my long, hot, and Oleg-free afternoon, I was awoken at 5:00 AM by our roommates packing up and leaving. This was unusually early, even for pilgrims.  Then, just a little after 6:00 a hostel worker came in and cheerfully announced, “Buenos dias! No Agua.” Usually late sleepers (such as Simon) were woken around 7:30 because the pilgrim hostels require you to leave by 7:30 or 8:00. So, this wake up call was strangely early and we were not really coherent enough to understand the second part of the message.

Soon enough Marc and I gave up going back to sleep and started getting ready to go. We then discovered for ourselves that we would be unable to use the bathroom, brush our teeth, or fill our water bottles. It was kind of chaotic and none of the pilgrims understood why there was no water. Through it all, Simon slept on. 

Thus, Marc and I set out walking together. We found out then that the whole town had no water. We stopped after 6 k in another village to use a bathroom at a cafe and it was there that we met Hamish. Hamish was a lanky Australian who truly loved to talk. He made the time go quickly for a while, but somehow without even realizing, we lost him and it was just the two of us again. Marc and I were comfortable company. Sometimes talking, but often quiet and just enjoying nature and our own thoughts.

We stopped for the day in a town called Belorado. Unlike many who walked the way, I had no guidebook. However, Marc did have one. He scoured the pages every evening after tearing out what he’d read the previous day. Mostly he used it for getting information about the albergues. In Belorado, he informed me that there was one that was much better than the others. So we waited in line and checked in when it opened.  

It was late afternoon and I was showered and finished with laundry when Simon came through the door. I was relieved he had found us again, but unfortunately our hostel was full. Marc and I walked with him to a different hostel and then we had a drink in the village square. Andreas saw us there and joined our table for a while. We decided to meet a few hours later for dinner as well.

I took a picture of Simon trying to whistle so I could show him what he was doing wrong.

That dinner was one of the highlights of my camino journey. It was so fun talking and laughing together like we’d all known each other for years. I tried to teach Simon to whistle and he made sounds with his finger on the rim of his glass that I couldn’t replicate. It was light, easy fun and I felt a real bond between the four of us.

When I’d left behind my American friends, just day earlier, I wondered if I would meet anyone else I clicked with in the same way. That night, leaving the dinner, I realized how blessed I was to have found another group to fit with so easily. I don’t know that I believe in fate, but somehow the camino has a way of bringing unlikely people together.

The Boring Banker and the Meseta

My first day of age 22, I woke up before the sun, as usual. Daniel and Ulla were still sleeping and, sadly, I never saw them again. Upon walking downstairs, I found Oleg, the boring banker waiting patiently for me. 

Oleg also offered to take a picture of me.

Our morning walking together, was at least interesting. We talked about family and life experiences. One of Oleg’s eccentricities was that he asked me to take tons of pictures of him with his camera. In a few of them he dropped to the ground in the middle of the way and started doing push-ups with his backpack still on. Maybe this was supposed to impress me, however I found it to be ridiculous tinged with a hint of obnoxious. 

Oleg was only the second pilgrim who had been even slightly annoying to me. The first was a very boastful German dwarf. All in all, my experiences with pilgrims were delightful and even Oleg wasn’t too bad. 

My plan was to stop early and then catch up with Ha and Kim the next day, as they were taking a day off in Santo Domingo. Oleg, to my surprise, said he might want to stop as well. This was not pleasant news to me. 

We reached Azofra before 11:00 and found some Danish friends of Oleg’s at a cafe. We joined them and they told me a bit about their experiences being part of a well-known cult. They were moving on after lunch, so Oleg was torn between staying with me and going with them. I tried to encourage him to continue, but he seemed more inclined to stay.

To get some time alone I declined their invitation to lunch and sat in a small square writing in my journal. The hostel wouldn’t open for at least an hour so I had time to wait.

About 15 minutes later, I looked up and saw Marc and Simon walking toward me. Simon was whispering conspiratorially and jokingly loud, “I hate the U.S. government!” and then with a smirk said, “Oh, Caley! I didn’t see you there!” I laughed appreciatively and asked about their morning. They had woken up late and then walked extremely fast. Marc was getting a blister so he threw away his socks in frustration. 

They were determined to finish their day in Santo Domingo, 17 kilometers ahead, and also determined that I would come with them. I was very happy to see them and eventually judged that walking 17 k in the heat with these friends was a preferable fate to spending the day with Oleg (poor Oleg). As we left the town, I waved goodbye to Oleg and my Danish acquaintances, who were watching some kind of religious parade that was taking place in the street across from the plaza. 

Interesting Catholic parade.

Before too long, the boys were starting to see why most pilgrims wake up early and finish walking before the hot afternoon. It was sweltering and the flat orange path ahead of us seemed to go on forever. This was one of the longest stretches of the camino that had no water sources and my one .5 liter bottle was soon nearly empty and then painfully hot, thanks to the sun.

The only place to find shade in the dry meseta was beside one of the tremendous stacks of hay that littered the fields. We had a nice break there and regained some of our energy to finish the walk. Toward the end, all three of us were mostly silent. For Simon this was strange and we realized that he was in a lot of pain. 

Finally a little shade :)

For the last few kilometers, Simon walked like a man four times his 22 years. Marc and I had a hard time not finding it comical to see him shuffling behind us, leaning heavily on his walking stick.

Finally, we made it to the albergue and happily claimed beds and laid down our packs. Marc and I took top bunks, so Simon could have the last lower bunk in the room.

Walking through the barren meseta

After showers and relaxing, the three of us explored the town a bit and got to know each other even better. It was always interesting with Marc and Simon. They were polar opposites, yet got along very well. Simon, I learned, was raised in Germany, but went to a Swiss university and was even half Swiss. 

Gunter, our fabulous cook, and another German man named Andreas joined us for dinner. I was exhausted and didn’t contribute much to the conversation. Andreas was also quiet and didn’t smile much. He had biked the camino through France and then started walking when he arrived in Spain. Being at a dinner with four native German speakers, I felt bad that courtesy forced them to speak English around me. However, Gunter’s English was minimal, so most things were said in both languages and no one seemed to mind.

I often felt guilty for being a ‘typical’ American who only speaks English. My two semesters of Spanish in high-school were barely helping me at all in Spain, except in illustrating the vast differences between Mexican and South American Spanish and the more guttural and lisping Spanish of Spain. Thankfully, my wonderful friends were used to using English as a common language while traveling and I appreciated them greatly.

Turning 22- Camino Birthday

September 7, 2012 was my camino birthday. The year before I had been in South Korea, so I wasn’t entirely unused to a birthday without family and close friends. I knew that I could easily keep my birthday a secret while on the camino and let the day pass unnoticed, but that would have resulted in me spending the day in self-pity and depression rather than, at least potential, happiness. 

As it was, I tried not to have any expectations for my birthday. There was no guarantee that anyone would remember or that I would run into any of the people I had mentioned it to. The day turned out to be full of ups and downs, but truly unforgettable.

I started alone in the dark again before joining two friendly Norwegian women who wore dresses and insisted Norway wasn’t too cold for a Florida girl. They stopped for a coffee before leaving Logrono and I continued by myself until I caught up with my Korean sisters, Ha and Kim!

I was incredibly pleased to be able to walk with them again. They thought I should walk ahead, as they were even slower than the day before.  “It’s my birthday,” I informed them, “So, I would really like to stay with the two of you!” 

At the edge of Logrono there was a lovely park and a lake. We stopped there for a little snack break. The day before I’d gone to a supermarket and chosen a vegetable. There were two boxes of cucumbers next to each other that looked nearly identical. One was slightly cheaper than the other so I decided to try the cheap cucumber. Well, when I took it out of my bag Ha started laughing uproariously and let me know that I had purchased, not a cheap cucumber, but a regularly priced zucchini. 

They nearly cried with mirth, but I didn’t mind and I decided I liked raw zucchini almost as much as raw cucumber.

It was a joyous morning walking along a nice way. We found an almond tree and my friends cracked open the nuts with their teeth to munch on as we walked. Around mid-morning I saw a cherry on the ground and looked up to see a cherry tree! I’d never seen one before and I really wanted to pick a cherry and eat it. All the lower branches were picked clean, but I saw one that I thought I could grasp if I leaned against the tree and reached on my tippy toes. I leaned with all my weight on the tree trunk and an inch long thorn stabbed my palm. I cried out and removed the thorn, but then reached up again to pick the cherry. Ha and Kim were appalled at my bloody palm and quickly went into maternal mode. Doctor Ha, as I started calling her, took out a first aid kit to clean my hand. Unfortunately, there was still a piece of the thorn imbedded deep in my palm.  They used a needle to try and remove it. In the end that just widened the hole in my hand and pushed the piece of word deeper. Ha and Kim were deeply worried for me and tried to insist that I go to a doctor in the next town. I decided just to wait and see if the wound got infected before seeing a doctor about a splinter.

The sad epilogue of that adventure is that the fruit I’d picked wasn’t even a cherry. Apparently, discerning fruits and vegetables is not my strong point. I ate the fruit anyway, though I have no idea what it was.

Ha and Kim had reservations in Santo Domingo and I had decided to stay in Ventosa a closer town. I had an appointment to skype my boyfriend at 1 PM so I was determined to arrive at the hostel on time. My Korean sisters felt bad leaving me on my birthday, but I was just grateful that I had been able to spend the morning with them.

Soon after Ha and Kim and I parted ways, I came to a fork in the road. There was no sign so I asked some other pilgrims which way led to Ventosa. They told me I should turn rather than go straight. They were wrong. It was a long route mostly along pavement. I could tell that I was doing a giant circle and if I had only gone straight I would already have arrived. It was frustrating, but eventually I reached Ventosa and found that the hostel was still closed although it was past their stated opening time.

There was a fairly large group of pilgrims waiting outside the hostel. Most of them I didn’t recognize, but soon I spotted Marc and walked over to join him.  I showed him the wound on the palm of my hand and explained the story. In contrast to my overly worried Korean friends, Marc just smiled and said, “I think you’ll survive.” 

When we were finally allowed in the hostel I tried to get settled in quickly in order to get on the internet on time. Unfortunately, my skype date was less than satisfying.

Jaggi had very poor internet connection in his apartment so he had returned late to his office to talk to me.  He had a little cake and when I called him he lit candles and held it up while singing ‘Happy Birthday.’ It was a sweet gesture and I laughed when the fire alarm went off for a few minutes. Despite this nice gesture I didn’t really feel like he was happy to see me. He let me know that it was a huge inconvenience for him to wait in his office to talk to me and even there we had a lot of connection problems. When we did manage to talk, it was all complaints about his job, the culture he was still not used to, anything and everything. Not long into the conversation, Simon walked into the downstairs room I was using to skype and wished me an exuberant “Happy birthday!”  Marc was with him and I was glad to see them though the timing was bad. I turned my tablet around and introduced Jaggi to my two friends. He just said, “Honey….Always men.” 

Simon seemed to want to have a conversation, but I couldn’t focus on these two camino friends and Martin at once so it was a little relief when Marc and Simon left. After they were gone, Jaggi and i stopped video chatting and just instant messaged. I started crying because I’d been so looking forward to talking to him and it wasn’t even enjoyable.

He felt bad then and we talked sweetly for a few more minutes before he had to go do something for work. 

Looking back, I wonder if that conversation wasn’t the beginning of the end for us.

I decided to take a nap and do laundry for the rest of the afternoon. I ran into Marc in a hallway where he gave me an awkward kiss on the cheek and apologized for forgetting today was my birthday.

While doing laundry I met a nice elderly American woman from Washington. We chatted for a few minutes and then I moved outside to wait in the courtyard for the washing machine to finish.  Marc was out there speaking with a German couple, Daniel and Ulla. Daniel had a scruffy face and dreadlocks and Ulla wore a lipr ing. They had on loose bohemian style clothes that could have been homemade. When I sat down they kindly switched their conversation to English.  

Daniel had done the camino three years earlier so he had some interesting insights. He had Ulla were walking at a very leisurely pace, with no deadline and no stress. They couldn’t understand why most people walked double their normal number of kilometers per day.

Though I was enjoying the conversation, when my laundry finished I hung it and went back inside to get my nap. Daniel and Ulla were in the same room as me and they came in later while I tried to sleep. Marc followed and they all spoke in German, but I got the feeling I was mentioned.  Sure enough when I sat up, they started a loud happy birthday chorus and invited me to dinner than evening. I grinned and of course accepted the dinner invitation.

Dinner was incredible. It was a vegetable and potato dish prepared by Gunter, a 53 year-old Austrian man who was extremely good-natured. On the side there was salad, cheese, and olives.  Besides Daniel, Ulla, Marc, Simon and Gunter we were also joined by Harry and Tippy a husband and wife from New Zealand. We sat around a huge table in the hostel dining room. The atmosphere was almost ecstatic. 

At the meal’s beginning they toasted me and sang happy birthday again, to my embarrassment. The owner of the hostel overheard and came in with a necklace as a present. It was a yellow camino shell. She also brought a lit candle and everyone clapped as I blew it out. 

I had such a warm feeling inside, surrounded by these veritable strangers who went out of their way to make this day special for me. As a student of culture, I was in heaven to be surrounded by people from around the world. We all talked happily about our camino experiences, our home countries, and a hundred other things. It was a magical evening that I’ll never forget.

As everyone finished eating, a pilgrim walked through the front door and joined us in the dining room. It was after 8:00 so he had been walking very late, yet he said he hadn’t decided if he would stay here or continue to Santo Domingo.  Soon enough he sat down and we started a conversation. His name was Oleg and he was a banker, originally from the Ukraine. Honestly, he was a bit boring. He explained to me in great detail how America had caused the world’s financial crises. He must have enjoyed the conversation though, because he made it hard for me to get away to go to bed. Oleg wasn’t happy that his own bed was a mattress on the dining room floor, but the hostel owner was being nice to let him stay in the full building at all.

Despite the sleep inducing conversation with Oleg, I walked up the stairs to my room with a happy heart. It had been a long day and not every minute was pleasant, but overall I wouldn’t have asked for a different birthday and it will remain in my memory forever. 

Korean Sisters and Walking Downhill

I awoke early in Los Arcos.  Still unaccustomed to leaving on my own, it was a little unnerving to walk into the darkness with no one to make metaphorical light with conversation.  

The normal routine for most pilgrims seemed to be to stop for a drink and maybe breakfast around 8:00 or 9:00. The French way goes through so many towns that you have your choice of quiet plazas and scenic terraces.  

That morning I happened upon the Korean women I had met just past the field of dead sunflowers.  They didn’t mind at all that I joined them walking from the cafe and we moved quickly from acquaintances to friends to Korean sisters!  Ha and Kim, despite their youthful appearances, were nearing 40 and were best friends who owned a popular restaurant in Seoul.

Kim!

I am crazy about South Korea and at that point, having just left a few months before and so very in love with a South Korean man, I was starving to talk about this fantastic country.

My key to charming Koreans is to say some Korean idioms that mean, “I am a frog in a well,” and “My life is a chipmunk running on a wheel.” This was both impressive and amusing to my new friends and soon they insisted that I am secretly Korean (though I know very little Korean other than those phrases).

Ha, had also sent her bag ahead to Logrono, but to a different hostel.  We were lucky because the way that day was long and tiring. Despite the difficulty, the time went quickly with lots of talking and laughter.

Walking downhill is what really put painful pressure on my knee I discovered, thanks to the many hills that day. Even without a pack I was hurting more and more. Ha and Kim had a kind of maternal feeling toward me and Ha insisted that I use her knee brace for a while.

The effect was magical! I could continue with barely any pain going uphill or down.

In the next town we stopped in a pharmacy and I bought my own knee brace. Considering it an early birthday present for myself. 

Modeling my new knee brace in front of a church

The last kilometers into Logrono were slow and hard. While walking on the camino small towns seem to sneak up on you and then sneak past you just quickly. Yet, the larger cities such as Logrono were torture to walk through.  We only needed to reach the city center to find our hostels, but my dear Korean sisters were exhausted and we walked so slow it seemed the center got farther away instead of closer.

We were sad to part when we found tourist information and realized our hostels lay in different directions. I promptly got lost upon leaving them and just wandered until I found a helpful Spaniard who informed me I was holding my map upside down.

My backpack had made it safely to the hostel and I actually enjoyed meeting some new people, though I missed my other friends.  A gay Arab man, also from Florida, had a nice chat with me and I enjoyed a longer conversation with a German girl named Mica. She had spent 9 weeks in India recently so I picked her brain about her perception of Indian culture.

These dogs barked at every pilgrim entering Logrono.

I think she would have liked us to go to dinner together, but I had already bought some food to eat at the hostel and the introvert in me looked forward to a dinner alone.

That evening I went through my pack and separated out the things I hadn’t really used or didn’t think I would need. My pack wasn’t too much lighter, but it felt good to minimize. 

One thing I loved about the camino was the simplicity of carrying everything you need upon your back. Thinking of my boxes, drawers, and suitcases of stuff at home I realized there was nothing I missed.  The farther I walked the less importance material things possessed. If anything carrying my items as a literal burden made me wish that I could make do with even less.

The Day I Meet Marc

The next day I left the hostel with Pauline while the sky was still dark. On the way out we left our donations in a wooden box. Most hostels were 5-10 euros a night, but this one ran entirely on donations. 

A Hungarian man Pauline had spoken to the day before started out with us as well. I felt a lot of pity toward him because he didn’t seem to speak any of the languages commonly spoken by pilgrims. No French, Camille’s mother-tongue, and little to no English or Spanish. He seemed a little lonely and with good humor attempted wordless communication.

I was tired from the day before and my knee seemed to be getting worse. Generally, the other two walked ahead of me as the sun rose. We stopped for a coffee (tea for me) in a small town around 8:00. Toward the end of our break another pilgrim sat down at a table across the terrace. He was tall with black hair and a scruffy face. He wore a beret so I thought he might be French. After sitting he smiled and petted the cats that roamed outside every Spanish cafe waiting for treats. I wanted to invite him to join our table, but was distracted when a van ran into a pole near us. Pauline, the Hungarian man, and I left shortly after.

Cafe Cat

Finally, it was my turn to be left behind. I didn’t try to force myself into a faster pace to match the other two, but relaxed and enjoyed the morning. Before long they were deep in conversation ahead of me, visible only because the land was mostly flat. 

I didn’t have solitude for long though. The man I had seen earlier caught up with me and asked, “Are you ok?” I was confused because I didn’t realize I was noticeably limping, so I just responded, “Yeah! How are you?”

We started introductions then and I learned that this was Marc from Switzerland.  Marc had the same pace as me and we walked together comfortably. For a while, I worried that he was walking with me out of pity, but soon I realized our steps matched naturally. We didn’t talk about anything deep that morning, however I was interested to hear about Switzerland, having never met someone from there. 

We caught up with my two former companions for a little while and discovered that they were drawing pictures on a small pad of paper and passing it back and forth to explain their reasons for being on the camino. It was beautiful example of cross-cultural communication.  

It was embarrassing to realize that I didn’t know what language Marc spoke, having come from Switzerland, but I felt better when he informed me that Italian, French, and German are all national languages. He was a German speaker and we discovered our Hungarian friend didn’t speak any German either.  Those two walked a ridiculously fast pace even while drawing pictures and soon Marc and I fell back again.

I had already decided that I wanted to stop early that day and rest after the long day before. The morning before Bert had treated me to a tea, so to pay it forward I offered to buy Marc a coffee in Los Arcos where I would stay.  We talked easily while I waited for the hostel to open and he asked my permission to smoke a cigarette. He told me it was his plan to quit while walking the camino. He was 29 and  ten months and had read somewhere that if you quit before age 30 your lungs can completely heal. 

We said goodbye when I went to check into my hostel. Then, before I even had a chance to shower Marc walked into the same hostel, having decided to stay as well.  I was glad because Marc had a nice presence and I quiet energy that I enjoyed. He didn’t fill every moment with talking and even our silence was relaxed.

That night I had pizza and sangria as I learned from Marc about the Swiss governmental system. We ate in an open square on the edge of the camino and I saw Simon, Bert, Ha, and Kim pass through or stop to eat in the same square. A lot of my favorite people in the same town!

This pilgrim must have slept in this stone shack.

My knee and back were really bothering me that night so I decided to treat myself and send my backpack ahead. At nearly every hostel you could find information about a service which for 5 or so euros would drive your backpack to your next hostel.  The main downside is that you then have no flexibility it where you will stay. You choose the albergue without looking at it. To me it was important to walk a day without my pack to test if my knee was getting worse from the strain of the weight. The recommended weight for your pack is 10% of your body weight and mine was about 6 pounds heavier than that. 

That night I also treated one of my first blisters with some compeed Marc gave me. My shoes were only $20.00, but had comfortable insoles. Compared to most pilgrims’ they were very lightweight and were barely intended for hiking. I loved them though because I had yet to get a single blister on my heels. Two of my toenails were turning black from walking downhill, but that was comparatively painless. 

In so many ways I counted myself lucky. It was not even a week into my journey and I’d had so many unforgettable experiences. My health was good overall and I continued to look forward to every day as a new adventure.

Every Step Forward Leads to a Friend

The next morning I woke at 6 and started to pack, unsure if I would even be able to say goodbye to Kyle, Kevin, and Ally.  Kyle was up and expecting it. “So you’re going, huh?” was all he really said. 

Kevin and Ally were also awake as I left. They walked me to the door and we said goodbye and hugged. 

Leaving in the cold dark morning was depressing, but I had to go while I still had resolve. I shed a few tears as I walked away from the albergue. It felt like such a final goodbye. Camino friends are different from ‘real life’ friends. When you walk with someone on the way for even a few hours you can (though not always) have an openness and a connectedness that you might never have with someone you call a friend in the outside world.  I had walked with Ally, Kevin, and Kyle for nearly a week and imagined walking all the way with them. Saying goodbye seemed all the more tragic because I had a feeling they would not be completing the journey at all. 

(I found out later that they headed to Greece to recuperate and later Kyle went home early after having a falling out with the other two.)

One thing I was worried about before starting the camino was getting lost. I have an unimaginably horrible sense of direction. Thankfully, the way was almost always well-marked with arrows and shells. In the near perfect darkness, I spotted first a shell and then an arrow that seemed to point directly at a road. I started walk hesitantly because this road seemed built for cars and there were no other pilgrims around.  About 500 feet down the street I heard a voice call out behind me, “Are you sure this is the way?” I was absolutely unsure so I responded, “No, I have no idea.” and walked toward the voice. 

Back at the shell I saw that the arrow pointed, not toward the road, but to another arrow which lead to a hidden pilgrim’s path. So, I started along the right path with my savior companion, Bert. 

Bert proved to be a burly, Irishman, who I talked to easily from the start. Somehow the conversation turned to the night in Pamplona. I mentioned that a drunk man had interrupted the sleep of those in my hostel. To my surprise, Bert had been in that hostel as well. Not only that, the inebriated man who yelled insults and tried to start fights that night, was his brother. That morning Bert had left before even Kyle, Ally, Kevin, and I. 

“I’m so ashamed!” He cried in that early morning darkness. I patted his arm gently and tried to comfort him, “You don’t have to bear your brother’s shame.” 

“But I have,” he answered, “My whole life I have.” 

I was crying a bit too by then, so sad for this broken-down man I barely knew.

He told me about his life for most of the morning; tons of siblings raised in poverty by an alcoholic father who drank away most of their money. When we passed lush garden Bert told me as a child he would have cleaned out everything edible without a second thought.

All his brothers, not just the one I had encountered, had fallen into addiction. 

Bert’s salvation from the same fate was his beloved wife and soul-mate.

Bert and I walked together for about seven hours that day. He was pre-diabetic and had had a heart attack, so the going was slow but the conversation was worth it. We had reached such a strong point of closeness within half an hour that morning so from then on we were open about everything. We talked a lot about love. I told him about my long-distance boyfriend and he gave his advice about how to know if it was a right relationship. I trusted Bert’s advice (I still today ask his opinions over email) about love especially because of the way he talked about his wife. You could see that he believed he had the best woman in the world and he was made a better man from trying to be good enough for her.

Bert and I came to truly trust and respect each other that morning. He made me laugh, telling me I’d be a real catch in Ireland. 

When we were hungry, Bert and I stopped at a small courtyard with a fountain to eat the typical camino meal of bread and cheese.  There we met Kevin, one of the happiest people I’ve ever had a chance to meet.  He’d started walking in his home-country, Belgium and run out of money in France.  Since then he had slept in church doorways and used fountains to wash his clothes and body.  To make money for food he performed with his diablo on town streets, with his camino shell welcoming spare change.  Phil and I gave him our own donation and he rewarded us by putting on a little show just for us. 

We didn’t walk on with Kevin because his pace was far faster than Bert’s and mine, as he had been walking for several months. 

Soon, Bert and I ran into George, a British friend who would sleep late and then catch up to Bert nearly every day. We walked together along a Roman road and enjoyed each other’s company. 

I began getting a little restless as the afternoon sun baked us and I was far from where I wanted to end up for the day. Then, a French girl walked by and we struck up a conversation. Before I knew it I was matching her pace and we had left Bert and George far behind. I tried not to feel bad about leaving my knew friends. It is the way of the camino to walk together and walk apart. I had a strong feeling that I would see Bert again anyway.

Pauline, my new companion, was a very fit woman about my own age. She had walked 40-50 kilometers the previous days and didn’t seem tired at all. We had both spent long periods of time in Asia, her in China and me in South Korea so we enjoyed trading stories of our experiences. 

Eventually the conversation turned to our reasons for doing the camino. Pauline told me that a few months ago the brakes on her bicycle had failed, causing her to be hit by a car. She shattered the car windshield with her body and left it in bad condition, but when the paramedics arrived they found her injuries were nothing more than a few scrapes and bruises.  In fact, her heart rate was not even raised. By logic, she should have died. This experience led her to collect the prayer requests of her friends and family and start the camino.

Pauline and I both stayed in the town of Estella that night. Walking from the village entrance to the hostel took what seemed an infinity and it was late afternoon. We were lucky to get the last two beds in a hostel that charged only whatever donation you could give. 

While waiting for a shower, I turned my head and there was Simon, the German guru!

I was surprised to see him and happily called him over. He’d gone slow the last days due to knee problems. After making introductions I invited both Pauline and Simon to dinner that evening.

We had a lovely dinner together in the square of Estella. It was hard to believe that that same morning I’d felt so alone as I left my closest camino friends behind.  Simon, Pauline, and I spent three hours in the square, talking, joking, and laughing. We were from three different cultures and three different backgrounds. It seemed almost fantastical that by chance we would be here together on the way. 

We walked back to our hostel slowly that night, aching from our sore bodies, but also savoring the beautiful evening.

A Difficult Ending

After our day of the rest, Kyle, Kevin, Ally, and I were motivated to wake up before most of the other pilgrims and get started, even after the fiasco the night before. To our surprise, the drunk man, who we had only seen shadowed in darkness, was still awake and still completely wasted.  He was apparently past the loud and aggressive stage, but every time there was a small sound he would theatrically mime throwing a bowling ball and seemed to expect us all to laugh. We thoroughly ignored him and headed out into the deep darkness to begin our day.
The way through the city was easy to find by following the shells that were cemented into the ground every 50 feet or so. I was happy, energetic, and enthusiastic to be walking. Things weren't so bright for the others in my group. Kyle's waist buckle snapped and without it all the weight of his backpack would be dangerous for his back and shoulders. He rigged another one somehow, but felt very low. His sister and her boyfriend were also feeling negative and though I tried to encourage them, but Ally was in pain from her feet, Kevin didn't like walking in darkness, and Kyle had a whole slew of concerns I could do nothing about.
Even so, that morning was filled with promises from Kyle that he would finish this journey. He earnestly told me, "All my life when something gets hard I say 'fuck this' and quit. I need to prove to myself and everyone that I can finish."
I was rooting for him and really wanted us to walk into Santiago de Compostela together someday.

Not long after sunrise I began to walk ahead of my friends. It is very difficult to stay at a pace which isn't natural to you and I felt really great walking my own pace. It was my first time really walking alone and while I enjoyed the solitary reflection I also missed companionship. So, I waited on a bench in a field of dead sunflowers. For twenty minutes I sat and enjoyed an apple, looking anxiously for Ally, Kevin, and Kyle. Finally, I moved on again until I came to a small town with little more than a church.

Dead sunflowers

Waiting there allowed me to meet Ha and Kim, two South Korean women walking the camino together. They gave me a croissant and we talked happily about their country. After we took some pictures together they moved on and I sat alone in front of the church.
Before too long I heard a familiar, loud, American voice and soon I could see Kyle and the others coming my way. I was so relieved to be in their company again. I had been worried that something bad had happened and that maybe I would never see them again and never know what happened.
We ate happily together and then set out again at a very slow pace. Kyle was in obvious pain and though the way was easy and the weather nice it seemed like he might not make it.

An iconic camino picture spot

Around 1 PM we were still 7 kilometers from where we planned to stop, despite our early start. Kyle wanted to keep going, but Mandy insisted that we stay at the closest hostel and Kyle eventually gave in. I stayed with them as well, but there was a sinking feeling in my chest.
It was a relaxed and mellow day. I thought about the journey a lot. Kyle's ankle and knee were swollen and painful, not to mention his blisters. He had wanted to continue to the next town, but really I knew that he would only injure himself more. I wondered if I was hindering his camino. He felt like he should keep up with me, but maybe the wise thing for him to do would be to stop and get better.
Dinner that night was nice and we had light conversation, though I think we all realized it was probably our 'Last Supper' for the four of us.
Deciding to go on alone was much more difficult than it would have been just to stay with these new, yet dear friends of mine. Throughout the day, Erik's sad words of knowledge from our first night kept replaying in my head; "You'll meet people, but don't be afraid to leave them."