well. i think writing that entry about being alone kind of cursed me.
it took more than two weeks for it to happen--i sorely missed having my people.
here{s what happened.
i{m in this village tonight named castrojarez or something like that. it{s pretty. there are fields of poppies and many churches. it{s properly small and mostly vacant. i saw a sign for the circus. i saw a date. today! the circus is in town! today! probably a tiny, shitty circus! i talked it up with some brits and we found it and it was amusing but they wouldn{t pay to go in but i defied them and paid my overpriced entry fee because it was the circus goddamnit and i knew it would be so, so funny.
but without the right person there, it wasn{t. it was just pathetic and not even all that amusing that my hair made me a better clown than anything they were trotting out. i left. i got lost on my way back. my toe kind of hurts.
what can we expect from a day without a chocolate croissant?
i wonder where i can hang a sign indicating that i{m seeking a pilgrim to laugh at stupid don quixote jokes whenever we walk by a wind farm. that person would know how to laugh at an unfunny circus. sigh. i{ll speak to santiago about it first thing tomorrow.
Thursday, May 31, 2007
la peregrina sola
Today, I was walking through a field, and a Spaniard called out "Buen Camino," which translates roughly to "Good Walk!" It{s such a nice expression of encouragment, a good tradition on the Camino. I always feel nice when people say it to me along the way, especially Spaniards. Today an old woman mouthed it to me through a closed car window.
Anyhow, the farmer said: Buen camino!
Me: Gracias. Buenos dias.
Farmer: Adios! Adios!
Me: Adios
Farmer: Va sola?
Me: Si. Mas alegre.
He asked me if I{m travelling by myself, and I told him that I am, that it is better that way. It was a funny little exchange, and it got me thinking how different it is to do the Camino alone. I{m sure there are benefits to doing it with someone else. I can think of one person it would be fun to do it with, but I{m still glad I{m alone. I have had opportunities to join groups, and I{ve spent some time with people for a few days, but I usually just let them move on and follow my own pace. It{s nice. I don{t have to worry about time. I have plenty of time. I can walk a long way on one day and then take a day off. Or I can choose to eat alone or with other people. I can hang out, or I can go off by myself and write. There are plenty of options. It offers more time for introspection and more opportunity to meet people.
Anyhow, the farmer said: Buen camino!
Me: Gracias. Buenos dias.
Farmer: Adios! Adios!
Me: Adios
Farmer: Va sola?
Me: Si. Mas alegre.
He asked me if I{m travelling by myself, and I told him that I am, that it is better that way. It was a funny little exchange, and it got me thinking how different it is to do the Camino alone. I{m sure there are benefits to doing it with someone else. I can think of one person it would be fun to do it with, but I{m still glad I{m alone. I have had opportunities to join groups, and I{ve spent some time with people for a few days, but I usually just let them move on and follow my own pace. It{s nice. I don{t have to worry about time. I have plenty of time. I can walk a long way on one day and then take a day off. Or I can choose to eat alone or with other people. I can hang out, or I can go off by myself and write. There are plenty of options. It offers more time for introspection and more opportunity to meet people.
how it works
Some people have asked me questions about just how this thing works. I{ll try to explain.
On any given day, I wake up whenever the other pilgrims start scuffling about, anywhere from 5.30 to 7. I pack my bags up, spend 10 minutes caring for my feet, put on my pack, and start falling the yellow arrows. I walk for awhile, maybe 30 minutes, maybe 2 hours until I find a town that has a bar or a store or a bakery open. There, I have some sort of drink and (if all goes well) a chocolate croissant. Depending on whether I want to talk to people or write, I might spend a bit of time there. Then, I go on walking. Sometimes I walk with people. Sometimes I don{t. Sometimes the Camino goes through quite a few towns. Sometimes it doesn{t. I usually have a vague idea of where I will end up and how many km I will walk that day. I bring some food along, but I don{t usually stop to eat it until I arrive to my final destination. I have a piece of paper that tells me where the albergues are and tells me the distances between them. It{s a good idea to arrive earlyish at the albergues because they tend to fill up. I spend my afternoons writing and chatting with the other pilgrims or scaring up some kind of trouble. Usually there is at least one restaurant in the tiny towns, and I try to buy food for the next day. Again, bathing and laundry are optional. (I recently told another pilgrim that my pants were dirty. He asked if I could identify the source of the stains. When I said that I could, he told me that I didn{t need to wash them yet.)
I walk about 20-30K per day. The past two days have been 20, and they seem too short. Unfortunately, the other option has been to go another 10, which can be a bit exhausting. (I do have a goal of doing a marathon 26 mile day, that that 40 K is quite stupid and I will only do it if there is a hotel and a rest day at the end. That may happen next week as I make my way into Leon, depending on the status of the left side of my body.)
What have I left out? Tell me.
On any given day, I wake up whenever the other pilgrims start scuffling about, anywhere from 5.30 to 7. I pack my bags up, spend 10 minutes caring for my feet, put on my pack, and start falling the yellow arrows. I walk for awhile, maybe 30 minutes, maybe 2 hours until I find a town that has a bar or a store or a bakery open. There, I have some sort of drink and (if all goes well) a chocolate croissant. Depending on whether I want to talk to people or write, I might spend a bit of time there. Then, I go on walking. Sometimes I walk with people. Sometimes I don{t. Sometimes the Camino goes through quite a few towns. Sometimes it doesn{t. I usually have a vague idea of where I will end up and how many km I will walk that day. I bring some food along, but I don{t usually stop to eat it until I arrive to my final destination. I have a piece of paper that tells me where the albergues are and tells me the distances between them. It{s a good idea to arrive earlyish at the albergues because they tend to fill up. I spend my afternoons writing and chatting with the other pilgrims or scaring up some kind of trouble. Usually there is at least one restaurant in the tiny towns, and I try to buy food for the next day. Again, bathing and laundry are optional. (I recently told another pilgrim that my pants were dirty. He asked if I could identify the source of the stains. When I said that I could, he told me that I didn{t need to wash them yet.)
I walk about 20-30K per day. The past two days have been 20, and they seem too short. Unfortunately, the other option has been to go another 10, which can be a bit exhausting. (I do have a goal of doing a marathon 26 mile day, that that 40 K is quite stupid and I will only do it if there is a hotel and a rest day at the end. That may happen next week as I make my way into Leon, depending on the status of the left side of my body.)
What have I left out? Tell me.
Day 16. I{m in Castrojeriz. 439 km to go
Well, 15 days of walking and one day of rest.
I started in St. Jean Pied de Port with 764 km to go. Now I have 437 left. Tomorrow I will go to a town called Fromista. Check the map. It{s starting to look like I have covered a big chunk of Spain. http://www.ongerwaeg.nl/images/lenssen3/krt-2.gif
I can{t recall whether I wrote in here that my new plan is to head to Finisterre, the end of the world, which is about 80K past Santiago.
I{ve entered a part of Spain known as the meseta. People have been talking about the meseta with a tone of dread for days. Here{s what one guidebooks says: "The vast expanse and huge skies of the meseta are striking and strange, swinging from depresingly monotonous to exhiliratingly infinite in the space of a km . . . Mostly your senese will be overloaded by an endless flatness." Maybe I{m not far enough into it, but I{ve been pleasantly surprised to find sweeping fields of wheat with poppies dotting the landscape, cupped by rolling hills. The Camino winds through the fields and occasionally a convent or a town rises up to greet us out of the wheat. I have had much more monotonous experiences than this one.
Today a Spanish man taught me a song about poppies.
I started in St. Jean Pied de Port with 764 km to go. Now I have 437 left. Tomorrow I will go to a town called Fromista. Check the map. It{s starting to look like I have covered a big chunk of Spain. http://www.ongerwaeg.nl/images/lenssen3/krt-2.gif
I can{t recall whether I wrote in here that my new plan is to head to Finisterre, the end of the world, which is about 80K past Santiago.
I{ve entered a part of Spain known as the meseta. People have been talking about the meseta with a tone of dread for days. Here{s what one guidebooks says: "The vast expanse and huge skies of the meseta are striking and strange, swinging from depresingly monotonous to exhiliratingly infinite in the space of a km . . . Mostly your senese will be overloaded by an endless flatness." Maybe I{m not far enough into it, but I{ve been pleasantly surprised to find sweeping fields of wheat with poppies dotting the landscape, cupped by rolling hills. The Camino winds through the fields and occasionally a convent or a town rises up to greet us out of the wheat. I have had much more monotonous experiences than this one.
Today a Spanish man taught me a song about poppies.
thanks
People have been so nice to read my blog and reply or write to me. It{s fun to tell you about adventures and to hear how you are doing. In general, I feel quite disconnected from life in the U.S. Unfortunately, everyone I walk with knows my least favorite American but none of my favorite ones. It{s frustrating.
Many of you have said how proud you are of me. Even though I was very nervous before I came, after a couple of days, I fell quite easily into the rhythm. It really doesn{t seem particularly hard at all. There are things that are uncomfortable, but overall it{s a wonderful routine. I wake. I walk. I think. I talk. I listen. I observe. I stop. I eat. I write. I loll. I sleep. Bathing is optional.
Rather than your being proud of me, I should be thankful for your support, grateful for the opportunity.
Many of you have said how proud you are of me. Even though I was very nervous before I came, after a couple of days, I fell quite easily into the rhythm. It really doesn{t seem particularly hard at all. There are things that are uncomfortable, but overall it{s a wonderful routine. I wake. I walk. I think. I talk. I listen. I observe. I stop. I eat. I write. I loll. I sleep. Bathing is optional.
Rather than your being proud of me, I should be thankful for your support, grateful for the opportunity.
Click
I had 7 hours before bed. I had no book. I was tired of Germans. I could only drink so much wine (apparently an eighth of a bottle is my limit at 3pm). I had done enough writing. I had eaten more than enough chocolate. I had visited the bar-restaurant, the shop, and the albergue. In other words, I had exhausted every available entertainment option. Obviously, it was time to stretch out on the sidewalk and take a nap in the sunshine.
So I did.
When I awoke, a kind and soft-spoken (non-creepy) man with a gigantic, round belly and a phallic camera protruding from it sauntered over to my part of the tiny swept square where the pilgrims milled about, observing one another lazily in their own languages.
"I took your picture vile you vere sleeeping."
Having never begun a conversation in this manner, I was a bit unsure of the right thing to say.
"I´m good at it."
We talked about Sweden and photography and the Camino. It turns out he is putting together a book of photographs about the Camino. When we parted, he said "Maybe you will be sleeping in my book" and then went off to talk to the emaciated sunbaked Italian, blue robed, half bald, half dreadlocked Jesus figure who is rumored to have been walking the Camino for 12 years now.
And then there were 8 more hours before bed. Sometimes, that´s how it is here.
So I did.
When I awoke, a kind and soft-spoken (non-creepy) man with a gigantic, round belly and a phallic camera protruding from it sauntered over to my part of the tiny swept square where the pilgrims milled about, observing one another lazily in their own languages.
"I took your picture vile you vere sleeeping."
Having never begun a conversation in this manner, I was a bit unsure of the right thing to say.
"I´m good at it."
We talked about Sweden and photography and the Camino. It turns out he is putting together a book of photographs about the Camino. When we parted, he said "Maybe you will be sleeping in my book" and then went off to talk to the emaciated sunbaked Italian, blue robed, half bald, half dreadlocked Jesus figure who is rumored to have been walking the Camino for 12 years now.
And then there were 8 more hours before bed. Sometimes, that´s how it is here.
un azucar
It doesn´t matter what kind of drink you order. It really doesn´t. No matter what it is--lemonade, tea, chocolate, and (my favorite) hot chocolate, it is always accompanied by one sugar packet. I have not had so much hot chocolate in my entire life as I have had on this trip. It´s addictive. And, no, I do not add the sugar. Except that one time. It´s important to try everything once; my dad told me so.
Wednesday, May 30, 2007
two walking companions
Free internet this morning, so I thought I would take advantage.
Walking out of Burgos, I was joined by a Spanish woman. I love the first hour, my first hour of walking by myself. It reminds me of this poem where the guy gets up early and savors the time alone and later shakes his head at the newspaper with everyone else (one of you literary people can find the link). Anyhow, she joined me and started nattering on in Spanish (which I think is actually worse than English nattering because I have to pay attention to know when to nod dismissively. If i didn´t nod at the proper time, she craned her head around and stared at me--Me entiendes? Me entiendes?--Do you understand me? Do you understand me?) I tried to subtly indicate that I really like walking alone. I tried to go silent. I ended up inventing a need to go to the bathroom.
Then, I kept walking. An Austrian man came along. I was gunshy at this point, but it turns out that Manfred and I don´t have any languages in common, save a little English. Once we used charades to establish some basics about feet and countries, we enjoyed the best of all conversations, the rhythm of boots hitting ground to the accompaniament of singing birds. Cooing pigeons, in my case.
Walking out of Burgos, I was joined by a Spanish woman. I love the first hour, my first hour of walking by myself. It reminds me of this poem where the guy gets up early and savors the time alone and later shakes his head at the newspaper with everyone else (one of you literary people can find the link). Anyhow, she joined me and started nattering on in Spanish (which I think is actually worse than English nattering because I have to pay attention to know when to nod dismissively. If i didn´t nod at the proper time, she craned her head around and stared at me--Me entiendes? Me entiendes?--Do you understand me? Do you understand me?) I tried to subtly indicate that I really like walking alone. I tried to go silent. I ended up inventing a need to go to the bathroom.
Then, I kept walking. An Austrian man came along. I was gunshy at this point, but it turns out that Manfred and I don´t have any languages in common, save a little English. Once we used charades to establish some basics about feet and countries, we enjoyed the best of all conversations, the rhythm of boots hitting ground to the accompaniament of singing birds. Cooing pigeons, in my case.
escargot
This morning I came upon a large sign with a map of the Camino. It showed how far I have progressed, which is satisfying, but then I noticed that there was a snail on the sign. I didn´t have the proper materials to affix a rainbow mohawk to its head and place it just west of Burgos. Alas.
Tuesday, May 29, 2007
Forgetting My Sticks
I forgot my trekking poles at the albergue one morning, so I had to walk back through town as all of the other pilgrims were setting out. The yellow arrows provide a very clear one-directional guide, and pilgrims are uncomfortable when that path is not followed. I only had to walk about a quarter of a mile, but I had 6 or 7 conversations (probably in as many languages) about what I was doing.
Once I was walking with a repeat pilgrim who had planned to walk back to his home from Santiago and said he couldn´t bear the idea of waving to hundreds of people, so he flew home.
Once I was walking with a repeat pilgrim who had planned to walk back to his home from Santiago and said he couldn´t bear the idea of waving to hundreds of people, so he flew home.
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