more chocolate

I´m really not sure whether this happens to other people or just to me. Maybe it is a pilgrim thing. Maybe it a me thing.

Yesterday, I was wandering around Leon. I went into a chocolate store.

A chocolate store.

I chatted with the proprietess. The shop is new and small and probably difficult to sustain because it is so near the cathedral and the things sell for so little. My Spanish, my tongue were tired, and I couldn´t have a very good conversation. She gave me a sample. I ate, smile, savored. Then I picked out something to buy, a small caramel. She carefully wrapped it up. I asked her how much.

She wouldn´t take any money.

It got rid of the flavor of that free chicken from a few hours earlier, but it left to same delicious taste in my mouth.

reunion

My rhythm had left me a day or two behind some other pilgrims with whom I had been walking, so I was delighted to catch up with them in Leon yesterday. Even in a big city, it is easy to happen upon people. Some of the folks are people who I know, companions I have talked to and laughed with. Others are people I just recognize by sight. It was excellent to see both sets of people, to trade stories and drinks and pizza and laughter and hugs with my friends--and to trade conversations limited to greetings and ridiculous gestures of inquiry toward one another´s feet, followed by pointing in the direction of Santiago with a nod and a smile. We´ll see each other then.

Apparently, while I was a couple of days behind, a group I had been traveling with selected me as the most likely to meet strange people and have strange adventures on the Camino. This is a dubious and welcome honor indeed.

catching up

I´m enjoying writing the blog. And I am enjoying that you are enjoying the blog. Now other pilgrims have even started reading it. I never anticipated that.

I have lots of entries to put in today, things that have been on my mind. I´m taking a rest here in Leon and have good internet access. Bear with me while I post a spate of musings.

cheating on the news diet

There was a newspaper in English. I couldn´t help it. I haven´t read anything but poorly translated signs in English in 3 weeks.

Trust me, I have learned my lesson.

I now know quite a bit about a college graduates in Iraq and how they are fleeing the country after having attended school while their country was at war for 4 years. I know about a particular university in Baghdad where there was a bomb, and they buried the dead in a mass grave in a courtyard. I know about insipid accusations traded amongst squabbling Democratic candidates. I know that the murder rate is up in major U.S. cities.

news diet

I´m on a news diet. Sometimes I read headlines, but usually I don´t. I figure that if anything catastrophic happens in the United States, someone will tell me. Until then, I´ll have to wait to scowl and shake my head at all of the terrible things that have happened during my sabbatical.

enabled

Many of you have observed that I am capable of getting people to do pretty much anything for me. Do my laundry, my taxes. Fix my bike, my computer. Cook me food. I´m not sure why people want to do nice things for me, but I´m glad they do.

I have reached a new and compelling low. For the past two days, other pilgrims, people I don´t know particularly well and may never meet up with again, have offered to deal with my blisters. I asked to borrow a needle, they volunteered to perform the operation. They have actually touched my nasty feet, doused them with Betadine, struck matches, sterlized needles, guided the needle through my blisters until they ooze, and arranged the remaining thread so that they will continue to drain. Then, these kind people have bandaged their work. One of them actually performed the operation while I played on the computer.

It´s important to understand that blisters are a vital part of bonding in the pilgrim community. People who don´t have them are viewed as freaks. These pilgrims are rare and not to be trusted. Apparently, I´m becoming a trustworthy individual indeed. I have another new blister today. It´s time to make a new friend.

wildflowers

The wildflowers are amazing. They are by far my favorite part of the landscape. I have been trying to photograph them, but there´s no real way to communicate the heavenly scent of the yellow bushes. I can´t capture the purplish red stalks, the teeny daisies, the long dandelions, the bristly thistles, the starbursts of yellow flowers, the small blue mouths, the intricate Queen Anne´s lace. They are truly amazing the way they line the Camino, leading us into Santiago.

The scallop shell is the symbol of the Camino. Pilgrims wear them on their backpacks. Signs feature them. Today I saw a sculpture of a scallop shell. To be honest, I forget the exact meaning, something to do with St. James rising from the sea. Doesn´t matter. I appreciate the scallop shell, but to me, the symbol of the Camino will always be the poppy. Gorgeous fields of poppies have accompanied me from France to the middle of Spain. There hasn´t been a day without a poppy.

Any bride would be thrilled to have an aisle so bedecked as the Camino is now, though she may not be as thrilled by the mice scrambling across her toes.

the kind of vegetarian i am

I am the kind of vegetarian who eats bacon when she craves a bacon egg and cheese sandwich. I´m the kind who eats "vegetarian" sausage grilled on the 4th of July. I´m the kind who eats chorizo as she makes her way across Spain.

And I´m also another kind. Today, I´m the kind who eats chicken when a nice man behind a bar recognizes that I´m exhausted and listless and disheartened and puts a plate in front of me to cheer me up and cheer me on.

I´m not the kind of vegetarian who will eat the shrimp, though. I tried, but I didn´t know how, and I didn´t think I could manage to be that gracious. I´m no saint.

Day 21? Stomp Stomping into Leon

Today was the end of my third week. Three weeks of walking with only one day break. And today was the only day that I wanted to just stand still and stomp and be done. Done, done, done.

First, I got lost. The yellow arrows steered me wrong, and I ended up a half mile away from where I belonged, standing in the middle of a field of wheat and wildflowers. The farmer I passed didn´t even stop me to set me straight. I realized my mistake and trudged back.

Then, I finally found some more arrows and followed them on a busy, scary highway. Every once in a great while we have to walk on scary highways, but this one was worse than all of the others. The arrows disappeared again, and I got afraid, so I went back along the highway and waited for other pilgrims to come along. Two Austrians appeared and guided me along the highway.

There was really nothing wrong with the rest of the day, except for lots of walking along or on the highway and some confusing directions. It was the worst hike yet; that´s for sure. Some nice things happened, some very nice things, but they didn´t seem very magic. All I could think about was that there was a city up ahead with vegetables and friends and cathedrals and clean beds and hotels and massages and showers and internet cafes and I just wanted to be there. In three weeks of pain and blisters and rain and heat and fatigue and annoyance and discomfort, it was the first time I have ever thought, "Now why the hell am I doing this?"

It´s okay. I remember now.

mass

I walked into a church last night, and mass was starting. I sat down and listened to the "saaaaaaaaaaaaangre!" and "espiritu santo!" and the other words, most of which I didn´t understand. I started to seethe at the old, white-haired men in charge. I thought of all of the ideas of the Catholic church that I despise--the misogyny, the condemnation of homosexuals, the exploitation of impoverished Latin Americans. I started to admire the wall of gold at the front of the church and immediately thought of the Peruvian ruins stripped of their decoration by marauding Spaniards.

Then, Iain and another pilgrim walked in and sat down next to me.

Offertory began. I heard the rustling of the rooting around in pockets and the clinking of coins. I kept my hands in clear view, vowing that I would not contribute to this institution, feeling self-righteous and angry. Iain, who as of this particular mass, has been to a total of 4 church services in his life, prepared to contribute. I thought mean thought about him, too, for being in cahoots with the whole thing.

He leaned over to me and whispered, "I´ll get this round."