The Meseta

I had heard about this part of the Camino from other pilgrims; mostly from the ones on the bus on my first pilgrimage. They were bussing past the meseta. The meseta is a very long stretch, maybe 200 miles or so, of flat terrain. Pilgrims say it´s boring. I say it´s beautiful.


It´s Spring in Spain and the landscape is colored up for the occasion. It´s our amber waves of grain with the color adjusted to 31 different shades of green. The fields are mostly corn, and the stalks already have their bands about them, like little green bamboo shoots with a mess of leaves sprouting out of their heads. They are only a foot high in some places, but they are growing fast.

It´s lovely to walk along side the lake of green, as it laps up against the Camino trail. And the lake sways and rolls over the horizon, broken in parts by trees lined up like soldiers in carefully planted tree farms.

As I approached the town of Hontanas (home to the International Snoring Competition), all I saw was green, flat, spacious. Then a sign declared ¨Hontanas - .50 km¨. Nothing to be seen but this sign, for miles and kilometers around. Then half a kilometer later a crater opened up in the landscape and tucked inside was the town. Such a delightful surprise.

Later on the meseta turns flatter than flat, but the tree farms continue to decorate the land, and I am content to be amongst them.

Competition on the Camino

The International Snoring Competition was held on Monday in Hontanas, Spain. Competitors from five countries gathered to see who could snore the loudest and longest in this nightly competition. France made a tremendous showing, but it was the Spanish entrant who provided the highest volume and most disturbing sounds. The USA competitor (me) was disqualified for never actually falling asleep.

Snoring isn´t the only competition on the Camino, it seems. I can´t quite understand it, but so many of these people seem to be in a forced march to Santiago. I don´t know what the rush is, but daily, as I am walking along this beautiful trail, the Germans, Dutch, French, Australians, and Spanish zip past me at a hurried pace. There are plenty of beds in the albergues right now, so that can´t be the issue.

Certainly some people have time constraints, as they have only so many days to get to Santiago, but then I see them at the end of the day at the albergue. We´ve covered the same amount of ground but in vastly different amounts of time. Reminds me of those math word problems I could never understand (if pilgrim A leaves town 1 at 6:45a and travels at 3.5 km per hour, and pilgrim B leaves the same town at 8:20am and travels at 6km per hour...).

The final competition I have declined to participate in is the competition to see who can carry the most stuff. My personal philosophy is that if I have to carry something - anything - for up to five hours a day, it is certainly not going to be very much. As I mentioned earlier, when I left Saint Jean Pied de Port, my bag was about five pounds too heavy for my taste. I jettisoned the extra weight in Pamplona, which brought my load down to five kilos, or roughly 11 lbs. Of course this didn't include everything, like the clothes I was wearing and my trekking poles. But less really is more in this case. I routinely encountered pilgrims carrying 10 kilos and more - that's 22 lbs. and upwards. My only question is why? I am, again, happy to lose this competition.

So on we march...

Finding my Way

Every day I ask myself why am I walking this Camino thing??? Some days, to be honest, I can´t come up with an answer. Other than, this is what I have chosen to do. The Camino, literally translated into English, ´the way´, is different for everyone.

I may have mentioned before that this is a spiritual journey for me. The Camino is a spiritual journey for many, but so far I´ve mostly run into groups of Germans and French who are out for a cheap walking holiday. It´s a very social environment, and I have to check myself every day, every hour, to stay focused on what I am here for.

The first few days of the journey were exciting, joyful, exuberant. Now my feet just hurt. I miss the people I love and know, and I miss my car (for obvious reasons).

One of the great pleasures in traveling for me is sampling the local cuisine. Spain is known for things like wine, paella, and meat dishes. For a vegetarian, though, Spain can be a bit of a culinary wasteland. Most towns along the Camino that have an albergue also have a restaurant or bar serving a ´Menu de Peregrino.´ This consists of three courses - a soup or salad or macaroni, then a meat or egg dish, and then a dessert. And wine or water and bread. Imagine eating this every day, with no variety, no change, no other options. I am desparate for something else.

So put this all together: sore feet, bored palate, and a major city a one-hour bus ride away. Time for a break, a treat, something tasty to eat. Time for luxury. I wasn´t going to bus any of this trip, but my feet broke down in a one-horse town with one bar that doubled as the town restaurant and store. Burgos, on the other hand, has many horses. In Burgos I found a few of the things I cherish and enjoy the most: high thread count sheets in a three-star hotel; my own bathroom with a tub, endless hot water and bubbles; a score of pastelerias (bakeries), and an Italian restaurant (or two). Pure pleasure, pure joy.

A girl can only sleep in a room with 30 other people and eat eggs for dinner so many times!!!

And on a deeper level, I have to remember that the only step that matters is the one I am taking right now. How else am I possibly going to make it to Santiago...

Tracking the Mileage

To catch up:

Day 4: Rest day in Pamplona, waiting for the post office to open on Monday
Day 5: Bus from Pamplona to Najera (70 or so miles), which was as far as I went in 2005 before beginning my bus Camino; then walked from Najera to Azofra, 3.8 miles
Day 6: Azofra to Redicilla del Camino, 16.1 miles
Day 7: Redecilla del Camino to Belorado, 7.5 miles
Day 8: Belorado to San Juan de Ortega, 15.2 miles
Day 9: San Juan de Ortega to Ages, 2 miles; bus to Burgos to give my blistered feet a rest

And you can probably understand why my feet are tired!

Day 3: Zubiri a Pamplona / 14 miles

I´ve heard the third day of anything is the toughest, and in this case, it was. More mud and more mud and mudmudmud.

I walked all day with British Megan, who has loads of walking experience and was cheering me on to make it to the post office in Pamplona before they closed at 1:30p. No, not in a rush to get off those post cards, but desperately in need of off-loading the extra items I was carrying.

Extra to the tune of 5 lbs. Which may not seem like much, but try carrying it around for five hours, and my how it grows!

The Camino has a wonderful infrastructure set up. This includes the ability to post things ahead to Santiago, where the post office will hold them for up to 60 days. Quite handy for pilgrims who overpack because they don´t know any better (most of them) and those who are carrying extra stuff for before and after the walk (me). Only trouble is that the post office in Santiago is in temporary digs, and ´60 days´ is old information. According to the Pilgrim´s Office in Saint Jean, it´s currently a 15 day hold and then they send your stuff back where it came from. Fifteen days to Santiago is a bit ambitious, and by that I mean completely unrealistic.

So here I am three days into the walk with 5 extra lbs, and my feet are cranky. All problems solved on Monday in Pamplona at the Correos (post office).

Megan proved to be an excellent walking partner. Funny and British, and experienced, she offered some brilliant discussion on gear. Like the importance of having ´the right walking pants that don´t disappear up your bum.´ (´pants´in England are underpants, not trousers)

And on we go...

Day 2: Roncesvalles a Zubiri / 12 miles

Moving on along the road. My first night in an albergue, in Roncesvalles, was in a large room with 110 beds. Fortunately there were only about 25 people, so everyone was assigned two beds. The day started early, around 7:30a, with a photo stop at the very large sign delivering the heartbreaking news that Santiago de Compostela is 790 km away.

It had rained all through the night, which meant mud on the trail. I didn´t know there were so many kinds of mud, to be honest. I walked through suck-your-boots-off mud, fill-your-boots-with-water mud, mud-wrestling mud, and slip-and-slide mud. Day 2 was the day I realized that my most critical piece of gear are my trekking poles, also known as the portable banister.

Day 2 was also the day I met the three British ladies, Megan, Liz, and Carol. Break time at the bar, and I spouted information like a veteran. It´s a tight line to walk, sharing information; just enough to inform, but not enough to be the Camino know-it-all.

The Camino de Santiago

On my way, on the long walk across Spain.

I am five days into the walk and there is so much to tell. The first day I walked through the Pyrenees mountains from Saint Jean Pied de Port in France to Roncesvalles in Spain. Did I say ´through´? I meant over. There are two ways over the Pyrenees - the high road and the low road. The high road is closed due to snow. Snow as in ´can´t see the trail markers´snow. The week before I arrived and British man died of hyperthermia after attempting the high road. I was very intimidated (read: terrified) of the thought of walking the high road, and this before I heard about the pilgrim´s death.

You can imagine my delight when I learned I´d have to take the low road, through the Spanish town of Valcarlos, a quick and easy 30 km / 18 miles over the mountains. I´d planned to walk only to Valcarlos on the first day, which was 14 kms, but I arrived there at 10:30am and couldn´t quite picture myself sitting there for the day. So off I went. I´d imagined the next part to be more of the same, except that this is where the over part came in. The last 5 km were completely uphill, and by then I was pooped.

Up, up, up, with no Roncesvalles in sight. This is not typical; usually you can see these towns coming for miles, and you suffer knowing it´s not getting any closer. But this town did not appear until the last 100 yards. And then it gloriously appeared, albergue and food in sight, and my tired feet and sweating body headed straight for the hot shower in the Dutch-run albergue.

Happy, happy, happy. That was Day 1 on the Camino de Santiago.

The Bäckerhaus Tour of Europe

I now know why Europeans walk so much. It´s so they can eat more. The more you walk, the more calories you burn, the more you can eat. I am writing from the city of München, aka Munich. I love this city. It´s Spring and three days before Easter and the city is dressed up in its finest. These people know how to dress a window. The shops are a controlled riot of color and style. For one of the rare times in my travels I wish I were going home right after Germany, simply so I could buy stuff to bring back with me.

The flowers are in bloom, in boxes and squares around the city. Again, a riot of color, and I realize how closely I associate color and beauty.

Today I watched and listened to the glockenspiel in the Marienplatz (main square) ring in 11:00am. It was like Disneyland, at the It´s a Small World ride, when the figures circle around excitedly declaring the hour. And it dawns on me, Disneyland is not the real world; this is. (Don´t tell your children yet.) This beautiful, magical, delicious world is the real one, and it is magnificent.

And then I remember, I am in Europe to walk. To walk a really long walk, across Spain. Focusfocusfocus. All the walking I am doing now, I tell myself is training for the Camino. But let´s be honest, it´s just to facilitate caloric burn so I can eat more!

European Roots

I love Europe. I have loved Europe since the first time I touched down, in 1998, after a difficult time in Thailand. I really like Thailand now. I just didn´t understand it in 1998. It´s very hot there, I think always. It´s busy and crazy and chaotic, and you just have to be in the mood for that. I wasn´t - I was in the mood for Greece.

My second visit to Europe was in 2003, when I first visited Italy. Now that is love!

Everything in Europe is beautiful to me. The art, the architecture, the architecture that is art, the food, the cities, the countryside, the people, the languages, the accented English, all beautiful. And amongst all this beauty, I start to feel it on the inside, down deep, and a special beauty emerges from me that I really enjoy.

My parents were married in London in the early 60`s. My brother was born in Paris, and then they returned to the US where I was born in 1965. Why!?!?!?!?! Why couldn´t I have been born in Europe, whywhywhy?!?!?! I am so European, down deep inside. I really am. I dream in Italian and Spanish and French (not really but I feel in these languages). I don´t know if I could ever keep up with the way the Europeans dress, so fashionable, so chic. But of course you know the real issue here: the passport. I need a passport from a European country! A US passport allows you to be here for three months in any six month period. How could that ever be enough?!?!?!?

My friend in Germany, who I am staying with and traveling with, is a dual citizen. She holds passports to both Germany and the US. I had the good fortune and great honor to attend her swearing in ceremony last year. Now you know MY goal: dual citizenship! But which country...