June 20, 2012

From Villafranca to La Faba (23.1 km)

Frances, Glenn and I wake up at 6:30; we are all feeling refreshed after a good night´s sleep.  Breakfast is included in our hotel rate, and I linger over a second cup of coffee, sending off a few emails before I start me day.  Frances and Glenn head off ahead of me and I am sure I will see them again.

This is the first day that I have no piercing pain in my feet.  It´s a bloody miracle and it´s about time!  I put on my shoes and walk a few steps – no pain!  I still have three festering blisters I must tend to and others in various stages of healing.  My feet still feel very tender, but there is no searing pain today.   I am beyond joy!

This is what a happy pilgrim looks like before she starts here day!

I set out on the Camino just after 8:00 and I am full of piss and vinegar.  There is a definite hop to my step this morning and I feel euphoric in this pain free state.  I laugh when I pass a man who says to me:  You have happy, energetic walking sticks.  He has been listening to the click, click, click of my sticks coming up behind him for a while now.  And they make him smile.  He is right, I am exuding happiness and energy right into my sticks.  Not only are my feet healing, but I feel a huge weight has lifted from my heart, and I feel an inner peace I have never felt before.

Villa Franca soon disappears in the distance.

There are three possible routes from which to choose today but I only see the signs for one route and that is the one I follow.  The path follows a roadway on the right and a river on the left.  I don´t like being so close to the road, but there are very few cars and the scenery is very beautiful now that I am back in the mountains.  Such a welcome change from the flat farmlands I have been enduring these past days.  I am happy to be in the mountains although the path is following the valley floor right now, still very flat.  I know it will soon ascend up a high, steep mountain and I am looking forward to the physical challenge of it.

At 10:00, I stop for my second breakfast – freshly squeezed orange juice and a tuna empanada.  Both are delicious but quite a lot more food than I am used to eating while walking.  Afterwards I feel sluggish as I digest my food.  At noon I take another break and when I take off my socks and shoes I am dismayed to see another blister starting on the side of my foot, a brand new location.  I hope I have caught it early enough as I bandage it up expertly.  When I start walking again, the familiar pain is back, and it takes me by surprise but I try not to get discouraged.  I have walked a whole morning without pain, and for this I am grateful.

And now the steep ascent begins, just as my energy is sagging and my feet are crying out.  I decide I will stop at the next town that has an Albergue that is run by German volunteers.  It is described as an excellent albergue in a beautiful location.  That will be home for me tonight.

When I arrive, I am relieved to find there are many beds.  There is an older German woman who is very much in charge.  She only speaks German and is quite frustrated that she can´t make herself understood to me.  I select a bed and put my sleeping bag on it, the usual routine, only to have the German woman come over to me and in a very chastising voice she makes it clear that it is she who assigns the bed.  She then sees my walking sticks and is aghast that I have not put them in the holder at the door.  I indicate I will fold them and put them in my bag but she seems to think they must be put in the hallway.  I don´t care, they are going in my bag.  She is clearly not pleased with me.

Peaceful surroundings enticed me into this Albergue.
Little did I know what was in store for me. 

The first bed I picked before being ushered to a bunk at the back of the room.

She then goes on and on about something about the shower and the light.  I don´t speak German so I don´t know what she is saying.  I shrug my shoulders and she gets exasperated with me, and seems to think that if she talks long enough, somehow I will understand.  Well, I soon find out what she was saying when I turn the light off in the shower. The door was partially ajar when I did this and she was standing right there as if waiting to catch me in the act.  She yells at me, clearly upset that I have disobeyed her.  She doesn´t seem to grasp that I have no clue what she is saying.

My final transgression, at least for now, is when I go into the kitchen and turn on the kettle to make myself a cup of tea.  She comes in and asks angrily who has turned on the kettle.  Everyone in the kitchen, all Germans, point to me.  Now what have I done?  Don´t I know that she has just prepared a pot of tea for everybody?  No, I don´t and by now I´m a bit fed up with this woman and her silly rules so I show her my tea bag and indicate that I am making my own damn cup of tea.

I am watching her now as she mills around the kitchen, fretting about this and that.  She seems to be on the lookout for the next pilgrim to break one of her rules.  I can see she is not mean spirited, she is just trying to run the hostel in the best way she knows how.  She even offers me a cookie when my tea is ready, a peace offering.

She reminds me of my mother and the way I was brought up.  There were many rules in my house, and I have vivid memories of being chastised constantly. How frustrating it must have been for my mother who was just trying to run a household in the German manner, where cleanliness and orderliness reign supreme.  With seven children under foot, there was always someone getting into trouble for something.  Watching this woman now, actually made me smile as I thought fondly maybe a little sadly too of my own mother.  I think we all might have been a lot happier, my mother included, with a lot fewer rules.

This place must be highlighted in the German guidebooks because it is a mecca for the Germans who are arriving in hordes.  And these Germans are a noisy bunch so I seek a little bit of peace and quiet in the church right next door.  Imagine my surprise when I enter to hear singing coming from within.  There are two young girls in the last row of pews, singing what I think may be the Vespers, although I don´t really know what Vespers are.  I remember Chris telling me he heard nuns singing in the evening and I think this must be the same thing.  I sit in the back of the church, careful not to disturb them.  They have voices like angels, singing in perfect harmony.  I listen for a while, and then I get up and head for the only bar in town, the physical body needs to be tended too as well.

While I eat and drink, the young girls come along with another women.  The girls are American, Dawn and Deana.  The woman is German, but living in Denmark, her name is Sabina.  I am so grateful they all speak English and we all talk about the German lady in the Albergue and we have  a good laugh as we share our respective infractions, of which we have all committed a few.

Later at the albergue, Deana gives me a lesson in tatting which is a technique used to make lace.  They are surprised that I know what tatting is, but I confess I only know this because of a visit to Colonial Williamsburg many years ago where I remember seeing a woman doing it.  Since I can crochet lace, I find this technique to be very interesting.  These girls are very religious but they are not nuns.  I am quite curious about them but don´t really have a chance to talk to them today.  Maybe further down on the Camino our paths will cross again and I can ask them about their singing in the church.

I go to bed very early, while everyone has gone to the church for what I thought was mass, but was actually a pilgrim´s blessing.  I am so tired today, but I am also feeling so at peace, like a huge burden has been lifted from my heart.  And my feet are healing too…..life is good again on the Camino.

From Hospital de Orbigo to Astorga (18 km)

From Astorga to VillaFranca by bus

I am on the Camino around 8:00 am and I am trying to figure out a strategy for the remaining days.  I want to walk each day, as far as my miserable feet will take me.  I know I must take a bus at some point because I simply don´t have enough time to walk the entire way to Santiago. Today I decide I will walk 18 km to Astorga where there is a bus station.  From there, I will figure out what to do next.

I think my feet are feeling better this morning until I squeeze them into my hiking shoes and take my first steps.  The familiar pain hits me, and I am almost sick to my stomach.  I know the routine now, just force myself through the pain to get into my stride and then ignore it as much as possible.

When I reach the first open restaurant, I walk by it because I have already had a nice breakfast at the albergue although I have not had a coffee yet.  I turn around and go back for a coffee and a bathroom break.  Who knows when the next restaurant will appear.

As I sit at a table outside, I hear a familiar voice a few blocks away.  I listen intently, quite certain I recognize the voice.  Sure enough, I see Chris coming around the corner, along with the guy on the recumbent bike who I met a few days ago, but I don´t remember his name.  Chris doesn´t see me and I watch him as he is laughing and talking with this guy, stopping to take some pictures and then goofing off near the water fountain, posing for some silly pictures.  As he approaches, he sees me and expresses surprise.  What are you doing here? he asks me.  I thought you would be way ahead of me since you are taking buses now.  Oh, how his words cut me to my core.  Doesn´t he know the pain I am in?  Doesn´t he know that every step is agony for me? I reply simply that my feet are still bothering me with blisters.  He tells me his feet are perfect.  Perfect?  What do perfect feet feel like?  I can´t even imagine.

More of his friends arrive, and he is distracted greeting them.  Everyone in his little group seems quite jovial, having fun.  Chris does mention he has some pain in his shins and is thinking about taking a bus soon.  But then he is talking to his friends, greeting the Swedish girl who I also met some time ago, but whose name I now forget.    Everyone in this group seems so happy, Chris included, laughing and joking.  Am I the only one suffering on this Camino? All of a sudden, I feel my lower lip quivering, and my eyes are glassy.  I don´t belong here amongst these happy pilgrims.  I don´t belong in this group.  I don´t belong with my husband.

I get up quickly, put on my pack and say Bye Chris, without looking at him.  He has been busy with his friends not paying much attention to me, and I sense his surprise at my abrupt departure.  I walk away as fast as I can.  I can feel Chris´ eyes on me.  He must be wondering what the hell is up with me.  What is my problem?  But I don´t care, I have to get away.

As I go around the corner, the tears come, fast and furious.  I am sobbing and I cannot stop.  I pass other pilgrims, the Camino is busy this morning, but I don´t care.  I keep walking as fast as my crippled feet will take me.  I cry and cry.  I let out all my pain and frustration and suffering.  The sense of not belonging with Chris and his group has triggered something far deeper.

I am acutely aware of a deep sense of loneliness, one that has been with me all my life, for as long as I can remember.  Some days ago, I shared with you my loneliness for female companionship, but this loneliness is far deeper, it permeates to my core, to my very soul.  I have spent my life struggling with this loneliness, with this feeling that I don´t belong.

The world seems so superficial to me.  People seem superficial.  I pretend.  I pretend to care about the things most people care about, the superficial things.  I pretend so I can fit in, so I can feel that I belong.  But it is not really who I am.  I yearn to be around people who are deeper, who are willing to share themselves, to be vulnerable, to let themselves be known.  But most people stay on the surface, and they seem to like it that way.  Am I the only one that feels this way?  I feel like I don´t belong in this world, I just don´t belong anywhere.  And I want to belong somewhere.  I don´t want to be alone.

In the moment I saw Chris with his happy group, I saw how different we are.  I see how I hold him back too.  I see we are from different worlds, cut from different cloth.

As I am walking and sobbing and thinking about these things which only makes me cry harder, I pass by the Italian man who made me the sandwich in Granon, many days ago.  I don´t even know his name. I am so surprised to see him, and as I pass, I say a quick hello without looking at him.  He recognizes me as I pass but he also sees my tear stained face.  Further ahead, I step off the path, as I feel suffocated by so many people around.  I let people pass and I decide to take my daily video which is really pathetic as I´m not even coherent, just a blubbering pilgrm. I guess I´m not even thinking straight.  Well, my Italian friend also steps off the path, and stands next to me.  He takes a photo and then just stands next to me, very close.  He doesn´t say a word, and I can´t look at him, I am feeling too raw.  He just stands next to me for a few minutes, and then as he passes me to leave, he wishes me a Buen Camino.

A little further ahead, I find a private spot under a tree that shields me a little from the busy path.  I sit down and take off my shoes and socks.  I notice the bandages are a bloody mess but I decide in this moment my feet must take care of themselves as I have more important matters of the heart to tend to.  I feel I must write about what has happened, what is happening, I just need to release it.  And so I sit for quite a while, writing in my journal, resting on my back pack.  When I am done, I know something important has happened, although I am not sure what it means.  I feel much better now, and put my socks and shoes on and get back on the Camino.

As I ease back into my stride, I suddenly have an epiphany.  My blistered feet are a blessing, not a curse.  They have forced me to slow down, they have humbled me, they have been my teacher.  And in this moment of understanding, I am overcome with a deep sense of calm.  What happens next is very strange and I don´t understand it.  I will just describe it.  I feel like I am floating, that somehow I am separate from my physical body that has caused me so much pain.  In this moment, I understand myself, I accept myself, I love myself.  I continue to walk but I feel no pain, I feel nothing, I am in a dreamy state.  I am thinking how strange and wonderful I feel.  I am sure I haven´t lost my mind, because I am having coherent thoughts, like wow, what is going on here.  I don´t want to forget this experience.  I need to write this in the blog.  This dreaminess subsides after awhile, but the rest of the walk into Astorga is a blur. The last 10 km pass by and I have lost my sense of time.

From a distance, I can see the cathedral of Astorga and I am drawn to it, I do not know why.  I just know that I must go to the cathedral and from there I will decide what to do next.

My first glimpse of Astorga and the Cathedral. Little did I know at this point
that the bus station was right beside the Cathedral! 

Before I reach the cathedral, I see Marcel, the guy with the recumbent bike sitting at a cafe with another guy who looks familiar.  I stop and say hello and it turns out that we have never met, although both know Chris well.  I ask them if they know where the bus station is and also can I join them to have a beer.  Both are shocked to learn that I am considering taking a bus at this point on the Camino.  Don’t I know what is ahead?  The famous cross on the mountain, where people leave a stone or some other momento which symbolizes leaving something behind, letting go of something.  How could I even think to miss this by taking a bus now?

The central square in Astorga is full of people – tourists, locals and pilgrims.

The cathedral that was closed by the time I reached it.

A pilgrim museum in the forefront (designed by the famous Spanish architect, Gaudi). Unfortunately, I missed seeing the museum as it closed at 2:00 on Sundays.

I consider what they have to say carefully and I consider all my options.  Hans suggests I go to his albergue, just around the corner from the cathedral (which by the way is now closed for siesta time), to talk to the hospitalero to get advice about the buses.  He is confident that I will change my mind and stay the night in the albergue.

While I am chatting with these guys, Monique walks by.  This is the woman I met on my first day, my second camino friend, who is from Vancouver.  She is equally surprised to see me and I ask her for her contact info as I regretted not getting it the first day when I met her, especially since I haven´t seen her since.

At the albergue, the friendly, english speaking woman suggests I go to the bus station which is right behind the cathedral to see the bus schedules.  She warns me though that it is impossible to take a bus near the cross on the mountain – either I take a bus around the mountain from here, or I walk the mountain and take a bus further on down the road.

When I get to the bus station, a bus has just pulled in and a young couple enter the station.  They are looking at the schedule with me and mention they are going to Villafranca which is where I have decided to go.  They realize, too late, that they should have stayed on the bus they were on, which they had taken in Leon.  So they must now wait until 6:15 like me to catch the last bus of the day.

With a few hours to kill, I head back to the main square to get some food.  On my way, I run into Alf and Kathryn (to my immense delight).  They are looking for the albergue I was just in getting bus information and I offer to take them there because it is a little complicated to find.  At the albergue, I run into Monique again.  I want to invite her to join us, but she tells me she is heading off for a nap.

Once Alf and Kathryn are registered and have found a bed, we all go out for a beer together.  We spend a couple of hours together, and I am amazed at the things we talk about.  There is nothing superficial about this couple, I just knew were kindred spirits when we first met!

When we say our good-byes, I know I won´t see them again because I am jumping way ahead by bus.  They remind me of the invitation to visit them in Melbourne and they tell me they will be on the look out for Chris.  They are dying to meet him, the other Chris, and somehow I am quite sure their paths will cross, such is the way of the Camino.

Back at the bus station, the young couple arrive and I learn they are actually brother and sister, Glenn and Frances from Georgia, USA.  They have time constraints as well, so they did the first part of the Camino from St. Jean Pied de Port to Logrono, and are resuming the Camino for the last part from Villafranca to Santiago.  It´s interesting how we share a common bond because we are pilgrims.

The bus to Villafranca stops in every little village along the way, the milk run. It starts to rain hard, and I have a sinking feeling.  We are now going through the mountains again, and the scenery is stunning in spite of the rain.  When we arrive in Villafranca, the rain has subsided and it is a mere drizzle.  We walk together into town and we all decide to head to the same albergue on the other side of town.  We are shocked to learn that all the beds are taken, in fact, every bed in town is taken.  It is 8:30 in the evening, too late to go to the next town.  The kind hospitalero offers to call the hotels in town to see if by chance there is a room available.  He finds one room, with three beds, for 60 euros.  It´s more than any of us want to spend, but we take it, gratefully.

On the way to the Albergue in Villa Franca.

So here we are, virtual strangers just a few hours ago, sharing a hotel room.  I think I have made my first camino friends on this leg of the journey.  The room is lovely, with three single beds and a private, large bathroom. And free internet on a functioning computer – a bonus for me. I manage to post two blog entries and then head to bed.  We´re all asleep by 11:00 pm.

From La Virgen del Camino to Hospital de Orbigo (28 km)

I get up late today and take my time getting ready.  In fact, I am the last one to leave the Albergue at 8:00 in the morning.  Amazingly, my feet are not so swollen today, and I can walk without excruciating pain.  My feet hurt, but I think I can walk today so I decide to go as far as my feet will take me.

There is another choice to make today, almost immediately.  A right and left route; one follows the road and the other goes through the countryside.  I again choose the path less travelled through the countryside but almost immediately I think I may have made a grave error.  I only see two people on this path during the first 10 km, and the first two villages are closed up tight, no services whatsoever.  This route isn´t mentioned in the papers I have so I don´t know how long it will take to get to the next town.

Every time I stop for a rest, it is very painful to start up again.  I am walking very slowly today, taking many rests, and each step hurts.  At the beginning, I step very tentatively on my feet, gingerly trying to avoid the pain.  Ouch, ouch, ouch…until I force my foot down firmly and just work through the pain until I get into my rhythm.  I try to distract myself with my thoughts but today I find it hard to think about anything really positive.  I am still thinking it is near the end of the road for me, that my feet just won´t take me to Santiago.

I finally reach a town after walking about 10 km and there I find a large group of pilgrims at the restaurant.  I feel relief.  I am not alone.  I order a large coffee and tortilla, my favourite breakfast.  I take off my shoes and socks and examine my feet.  They are the same as this morning, no new blisters, so I think this is a good sign.

As I sit back and put my feet up, I listen to the conversations around me from all the unfamiliar faces.  It is soon obvious that these are all new pilgrims having just started in Leon.  When they hear I have come all the way from St. Jean Pied de Port, and I have been walking for 19 days, I receive instant pilgrim awe and respect. It makes me laugh; I don´t tell anyone that I am thinking of quitting here and now.

There is a couple who I am drawn to, Alf and Kathryn, a 30 something couple from Australia.  They seem so cute and innocent in their enthusiasm – this is their first day on the Camino and they have never stayed in a hostel they confess.  They have brand new, very clean, matching back packs and they just look so fresh and enthusiastic.  Their enthusiasm is infectious and it renews my energy and zeal.  Just thirty minutes earlier I was ready to quit but now I am thinking I can do it.  In fact, I am really enjoying my sudden ¨real pilgrim¨status and I answer all the questions that are thrown my way.  I feel energized by this crowd and set out with a renewed sense of determination that I will continue on.

I reach the next town quickly.  It was only 5 km away and all on a paved road which I find much easier to walk on.  The pebble paths are my enemy as they torture my feet and cause more blisters to form.

I must now make another decision.  I have only walked 15 km and I am feeling much better now.  My feet feel the same as when I started, and it is still early in the day, just noon.  I buy some orange juice and sit in front of the store trying to figure out what to do next – stay for the night or carry on.

All of a sudden, Alf and Kathryn come walking down the street and when they spot me they head straight for me.  They too are trying to decide if they should continue or not.  They have walked further than me, 21 km from Leon, and they wisely decide that they will stop here, take it easy on their first day.  We chat for awhile and I confess to them how miserable I was when I entered the last town, and how much their enthusiasm helped me to keep going.  They declare that I am their first Camino friend, and now they have their first Camino story, the story of how they unwittingly helped a pilgrim keep going.

Alf and Kathryn, my source of inspiration today!

Alf and Kathryn showing off their brand new, matching backpacks.

Amazingly, this beautiful couple spontaneously invite me (and Chris) to visit them in Melbourne.  They want us to stay with them so they can hear all about our adventures.  They are dead serious and very sincere.  I give Kathryn my notebook to write down her contact information, and in the margin, she writes:  We look forward to cooking you pavalova!! 🙂  Well, I have no idea what that is, but I just sense that these are kindred spirits.  I hope to see them again, and I hope Chris gets a chance to meet them too.

I decide to keep going.  It is 13 km to the next town, another long stretch but I think I have it in me.  Well, it turns out to be the longest 13 km imaginable.  I honestly don´t know what I was thinking.  Within a couple of kilometres, the path changes from pavement to a nightmare of pebbles.  Soon I can feel new blisters festering.  And the weather changes, first it becomes very still and humid, and then the wind picks up and there are storm clouds on the horizon.  I have no choice now but to keep going.

Thankfully, it only spits rain.  But I take out my refurbished, cheap plastic poncho which I had salvaged earlier with duct tape and wire from cheap airline headphones….I can be creative when I need to be.  It becomes very windy and my poncho holds up well.  When I reach a town, I think I have arrived, only to learn I still have 4 km to go.  This is only an hour of walking, but it feels like an eternity, especially now that I am walking painfully slow.

Cobblestone streets like this one entering Hospital de Orbigo are
excruciating for my feet.  I walk (or rather hobble) on the single row
of flat stones in the middle.  Who designed these roads anyways?
I meet Elizabeth (Mary Poppins) as I enter the town.  She asks
about my feet and is shocked that I am still suffering.

This has been a common sight lately: large  stork nests built
on the top of churches and other roof tops.

When I finally get into town, I choose to stay in an albergue a few blocks off the main Camino because my papers say it has vegetarian food and a communal meal.  Even though it is a little out of the way, it turns out to be a wonderful oasis, just what I need to rest my weary feet and soul.

The bed costs 9 Euros which is expensive in this area, but the dinner and breakfast are on a donation basis.  The owner registers me and then shows me around, pointing out his pride and joy – they best shower on the Camino.  It has a rain shower head, and pulsating jets along the sides.  It is wonderful.  This is a newly built albergue, that seems to be built with the needs of the pilgrim in mind.

After the usual routine (you must know the drill by now), I go into the common area to relax and write in my journal.  There are cushions on the floor where you can sprawl out.  Wonderful smells are coming from the kitchen, and a girl picks up a guitar and starts to play and sing the most beautiful music imaginable.  I think I have entered heaven, it is so peaceful here.  I am so relieved I don´t need to leave the albergue, all my needs are taken care of here.

Relaxing before dinner.

What a surprise to see Nicholas, the young father-to-be
from Edmonton who I met many days ago.
He has walked fast to get this far without a bus! 

Dinner is wonderful, my body craves vegetables and is duly satiated.  The tone is very subdued, not much conversation.  During dinner the girls plays the guitar again (she has been here for three days recovering from an illness -both physical and of the spirit she confides to me).  As she plays and sings, the owner starts drumming on a set of hand held drums, and we are mesmerized by this spontaneous performance.

After dinner, I offer to help with the dishes.  The owner has worked so hard preparing this lovely meal for us pilgrims and he is all alone in the kitchen. He tells me that usually he has two helpers but this is their day off.  He appreciates my offer, but he looks at me intently and says:  You are very tired, you must stay off your feet and rest.  You may stay here tomorrow if you like and recover.  I am amazed as I have said nothing to him about how I am feeling.  I guess my limp and hobble give me away.

I seriously consider staying another day to rest as I know my body needs it.  He offers free internet on his laptop and the thought of spending a day off my feet, getting the blog caught up, is very appealing.  But before bed, I log onto his laptop and I am so disappointed to find it completely unusable. It is impossible to type on this computer – the cursor bounces around the page randomly as I try to type.  It takes me ten minutes to write one sentence before I give up in frustration.  I am annoyed and decide I will keep going tomorrow.

From Calzadilla de los Hermanillos to Mansilla de las Mulas (24 km)

By bus from Mansilla de la Mulas to La Virgen del Camino

Off to an early start today at 6:45 am.  I have an 18 km stretch ahead of me before the next town.  I hate these long, uninterrupted stretches as they seem to go on forever.  I have new blisters on my feet even though I only walked 20 km yesterday.  I am very frustrated with my feet….every step of every kilometre of every day has been painful so far.  Is this my curse for the rest of the way?

I am intrigued by my shadow this morning.  It is on my left side, very elongated over the farmers´ fields as the sun is beginning to rise.  I am sure my shadow has always been on my right hand side in the morning, and I am puzzled why it is now on my left.  I am still heading West as the sun is rising behind me.  I watch my shadow walk and I am amused. Hop, hop, hop it goes…is that what I look like when I walk?  I don´t think I am losing my mind, I just think it is entertaining.  As the morning progresses, my shadow shrinks with the rising sun, and slowly moves in front of me.  I think there must be some deep metaphor I can derive from my shadow, but it eludes me.  It is just my shadow, keeping me company on this very long, lonely stretch.

The scenery is beautiful this morning as I am walking along a road that passes through farmer´s fields.  The farmers are on their tractors cutting the hay, moving it into rows and then converting the cut hay into neat rectangular blocks.  I am fascinated by the different pieces of machinery that handles these different tasks.  I have never seen this in progress and it makes me think of my father-in-law, Denis who has lived on a farm most of his life and to whom bringing in the hay is second nature.  He would probably laugh at me, such a city girl I am.  And he would probably have a funny joke to say as well.

Within about an hour, I catch up to Emily and then to Laila both of whom left before me.  I´m moving at my usual pace, again, finding I can handle the pain in my feet when I walk faster.  I´m probably doing more damage at this pace, but it´s a catch 22 as far as I´m concerned.  Damned if I do and damned if don´t walk faster.

Laila looking rather exotic as she protects herself from the sun.

I walk alone for about three hours and then I catch up to Laila again and we walk together for the last hour into Religiosa.  This is where Chris spent last night and I can´t believe he walked so far in one day.  My feet just won´t let me go that far.  Laila and I walk together to the next town 6 km away.  We are dying for our morning coffee and somehow missed all the coffee shops in Religiosa.

Easy and Cheap – I like the sound of that!

In Manzilla, we stop at the first open restaurant for coffee and we run into Patrick and Thomas, the very same guys who Pauline told me about in her story about the shenanigans in Pamplona which seems like an eternity ago.  I have never met them, but Laila knows them and apparently they have met Chris too.  Paul is with them too; he is from Holland and began his walk from his home town.  He has been walking for two months already.

These guys are really funny and as we settle in for coffee, followed by beer (for me) we have a discussion about nudist beaches and parks which are very popular in Germany which is where Thomas is from.  Patrick, from Belgium, tells us that he will only take his vacation with his family (wife and son) to naturalist places, whether it is camping or whatever.  His wife would not even consider going to a beach unless it is a nudist beach.

I tell them about how conservative we are in Canada and give an example of the girl who challenge the law that prohibits female toplessness in public places in Ottawa.  Even though she won her case, and this happened a number of years ago, it is still very rare to see a woman go topless on a beach in Ottawa.

Patrick then tells us a very funny story.  He is suntanning in his yard in Belgium, in the nude of course, when he hears is doorbell ring.  He puts on a pair of shorts quickly, answers the door and finds two men who are butt naked except for thong bikinis.  When they see him, they turn and run away, down the street to a news crew.  Patrick thinks this is some kind of game, so he pulls off his shorts and chases after them down the street.  Once he reaches them, they are all laughing at him and then they interview him.  Apparently the two guys are a couple of crazy Aussies who have a TV show where they do outrageous things.  All of this is captured on film.  Patrick proudly tells us of the day he gathered his entire family together to watch the episode in which he is featured, his only disappointment is that they blurred out his private parts, the best part of the show in his opinion. 🙂

A little church in Mansilla.  Again, the streets are deserted.

The boys head off into Leon, and Laila and I head to the bus station.  We have both decided to take the bus through Leon to the other side; my feet are throbbing, and her knee is bothering her.  The bus takes us downtown and then we somehow manage to figure out where the bus stop is to take us to the outskirts on the other side, to a place called La Virgen del Camino where we will stay the night.

We settle into the Municipal Albergue which is absolutely beautiful, located in an old convent.  Everything is new and sparkling clean.  We are both happy with our decision to pass through Leon.

We go about our separate routines and somehow we lose each other and end up eating separately.  I am quite miserable because I am in so much pain with my feet.  I even consider skipping dinner because it hurts so much to walk, but my hunger pains get the better of me.  Tonight I forego the pilgrim´s menu and opt for a hamburger, french fries and a beer – comfort food.

As I hobble slowly back to the Albergue, an old man passes me and wishes me a Buen Camino.  I don´t even have my back pack on and I look like a pilgrim.  Then an old lady passes me, but stops me in my tracks and asks me if I am a ¨peregrina¨.  I say yes.  She wants to know where I began and when I tell her St. Jean Pied de Port, she looks at me with wonder and respect.  I am a real pilgrim in her eyes.  Then she asks me how I am feeling and I tell her I am in a lot of pain, my feet are full of blisters, and I can barely walk.  She looks intently into my eyes, and then down at my feet, and then quite unexpectedly, she gives me the biggest bear hug imaginable, especially from such a tiny woman.  As she hugs me, she is talking fast in Spanish.  I have no idea what she is saying, but it is comforting nonetheless and I am so touched by her sponanteous gesture of caring and kindness, that I start to cry.  She hugs me harder and then releases me, pats my arm with some final reassuring words and then wishes me, with the deepest sincerity, Buen Camino.  You know, I really needed that hug!

I cry all the way back to the Albergue but when I enter the common area full of strangers, I wipe my tears away and push my pain down deep.  I talk to a few people, including a priest whose advice to me is to walk as many kilometres as I can each day, 35 if possible, and not to take a bus.  When I try to explain I simply can´t do it physically, he doesn´t seem to hear, or understand.  Then Laila comes in and I tell her what happened with the woman on the street.  As I tell her, I begin to cry again.  I am in such pain and I confess to her that I don´t think I can continue.  I am thinking it might be time to pack it in.

Laila is very comforting to me and she looks closely at my feet.  They are very, very swollen in addition to all the blisters.  She suggests I soak them in cold water for a while and even keeps me company as I sit in the bathroom with my feet in a laundry tub.  She gets my towel for me so I don’t have to walk extra steps.  She is so kind and caring towards me.

My feet feel much better after the soak and some of the swelling has gone down.  I decide I will wait until the morning to see what I do next.

Before I go to bed, I thank Laila for her kindness and encouragement and for being such a good friend to me today.  I tell her not to worry about me, that she should get up in the morning and continue on without me.  I assure her I will make the best decision for me in the morning, and hopefully our paths will cross again before Santiago.

Posted in the Albergue lobby…..305 km seems like a long way to go
especially with my blistered feet.