Sunday, October 14, 2012
Saturday, October 13, 2012
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'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.
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.
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.
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. |
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.
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.
Friday, October 12, 2012
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.
Saturday, October 6, 2012
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.
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.
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.
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.
Friday, October 5, 2012
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.
.jpg)
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.
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.
.jpg)
So there you have it. We made it to Santiago in 33 days, our last day consisting of 39 km. And it was good.
Wednesday, October 3, 2012
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 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.
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.
Monday, October 1, 2012
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.
- 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...
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.
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.
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 |
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! |
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?
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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)