Photos From Sue And Steve

Despite the death of my camera, I have a few more photos to share, all because of Sue and Steve, our lovely Camino surrogate parents!!  They posted these pictures on their blog, and I decided to snag and repost the ones with me in them.  The order of these pictures go back in time.  This is what I looked like on the Camino!

nearing the end..

the day after my digestive-issue-filled night

Sue and Steve and Mark and Anne pitched in to get us dinner

flo is in this pic, but before i really knew him or his friends

me and flo, taken by sue on flo's camera

and HERE are the lovely Steve and Sue themselves!

Thanks, you two, for taking care of us and taking pictures of us!

Note to readers:

I will someday have a sum-up post, a retrospective, if you will.  I know I stopped updating the blog quite abruptly, but that's the way it happened.  Stay vaguely tuned and you might eventually get some more out of me!  And yes, I miss it.

Guardian Angel

Our front desk man struck again!  Bless him.  We slept inside last night.

Back-Seat Blogging

Perhaps some of you are thinking, "Now, why did she put a hyphen in the word 'backseat'?"
It's a joke. 
Maybe some of you noticed all the hypenated words in my last blog post.  No?  Well, Sofia did.  She was sitting on my left as I wrote it, commenting on every hyphen and also everything else.  I have been shooting dagger eyes at her the whole time, and I would like to say that she should write her OWN blog!! 

Sofia says, "I don't NEED to put all my thoughts on the internet for everyone to read.  I'm content to know I'm right in my own head."  Yes, she just said that.  There was a bit of tongue in her cheek, BUT the sentiment stands!
I counter, "What about FACEBOOK?!"

And she is left speechless.

Anyway.  She also would like all my readers to know that this blog journey has been entirely from my, Alexandra's, perspective and contains only half the story. 
I would like to say that it doesn't begin to contain my whole half of the story. 

That's all.

It Feels Like Home To Me

Sofia and I took the bus back to Santiago this afternoon.  I had the wonderful feeling of recognizing streets as we drove in, and we didn't even need to pull out our old guidebook to find our way to our old albergue, the Seminario Menor.  We found a spot to camp behind a stone wall and under some eucalyptous trees, but we wanted to hang out inside (it is 15 degrees celsius outside) until we can pitch our tent under cover of darkness.  So.  The plan was to walk in unsuspicious-like with our packs on and head straight downstairs, where we know there to be a TV, showers, bathrooms, and perhaps a discarded book or two.  If we were stopped, we'd say we had plans for the night, but just needed to keep warm in the meantime.

We walked in and made a beeline for the stairs, only Sofia broke ranks and waved at the front desk guy (apparently it was made unavoidable by eye contact).  He called out, "van den Berg!", which echoed in the marble foyer and stopped us in our tracks.  We couldn't help grinning as we made our way to the office, feeling slightly delinquent. 

This front desk guy has been so good to us in the past.  We stayed at this albergue for three nights, and he learned our names and bed numbers on the first day!  He let us use the internet for free to see if conference would stream with audio and helped us figure out how to work the system by buying two and a half hour chunks of internet ahead of time to use when the office was closed.  THEN, on our last night in Santiago, when we were planning on camping to save money, he came down and checked on us as we were watching the last session of conference.  He asked us if we were staying another night, since he hadn't seen our names on the register, and when we told him that we were camping, he insisted on giving us free beds in the albergue.  It was wonderfully nice of him, and he conducted all this under-the-table business so matter-of-factly that we scarcely had a chance to say "muchos gracias"! 
So we wrote him a thank-you note and drew him a picture and left him a pass-along card.

Apparently, that won us his good graces, because this evening as we stood in the doorway of his office, he called me over by name and handed me a password for an unlimited amount of internet time, no questions asked!  "See you later," he said, as he briskly started helping the next pilgrim.

Several Marvelous Items

Last night Sofia and I set off across town to look for the hippie tent village on some beach on the other side of the peninsula.  I had heard tell of this settlement from a girl who partied there every night this summer.  And we didn't want to spend any more money.

We found the beach just at sunset, and as we hiked the boardwalk to the sand, we watched the sun sink under the horizon.  It is amazing how fast it sets over the sea.  A huge fiery ball, lighting the bellies of the distant clouds with gold.  The rest of the sky was light blue and soft shell pink.  It was beautiful.  We forded an inlet, ran over a sand bar, and waded into the Atlantic Ocean.  The waves roared, and the riptide sucked at our ankles.  If I squinted a little, I could almost make out America.

Hidden among the cliffs, there were a couple tents set up and a few men busy around around a firepit.  Apparently there had been dozens of people camping there this summer, but now there were only three.  One of them had been the hospitaliero for the municipal albergue and knew that we were coming, so he welcomed us "home".  We were even invited to dinner!

As soon as the fire was built up, we went swimming in the little inlet where it curved around the sandbar and got quite deep.  The pull of the riptide on this beach is super strong and has pulled people out to sea before, so we wanted to stay in a protected area.  It was dark by then, and the water was freezing.  We stood waist-deep and shivering, trying to build up the courage to get all the way wet, when I saw something that looked like a blueish firefly in the water.  And then there was another one and another one!  Phosphorescence!  Bioluminescence!  I have read about those things that glow in the ocean at night, but I had never seen them before!!  They appeared around our legs when we moved in the water, just a few here and there.  So cool!

We both had to go pee, which we each managed with a bit of concentration cause it was so cold.  Don't judge us.  When I looked back down into the water, a whole STREAM of glowing things were flowing from me towards the open ocean!  Sofia had a little cloud floating away from her legs, too!  The sudden warmth in the water must have disturbed those little dinoflagellates (or whatever they were) enough to set off their glowing reaction!  (I hope this doesn't gross anyone out).
When Sofia looked down, she flipped out.  She's kinda jumpy in dark, unknown waters at night.  She calmed down about the glowing things, but then she made us both get out because she thought the bubbles floating on the surface of the water were jellyfish.  I got a flashlight, proved that they were just bubbles, and insisted that I had to at least go under the water once in order to call it a proper night swim.  She wouldn't let me do it alone, and she wouldn't let me do it first (can it be her "thing" to go into cold water before me when I'm humoring her by waiting my turn?), but eventually we were both all the way in and then all the way out.

The rest of the night was spent eating delicious rice and chocolate (not together) around a horribly smokey fire, and I went to bed around midnight.  Sofia stayed up with a ringletted German boy, and they slept outside by the fire.

After I woke up and had a pee in the sand, I sat on the beach and watched the waves as the sun gently lightened the sky from behind.  The tide was on its way in so the sandbar was getting wetter and wetter, reflecting the pink of the sky like a mirror.
A man in yellow boots walked across the beach with a net.  I waved, he waved back, and then he disappeared over the rocks to the left.  I was curious, so I put on my shoes and followed him.  Turns out he was catching shrimp in the tidepools.  He would scrape the net under the overhanging rock and then upend it into a plastic bag.  The shrimp were jumpy and clear with black markings.  I guess he was looking for lunch, He said that the shrimp were very small nowadays, he didn't know why.  Eventually I left him to it, but he passed me on the beach as he was going home.  He had dumped his catch back into the water because they were just too small.  Maybe someday he'll come and catch them again when they are big and be rewarded for his wisdom.

just like this!  only this is not my picture.

I also saw a man standing in the surf with waders on and a fishing pole with a huge silver lure, which he would occasionally pitch into the waves.  I have never heard of shallow-sea fishing before.  Or beach-side fishing?  I was quite incredulous and doubted his sanity until I saw fish in the waves!!  Silver foot-long things with pointy fins!  They swam at the top of the water with their mouths gaping open in the air!  They were in the semi-calm area where the waves had already crashed and the water was just pushing in to shore, and I could see fish shapes silhouetted in each green-blue swell!  It was so cool!  I kept hoping that one of them would get disoriented and beach itself so that I could catch one for breakfast...  I even (seriously) shouted Ernie's fish call at the waves, on the off-chance that Sesame Street knew something I didn't.  I didn't catch any fish, but yelling at the ocean still felt good.  

A Very Long Post Of Some Of My Adventures

Walking by myself to Finisterra was wonderful.  I was able to walk at my own pace and stop at my own will and talk with my own people.  Sofia wanted to speed ahead and make the hike in three days, which works out to about 33k a day, but I didn't want to push so hard.  I planned on four days.  And it turned out to be perhaps the most thrilling four days of my Camino!

On the first day, I finally got the chance to swim.  There was this cute little town with a beautiful restored Roman bridge going over a river that actually had some substance to it.  Most of the "rivers" we've seen have consisted of trickles of water, barely enough to bathe a baby and certainly not enough to give me decent cover.  But this river flowed nicely with rocks on the banks and deep spots to swim in!  And the day was fine!  I followed a narrow path downriver, away from the bridge, past the farm on the left, and beyond the houses on the right.  And I stripped down and got in!  It was FREEZING.  And it turns out I didn't go quite far enough, because I could see a pilgrim taking pictures of the river on the bridge.  I ducked behind a rock.  And then I swam!  After sweating all morning under the weight of the pack, the water felt so refreshing.  I paddled to the middle of the river, but then a horrible daydream seized me of meeting a poisonous Spanish river snake, and I panicked and swam back to the edge.  I climbed out, got dressed, and took a nap in the sun on a rock.  My skin felt so new!  That feeling didn't last long, since as soon as I started walking I got sweaty all over again, but it was a lovely treat.

That night, I camped out by myself for the first time.  Sofia had wanted to camp, too, and she took the tent, which left me with my versatile poncho with loops on the edges so that it could be strung up as shelter.  I rigged up the coolest lean-to ever!  I'll show you:

The bright green thing is my poncho, the orange thing is my stick, the grey thing is a rope, the black thing is my pack, the red thing is my sleeping bag (with me inside).  Tahdah!  And the tree was a big chestnut, so there were a million spikey chestnuts all over the ground (and sharp pine needles too), keeping me squarely in the middle of my sleeping mat.  Big fat slugs crawled on my tarp and my sleeping bag in the night.  I flicked one off the tarp from underneath, and it went flying.
I slept relatively well until the deluge at 7 in the morning.  My poncho, being what it is, has a hole for my head.  I thought when the hood was cinched tight it wouldn't leak, but that was wishful thinking, and the bottom of my sleeping bag got soaked pretty quickly.  By that time, the sky was getting lighter, so I just packed up and left in the rain. 

Then it rained for three days.

There was a bit of sun in the middle of the day that second day, so I dried out my sleeping bag.  And a delightful French lady and a German kid took pity on me that night and paid for me to sleep in an albergue.  All in all the rain didn't create too much trouble for me until the third day when I and the German kid, Marius, walked over a mountain in the worst storm yet. 

We had stopped at a bar that said "last place to buy food for 15 km!" and ate some ice cream.  When we started walking, it was sprinkling a little.  Neither of us put our ponchos on, because we had learned through hard experience that they didn't actually do much.  Plus it wasn't very cold.  So we walked in the mist. 
Soon it rained harder.  We got wetter.  Actually, we got soaked through.  And then the wind started blowing.  I didn't feel cold because we were walking, but when I tried waving to some pilgrims, my hand would only move in slow motion.  Maybe I was colder than I thought...  The rain turned to fat, heavy drops that poured down our faces and blew into our ears.  And the rain tasted horrible!  I thought at first it was my red hair dye running down my face, but Sofia said the same thing later when we compared notes.  The rain tasted nasty.  And the wind blew and blew.  The fog obscured every view.  And the road kept going!  I sung my german banana song for Marius a couple times, just to keep up morale (it is a pretty good song), but the wind would just blow harder, mocking our feeble attempts at jollity.  I seriously started to think that maybe we would get hypothermia, go crazy, and die!  If we had stopped moving, we sure would've gotten very cold very quickly.  So we didn't stop.  We just walked and walked.  Right through puddles because it didn't matter any more.  When the path started heading downhill, it became a rushing stream.  I prayed and prayed that we would reach the next town soon.
And then.  I could smell the sea.
We were saved!

Soon we could see it ahead of us, a bay between grey-green hills with red-roofed towns nestled on the coasts.  It was a beautiful sight! 
Marius stopped at a bar in town, but I kept walking.  I had heard tell of a free albergue a couple km away, and I was determined not to stop until I could get truly dry and warm.  So I walked through Cee and I walked through Corcubion.  I climbed up this hill, and it looked like I was leaving civilization again without ever seeing that fabled albergue!  I was devastated.  I prayed and prayed that it would be just the next house....then maybe the next house.  I figured I had only 10 km to go to Finisterra, and if I didn't reach the albergue, an alberge, ANY albergue, I'd have to press on.  I crossed a busy road...walked a few meters...and there, on the ground: "<---  Albergue 50 mts".

This albergue fulfilled all my dearest wishes on that day.  I walked in, and sympathetic pilgrims came to greet me.  One covered me with a towel, another went to make me some tea.  My shoes were taken from me, my pack uncovered by my sopping poncho.  I was led upstairs and offered a hot shower.  "Take as long as you want," I was told.  And I did. 
And then I was fed a hot, delicious lunch (for free).  And the slighly-drunk, five-times-a-pilgrim gave me a foot and calf massage.  And I drank as much hot chocolate with biscuits as I wanted.  I had found heaven.  It was such a nice place to be.

The End Of The World

I walked in yesterday, the fourth day from Santiago, and the first day it didn't rain while I was walking.  I felt such a sense of well-being, of accomplishment, of completion.  It was perfect.

Flying

Usually I dream of falling.  I'll be standing on a high skyscraper/billboard/staircase, and it will slowly start to tip over or peel away from its supporting structure.  It is a terrifying moment, to feel yourself tilting into a void with the certainty of impact only moments away.  I never do remember hitting the ground.
But last night I dreamed of flying.  It was my first real flying dream ever.  I think it started when I fell out of a plane.  Free-falling alone was a new sensation.  From thousands of feet in the air, I could see a green country spread out before me, rolling hills of trees in every direction, beautiful like Galicia.  Maybe it was the view, but suddenly it didn't matter to me that I was falling.  My heart felt calm.  I stopped being afraid.  And with that, I was flying.
I banked and soared and landed light on my feet.  I practiced until I knew that it wasn't just a fluke.  I could fly.

I was trying to take a nap today and ended up thinking about my dream as I fell asleep.  In my drowsy state, I saw a symbol of love.  Not just romantic love, but all love.  Love is scary.  Love makes you vulnerable.   But when you focus less on fear of hitting the ground with a splat and more on the freedom and the beauty that the view of the horizon affords, you can lose your fear.  And then you'll fly.


Beautiful, isn't it?  Of course, after the flying part, my dream transitioned into some strange, Alice-in-Wonderland journey, leaving me disoriented and freaked out.

Feel free to extend the metaphor if you wish.  I'll just leave it at that.

Conference Time!!!!

We got to Santiago in time to watch General Conference, specifically for that purpose.  We found the branch building, but despite walking past it as often as possible in three days, we never saw anyone there!  We drew a picture of missionaries and showed it to the bakery workers next door, asking if they had a phone number. No dice.  We even scribbled a note on an empty pastry bag and safety pinned it to the door handle (we had no tape), begging any Mormons to send us information on how to watch conference with the saints in Santiago.  We got no response.

In the end, we've bought enough internet time to watch the broadcast live in the common room of our albergue.  We tested the facilities by watching the "highlights" clip of last conference, and it was so good to see them and hear them!!  that we cried!  

Just think, we haven't been to a mormon church in a whole month (which is a HUGE long time, for us).  It was so...grand!  Like...eating a delicious cupcake by Kenzie after months of bland foreign fare!!  

yeah.  It was that good.

And now we are watching conference and it is sooooo good!  I can't even say!  And the news!  Missionaries from ages 18 and 19!!!???  Wow!  My favorite quotes (as close as I can get them):

"when our commitment is diminished for any reason, part of the solution is always repentance"

"parents need to be ready to defend truth and bear powerful testimony"

"they that wait upon the Lord will rise up on wings as eagles..."

"we have trials to learn that without Him, we have nothing"

"stop the boys on the bikes!"

"there is nothing mysterious about the principles of the gospel"

Ah.  The feast metaphors are bubbling up inside me, but I will refrain, seeing as Sofia is sitting beside me and will make fun of my flowery sentences ;)

SECOND SESSION UPDATE:
Some kid from California that we met this morning came and sat next to us for part of this session.  He was drunk.  First of all, he expressed incredulity that I am a mormon and also studied European history.  I honestly don't know why.  Can a mormon not be educated?  Anyway..he said he wanted to listen with an open mind, but he ended up making exasperated noises and leaving because he was "frustrated".  Sigh.  You can't win 'em all.  

Spanish Food Sucks

I have decided that I really don't like Spanish food.  This opinion may be influenced by the fact that I have been sick to my stomach for a week or so, or that pilgrims subsist mainly on bar food, but I maintain that Spanish cuisine is boring.  Tortillas were delightful at first, and I am looking forward to making some at home, but my upteenth slice pushed me over the edge.  Baked goods are only tempting-looking.  By the time you bite into them, the flavor goes bland.  Bocadillos, or sandwiches, are too dry and too crunchy and stingily layered with too-twangy cheeses and cured-to-within-an-inch-of-it's-life ham.  French fries are thick and oily.  Salads are run-of-the-mill.  Even candy doesn't taste like I think it should!

I found myself the other day craving American food.  That is a traveling first for me.  In all my voyages, I have always enjoyed local eating, but suddenly, all I wanted was mac and cheese from my mother's kitchen.  All I wanted was a moist and perfectly sweet cupcake like my old roommate, Kenzie, used to make.  All I wanted was something familiar!  Something served at a regular time!  Something that I could eat with usual gusto!! 

All I found were some oreos, but without milk, they crumbled like dust in my mouth. 


Exception:
The morning after arriving in Santiago, I had a most fulfilling breakfast.  I ordered two fried eggs (no french fries, please) and bacon.  And I had some hot chocolate (thick, melted-chocolate-bar style).  And it tasted like home.  Well, the eggs and bacon did.  And I was perfectly happy. 

Made It

Remember how last time I blogged I said that Sofia and I were going to walk another 5 km, camp for the night, and then walk into Santiago the next morning?  Well, we had a slight change of plans.

We had collected all our stuff from our corner of that little cafe, we had put our shoes on, we were walking down the street.  An Italian girl we knew saw us on the way and asked, most incredulously, "Are you guys walking to Santiago tonight??"
No, no, we assured her.  We told her our plan, she calmed down, and we walked on, single-file on the sidewalk leading out of town.

About two minutes later, Sofia calls back to me.  "What if we walked to Santiago tonight?"
The thought had crossed my mind as well, but I played the responsible, sensible role and said, "No, no, we couldn't possibly do that.  We planned to camp.  We will camp."  So Sofia started wheedling.  We had always wanted to night-hike!  There were only 20 km left!  It would be so cool!  We would be so unique!  We would have the cathedral to ourselves!  We could certainly make it before midnight!
She knew I was half-way convinced from the start, partially because I didn't flat-out refuse and partially because she could hear the half-smile on my face even while I produced my counterarguments.
In the end?  We walked to Santiago. 

It took us from 6:00 to 11:30pm.  We walked up and up and into the sunset with a group of Northern-Italian German-speakers.  We left them after 10k at a hostel, and they donated apples, granola bars, and Haribo gummibears to the cause.  It got quite dark and we put on our headlamps.  We passed lots of dogs who loudly expressed their surprise at smelling pilgrims so late.  One scary-sounding creature followed us behind a fence, salivating loudly and hungrily instead of barking.  Creepy!  At the top of the last hill, we happened upon a group of pilgrims we knew who were headed to bed for the night from a bar, and they gave us a bar of chocolate for the last 5k.  People are so nice.  We get so well taken care of.
 
By the end I was hobbling pretty slowly.  The streets were quiet in the suburbs and getting into the city center, but it was only the pre-gaming silence.  Parties start quite late in Spain.  We walked past bars with the murmur of conversation within, and past darkened storefronts.  We followed the yellow arrows and the scallopshells on the sidewalk.  And then, around a corner, was the cathedral.  From the direction we came the spires appeared one at a time, chaotically jutting into the night sky at different heights, creating a strange tiered bunch of baroque flourishes piled on top of each other in the dark.  It was a good first impression.

We walked around to the front of the building, which was more organized-looking and even more ornate.  It was just before midnight, and the square had a few people milling about but not many.  Sofia and I sat down and leaned on our packs, right on the middle, looking up at our final destination.  We did it.  Whodda thunk?
We feasted on gummibears.

 After a bit of reflection, we decided we needed to find a place to sleep.  Although we knew a very nice couple who were staying at the Paramor, the fanciest place right adjacent to the cathedral, we didn't quite feel right knocking on their door at midnight.  So, we picked up our packs (with much groaning), and walked around to the other side of the cathedral.  There we found a delightful little nook, swathed in shadow and smelling faintly of pee, where we decided to bed down for the night.

We rolled out our mats, tucked ourselves into our sleeping bags along with our valuables, leaned against or propped our feet up on our bags, and fell asleep like we had always slept in sketchy porticos in Spanish cities.  We got a good 6 hours of shut-eye, despite the Spanish partying that started around 1 and lasted til 4 in the morning.  There was a lot of drunken singing and shouting, and I kept thinking it was raining because of the sound of the fountain.  I tried to keep my sleeping bag up over my hair, so people wouldn't know I was a girl.  I don't know if that worked, but no one bothered us and no one made us move.  I say our night was a success.

So there you have it.  We made it to Santiago in 33 days, our last day consisting of 39 km.  And it was good.

Petty Theft

I stole a shower today.  I would feel more ashamed if I didn't feel so wonderfully refreshed.

This last stage of the Camino is odd in that there are so few albergues.  Here, in Arca, there is one, and then in another 15 km (about 5 km from Santiago) there is another one.  In between are a few hostels, but those rooms go for 45 Euro a piece (there is no way)!  Now, this albergue shortage wouldn't be too much of a problem except for one thing:
We would like to get to Santiago in time for the noon pilgrim's mass, preferably with some time to spare.  We have only 20 km to go (about 4 hours walking time),  but we aren't really early risers, so we want to cut into those 20 km tonight.  If we walk another five km, there will be no albergues.  We can easily find a spot to camp, but we needed to use the internet and I really wanted a shower (it has been three days since my last one, and I would like to walk into the ancient pilgrim cathedral clean.  Or relatively so).

Our solution?  We have been hanging out at a cafe with a computer.  I left my bags here and walked into the albergue next door as if I had already checked in.  Then, I took a shower.  I just took it.
It was amazing.
Hot.
Lots of water.
Lots of water pressure.
I don't regret it.

This Is It

Tomorrow we are walking into Santiago de Compestella.  Weird.
We've been walking for 33 days today.  That's a long time.

Sofia asked me today what I'm thinking about the end, but "weird" is about all I came up with.  Like with most of my adventures, I have some sort of ambivalent buffer.  The end is coming, but that's what usually happens with adventures.  I do have a vague sense of having felt very at home here, on the Way.  I tend to call a place "home" fairly quickly.  And even though the Camino isn't one place, it is a string of places all connected by one way of life.  The path is even populated with a huge migrating village of people.  Surrogate moms and dads, grandpas and grandmas, boistrous uncles that dote on you...  I've really liked living here.

Sigh.  And now I'm getting kicked out of the house.  I've come to the end of the line.  I rack my brain, trying to pick out some bit of spiritual enlightenment I've gleaned along the way, but I can't think of anything.  *shrug*  Oh well.  I am okay with that.  I'm sure there are plenty of morals to this story that I can't see right now, and I don't want to mess them up by making up my own.

In the mean time, I think Santiago will be beautiful, I can't wait to see the End of the World, and I really need a shave.

East And West

Here are some things that have changed in Spain as we've walked west:

- My chamomille tea used to be served to me in tiny, single-serving teapots.  Now barpeople just stick a special ceramic cup-top on top of the tea cup as the tea brews.
- Tortilla potatoes are sliced super thin out west, as opposed to the chunky potatoes in the eastern tortillas.
- Roofs are made primarily of slate now, while they used to be of rounded tiles.  (But they turn back to tile on the coast!)
- There are more cows than sheep.
- Churches in the small towns have gotten smaller and uglier.  Like, seriously tiny and plain with short steeples and unassuming bells.
- Further west they start slicing thick slices of bread for sandwiches instead of halving a baguette-style stalk.  It is much softer to eat.
- Galicians store grain in these elevated sheds (to keep out the mice) called horreos, and they show up all over out here.  They are so typical that some city homes have miniature versions in their gardens, just for show.


I don't think I've ever had the chance to see an overview of regional characteristics like what one sees as one walks.  Fascinating and yet incredibly mundane.

A New Recipe

Two nights ago (man, how the days fly!), Sofia and I stopped at an albergue at the edge of Siarra.  I was absolutely beat; a few days of intestinal disturbance means eating very little food and sleeping only sporatically at night, which translates into very little energy for walking all day.  On top of that, I'd been slowly developing some tendonitis pain in my left ankle.  I was slow, and the day seemed to last forever.  I crashed beside Sofia at a table at the albergue's bar, and Sofia launched into an uproarous conversation with this English kid we'd met on the way.  He let us skype with our Mom (yay!), but I was too quiet to fight for a place in that three-person conversation, so Sofia talked as I sipped my Aquarius and listlessly looked around.
Someone was playing Simon and Garfunkle.
And this guy was peeling potatoes.
Peeling potatoes suddenly sounded like the perfect pasttime for my burnt-out brain.  I wouldn't have to talk to anyone or focus on anything...

finding peace in potatoes

The guy looked at me like I was a bit crazy when I asked if I could help, but he didn't question it.  He got me another knife, and we sat in companionable silence, peeling potatoes.  When the potatoes were peeled, we sliced them super thin, just right for the Galician-style tortilla (which in Spain is a thick omlet).  The man was named Iñaki.  He was very nice.  Big heart.  He carried each pilgrim's bags up to the rooms, and he gave us bread for the road in the morning.  His favorite Simon and Garfunkle song is Kathy's Song, which I had never heard.  Mine is For Emily, Whenever I May Find Her.  We played them for each other, then listened to Cecilia, which both of us loved as kids without ever knowing the words.

He showed me how to make the tortilla, calling me over from conversation ("Connecticut!  It is time!") whenever the next step was ready.  The cooking of the potatoes in hot oil, the beating of the eggs, the flipping of the omlet...  I was the first pilgrim ever to see his tortilla-making skills in action.  :)  
And then, when everyone was sitting down to dinner (which for me was free! Thanks, Iñaki) and it was time for the main course of tortilla, Iñaki had me help bring the plates of hot food over.  In three languages, Spanish, English, and Italian, he asked everyone to clap for me, because I had helped make dinner (very minimally, I would say).  The applause came in three separate bursts (one language at a time), and everyone seemed happy.  I was feeling better; being well-fed and appreciated can turn the hardest day into a wonderful evening.

Finished product!  Delicious!

Kathy's Song

I hear the drizzle of the rain
Like a memory it falls
Soft and warm continuing
Tapping on my roof and walls.

And from the shelter of my mind
Through the window of my eyes
I gaze beyond the rain-drenched streets
To England where my heart lies.

My mind's distracted and diffused
My thoughts are many miles away
They lie with you when you're asleep
And kiss you when you start your day.

And a song I was writing is left undone
I don't know why I spend my time
Writing songs I can't believe
With words that tear and strain to rhyme.

And so you see I have come to doubt
All that I once held as true
I stand alone without beliefs
The only truth I know is you.

And as I watch the drops of rain
Weave their weary paths and die
I know that I am like the rain
There but for the grace of you go I.

Headlamps in the Dark: A Dialog

Scene:  Sofia and I, in our tent, in the dark.  Sofia has her headlamp on because she is reading and journal writing.  I'm laying in my sleeping bag, falling asleep.  Suddenly the light is on me, as I can tell through my closed eyes.  It doesn't move for a second or two.
Me:  Stop looking at me.
Sofia: (after a startled pause)  Oh, you can tell, can't you?

Moderation

Sofia and I are an...interesting team, never on the same page.  

Sometimes it goes like this:

S:  Alexandra, lets just hitchhike into (name that city).  or Alexandra, why don't we take a bus down the mountain?  Why in the world should we have to walk downhill if we can help it?  

A:  Nope.

Sometimes it goes like this:

S:  Alexandra, we should get another 13km in today!  We can get to (such and such a city) and stay there!  Its only 4 o'clock; we totally have time, and I feel like I could go forever!

A:  Nope.  

Well, actually, it is never that simple.  There is generally a lot of whining, hand-waving, and loud exclamations of frustration on both sides, punctuated with incredulous laughter and even grunts.  Sofia accuses me of being stubborn, and I just ride that wave because it's true.  One evening outside of a bar, we debated the wisdom of trying to make it to the bottom of a mountain before dark, and I swear all of the other pilgrims were watching us in mild horror at the loud American drama unfolding before their eyes.  

All I have to say is that I am happy in the middle.  I am walking the Camino.  That means I want to walk all of it--no cheating or cutting corners.  It means that I am not running the Camino.  20-25 km a day is entirely enough for me.  Sofia swings wildly from one extreme to the other.  I don't know how she does it.

September 24th

This day is momentous.  It is a year since something big and breathtaking and irreversable happened in my life.  I'm not going to tell you about it, but I will say that the heavens worked really hard to bring me to today from last year.  And they even gave me a bonus surprise.  Today was the day Sofia and I reached the iron cross at the highest point of the Camino.  It is there that people drop a rock onto a huge pile, leaving behind a burden, perhaps, or adding a bit of weight to the eternal scales in their favor.  I wanted to leave behind the past year for good, and to that end, Sofia had brought me a rock from home that I could drop at the foot of the cross.  I've been carrying it this whole way in my first aid ziplock baggie. 
Turns out my first aid ziplock baggie had a hole in it. 
And my rock was lost. 

I climbed the pile of debris at the cross this afternoon, rockless, thinking about what in the world this moment meant.  And I figured it out.

I've been carrying a burden of pain and hurt and anger.  But somewhere along the way, I dropped it.  And I don't need to elaborately leave it anywhere special.  I just need to keep walking.

Another Enchanting Moment

This time in Burgos. 
A bunch of pilgrims were congregated at outdoor seating for this one bar in the city's main square, presided over by the impressive florid gothic cathedral.  Sofia and I had wandered our way over, following Flo and Noah, a girl from Israel.  The Dutch pilgrims were there, along with Paul and Decklyn (a duo we've been playing trail tag with), and so we sat and watched everyone ordering more beers and getting louder and happier by the minute.  Sofia was talking to Paul, but I was feeling quiet so kept a bit to myself.  Then I had to pee (a very common occurence for me on the Camino), so I went to the bathroom in the bar.  When I was done, I took my time wandering back outside.
Then it happened.
Standing in the doorway of the bar, I was suddenly enthralled with the enormous sensation that was filling my ears.  The cathedral bells were ringing.  No, they weren't just ringing; they were rolling in majestic peals of sound.  The bells themselves weren't just swinging back and forth, they were tumbling in complete circles, around themselves, over and over.  The notes were pitching, piping, rumbling in a cacophony that at one moment clanged in dissonance and the next pushed forward with a determined melody.  There was one deep note reverberating through it all; I could feel it in my ribcage. 
I stood in the doorway and gaped.  The cathedral was right in front of me, huge, imposing, and suddenly alive.  I walked closer, hoping that no one would see me.  Louder and louder.  I felt like I was being called to something.  Every moment the bells were making a different sound, but there was a rhythm and a pattern to it;  now clanging, now bounding upwards, now organized into definite music. 
I listened and listened as the bells went on and on, wondering somewhere underneath what I was listening for.  If those bells were magic, I would have turned around and found myself in the city square of medieval Burgos.  I even peeked over my shoulder once, just in case the magic was waiting for me. 
In the end, the bells tapered off, and I walked back to my group.  Sofia was wondering where I was.  One of the girls was complaining about the sound of the bells.  I felt like I was the only one who heard them, after all.

Water

I need to keep hydrated, but I don't like drinking water.  I don't think it tastes very good, especially when it is super-bland bottled water or strange-tangy tap water.  And I just don't think about drinking until noon, when I realize all I've had was a cup of cammomille tea and maybe 150 mL from my water bottle.  I end up guzzling the rest of the water from my bottle as if it were the foulest medicine, gasping like a marathon runner after every gulp.  Sofia makes fun of me.  And THEN I have to pee like a fiend at very inconvenient intervals along the trail!  It is a miracle that I'm not shrivelled up like a raisin by now.

Also Enchanting

One of the nights shortly after leaving Burgos, Sofia, Flo, and I are camped out in a field.  We didn't set up our tents because the sky was perfectly clear.  The night turned out to be also terribly cold and we all ended up huddled together.  Sofia actually crawled into my sleeping bag in the morning.  But that wasn't the enchanting part. 

As the sky got darker and darker, more and more stars appeared.  I've always heard of this moment in traveler's stories.  They get to a place where the brightly lit human world is so withdrawn that the sky unveils it's nocturnal glories.  But I had never seen it before, and I had never suspected it would be so breath-taking, even though they all say it is.  Stars and stars and more stars!  Bright, distinct stars and clumps of hazy glowing stars.  Stars that twinkled, stars that fell.  They pierced the dark with a million points of brilliance.  No wonder men have always watched them, counted them, mapped them, told stories of them.  I could scarcely bear to shut my eyes to fall asleep.  And when I woke up in the night, with Flo skootched close on one side and Sofia breathing deeply on the other, I just stared at the stars.  I was alone (relatively), it was dark and still and cold, and I could not get bored of the sky.  Oddly enough, I didn't feel small, compared to that vast expanse.  I felt at the center of it.  I felt like the sole audience of a universal show, blessed to have the perfect view.  The stars, they loved me.  And I loved them.

The Ants

Yesterday Sofia and I camped at this town called Hospitales de Obig...something.  We had heard from a German friend who has a guidebook with insider hints that the river there was a popular swimming spot for pilgrims, and I was determined to enjoy a lovely nude night swim.  In preparation of this exciting idea, Sofia and I walked up and down the banks of the river, trying to find a good spot where the water was deep enough and the edge clear enough.  To be clear, Sofia did not want to swim in a strange river in the middle of the night one bit.  But she was ready to support me and come with me to make sure I didn't drown while naked.  I have a good sister. 

Let me paint a picture for you:  Evening light filtering through the neat rows of poplar trees.  A small path at the top of a narrow earthen bank.  Brush and bushes and scrappy trees between the path and the water, except at odd intervals where a tiny and steep drop to the water had been cleared. 
Sofia and I had just finished an over-30k day, and we were walking like old women.  I was the oddest looking, surely, with my inconcruous black skirt, red Toms with the backs folded down under my blistered heels, and the way I was gripping my walking stick in one hand like it was the only reason I was still upright.  No one was around, thank goodness.

We were walking slowly, commenting that the shallowness of the water wouldn't make for good skinnydipping, and we stopped at one spot that might have been promising except for the green algae and the swarms of bugs floating on the water's surface.  Suddenly, my feet felt odd.  I looked down and FREAKED OUT as my shoes and feet were swarmed with little black ants.  I couldn't tell if they were biting me or not, but I didn't pause to figure it out.  I kicked one shoe off without thinking and it flew...over the embankment...towards the river...and out of sight.  Crap.
I don't know if any of you have seen me when I'm in an entirely unexpected situation, but in the safe company of Sofia I was squealing like a baby. 
My shoe, my shoe!  The ants, the ants! 
Sofia went after my shoe (risking life and limb!) and I killed all the ants on my other foot.  Only then could I relax, though I still had the heebiejeebies.  My shoe hadn't made it into the water; it had landed in the bushes, suspended only inches from the river.  Phew.  I wasn't bit by any of the ants.  Phew.  Maybe I overreacted.  Maybe.  But I take care not to stand on any ant-highways or ant hills these days. 

Oh, and swimming didn't happen.  I didn't feel like traversing unknown terrain in the dark, pushing through spider's webs, pond scum, and swarms of water bugs, only to stand in knee-deep water in the moonlight.  Call me a coward and I'll surprise you with some of my ant friends in an inconvenient place..

Soundtrack

Something has changed within me  
Something is not the same 
I'm through with playing by the rules  
Of someone else's game 
Too late for second-guessing  
Too late to go back to sleep 
It's time to trust my instincts  
Close my eyes and leap! 


I'm through accepting limits  
'cause someone says they're so  
Some things I cannot change  
But till I try, I'll never know!  
Too long I've been afraid of 
Losing love I guess I've lost  
Well, if that's love 
It comes at much too high a cost! 
And if I'm flying solo 
At least I'm flying free. 

I'd sooner try 
Defying gravity

No Camera

My camera broke.  No more pictures.  Unless...unless there is a miracle.

At This Very Moment

...I am completely naked except for my sleeping bag.  Through some laziness on my part in the past week, I have run out of clean clothes!  This, despite wearing the same clothes for two or three days in a row..  What is a pilgrim to do? 
When I took a shower, Sofia took my clothes to get washed and dried (thank goodness there is a dryer), and when I got out of the shower, I just got into my sleeping bag!  It unzips at the bottom so I can walk and has a drawstring around the top that I've tightened just under my arms.  I feel like the Little Mermaid (red hair and all!) when she crawls out of the sea and wraps herself in an old sail.  Warning to everyone, though:  I haven't shaved my pits in quite some time, so the sleeveless look is a bit perilous.  I suppose I am lucky that this albergue separates girls' and boys' sleeping areas and that there is an internet room right off the girls dormitory.  So far my scandlous (and fluffy) new style is a secret from the world.

also...

Sofia and I aren't fighting anymore.  We have gotten good at this sister thing

Enchanting

There was a city with a river.  The banks of the river had a grove of poplars planted in straight rows.  And the water was rushing and cold and clear.  I took off my boots, peeled off my socks, held up my skirt, and crossed over to the island right in the middle.  It had a small rocky beach and a long stand of trees.  I tiptoed in and peed in the bushes.  I felt like Huckleberry Finn.

A Little Camino Fling

I found a boy to hold hands with on the Way.  He has nice strong hands.  He's French.  We sometimes speak French.  He makes delicious pasta and he doesn't think I smell bad, even after a day or two without a shower.  (Yeah.)  He has very nice blue eyes because his mother was the illegitamate child of a visiting Dutchman.  And he likes to kiss my cheek, which I appreciate.
He is a Wanderer, just like the song, with a girl in each town (literally), so I haven't started daydreaming.  He only believes in monogamy for the making and raising of children, which he wants to do in an eco-village (commune style).  So, yeah, this is just for now, Dad; don't start planning the wedding.  And Dideric, don't look at me like that.  A girl needs a hand to hold sometimes.  Just until the 24th when he is done.  That's all.  :)

The Way Of The Flies

No one ever mentioned the flies.

Spain is infested.  Every day we fight for the right to nap in the shade, jostling with the millions of tiny fly bodies that apparently can't land anywhere else.  They crawl around your legs.  They buzz over your head.  They land on your lips, for goodness' sake; tiny fly kisses which tickle like mad.  They even (and this is nasty) crawl around our blisters.  *repressed shiver* 
They aren't repelled by our super-duper-strong bug repellant.  They aren't intimidated by our threats, not even when Sofia stops in her tracks, stops her foot, and shouts that she will (and I quote) "punch all you flies in the face".  I don't know if the Spanish have just gotten used to them.  Or perhaps Spainish people have developed a special symbiotic relationship with the flies, which would explain their unnatural abundance.
It is enough to drive any sane person who walks the Camino (which, I know, tests the definition of the word "sane") absolutely batty.

If anyone has the desire to walk the Way, please first consider the flies.

surprise surprise

we are fighting.  stay tuned to see if we make it.

This Afternoon

We walked into Beldorado under a blazing sun and waited out the heat under a pavilion in the middle of the main square until we start to find a place to camp with some friends.
Delicious double chocolate ice cream on a stick.  Salty pringles, too.
Taking off the shoes.  Ah..
My feet are flexible again!  I can point my toes!
And then there is nothing to do but nap in the shade.  How lovely and langorous.
Waking up with Man of La Mancha in my head, lazily watching the dappled light of the leaves that surround the pavilion and make me feel like I´m sleeping in a tree house.
Stretching, smiling, moving slow as molasses.

I´m enjoying myself.

The Foot Doctor

Have I mentioned that this hostel is amazing?  They have a resident volunteer foot doctor who sits and pops blisters and diagnoses people's foot problems all afternoon!  Sofia and I stopped by to see him when he was technically done, but he was nice and helped us anyway.

My main foot problem is a swollen heel tendon.  He pinched it, and I yelped.  He pushed on the skin of my arch and showed me how dehydrated I am (very).  He told me to not use the top lacing holes of my boots, to rub in anti-inflammatory cream and swallow ibuprofin three times every day, and also to drink approximately 4 times the water that I normally do.  Apparently, the more water I drink, the more flexible and pliant become my tendons and muscles and ligaments and the less stress they experience as I walk.  Whodda thunk?

In addition to foot advice, he popped blisters on both of our feet and taped them up.  He is a wizard, an artist, with medical tape!  He used a lighter to heat up the sticky side of the tape because that makes it stick better.  He was amazing.  And he didn't take our donation.

Later, he found us in the courtyard, talking to some friends.  He had brought us some Spanish hot peppers to try, saying that they would revive us on the walk if we ever felt super tired.  I tasted the tip of one, and it was certainly shocking.  The half-eaten tiny pepper is now tucked in my fanny pack.  I plan on drinking the whole day without pause.  And also using cream and pills.  Sofia has to drink more, too, and keep her feet dryer because she sweats from her feet more.  Doctor's orders.

p.s. i hope it doesn't bother you that on the one day that i have relatively unlimited computer access all i talk about is my feet.  it's a pilgrim thing.  what can i say?

Today

It is really hard for me to keep this blog up in the way in which I have been accustomed.  When we stay at hostels, the computers are generally super slow, so loading pictures is out of the question.  Sofia is usually waiting for me to be done, and the money clock is always ticking, so the two or three hours I used to take on a special post is whittled down to mere minutes.  I feel like I'm not able to say what I really want to say, is what I'm saying. 
Today is special because this hostel is amazing.  The computer is fast (a video clip loaded in about 2 minutes!) and only costs one euro an hour as opposed to the typical 2.20 euros an hour.  Also, Sofia is upstairs reading a book, we stopped early for the day, and someone left 40 minutes on the computer for me to use!  So I´m going to wax a bit reflective while I have the chance.

Yesterday marked the first day of my feet feeling a bit better.  The first two days of walking were fine, but things soon deteriorated.  I once thought that carrying a pack wasn't a big deal as long as you packed lightly and that I would be able to hike a 15 minute mile for sure.  I have been quickly taught otherwise.  Walking with a pack strains your feet beyond imagining.  One moment I can barely hobble up the stairs of a hostel to drop my pack on a bed, and the next minute Sofia and I will be strolling lazily through the city on feet sighing with relief.  I wish I had a pack animal.  A hand cart might even be a welcome change, but do not quote me on that.

The terrain, the weight, the heat, the amount you've already walked that day, AND the amount you walked the day before all affect your speed.  On my very worst day (see the video of me walking like an old lady) we made it to our stopping point in five hours, walking from 6 am to 11 am, for a total of 17 km or 10.5 miles.  In five hours.  That is approximately 2 miles an hour.  And we weren't even the slowest people to arrive.  Today we were up to about 6 km in an hour, which is more like a normal walking pace, but now Sofia's knee is twinging again. 

Which leads me to my next lesson:  You can't push yourself too hard one day, because it will mess up your next day.  My worst day occurred the day after we walked 29 km through what seemed like the desert.  We arrived in our destination at 6pm and started walking around 6am the next morning.  Twelve hours is not enough to rejuvinate the feet, especially after all we had put them through that day. 

Sofia and I are starting to see the wisdom in the typical pilgrim schedule that we had seen online and scoffed at.  Up before the sun, walk before the hottest part of the day, settle down in a hostel before one or two.  Then you shower, feel good, do laundry, eat food, take a siesta, and basically put yourself back together before the next grueling day.  That is how we have been able to feel better in the past two days.  Enjoying the camino seems much more possible under these circumstances, though we still hate the following:
1.  paved roads.  the difference on the feet from dirt paths is remarkable.
2.  industrial parks.  so boring to walk through.
3.  downhill patches.  the knees don't like them.
4.  rocky roads.  a rolled ankle would be bad.

What we do like (and I think I speak for Sofia when I say this):
1.  uphill patches.  they stretch the muscles wonderfully and have a short-term goal built in!
2.  a spot of tea in the morning.  i buy something herbal and Sofia always has some sips.
3.  small rainshowers.  they cool you off and provide dramatic views of the sky.
4.  naps.  all the Spaniards do it.  besides, nothing is open and the world is hot.  you might as well sleep.

All in all, I think we are getting the hang of it.  Maybe.  Knock on wood.  Some lady said that three weeks is a hard threshhold, and we met a Dutch lady who has walked all the way from Holland.  Eleven weeks!  And she is still hitting emotional barriers to work through.  So far, all my barriers have been purely physical.  I am not yet plagued, as Sofia is, by a lack of a "good enough" reason to get up every day.  For me it is simple: 

Why did the pilgrim walk the camino?  

To get to Santiago.

Pilgrim Fare

Sofia and I are very poor.  We haven't spent much money on fancy Spanish cuisine.  Our meals are specially devised for our protein-hungry, euro-poor, and less discerning palates.

For example, we like the combination of a can of tuna and a can of corn each.  No preparation needed and quite delicious.  Bread with cheese and salami is also good, but we aren't a huge fan of fresh Spanish bread.  Too hard and crumbly.  We were on a bean kick, but after Sofia threw them all up one night she hasn't been able to stand the sight of them.  Same goes for canned asparagus.  Pasta cooked in a hostel kitchen is a typically safe and comforting bet, though last time (through a series of extenuating circumstances) our dinner was an hour in coming and our tortellinis were floppy.  Sigh.  Last night I ate a can of meatballs and a zucchini.  We fill in all the cracks with yoghurt and fresh fruit and chocolate and water.
It is not a bad life, all things considered, though we suspect we are missing out on Tapas, whatever those are and however you order them.

We did get to see a bit of local Spanish food preparation as we passed through one town.  As we were coming over a rise in the road, we heard the sound of a blowtorch.  Odd.  Then we saw an old man blasting a rotating metal basket full of black things.  With a blowtorch.  We took a video for you:

After we expressed our curiosity and surprise, he showed us that the black things were red peppers, and he was burning the outer skin so that it would peel off easily.  Brilliant!  Across the road from his pyrotechnics, four women sat in a garage, peeling black stuff off the bright red vegetable underneath.  What a lovely communal operation in the harvesting and preserving of fresh, healthy vegetables.  That was the night that I ate a can of cold garbanzo beans with tomato sauce.  Also a can of pringles.  The comparison is most alarming.

We did get one delicious Spanish meal for free at the free parochial hostel we stayed at one night.  The nuns made an amazing rice and veggies and greens salad.  It was perfectly salted.  I ate three servings before they brought out the second course of soup.  Didn't know that was coming.  I still ate some because it was green and fresh and also perfectly salted.  Dessert was an apple for each of us.  Crispy and sweet.  Yum.  I could eat like that forever.

Pilgrim, Who Calls You?

we didn't mean to take this pic...

...we were trying for this one.  but both worked.

one thousand years of pilgrims have passed this place.

follow the yellow arrow!  there goes the way!  (downhill, naturally)

resting the feet, checking the map.  my calves are mad huge.

"Jesus walks with you"

"It's not important to see the whole path.  Just do this first step."

posers

ice cream (for me) and seltzer water (for her) after my toughest day

walking away from the city before dawn

only 576 km left!!

"Pilgrim, who calls you?  What secret power lures you on?"

That Night In Los Arcos

After the worst day ever, Sofia and I arrived in Los Arcos at around 6:00pm with a Swedish man, Rune, who had done 43 km that day.  We had done 29 and still felt pulverized.  None of the hostels had space (everything fills up before two each afternoon), so a bunch of us pilgrims were going to sleep on the lawn in front of the municipal library.  Just before we all settled in, some guy came around and told us that the lawn sprinklers were scheduled to water the lawn as 2am.  That would have been a rude awakening.  So we all moved our sleeping bags and our packs to the porch of the library.  Not very comfortable, but we made do. 

At around 11, just after I had drifted off, I awoke to a strange plunk-plinking noise that came again and again at odd intervals.  It sounded like...it sounded like little stones landing on the tiles around us!  I sat up in confusion as a couple other people looked around.  Someone was seriously throwing stones at us!!  As we all woke up, the culprits ran away, but we were mad!  Rune stood up and buttoned on his shirt, determined to do something about it.  He looked suddenly very impressive, a strapping Swedish man, ready to protect us.  He and another girl walked around, but didn't find anyone.  Hm.

A little bit later, drifting off to sleep to the sound of small children still playing outside in the middle of the night, the plunking came again!  What the heck! 
We knew what was going on, and this time Rune sat awake, waiting for them to come back.  Sure enough, I was roused a few minutes later by the sound of Rune taking off down the lawn in hot pursuit.  This is the man who just walked 43 km.  Booking it around the corner of the nearby hostel.  Next we saw him in the streetlight, escorting two boys about 15 years old down the road.  As soon as they reached the next cross street, the boys took off running, and Rune let them go. 
Stupid teenagers.  Thinking it's funny to throw rocks at exhausted pilgrims.  Rune stayed up most of the night, on patrol.  The boys came around maybe twice more, but he only needed to show himself and they disappeared.  What a night.

The best part about this story is that it has traveled through the grapevine super fast in three days.  Last night, Rune started telling the story at dinner, and a Dutch woman said she had heard it already.  We were able to say, "yeah, and Rune, here, is the guy from the story who chased those punks down!"  He is a pilgrim celebrity!

How To Walk When Your Feet Are On Fire

I walked like an old woman for 17 km.  It sucked.

Spanish Soap Opera - Playground Special

Sofia and I were eating our dinner of beans and corn out of cans at the playground in Óbana.  A boy and his sister arrived.  He was maybe 5.  Sofia pegged him as a loner because his shirt was tucked into his jeans, he was carrying a stick, and he climbed trees.  His sister was maybe 3 and just followed him around.

They were playing around this other group of kids who had a pedal-powered tractor, and something must have gone wrong because this big girl, probably also around 5 or 6, got in the little girl's face, pulling her arm back like she was going to deck the three year old square in the face!  Quick as lightning, the boy flew to his sister's side and let fly a torrent of Spanish that was full of fire.  The boy put his hand on his sister's shoulder protectively, and they turned away, but then the bigger girl SPIT at them!  There were a few more heated words exchanged, and the littlest girl tried valiently to spit back, really only succeeding on getting spit on her chin.  Eventually, the brother and sister started climbing trees again as the girl's pack of kids retreated to the other side of the park.

What drama!  Hot Spanish blood.  As witnessed on the playground. 

Now That's What You Call Ironic

Sofia asked me in Paris what I was going to wear as pajamas.  I told her that I like to sleep in my underwear, so I'll just sleep in my underwear in my sleeping bag.  Get in clothed, strip in the sleeping bag, sleep, wake up, get dressed in the sleeping bag, come out, no scandal!  Sofia was shocked.  What if there was a fire alarm?
Luckily, I told her my sleeping bag has a zipper for the feet, so I'd just unzip my feet and walk out of the building still wrapped in my sleeping bag.  Simple yet effective!  Besides, there won't be any fire alarms in the hostels.  That's just silly.

First hostel we stopped at?  2:00am?  Fire alarm. 

Of course.

It was a false alarm, but I'll have you know, my plan worked perfectly.  I just need to be sure to grab my clothes and take them with me when I exit the building..