Ordinary Gente

I cannot say we enter the main plaza in Santiago de Compostela, Praza do Obradoiro, with the triumphant glee you see in Instagram pictures. We don‘t …

Final Stage: Santiago de Compostela – Day 7

I cannot say we enter the main plaza in Santiago de Compostela, Praza do Obradoiro, with the triumphant glee you see in Instagram pictures. We don‘t dance around in the bright sun-filled Praza. We don’t kiss the earth or hug the statue of Saint James. We don’t even hug each other. There is no rapture. Not today, anyway. Yet, we make it together. We have encouraged each other and taken care of each other (and others, I hope) on the Camino. We enter the city of Santiago relieved, happy with the constant guidance of yellow arrows and shells. At the entry into the first real city on our Camino, we ham it up at the sign that announces the city. Ahead of us are still around 3.5 miles of uphill, confusing streets and alleys, and the worst rainstorm of our Camino replete with hail. When we finally enter the Praza, our goal, we are at the end of our pilgrimage. Still, I have to process the accomplishment, to think about its meaning and its function in my life. Today was a challenging 14.5 miles and the last few were hard-won. Maybe that’s how life is.

Let me put the last day in perspective. We start the morning with cold rain in O Pino (also known as O Pedrouzo and Arca). Like all pereginos we eat a hearty but simple breakfast. I stow the uneaten croissants and fruit in my gear for later because I’m burning over 3000 calories a day, according to Fitbit. I can’t get enough food. Our destination is “near” and we start walking on our final stage under a silver mist that turns to a dull pewter gray rain. Keeping my snacks company in Sofia, my newly named backpack, are gaiters, extra socks, rain poncho, cell phone, printed directions to our hotel in SdC, and an extra down jacket. We easily find our yellow arrows skirting the town. Our first chat of the morning is with an español who already has his rain poncho on in the thick rain. As he passes us, he says, “¡Que desmadre!” in reference to the soaking now coming down slowly and heavily from Payne’s Grey clouds. We catch up to him later, but for now, he trudges past us on the steep elevation rise. Luis’s rain jacket is doing its job, but I need to change out of my windbreaker and don my rain poncho over my goose down. Everyone along the Camino trail has a hodgepodge of brightly colored raingear from all over the world. This is quite a different European fashion runway. Meanwhile, I try to focus on the soft edges of the trees and distant hills, the proximity of our goal, and the beauty of the rain. There is farming out here, alternating with patches of trees and some forests, too. But there is so much rain and this is sloppy walking. Focus, Rosana, focus! You wanted this. You worked and trained for this. The natural beauty is overwhelming. But it’s hard to see through my rain-dappled glasses. Focus, already. It might all be an allegory for attaining a challenging goal. Then I step into another mud puddle and lose my focus. Sigh.

We continue and before you know it we’ve tackled 8 km (5 miles) and we have only 15 km (9 miles) more to go, assuming we don’t get lost. The sky looks cerulean and we stop at a cafe bar, Kilometro 15, popular with a mountain of walkers. We get the coveted stamps in our credentiales, I stretch my hips, my thighs, and my lower back, and Luis uses the bathroom. And we are off again. I shake off random drops of water on my poncho and we start another ascent.

With the sun warming me, I can get back to focusing. I’m under the misconception that this is the way it will stay for the remainder of the day. We climb up gentle hills. I’m still garbed in my fancy, 6-Euro yellow poncho. Another name for it is a mobile sauna. As much as I don’t want to stop, I have to before I pass out from the heat I’m building by walking inside of the plastic and down. We find a patch of shade and, like most others on the trail, I begin the process of disrobing from the poncho, unzipping the jacket, stripping off the gloves.

On we go, metaphorically skipping along in the sun and shade cast by trees. In reality, we are putting one foot in front of the other. Much like our daily lives at home, we go forward and from time to time, turn around and see the beautiful path and surroundings we traversed. This reminds me of the adage about not seeing the forest for the trees. Right now I promise myself to remember this view, to hold on to the beauty of the Galician countryside on full display, to imprint it in my memory.

The rain returns. We stop so I can extract the poncho from its pouch, fight with it to put it on, and put on the backpack. Nope. I have to strap on the backpack first, readjust the straps, snap the hip belt, then the chest strap, make minor adjustments on the lengthening straps, THEN fit the poncho over it all. I look like a kindergartner trying to get dressed in her mommy’s evening gown. Everything is too big, I put it on inside out and have trouble putting my head through the neck. And now there’s a breeze. Luis indulges me with this costume addition. All is set when the clouds break apart to reveal a blue sky. I am starting to agree with our fellow traveler, ¡Que desmadre!

Two moments of connection catch us off-guard. We stride alongside our Spanish friend from earlier. I dubbed him “Señor Que Desmadre” but his name is Javier. He is from Madrid and committed to the Camino with a couple of friends. Delicately he wants to know how old we are. He wants to encourage his mom to go on Camino though she says she’s too old. Hmmm. Both Luis and I are older than his mom. In reflection, I realize there are few older than us on the Camino today. Maybe none. With Sr. Que Desmadre, we discuss life goals and what is important, the history of language imposition as a means of subjugation. And then, just like that, he is out of our lives. We round the bend and realize we have ascended our high highest elevation of the day as we go along the perimeter of the Santiago airport. Here is our second unexpected connection, this time more intimate. Our path wraps around the end of the airport and to a stone monument where people have left prayer cards, stones, and handwritten messages. We pass it. I backtrack realizing this is The Place. This is the place to spread Lenny’s ashes. He would like it here on a high hill, outside on the Camino. I suddenly realize the rainwater on my face is in fact tears. I miss Lenny and can only imagine the grief Tina endures for him. Seven years ago, the two of them made the Camino together while Luis’s cancer reemerged. Lenny and Tina arrived home from Santiago and came straight to visit us and encourage us to make the Camino. We had no idea that Lenny would be diagnosed with cancer and succumb to it. I pray that he knows we are following his advice.

The heavens continue to test us today. We are happy to spot a sign that other pilgrims are snapping photos of. It announces that in the next community there are not one, but two cafe bars! Glory be! It’s a town with sanctuaries from the elements. The deluge has begun again driving all travelers into these sheltering beacons and into the small stone chapel.

A Camino volunteer sits at the entrance to the stone chapel. She provides assistance to weary and wet pilgrims and a stamp. In her florescent orange vest and in her Italian-accented Spanish, this middle-aged, well-groomed woman welcomes us and gives us a stamp on our credentiales. She tells us she lives near Milan and comes every year to volunteer along the Camino. She invites us into the stark stone chapel from the 1400s. She, too, finds refuge from the rain. It has stood over the centuries through many rainstorms and has provided a shelter for countless pilgrims flowing like a gathering river to Santiago. After a silent prayer, we thank the Italian and cross the little lane and find one of two cafe bars, order espressos, and eat the bananas and croissants as a second breakfast. Hobbit-style, I’m already wondering about the next meal. We make fast friends with fellow travelers, including a man about Luis’s age (mid-70s) who’s a retired teacher from the Netherlands. We will see him later at the Pilgrims’ Office and in the Praza Obradoiro in Santiago, ah, but I get ahead of myself. Two women from Mexico, one of them a teacher, strike up a conversation with us. They tell us they just knew we were Mexicans because of our accents. We enjoy a regular old educators’ conference in this cafe bar with four tables and no less than 20 dripping pilgrims. We can’t stay, though, so I slap on my gaiters and we stride out refreshed and happy we’ve visited with such pleasant people.

The rain slackens off and we enter Lavacolla which has another serene church, Igrexa de San Paio de Sabugueira, and a huddle of homes. We nod to a lady coming out of her home and she wishes us another “Buen Camino.” I’m getting hungry but there isn’t any place to eat and we MUST be approaching Santiago. We dip into the valley and pull out of it again, passing a most impressive scene of large, communal washing basins along the bank of the river. The walls of the laundry pools are made of gigantic slabs of granite. We cross a bridge and then up another hill. Our Norwegian friend easily passes us with his long strides while we are pulled out to remove a layer of clothes.

We are seeing more industrial sites, a television station complex, and the beginnings of suburbs. We pass a campsite and a fence where people have placed crosses made of sticks, creating a gallery of crosses. I don’t know what it’s about. I only know that it’s likely “curated” by pilgrims.

We visit with three college students from Valencia on our final approach to Santiago. One of the three tells us about his ambitions for a start-up company that delivers made-to-order cocktails and how he will be in San Francisco for an MBA in the fall. His traveling partner tells me about how her grandparents are the only generation in her family who can still speak Valencia after the Franco years outlawed it. And, boom, we are at the sign that we’ve entered Santiago.

I think we have arrived. Little do I know that it would be another 3.5 miles of winding streets to go. And the most interesting disappearance act of all is occurring. For about 70 miles we have been guided by a clearly marked route across the countryside. Now the arrows have dissolved. There isn’t a shell to be found. Maybe the rain is playing tricks on us. It’s like the great Nile River that disappears into the delta, like Amelia Earhart’s journey across the Atlantic. The temperature drops and so does the precipitation. We manage to keep going and then “the Camino provides.” Wet and worn out, we ask an older couple with their adult son, all on vacation from another part of Galicia, where the Cathedral is and they point the way just as the skies unleash a torrent of rain. The family insists we gather under their umbrellas. The walk us part the way to the Cathedral and the Praza. One more challenge greets the 5 of us: it is hailing little ingots which turn into larger and larger stones. We all plaster our backs against ancient buildings hoping to be spared. Water gushes downhill making the cobblestones slippery. The family gets us close to the Cathedral. We follow the sound of bagpipes and stumble through the arch on the Praza! I realize this is no Kodak moment. Our accomplishment is to be contemplated later. We need to find our hotel and food. Especially, food. We try to follow our printed directions to the Hotel Costa Vela, but get lost. Asking for directions from some local men, we don’t understand their references to landmarks and we go the wrong way. We zigzag through these medieval streets without the benefit of street signs. We ask another local gentleman, and he sends us off in another direction. Again, it takes us further afield. The Camino doesn’t want us to stop walking. But my stomach does. We eventually find our hotel and we can shed our hiking clothes for fresh ones. We head down to the glass-enclosed terrace bar. They don’t serve food, they say, and yet, suddenly they’ve brought me the best-tasting jamon serrano, olives, and homemade potato chips to go with our wine. There is much to consider and analyze, but for now, I’m savoring the moment, the wine, the jamon, the warmth of the cafe bar, and my husband at my side.

I feel like a farmer, checking and rechecking the weather report, scanning the sky and calculating what we will be doing at what time of day in relation to the temperature and the sky. It looks like our partly cloudy skies will be dropping rain throughout the day. It makes the farewell to the Pazo in Arzua bittersweet. Is it a Purple Rain day or a Rainy Days and Monday Always Get Me Down day?

The Camino is full of more and more people, like a river flowing in one direction. We see a salmon, a man doing against the flow. In the quick passing, he tells us he made it Santiago and is now returning to Norway. To Norway! He’s not the first peregrino we meet that is traversing a round trip. I simply cannot imagine the toll on his body, and the joy in his heart to return home using the same mode of transportation he started with. Regardless of the number of fellow pilgrims, Luis and I are always together, or separated by only 10 or 20 feet at the most.

This is the best part for me. Just walking and spending time with Luis. We are often silent in our own thoughts. And there times that we share reflections. Today we talk about the grandbaby changing daily. We talk about our incredulity of living through the Pandemic (so far, anyway), of living through some of the biggest earthquakes of recent years (Loma Prieta in 1989 and Humboldt County, 1994), of the joys of raising Lorenzo and Miguel, of the happiness for Lorenzo having found Arevik, such a wonderful wife, of the plans we have for the future, of my retirement in the not-too-distant future.

We sing, too. We dredge up songs from elementary school days, from our sons’ music classes, from the radio.

Listen. Do you want to know a secret? … We may never pass this way again … Far, a long, long way to run … We may lose or we may win, but we will never be here again …

It passes the time without the help of the internet to Google every question that pops up, without the convenience of listening to Pandora, without the current news analyses of Morning Edition or All Things Considered.

We discuss the possible developments of the war Putin is waging in the Ukraine, What could be the next steps.? Is nuclear war on Putin’s mind? Will the world be swept into World War III? The proximity of Spain to the war is evident in their worry and in their news. Even in the small bars along the Camino, there are signs of support for Ukraine. Spain is barely emerging for a tragic mortality rate from the Pandemic and the country is slowly reopening. It was just a few months ago, the Spanish government opened the borders to foreigners. At every Mass we’ve attended and in the vestibules of the churches, there are homilies at the altars and fliers and posters in the vestibules praying for an end to the war and soliciting support for humanitarian aid and reunification of refugees.

….Imagine all the people living life in peace. You may say I’m a dreamer, but I’m not the only one…

Like this we walk for another 10 or 12 miles. We chat with a Spanish family, a mom and daughter pulling ahead and the dad/husband falling behind. He’s limping and in listening to him, as Luis pulls in front, I find he’s had multiple surgeries and the doctors have removed a cancer-filled kidney. The cancer has spread but they aren’t worried too much because it’s stable. He just wants to complete the Camino.

Later, in a waterlogged grove of moss covered oaks, we chat with a couple from Uruguay. We take turns taking photos of each other, creating proof that the two of them were together and that Luis and I are together on the Camino.

We doubt we will see either group of travelers again, but it would be nice if we were to. We have many more soggy miles to go to get to the last night before our destination. The town we are aiming for is ancient and has had different occupations, cultures and languages, giving the town the names of Arca, O Pino, O Pedrouzo. Meanwhile, these Boots Are Made for Walking….

Willie Nelson sings in my ears as we wash clothesin the coin-op machines at the O Aciviro accommodation. Just Can’t Wait to Get In the Road Again. ~ RoMA

April 16 – 17, 2022 ~ Arzua, Galicia (Easter Sunday / Rest day on the Camino)

April 16 ~ We struggled up a steep hill to huff and puff our way to a bar called No Camiño which we learned is Gallego for En Camino, or Along the Camino. Downing cold soda we are revived enough to climb further uphill to the town of Arzua. We called the Pazo Santa Maria to send a driver to pick us up. We will stay at this Pazo for the weekend.

We are learning the many languages of Spain. The vocabulary in any one language is dependent on the locale. Pazo is a new term to us and it means a place for lodgings for pereginos. Technically, it is required to have a restaurant and a shrine to St. James as well as a vineyard. We didn’t see any vineyard or shrine, but the place was amazing.

One of owners, Miguel, picks us up and drives us the short car ride to the Pazo and we see a large complex of stone buildings with updated amenities. There are old stone shields on the walls and a dining room with a substantial fireplace to feed a small village. Miguel tells us that the complex was a nobleman’s home in the 1700s. The low slung buildings that are now clean, bright and modern were the servant’s quarters.

Today I’m happy to be in this polished place, even the servant’s quarters. Meals are included and I realize this is upscale and I want to tell everyone I know to come here. But “here” is way out in the countryside in Spain and getting here is not easy.

The investors took old ruins, covered in vines and missing roofs and walls and in 2004 began the process of hollowing out the structures, bringing them up to code and designing a place fit for a king…or a nobleman. Today there is a peacock and peahen in residence. A wary swan lives there too and eyes us when we use the clothesline offered to us for the day’s wash.

April 17 ~ We wake slowly and assess our aches and pains. Luis’ knee is sore and each toe needs a Bandaid, or rather the Spanish upgrade of Bandaids, called Compeed.

My ailment is the tendon or a muscle in the right upper thigh or groin area. I stretch but can’t get it to calm down. Maybe this rest day on Easter Sunday will help

We get a ride to the center of Arzua for Mass. It’s close enough to walk under other circumstances. But this is our one rest day on the Camino and we would defeat the purpose by going into town and returning on foot. So Miguel drops us off at the church and I’m surprised at the lack of festivities.

The church is not old, quite possibly from the 1900s. It’s cold. So cold and, sadly, so scarcely occupied on this special liturgical day. We see old men dotted throughout the pews, old women, too, and two families. The readings are delivered by women of the congregation who do double duty singing in the choir. I understand the readings and the homily pretty well and wonder if they are speaking slowly or if I’m catching on to Gallego, with its blend of Celtic influences and Castilian influences.

When it’s time to collect the donations, I’m startled by the gangling of coins in red velvet bags that the women carry from pew to pew. In this age of Covid, and here in Spain where the wearing of masks in mandatory and strictly enforced, I don’t expect anyone to walk around the church carrying the donation “baskets.” Because the women are gently shaking them, I assume wrongly that they are stern and demanding.

As the Mass ends, Luis and I stay to look at the iconography and the statues. We let the parishioners clear out before taking any photos of the St. Jameses. There are at least 4 St. James statues and they are each in a prominent location. Even if our Pazo doesn’t have a shrine, this church must be a clear signal that we are surely on the Camino de Santiago.

Sheepishly, Luis and I seek out someone in the room off the altar to ask where we could receive a stamp on our Credential. The same women who had taken the donation bags around, treated us like rock stars and want to be sure the stamp is inked enough and that it’s right side up. This is when I realize they weren’t stern before, they were just serious in their duties.

After our Credentiales are stamped, we go out to the main square in this small village. I’m looking for a rain poncho because I lost mine on the way and more rain is forecast. Almost immediately, we find a crowded market. With newly purchased rain poncho in hand we exit to find lunch and then go back to the Pazo.

The Pazo has a massage therapist on-call and I want to take advantage of the service. But instead I fall asleep and sleep and sleep till dinner time. Tomorrow we are back on the Camino and the nap will help the muscles, blisters and joints.

April 15., 2022 ~ We leave the Casa do Campo somewhat reluctantly because it’s hard to leave behind generous people who we might not ever see again. Javier and. Sonia, coproprietors have left us with desires to stay, but the Camino is calling and they send us off with Sonia’s father as a driver to get us back to the Camino which lies around 7 miles (12 Km) away. It’s pea soup fog out this morning and our driver, who knows the ruts, turns, field and cross roads, gets lost. Too much fog. I’m so happy he’s driving and we didn’t decide to walk the extra kilometers to the Camino for we would still be wandering in those fields. He eventually sees a fellow farmer. They discuss how to get to Ligonde so we can pick up the trail. We are dropped off . Though it is difficult to understand Gallego, the warmth and well wishes of this older man are clearly understood.

Climbing out of the car with our backpacks into the cool fog, we don’t see another soul. The town of Ligonde doesn’t have a bar or restaurant. There are a few homes, a school. It has free lodging and food for donations run by a Christian group that will take in the weary traveller for free, offer a cup of coffee or singalong. All for free. This is a challenging concept, until I remember we are on the Camino de peregrines and it all makes sense.

Further up the road we leapfrog with a group of families. One of the nuclear families in this group has stroller with a one-year-old and another has a teenage boy who has a visual impairment. I’m touched by the group’s care for everyone and the happiness that I witness at the first café-bar we all stop at. I notice then that more pilgrims are on the road and the fog is starting to lift.

We have a nice quite walk and the scenery is on full view. The shade of green are ridiculously vibrant, almost impossibly green. There is a fuzzy moss that grows on every rock wall and on the rocks of the old homes. There is a yellow green on the tall grass. Then the sepia green on the trees. We pass little white flowers everywhere and miniature purple fox gloves. So much beauty that a car trip misses entirely. I’m glad we are walking and taking our time.

Up in the next town, Palas de Rei, we pass a municipal sports complex and a school of some kind. We pass a large structure that seemed to have been victim to an ancient fire. Just as we cross in front of the remains, two older women from the town are shaking their heads as they stare at the hull of the complex. The tell us the fire burned the cafeteria last night at 5AM. They sadly say it was a pretty place. Later we find out that it was also a pilgrim accommodation and some of our fellow walkers were left with having to walk much further then they’d planned to the next location.

We walk on and have plenty of time to begrudge the heat of the day now that the fog is gone, the clouds are nowhere near and the sun is bearing down. It’s hot. I’m thirsty, hungry, and wondering how much longer. We stop at a small bar-cafe called Campanillas and Luis chugs a coke. I use the restroom to take off my tights, splash my head with water and instantly I feel better. Not great, but better. I don’t know how much further to our arranged accommodations in the small crossroads, Leboreiro. We pass a trio of siblings from Ourense, Spain, who earlier were not happy, not too happy at all. They seem to have finished a meal with drinks and they are now laughing and talking. We call to them, “Ourenses, ¿cómo les va?” They answer all is well, and we exchange “buen caminos” and we don’t see them again. Just a little uphill from there we find ourselves crossing a highway and then realize we walked pass the entrance to Casa do Samoza. Nap time and then time for lots of food after another day of walking 10 miles. ~ RoMA

April 14, 2022. Outside it’s dark and the fog is thick. I awoke at an hour that even the cows are asleep out in Monterossa, Spain, around 12 km off of the Camino. Though there is no light and sunrise is still two hours away, I realize that sleep is not returning to me, so I put on warm clothes, shoes and head to the dining room of a phenomenal Casa do Campo, a home originally made in the 1600s. More on the lodgings in a new post. But first, I want to capture our Day 2 on the Camino Francés, from Portomarín to Ligonde.

We started Day 2 having a breakfast of bread, jamón serrano, cheese, juice and coffee. I suggest that anyone who’s traveled or lived in Spain would find this a common enough breakfast. The uncommon aspect for me and Luis is that immediately after eating we head out in the cool weather looking for yellow arrows, attempting to recall online directions, and remembering that technology for us is limited without WiFi or cell phone data.

I have to adjust and readjust the lacing on my boot and these delays, time after time, causes me to inadvertently pause the only technological luxury I have which is an app called Relive. Through the magic of satellite imagery, GPS tracking and my photos on the cell I can make a minute long video of our trek once I get to a bar or lodgings with high speed WiFi. I’m in airplane mode and perplexed as to why Relive works. It somehow records until I inadvertently pause it, only to remember to check it a few hours later. Technology is only as good as the battery in my cell, and my ability to use it properly. (Audible sigh),

Ah, but the Camino on our Day 2 was fine without a perfect video! I made a conscientious effort to dedicate my day to Healing and Health. When alone with my thoughts, step after step after step, I considered the people in my life and beyond that are in need of health and in need of healing. I don’t want to put dear family or friends on blast by calling out their names. Still. I prayed for health of individuals, as well as communities, for example, the health of my extended and immediate family currently undergoing cancer treatments or having recovered from cancer and who have the fear of it returning in the deep recessing of their minds. My cousins’ husbands, Alfred and Oscar, my brother-in-law Ruben, my sister Tina. My dear friend from work, Tiffany. Closest and scariest of all, the love of my life, Luis. I am grateful for his healing from recurrent lung cancer. I form the words in my head as I watch the distant horizon full of mountains blanketed with fields and pastures. I ask for continued health for him and for me, but mostly for this man at my side who’s sojourning with me on the Camino. Other prayers for health and healing include those that are not in imminent health crises who I hope have continued good health including my other sister Diana and her husband Tim, my brother Dio and his wife Stephanie. Even the younger generation, Lorenzo, his wife Arevik, Miguel. I pray for their continued strength and stamina, for a healthy balance of work, family and simple joys. And if course, I pray for health and beautiful development of our granddaughter Luiza.

When it comes to healing, these prayers come in more complex ways, more along the lines of emotional healing or coming to peace with past injuries, injuries I’ve perceived and praying for the forgiveness from those that I have hurt. Just as I was meditating on these thoughts, we approached a huge stone pillar with an interesting cross high on top. On one side of the cross was crucified Jesus and on the other a fascinating representation of the Virgin Mary. At the base were two women we’d seen earlier on Camino, saying a litany of prayers. It wasn’t quite a rosary, but it had that rhythm. Before I knew it I was crying, thinking of the complicated relationship I had with Mom and who I pray for even as she is gone to us in this world. I suddenly knew it was the time and place to leave a little stone I have carried with me from my front yard, the weight not more than a couple of ounces, and yet, weighing down heavily on me for many year. It was time to leave the stone and its burden at the base of this cross outside of Ligonde. It was time to say one more intensional prayer, release the weight and walk with continued intention for healing this injury through an appreciation for her challenges as a single mom.

Then there was the health of the young, fit hiker who had an epileptic attack. We had notice a different man, obviously a peregrino, but sans a backpack waiting on the side of the highway. As we approached so did an ambulance with lights spinning. The hiker quickly showed the paramedics to the man who had had an attack. All of us passing asked what we could do. There wasn’t anything to do but say a prayer (and learn that in Spain you dial 112 for emergencies).

For the healing of all injuries and restored health, I dedicated the day’s 11 miles.

Today on our Camino was much easier than the day before. We went downhill from Portomarín, crossed the Rio Minho and immediately had a major decision. The Camino splits and we decided to go the Complimentary route. It was a good decision as we passed though old oaks while climbing out the valley. Yes, it was a challenge but my stretching in the morning and better posture helped keep my cramping groin in check. I took shorter steps and pulled in my butt, sucked in my stomach and straightened my back. This is a lot to think of while trying to focus on health and healing but my mind alternated among all this. Before you know it, we rejoined those peregrinos a that had taken the other route.

The air was full of the countryside. In other words, we passed many dairies and the odiferous smells as we meandered through hamlets and communities. At one point, a large tanker truck was in front of us, servicing a dairy. It was in fact, extracting the effluence from a dairy farm using an elephant trunk-type hose to suction up the “stuff”. We hung back and let it complete the operation, and watched as the proboscis swung into place on the side of the tanker and then maneuvered expertly through a narrow, narrow lane. But as it went the elephant trunk of the truck managed to drip, drip, drip. Ah, the smell of nature.

Seriously though, the fast open sky was fresh and clean. Such a vast difference from LA air. The morning mist and fog only helped define the mountains and fields.

I’ve been choosing to step on softer grass and pine needles along the side of the gravel trails. One of many lessons is to tread gently and to go at my own pace. RoMA

April 11, 2022 Greetings. We are greeted with fresh air and cloud-dappled sky in Madrid. The taxi driver at the airport gives us a warm welcome on our way to the train station Chamartín. The receptionist at our nearby hotel welcomes us with a warmer “bienvenidos a España.”

At Chamartin we see our first yellow arrow showing the way. And we begin to see several. Noticing is truly what the signs are about. They’ve been there all along but we have been blind. Years ago, as part of three couples on vacation in San Miguel Allende, Mexico, we went by La Flecha Amarilla (Yellow Arrow) bus to Dolores Hidalgo.

Another different greeting new in Europe. Reflecting the geopolitical times, the Russian invasion of Ukraine and the resulting exodus of immigrants and asylum-seeking women and children, the train station hosts reunification points. My heart breaks for the people of Ukariane and their shattered lives and country. We are closer to them than ever. I’m convinced that travel brings you to a deeper appreciation of people and an understanding of humanity is a way different than reading the LA Times or watching on-line news from afar.

We are on the high-speed train and it’s time to unplug, to watch the countryside, and to count the tunnels and viaducts to Northern Spain. Soon we will board our last train taking us to Sarria in the pouring rain (here called borrascas; what my mom called tormentas; what I call a sheets of rain). Bye for now and happy birthday to my brother Dionicio!

RoMA

April 9 – 10, 2022

The hours are stretching into something akin to days but much slower. It is a morning we are slogging through because it can’t come fast enough. It’s the day of our departure. It’s the day the Uber to LAX is on its way, the refrigerator is cleaned out, the backpacks organized. It is the day of dragging hours.

We purge our duplicates from our backpacks and small rolling suitcases. We want to carry with us our “tilichilis” from our routine, in essence, our comfort junk. Ultimately, we leave our backup 1st aide kit, my flatiron, my hair products, a second (and third!) tube of sunscreen, my extra Camino shirt, Luis’s dress shirt, his extra pair of shoes, a second jacket and a pair of pants. Then we weigh and measure our backpacks and our carryons and we are good to go. We are well under the luggage limit for the flight and we’ll figure out the switching out of items between the backpacks and the rolling suitcase on a daily basis, depending on the weather.

At LAX we tentatively approach the counter with our cell phones open to all the QR codes for boarding passes, negative Covid tests, proof of Covid vaccinations, digital Passenger Locator Forms, Spanish Traveler Health forms. And then don’t ask for any of it!

So we make the first foot journey of the day by walking and walking and walking to Gate 203. We walk so far, there aren’t even any cafes or shops out in this airport satellite. Because we are early we loop back to civilization in the international terminal, find a restaurant and settle in for a while.

Upon boarding I realize how full a plane can be. Luckily, we have window and middle seat. We take turns trading places. Luis and I synchronize our little screens to watch the movie Belfast at the same time. Goofy, huh? It is a moving story and I’m glad we watch it together so we can discuss it later. Maybe tomorrow. If we have time that runs at a normal speed we can digest the well-drawn characters and not have to yell over the noise of this jet. Then again, tomorrow we will still be flying and getting into Paris, to transit to Madrid. Madrid sounds like a good place to set our watches and to peek into our luggage to see what we brought that we don’t need and what we left that would been helpful.

I’m one of THOSE people who is so sleep- deprived I find a quiet corner of airport, lay flat with my knees up, place my head on my carryon, and fall fast asleep. Then we hear the cattle call for the flight to Paris in fast Spanish and faster French. We line up and off we go in groggy states of mind, our facemasks still firmly installed over mouth and nose and board another flight to Madrid where our bodies register wee hours of the morning and the clocks say late afternoon. Luckily, my pilgrim passport is packed and all it needs is a first stamp regardless of the time on our clocks. RoMA

April 5, 2022 — There are three main aspects of plans for walking the Camino de Santiago. These are logistics, physical training, and spiritual preparation. Arranging the logistics of flights, trains, hotels, and gear was fun and fulfilling. Each new detail confirmed brought us closer to the realization of this pilgrimage. Straddling the pre-digital world and the virtual ubiquitous world, I made folders with color-coded, flagged documents, a tangible representation of the travel, and created a shared digital folder on the trip for our travel documents. We’ve also both joined the Facebook group American Pilgrims on the Camino. Ah, and then there are the apps:

• Tripit app- a one-stop place for all arrangements that I can share with my sons and sisters
• Maps.me app – offline maps for the terrain
• AllTrails app – for Stateside and (I hope) Spanish hiking trails
• Renfe app – required for boarding Spanish trains
• Air France airline app – to habitually check in the hopes of being offered an upgrade to Business class
• Wise Pilgrim app – for infrastructure notes, step by step Camino guide, and suggestions for what is notable to see along The Way
• Buen Camino app – serving a similar purpose as The Wise Pilgrim
• XE app – currency conversion. It’s not so vital on this trip, but I love it still, especially when I’m jetlagged and can’t calculate the value of something
• Google Translate – yes, I speak Spanish, but in Galicia what’s spoken isn’t Spanish it’s Gallego (or Galician)
• Relive app – merging satellite maps with our geolocation and photos we take along The Way; my favorite during training

This snapshot of the tools for logistic preparation brings me to the physical training.

Walking and Getting Fit

Luis and I have been active for years. We first “dated” on a series of jogging outings at Stanford. And with varying degrees of consistency during our baby-raising years and the career-striving years, we have remained fairly active. The first year of the Pandemic flipped things and we spent time at home, watching too much TV, online shopping, cooking adventuresome recipes, and drinking wine. It was with a soft body and fear of catching Covid that about a year into the Pandemic I returned to walking in earnest with Luis at my side. My friend SandraDel Cid obliged kindly when I asked her for tips on training for the Camino. She sponsors the Marathon running club at school and I knew she’s a wise woman in the ways of fitness. With her suggestion taken to heart, Luis and I returned to the regularity of working out routinely, starting slowly and building every week. We slowly added walking sticks, then light, school kid backpacks, then real trekking backpacks, until we finally added the weight of all the things we will carry with us on the Camino. Following the training routine, we interspersed hills and distances until we could comfortably walk with our gear and food for 5 or more hours a day. One area of training we lack is that of cold or rainy weather walking. Southern California is still in a drought and we couldn’t put in the miles in the shower. So the anticipated rain in Northern Spain in April might come as a surprise to us.

Spiritual/Religious Development

Last weekend we made a last-minute decision to go on a locally organized camino from Mission San Gabriel to the Our Lady Queen of Angeles, otherwise known as the Cathedral in downtown LA. It was a 12-mile opportunity to connect with other faithful pilgrims. Some of them were not aware of the Camino de Santiago, others had made the pilgrimage multiple times, such as a new Camino friend pictured here. I think his name is Felipe. Regardless we connected about deeper issues than just trekking. Luis, meanwhile, ended up walking for miles with Fray Lucello from Brazil. These companions on our day were just two of 3000 people processing along with their 3000 reasons for doing so on a cool and overcast morning.

Mostly, though, Luis’ and my spiritual preparation has been the two of us, getting to deepen our relationship. We’ve been reading about the history, and the myths surrounding St. James, and the modern-day community of pilgrims. To be fair we haven’t been church-goers since the Pandemic hit. The church has been transformed, at least for me, into a community that strives to walk the way Jesus walked and the way St. James and other disciples did, getting to know the people on the ground. We still work toward fairness, peace, and community in this world challenged with so many things, from the ongoing Pandemic to war in Eastern Europe, and inequities right here at home. Today we are 3 days away from our flight to Spain. A week from tomorrow marks our first day of pilgrimage on the Camino de Santiago with the logistics and training behind us. Remaining is the spiritual experience along the Way.

RoMA