About Time

I have a strange relationship with time.  It may come from a background with geology, but a calendar month goes by and I think it is only a few days.  I have been back from the Caminho for five months and it seems like a few days.  I have been asked several times when this blog will be updated with the final thoughts on the Caminho and I say that I'll try to do it over the weekend.  It is just more time that slips by without a lot of notice on my part.

I paid very little attention to time when walking the Caminho.  I walked until I wanted a break, then I sat and watched my laundry dry.

 

I did pay attention to time when I got tired of getting lost.  I checked the map and set the timer on my phone, ten minutes per kilometer, for the estimated distance to the next turn.  I forget where I was that I had been walking and thinking and spent about 30 seconds appreciating that I was walking in perfect time to the tune I was hearing only to realize it was the phone timer going off.  I had made the turn and forgotten that the timer was set.

Another time I found a water fountain in a cul de sac.  It was a quiet Sunday afternoon and I was alone; I decided to stop for lunch.  I sat in the shade eating my bread and cheese when some other pilgrims came up the path and stopped.   They shared their fruit, I shared my food.   The Spanish men came by, stopped for water and walked on.  My Italian friends came by and I offered them some of my food.  By the time I left there were close to ten people sitting there.  I walked on with the Italians and it wasn't 20 minutes later that we walked into Caldas de Reis, our stop for the night.

Here I was, stopped for the day and it was barely 2pm.  I had my laundry done and the blog post started, Jasmine had come by and we went out for food, I took a dozen pictures of the bridge, thermal springs, and church dedicated to Thomas Becket before 4pm.  I took got talking with another pilgrim and missed the 5pm pilgrim's service at Becket's church.

 I have regrets regarding my walk.  Missing the pilgrim's blessing at the church of Thomas Becket in Caldas de Reis is one of them.

It took me a few days  to figure out how to deal with my amazing ability to get lost in every city I passed through.  I wasn't bothered by being lost, as long as I kept going north I would be going in roughly the right direction.  I had GPS on my phone so I could always figure out where I was.  The problem was connecting my location with the map I was following.

Early in the walk I had missed a turn.  I walked up a long hill and into a small grocery store.  I was aiming for a river crossing that was supposed to be near by, but Google Maps was telling me to walk a mile up to the highway.  I stopped and pulled out some food while I considered my options.  I man went by on a motorcycle, stopped, turned around and walked me down to the turn to the foot bridge over the river:

As a first time tourist in Europe I found I have an amazing ability to get lost in almost every city I walked through.  As a first time pilgrim I am amazed at the generosity of total strangers who stopped me and went out of their way to put me back on the path.

Still, none of this has anything to do with wrapping up a blog on the Caminho Portuguese.  I got up at 5:30am to take a shower and catch a cab to the airport for 8am flight..  The trip home was mostly uneventful.  I made the all the flights.  The last connection from Heathrow to Seattle was delayed.  I spent the extra time pacing, afraid that I would fall asleep if I sat down.  The flight itself included a child that cried and whined the entire flight.  She was two rows away. Not many people slept in that section of the plane.

The flight landed and I got through customs only to be stuck at another luggage carousel.  Five bags came out and all of them were claimed by the flight crew.  An announcement came on saying there was a problem with the carousel and to wait 15 minutes.  Half an hour later two more bags came out.  I kept pacing, I would have been asleep in seconds if I sat down.  I tried walking along the seams of the tiles and found I was so tired I couldn't walk a straight line.  Eventually someone said that the flight was "light", a lot of the luggage didn't make the flight from London.  There were a couple of airport officials who were passing a list back and forth.  It was the people whose bags were still in London.  A passenger asked what it was, then asked if he could see it.  They gave it to him and he started reading it out loud.  Another baggage official grabbed it out of his hands and said it was confidential information.

OK, I'm not really thinking straight after being awake for about 24 straight hours, but you have 150 people standing around for over an hour thinking it is just a problem with the luggage carousel and you expect them to come up to two anonymous people and ask to see a list of the luggage that hadn't made the flight?  Really?  Five minutes later the list is being read over the loud speaker.  I'm on the list.  I fill out a form and am told my bag will be delivered to my home tomorrow.  The security people stopped all passengers from using their cell phones.  Had I been able to check my phone I would have seen a message from the airline that arrived a few minutes after we got to the luggage claim stating my bag wasn't on the plane.

I get home.  I go to sleep.  I wake up at 2am.  I look at my photos for a few hours then I walk my dogs.  I'm back into my daily routine.

What do you want to know about walking the Caminho?  You need to trust.

The arrows directed me up the front steps of someone's house.  I wasn't very comfortable with that so I walked down to the left, but it was a dead end.  I came back and saw the second arrow at the top just left of the door.  I got to the top of the stairs and found a path that went around the side of the house that was obviously intended for people going to Santiago.  They had a plaque with St James and the cathedral right next to a fine path.

The Caminho is what it is.  Accept it.

Pontevedra is one place I thought I could wander around and explore, but there was some sort of a race though town this day.  Some of us got up to spend time at the church, but it was locked well after the posted open time.  The race course was marked with bright tape outlining a corridor down narrow streets.  There were some cops telling people to stay off the course. We pilgrims had to duck under tape, cross the street, and duck under some more tape.  Someone's pack got stuck on the tape and pulled it loose.  They paused, expecting a lecture from the cops. They got waived on with a "Buen Camino" instead.

This is the bridge you cross to leave Pontevedra, it is marked with the pilgrim scallop shells  It looks like a lovely, peaceful morning.  Perfect for thinking and self reflection except for the sports stadium just out of frame to the right where a bunch of Germans were preparing for the races by singing at the top of their lungs.

I was glad to get out of there.

You will be welcomed.

This school has greetings in two dozen languages.  The teacher leaned out the window and gave us a wave. 

 Less than five kilometers from Santiago I passed another school.  There were dozens of kids outside and two teachers.  I crossed the street so I wouldn't have to wade through the mass of first graders.  They also crossed the street in a single file line holding hands with the kids in front and behind.  I slowed down so I wouldn't have to break through their line.  The last kid in line looked up the street and saw me.  He started jumping up and down and waving at me, shouting "Peregrina" and "Buen Caminno, peregrina".  Pretty soon there were five or six kids doing the same thing.  It was really, really sweet.

Should you walk the Camino?  Anyone can learn from the Camino and just about anyone can walk the Camino, but I'm not sure everyone should walk the Camino.  If you want to know what it is like spend a day around the cathedral watching pilgrims arrive, sit at a restaurant outside the Pilgrim's Office and listen to the conversations.  If you want everything to be just so, the Camino probably isn't going to be for you.  If you are worried about walking distances then you may want to walk a week on the French Route or join an organized group.  Or see if there is a pilgrim group in your area that you can join for a walk.

Bom Caminho

Almost Home

All that is between me and home is some time, a taxi and three plane rides.

I tried following the directions for the walk that enters the town where the five gates to the old city used to be.  The direction said to go left out of the park onto a certain street.  Well, they don't put street signs on the park end of dead end streets and there were several options.  I, of course, chose the wrong one.  I wandered the town some and found my way to the university.   I went back and sat in three of the four squares around the cathedral.

This is my favorite one for just sitting and watching the cathedral:

It is at the eastern end.  There is a massive convent behind you with a bench that runs the entire length.  The roof guide said it had ties to both Celtic and Roman burial grounds.  This was the first day there wasn't annoying jazz being played.

The western side is the one facing the main cathedral entrance.  It is generally crowed with tourists and pilgrim groups.

The south side is the only one that does not have a Baroque facade and the Romanesque structure is still visible.

There are usually street performers here.  I came out the door this afternoon to the sounds of "Minstrel Boy".  They sang and juggled through several songs, then claimed to be a group of American seminary students who had walked the camino without any money.  Funny thing is that their repertoire came straight from the Clancey & Makem albums, right down to breaking up words into slightly different syllables than Americans use.  I would have thrown some change into their hat if they hadn't lied to me.  

There seems to be a schedule for the performers around the church.  I caught a shift change once or twice.  If this group was performing, they were doing it on the schedule location and at the scheduled time.

This was another of my favorite places to sit:

It is outside the Franciscan church.  It is down below street level and has free wifi.

The line at the pilgrim's office has grown everyday that I've been here. Today it was out the door and down the street.  I took me over an hour and I started ten feet inside the door.  Those people in the street are probably waiting three hours or more.

Now I just need to repack the pack, shower and try to get some sleep.  I am ready to be home.

What To Do?

I had no real plan for today other than to sleep in.  The pilgrims from the Portuguese route got together in Obradoiro Square last night.  We had thought we would go out for a drink to celebrate, but there were way more people than we thought and not all of the cohort showed up.  There were 20 or more people and we had trouble finding a place to hold us all.  When we did it didn't have any vegetarian options and my Italian friends don't eat meat.  They were the ones I cared most about so we went elsewhere and had our own celebration.  It was a late night by camino standards, we were back at the hostal around 11pm.

This morning I got my Compostela.  The woman took my credential and the registration sheet, hit a few keys on the computer, asked the guy next to her how to put my name into Latin.  I couldn't follow his reply, but she hit a few more keys, wrote something, and asked if I also wanted a certificate of distance. I walked a combination of routes, the shortest was 258 km, I got lost and, when given an option, took the longer scenic route.  Any number I gave her would have to be an educated guess.  I declined the distance certificate.  I was, however, quite disappointed to find my name had not been converted to Latin.

I took my Compostela and started towards the Franciscan church to get their Compostela (2014 is the 800th anniversary of Francis of Assissi's walk, so this is quite a rare thing to have) and very quickly found myself hugging Giovanni, someone I met through Cate.  He had just been to headbutt the saint and say a prayer at the crypt.

He hadn't heard about the Franciscan Compostela.  He ran back to his hotel to get his credential while I went to headbutt a statute.  Tradition dictates that pilgrims thank the saint for successfully completing the journey (they hug or rest their head on a gold plated statue) then pay their respects to his remains.

Giovanni is from Umbria and was quite moved to receive the Franciscan certificate.  Here are my two Franciscan stamps, the Herbon monestery on the left and Francis of Assissi's on the right:

I stopped in for the pilgrims mass, but couldn't really get into it.  All the seats were taken so I was sitting on the base of a pillar.  I was standing when he congregation stood and sitting when they sat, but then someone moved into my seat during one of the standing bits, so I left to do this:

The roof tour is the coolest thing to do in Santiago.  A guide takes you up 115 stairs and gives you a tour from the roof of the cathedral.  It takes a while to get used to the slant.  If you are ever in Santiago this is a must.  Plus there is a discount for pilgrims.

I bought some bread and cheese and headed for a picnic dinner with a view:

Now I know that the ratchett tower is the one being cleaned and repaired. The bell tower and facade will be next, followed by the clock tower and aspe dome, and lastly the cloister towers.

It is kind of cool to walk around this city and hear the different churches chime the time.  I think it is something I will miss when I get home.

My home while in Santiago is here:

After climbing the hill it is only 70 steps up to my floor.

I Have Arrived

The Portuguese route people met in front of the cathedral this evening.  Most went to dinner together, but Cate and Challa are vegetarian, so we went elsewhere.  My Italian sisters walk on to Finisterre tomorrow.  Their friends, another Italian and a French man, joined us. It was a good end to the Caminho.

If you do this walk, the albergue (now we are in Spain it is pronounce al-BER-goo) at Herbon IS NOT TO BE MISSED.  Once the doors opened Paco, the host, gave a long speech in Spanish.  Nu-Nu, a Portuguese lawyer, translated it as "Now we sign in."  Nu-Nu is left, Paco is right.

The whole evening turned into kind of a Paco and Nu-Nu show, but don't let me get ahead if myself.

Once we were signed in, showered, and done with laundry, Paco said the grounds were open to explore.  While everyone else went to the pond to soak their feet, I went into the cloister and cemetery and church.  The church is locked to the outside, so when I came through the side door I kind of surprised a man there  setting up for the Saint Antoino festival that begins shortly, soon to be followed by the San Benito festival.  I helped him move the electronic votives across the sanctuary.  He, unlike Paco, spoke quite good English.  I wandered the cemetery and cloisters taking photos, then went back to sit with the other ten or so guests.

Before dinner Paco took us on a tour.  There used to be a priest living there that would say a special blessing for the pilgrims.  The Franciscan order pulled him about two months ago.  There is a lot of uncertainty about what will happen to the monestery now that there are no more monks.  It used to be a boarding school and facility for training handicapped children, now a developer has made an offer for the property.  The Catholic church has given the Galician pilgrims association authority to run it as long as they can do so without running a deficit.

Paco showed us the fields where the famous Padron peppers were first cultivated and explained that the monks were a bit naive and allowed nearby Padron to trademark the name of the pepper.  That is why you hear of Paddon Pimentos or Peppers, instead of the more accurate Herbon Peppers.

Pimentos de Herbon growing where they were first cultivated.

On the feast day of St Antonio the whole community attends mass.  It sounded like it was celebrated back to back all day long, then followed by a massive dinner held in the priest's dining hall.

They let the community dine in peace, no one preaches from the built in pulpit (Anders is German and seemed to like getting between the camera and whatever I was trying to shoot).

We returned to have dinner together.  Paco told long, elaborate stories which had all the Portuguese rolling with laughter.  The translation provided by Nu-Nu frequently involved Schnapps as a solution to almost all problems a pilgrim faces.  We shared a bottle of homemade wine, we shared some schnapps, we did the dishes.   The next morning we made our donations and walked on.

Entering Santiago is amazingly anti-climatic.  Walking through subdivision after subdivision is rarely a treat.  I found my way to the cathedral and started wandering around it.  I came around a corner and heard a street musician playing Leonard Cohen's "Hallelujah".  I had enough sense left to pull out my camera and video it.  It was a perfect way to walk around for my first sight of the main cathedral square.

The line was over an hour long at the Pilgrim's office.  I will have to return tomorrow morning.

My caminho is nearly done.  I wish you all bom caminho or buen camino.

I Met My Family

On the Camino. I was told that you will meet the same people in albergues every night and have meals with them, and stop in the same bars for breakfast with them - that they would become your Camino family.   I met my Camino family in Mos.

My first night in an albergue with other walkers was awful.  A German smoker and I talked while I tried to hurry my laundry drying.  He was doing 40-50 km a day and only had three more days to finish the walk.  We were the only ones without a family, he because of the distance he was walking, me because I had been along the coast.

The next day I stumbled into Mos and Jasmine gave me some food, Cate worried about my feet, the Spanish guys rearranged the laundry rack so I had space for my clothes.  My feet were again discussed at lunch the next day (they really are doing better, actually, than I had expected).  After lunch was the roughest climb of the walk, steep with boulders and sun.  When I made it to the top I immediately flopped down and pulled out my water, the Spanish guy went into the woods and Cate watched the trail.  Chala made it and was given water.  Cate headed back down the trail to find the second Spaniard (although I understand that he is actually Castillian).

Last.night I was like this outside the albergue-

When I heard, "I knew I recognized those feet!"  Jasmine, who had booked a hotel for the night, had come to find company for lunch.

Tonight we are all staying different places - Jasmine at the albergue in Padron, Chala and Cate at the albergue in Teo, and me at the albergue in Herbon - but tomorrow night we will meet in front of the cathedral and go out for dinner to celebrate.

This morning I heard distinctly American accents and met my first Americans, Erica and Aaron, who live on the outskirts of Ballard.

As soon as the route crosses into Spain you start seeing these markers:

The points on the scallop are the direction to walk, the numbers show the km left to Santiago.  It is about 20 km from Padron and Herbon is another one or two from Padron.

This is my home for the night - 

A Franciscan convent where they cook dinner and breakfast for you.  There are no more nuns here and the padre that used to do the special pilgrims blessing left last year.  So far it is me and five Germans waiting for the doors to open at 16:00.  We sit or sleep on the steps or on the grass.  We watch the swallows fly.  We wait, but we do not talk.

Tomorrow - Santiago.

How Camino Oriented Are They Here?

I've seen these in a couple of cities since my first day in Spain:

The scallop shell is the symbol of the pilgrim.  Pilgrims used to continue from Santiago to the coast and pick up a scallop shell to prove they completed the walk.  There, of course, were vendors that would bring shells inland and sell to pilgrims.  One of the guys in Portugal gave me a shell and told me to wash it.  He said that to stop the cheating the officials in Santiago would ask the pilgrims to bring their shell back from the coast and they would stamp it with the cross of St James.  Today we gather stamps in our credential proving that we have walked at least 100 km, but there are still cheats who take a  bus or taxi,

Jasmine was one of the first ones out of the albergue this morning andi is a fast walker.  She said she passed a certain pair seven km from Caldas del Reis, when one of them was still in the albergue when I left 45 minutes after Jasmine.  So they not only passed me and Jasmine without either of us seeing them, they also walk faster than one of the fastest people on the trail.  There are lots of stories from the pilgrims about people lying to get their pilgrim certificate.  That has always confused me.  That is basically lying to God, isn't it?  And isn't that usually considered a bad idea?

Saint James is often depicted as a pilgrim with a staff and a gourd for water, see:

Caldas del Reis is nice.  The albergue is kind of a dump, but is on the stream.

Today was an easy 23 km.  I was showered and done with laundry before 3 pm.  There are two more easy days, about 44 km total, to go.

How To Walk

The one day of rain I was walking on cobbles in Portugal.  I was taking baby steps and still slipping and catching myself with my pole.  I was going carefully up hill when I saw an old woman carrying an umbrella in one hand and a bag in the other coming down hill without any problem.  She was walking with a rolling gate.  I tried to copy it.  Knees slightly bowed out, rolling from side to side with each step and I had no more slipping. 

Today was dry, but there were several steep descents.  I tried the old lady rolling stride again and it worked again.

The best walking surface so far has been the boardwalk on the first few days by the beach.  It flexes just little as you step and it doesn't wear on you like pavement.  Next is the forest walking.  Third is the Portuguese stone pavement.  Kind of like this, but with smaller gaps between the stones.

The stones are unevenly cut or set so you aren't putting pressure on the same spots with every step.  If you take a couple dozen chopsticks, cut them in half, scatter them in a confined space like a bathroom and walk across them in your boots you might get the feeling.  The stones aren't so uneven that you'll twist an ankle, just uneven enough to be surprisingly gentle on your feet.

My feet were discussed at lunch today.  The two Italians and two Spaniards who stayed in the same albergue in Mos with me had plenty of opinions.  My silk liner socks got some of the blame.  I was told that silicon was better, my boots were too small, and I'm not letting my feet air enough all in sign language and a few words of English.  The Italian women did have some foot cream that did seem to help one spot.

Lunch was a bocodillo, a ham and cheese sandwich.  I finally filled a page in my pilgrim passport, so it is included, too.

I'm in a large albergue outside of Pontrevedra.  It was much nicer with a small group of people last night in Mos.

Next task is finding the store.  Tomorrow is Sunday and most things are going to be closed.